The Surrogate was not Pregnant with My Egg

My stomach dropped. She walked past me like I was furniture.

“To be honest,” she added with a shrug, “this house was always too big for just one woman.”

I turned to Jacob. “Tell me she’s lying.”

He didn’t answer.

That silence was louder than a scream.

I didn’t protest when Jacob said Valentina was moving in.

“She’s eight months pregnant,” he said, like I needed reminding. “She’s carrying our child. It’s safer if she’s here. We can monitor her, make sure everything’s okay.”

Right. We. As if I had a say anymore.

She had no family close by, and she’d be more comfortable here, in the mansion. That was his excuse.

I just nodded.

What else was I supposed to do? Say no and look heartless? It’s not like I could tell people the real reason. Oh, hi, my husband emotionally manipulated me for a decade and I just found out he secretly sabotaged my fertility—oh, and by the way, I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on me with the surrogate.

No. I stayed quiet.

***

The first few days, I kept my distance. She spent most of her time in the sunroom, reading baby books, sipping herbal tea, humming softly to herself. Jacob had a room set up for her on the second floor, just across from ours.

Too close.

I told myself I was being paranoid. Emotional. Hormonal, even though I wasn’t the one carrying the baby. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. That Valentina wasn’t just here for the baby.

That Jacob had brought her here for himself.

And he was so attentive to her.

He rubbed her feet in the evenings while they watched TV together—on the couch I picked out. He brought her pillows and blankets when she napped. He asked what she was craving and made me cook it. When she said her back hurt, he looked at me and said, “Run her a bath, will you? Use the lavender salts.”

I became a ghost in my own house. A servant.

“Maurice, can you warm her milk before bed?”

“Maurice, Valentina’s hungry again. Can you whip up that soup she likes?”

“Maurice, go pick up her prenatal vitamins—no, not the generic ones, she needs the special imported kind.”

I did it all.

Because every time I hesitated, he’d look at me like I was the problem. Like I was the selfish one. The unstable one.

It felt like I was living with a king and his queen—and I was just the maid, watching from the shadows as they played house with my life.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even try to hide it.

And then I found the photo.

I was going through the drawers in Jacob’s office, looking for a pen of all things, when I saw it tucked between some old receipts and paperwork. A small photo, a little bent at the edges, but unmistakable.

Jacob and Valentina.

Together. Younger. Smiling. His arm slung around her shoulders like it belonged there.

I stared at it for a long time, my stomach churning.

When I confronted him that night, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.

I just held up the photo and asked, “How long?”

He didn’t flinch. Just sighed and leaned against the dresser, arms crossed like this was mildly inconvenient. “It was a long time ago. An old fling. Nothing serious.”

“I thought she was your cousin's friend.”

“So? She’s just the surrogate, now. That’s all it is. You’re reading into things again.”

Again. Like I was some irrational creature who always made drama out of nothing.

I wanted to throw the photo at him. Instead, I turned and walked out.

***

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The bed was cold. Jacob never came in. He said he had an “important meeting” with international clients. “Don’t wait up,” he told me. “It’s for the business.”

I believed him. Like I always did. Like a stupid wife who still trusted her lying husband.

But time passed. Hours. Midnight came and went.

The house was too quiet. I couldn’t breathe. I needed fresh air.

I got out of bed and walked toward the balcony.

Then I saw it—Valentina’s door. It was open just a little.

Just enough for me to look inside.

And what I saw made my heart stop.

Jacob.

Naked.

Behind Valentina.

Having sex with her while she was on her hands and knees. Her pregnant belly full and round.

And he wasn’t quiet.

“Yes, fuck me harder, Jacob,” Valentina moaned. “I love how wild you get with me.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back harder with every thrust.

“This pussy is perfect,” he said. “You were made for me, Valentina.”

She looked back and smiled. “I’m eight months pregnant with your baby, and I still want you every night. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

He slapped her ass. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“And your wife?” she laughed. “That little fool sleeping down the hall?”

He laughed too. “She’s nothing. Just a name. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I fuck.”

“Say it again,” Valentina begged.

“I love you, Valentina,” Jacob said. His voice deep and rough. “I fucking love you. I’ve been with you for three years—while married to her.”

I stood there frozen.

I wanted to scream. To throw the door open. To break everything.

But I couldn’t move.

I just stood there. Watching the man I gave my life to… betray me like it meant nothing.

And Valentina didn’t even care.

She moaned louder. “You’re not going back to her. Not after this. Not when I’m so wet for you. I own you now.”

“You do,” Jacob gasped. “And I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t take anyone else.”

He said it between every thrust like a hammer to my chest.

My stomach twisted. My throat burned. Because suddenly, everything clicked.

Those late-night “emergencies.”

The endless “business trips abroad.”

The long, quiet calls that ended the moment I entered the room.

The expansion project that took him “a year to oversee overseas.”

three years.

Out of the four we were married… he was with her.

I wasn’t his wife.

I was a cover. A placeholder. A lie he fed for the sake of appearances, while he built a life—with her.