I always depicted that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer, then my family becomes happy. But I never could have thought that the real concern to our relationship would come from someone else—his mother.

Jessica, my mother-in-law, always controls everything around her, and unfortunately, my husband lets her.

From the moment I discovered I was pregnant, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Bill and I had dreamed of this moment for many years.

Jessica, Bill’s mother, had been awaited the arrival of this baby too. But she had never liked me.

From the start, she announced that she didn’t think I was good enough for her son.

“Bill deserves someone better,”

And when I got pregnant, everything changed.

Jessica joined every aspect of my pregnancy, from the very beginning. She always attending every doctor’s appointment.

“You need me to come with you,” she’d say.

“I know what’s best.”

Throughout the pregnancy, I dealt with constant nausea, barely able to keep food down. But Jessica didn’t care.

I repeatedly told Bill to stop telling her everything, to set some boundaries, but it never worked.

One day, when we went in for the ultrasound to learn the baby’s gender, Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room.

“How did she know?” I whispered to Bill.

When the doctor revealed that we were having a girl, I was happy because we had dreamed of—our little girl.

But before we could announce the news, Jessica said, “You couldn’t even give my son a boy. He needed an heir.”

My stomach churned. “An heir to what? His video game collection?”  “And for your information, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”

“That’s a lie. Your body is the problem. You were never right for my son.”

Once we were in the car, I turned to Bill. “How did she find out about the appointment?”

“I told her.”

“I asked you not to!” I cried.

“She’s the grandmother,” he muttered.

“And I’m your wife!” I replied.

“I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care how I feel?”

“Just ignore her,” he muttered again.

The doctors rushed my daughter away the moment she was born.

“Please,” I begged, my voice weak. “Give her to me.”

“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.

The world spun. And then—nothing.

When I woke up, everything was meaninglessness.

Then, the door burst open, and there stood Jessica, her face twisted in anger.

“You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.

Bill sighed. “It happened too fast.”

“That’s no excuse!” Jessica hissed.

“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed.

“She needs to be fed,” the nurse said firmly.

Jessica barely glanced at her. “Then give her formula.”

“I’m going to breastfeed her,” I said, my voice shaking.

She was mine. She was everything.

Two weeks passed, but Jessica never stopped showing up.

One afternoon, she barged in, holding an envelope.

“Proof,” she said.

“Proof of what?” he asked, confused.

“That Carol isn’t faithful,” she spat.

“What?! What did you do?” I screamed at Jessica.

I grabbed Eliza’s clothes, shaking with fear and grief. I packed her things, silent sobs wracking my body.

The DNA Test That Changed Everything

Days later, my mother took us in, holding me as I cried.

I handed him an envelope.

“This is the real DNA test,” I said quietly.

He opened it. “99.9%,” he whispered.

“Eliza is your daughter,” I told him

“Please… come back.” he said.

I wagged my head, stepping back.

“I’m filing for divorce. I want full custody.”