I Surrogated Twice for My Husband to Pay His Mom’s Debt — Then He Left, Saying I Was No Longer Beautiful

The second pregnancy was almost a year later, and unraveled me in ways I didn’t expect.

Everything felt heavier. My back throbbed by noon most days, and the swelling in my legs made walking feel like moving through wet cement. Some nights I lay awake for hours while Hicks snored in the next room.

He had started sleeping in the guest room “to get better rest.” That’s what he told me the first time he grabbed a pillow and walked out. I tried to understand, but the space between us only grew wider.

“Can you help me out of the tub?” I called to him one evening from the bathroom.

“You said you were okay with this, Khal,” he said, frowning in the doorway. “Don’t make me feel guilty for something you agreed to.”

I said nothing. I just reached for a towel and pulled myself up as slowly and carefully as I could. I winced at the dull ache in my lower belly. I had no energy left to argue.

Still, I went to every appointment. I kept myself as healthy as I possibly could. I carried the baby like it was my responsibility alone.

And when she was born — little Ginny, with thick dark hair and a cry that filled the room — I placed her gently into her mother’s arms and turned away before the tears could fall.

The next morning, Hicks checked our account. The final payment had cleared.

“It’s done,” he said, his tone flat but satisfied. “Mom’s house is paid off. We’re finally free.”

I thought we meant both of us. He didn’t. Continue reading…