My Husband Convinced Me to Be a Surrogate Twice, When He Paid His Moms Debt, He Left Me

He had that persuasive calm — the kind that makes you question your own instincts. I said no at first. Then maybe. Then, after weeks of late-night talks and silent guilt trips, I said yes.

The first couple — Brian and Lisa — were kind. Respectful. They sent care packages, attended ultrasounds, treated me like more than just a womb. The process was grueling, but I told myself it was worth it.

Ethan was attentive that time. He made smoothies, rubbed my swollen feet, tucked Jacob in at night. “We’re doing something beautiful,” he’d whisper. “You’re amazing.”

When the baby — a healthy boy — was born, Lisa cried harder than anyone in the room. I felt something like peace. For the first time in years, our bills were paid. We had breathing room.

Then, three months later, Ethan came home with another spreadsheet.

“If you do it again, we can pay off everything — Mom’s car, her credit cards, the rest of Dad’s funeral loan. It’s just one more time.”

This time, I hesitated. My body wasn’t ready. My spirit definitely wasn’t. But Ethan had already decided.

“Mel, don’t make this harder. You said yourself we’re better now. Let’s just finish it.”

He said finish it like I was closing a deal, not sacrificing my body. But guilt is a master manipulator, and love can be blind. I agreed — again.

The second pregnancy broke me in ways I can’t fully explain. My back screamed every morning, my legs swelled, my emotions were a wreck. Ethan slept in the guest room “for better rest.” The distance between us grew colder, wider, irreversible.

When I asked for help, he accused me of making him feel guilty.

Still, I carried that baby with every ounce of strength I had left. When little Hazel was born, I placed her into her mother’s arms and turned away before my tears could fall.

The money came in. Ethan smiled again. “Mom’s house is finally paid off,” he said. “We’re free.”

But a month later, he packed a suitcase.Continue reading…