My Husband Forced Me to Be a Surrogate for His Boss to Get Promotion — but His True Motive Turned Out to Be Even Worse

When my husband convinced me to carry his boss’s baby, I believed I was sacrificing for our family’s future. I never imagined that I was being manipulated into a scheme that would shatter everything I loved.

I never thought I’d be telling this story. If someone had warned me five years ago that the man I trusted would use my body as a tool for his gain, I would have called them insane. But I wasn’t a partner in his plans—I was just a stepping stone.

Doug and I had been married seven years, with our son Ethan, who had just turned five. Money was tight, but we were managing. Doug worked at a massive downtown marketing firm, always chasing the next promotion, while I freelanced from home so I could be there for Ethan.

His boss, Monica, was intimidating. In her early forties, always perfectly put together, she had a way of making anyone around her feel small. Her syrupy “sweetheart” when she spoke to me sent chills down my spine.

Then one night, Doug came home with that gleam in his eye—a mixture of excitement and nerves.

“Babe, I need to talk to you,” he said, dropping his briefcase.

I looked up from helping Ethan with his puzzle. “What is it?”

“Monica… she’s going through something personal. She can’t have children because of a medical condition. She’s looking for a surrogate.” He paused, looking at me intently. “She asked if I knew someone responsible. I immediately thought of you.”

I froze. “What?”

“Just hear me out before you say no.”

“Doug… you’re serious? You want me to carry your boss’s child?”

“It’s only nine months. And she’s paying very well. We could pay off the house, start Ethan’s college fund. Monica also said if this works out, I’m next in line for senior director—$60,000 raise.”

“So this is about your promotion,” I said flatly.

“It’s about our future. Ethan’s future. You’d be helping the family, not raising her child afterward. You’re already an amazing mom.”

“I need to think.”

But he didn’t give me space. For three weeks, he pressed relentlessly—morning coffee, late-night talks after Ethan went to bed.

“Do you want Ethan growing up in this cramped house?”
“You’re being selfish. This could change everything for us.”

Selfish. The word cut deep.

I broke down with my mom one afternoon. “My gut says it’s wrong,” I confessed. “But I keep thinking about the money.”

“Money isn’t everything, sweetheart,” she said.

“Easy to say when you’re not drowning in bills,” I replied.

Two days later, I agreed. Doug’s relief should have been my first warning.

“You won’t regret this,” he promised. But promises meant nothing.

Everything moved fast. Contracts, medical screenings, lawyers. Monica was cold and businesslike. “This is a business arrangement. I’m paying for a service. Professionalism is expected.”

Doug was too eager to reassure her.

The hormone treatments left me nauseous, exhausted, emotional. Monica’s oversight increased immediately: what I ate, what I wore, stress levels, quitting my freelance work—all for the baby, never for me. Doug called it caring. I called it disappearing.

By the fourth month, Doug’s behavior changed. Late nights, new cologne, makeup stains on his shirts. When I questioned him, he deflected, blaming Monica or my hormones. The baby was always the focus; I didn’t exist.

The pregnancy was brutal. Swollen feet, constant aches. My mom helped with Ethan, but the stress was relentless. “Just a few more months,” I told myself, clinging to the idea that it would be worth it.

Labor lasted eighteen hours. Doug was glued to his phone. When the baby arrived—a perfect little girl with dark hair—Monica immediately took her. She didn’t even glance at me.

“You did your part,” Monica said. “That’s what matters.”

Doug took the check, claiming we were “set.” I felt broken.

A few days later, Doug vanished. His clothes, laptop, everything gone. A single note remained:

“You’ll be fine. You have Ethan. I’ve moved on. Don’t contact me. The money from Monica was compensation for seven years of going nowhere. Consider it closure. Goodbye, Rachel.”

I collapsed, screaming, Ethan running to me. My mother took us in. I had no savings, bills mounting, and a five-year-old depending on me.

The following year was hell. Two jobs, exhaustion, rebuilding from nothing. Ethan’s laughter kept me going. Slowly, I regained stability. Eighteen months later, I secured an administrative assistant job at a small marketing firm.

Three years after Doug left, I applied for Administrative Coordinator at a competitor of Monica’s firm. The interview was with Daniel, operations director.

“Your resume shows a gap. What happened?” he asked.

“I made a terrible choice to help my ex-husband’s career. It cost me everything. But I’m here now, and I work harder than anyone because I know what it’s like to have nothing.”

He hired me. Within a year, I was promoted. Ethan thrived.

Then one Monday, I walked into a conference room and there they were: Monica and Doug. They didn’t recognize me at first. I introduced myself professionally. The meeting was mine to lead. Every red flag in their proposal, I pointed out calmly.

Weeks later, their company collapsed due to embezzlement. Detective Williams contacted me. She revealed that Doug and Monica had an affair and planned the surrogacy to use me. The baby, Sophie, was actually Doug’s. I had carried my husband’s child with his mistress.

Monica was arrested for fraud; Doug for theft. Sophie was placed in a temporary shelter. My heart broke for the child I carried, now alone.

I contacted Child Protective Services and began the foster process. Three months later, Sophie came home with us. Four months in, she asked, “Can I call you Mom?” I cried, holding her and Ethan tight.

Two years later, life is full of laughter. I rebuilt my career and home. Doug’s letter requesting a meeting went straight in the trash.

Sophie asked about being a surrogate. I told her:

“Yes, once. And it brought me here, to you and Ethan, and this life. It was the best thing I ever did, even if it almost broke me.”

The people who used me faced the consequences. I didn’t need revenge—I built a life stronger than they could have ever imagined.