We met at a friend’s wedding, and soon our relationship turned into a marriage. Linda’s mother-in-law initially seemed to be the warmest and most caring woman: she called me “darling”, came with soup at the slightest indisposition and always supported us.
After a couple of years, we started trying to have a baby, but without success. After two years and three IVF courses, emotionally and financially exhausted, we almost lost hope. Linda offered an unconventional solution: to become a surrogate mother. She was healthy, she was already giving birth, and we decided to go through all the procedures officially — consultations, medical examinations, lawyers and a contract. Linda refused the reward, calling it a gift.
The embryo took root the first time, and the first months passed quietly: Linda sent photos, talked about the movements of the fetus and rejoiced with us. But by the seventh month, her behavior had changed. She began calling the child “mine,” made an appointment, identifying herself as the mother, and increasingly showed affection beyond the role of a surrogate.
The birth happened prematurely. At the moment when the nurse was about to hand the baby over to us, Linda abruptly pulled away, grabbing the baby and declaring that he was “hers.” She kicked us out of the ward and made a scene, citing her strong emotional attachment and hormonal disorder after giving birth.
A few hours later, when Linda fell asleep, the nurse returned the baby. We named him Neil and hugged him tightly for the first time. But the conflict has only just begun: Linda sued, claiming the rights to the child, and her family supported her words, accusing us of “using” her body.
In court, our documents, DNA, and contract unequivocally confirmed our rights. The court ruled in our favor: full custody remained with us, Linda was not given the rights of a mother. After the trial, we still paid her the equivalent of a professional reward to close the episode peacefully. Contacts with her family were severed, we moved and started a new life without previous connections.
The consequences of this experience have become a lesson for us: close people can behave unpredictably, and for such serious decisions it is better to choose the formalized help of outsiders rather than family members. Now we live quietly and are focused on raising Neil, trying to provide him with stability and love.
