He Ruined Me, Now I’m His Step Mother

I was going to surprise him. I had just gotten back from the hospital where I was told I would be having a girl. My stomach looked so swollen and I felt so fat.

But it didn't matter, because my husband, Marcus Blackwell said I looked just okay.

“You might look ugly and fat now, but I promise that doesn't make you any less my wife,” he said once when I caught him flipping through a Vogue magazine filled with skinny models.

I smiled at the compliment, feeling relieved.

But if only I knew, oh God!

I walked down the hallway of the Blackwell mansion, a folder clutched in my hands. Seven months pregnant and still trying to win my husband's love like some pathetic puppy begging for scraps.

The marble floors were cold under my bare feet. I'd kicked off my heels an hour ago because my ankles were swollen and my back ached and Marcus hadn't noticed anyway. He never noticed. He was always too busy with work, he hardly even asked about my prenatal session.

And I didn't mind. I always told myself he was a hard-working man, and he just really cared about making us financially comfortable.

His study door was slightly open. Light spilled out into the dark hallway, and I heard his voice and my heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when I was close to him.

I was about to knock when I suddenly heard my name from the other side of the door.

"Of course I don't love her. The marriage… the vows, and even the certificate is all a fake. You didn't think I would really marry her when I have no plans on keeping her.”

Marcus's voice.

It was undeniably clear and cold.

My hand froze on the folder, and I stood stiffly in front of his office door.

What was he talking about? Fake marriage?

"She was just the easiest option," he continued. "Young, naive, no family to interfere. She was just too perfect for my scheme, Mother.”

"And the baby?" His mother's voice followed immediately. There was something in her voice–that clipped, aristocratic tone that had always made me feel small since the day I met her.

"That's all I need her for, you know that already. I just want an heir. Once she gives birth, I don't care what happens to her,” he said coldly.

The folder slipped from my hands, at that exact moment , and hit the floor with a soft thud. Soft enough for no one to hear.

I gripped my chest as I felt my heart tear apart at his confessions.

All this time… all this time that I had loved and slaved for him as a wife… for three years. It was fake. A sham. Wh–why?

"What if she wants to be involved in raising—" his mother started, her voice filled with doubt but I could hear the excitement in it too. “What if it isn't even a boy like you hope?”

"It won't" Marcus immediately replied like she thought it was impossible. And then he laughed. " And if it does turn out to be a girl, we would have to get rid of her before she delivers. I only need a male child. And I'm sure I'll get him. I'll have the lawyers draw up papers by Monday, since she's getting real close to delivery. Maybe something about postpartum depression, unfit mother, whatever works. Just as long as the child stays with us. And then I'll dispose of her,” he said in finality. “And marry Sylvia who I've always loved.”

Oh my God! Ho–how could he do this to me?

He was going to make me suffer in labour and then steal my child!

I stumbled back as I grabbed the wall beside me. My vision blurred immediately and I felt the whole earth rotate.

No– it has to be my imagination. I had to be dreaming.

Marcus loved me. He'd never betray me like this. He's never stabbed me this way.

But it wasn't a dream, because I felt my baby kick at that moment,  like she had also felt my grief. Hot tears spilled from my face as I stood there, listening to them destroy my life just because they felt like they could.

I couldn't breathe. The hallway was spinning, and I wanted to throw up badly…or maybe scream.

"You're sure she suspects nothing?" his mother asked, breaking through the silence.

"Please,” he scoffed like her idea was absurd. “Aria thinks I married her because I love her. I remember how she actually cried on our wedding night because she was so happy." His voice dripped contempt. "She has no idea I only fucked her to get her pregnant. God, she was so tight I almost felt bad. Almost."

And they laughed together, like it was the funniest joke they had ever heard.

Like my life was nothing but a sick joke.

And maybe it was.

My wedding night flashed through my mind. The way he'd pushed me onto the bed. Ripped my white lingerie and took my virginity like I was nothing. I remembered how he didn't kiss me once through the whole act, his his hand roamed my body stiffly as he brutally fucked my tight virgin hole.

I'd cried and begged him to slow down. Told him how much his thrust hurt, but he didn't listen. Instead he dipped his head into my neck.

"You're mine now," he whispered hoarsely into my ear. "Don't you ever forget it."

I did think it was passion. Desire and Love. Everybody did love in different ways.

But it was ownership– an evil possessiveness to own me and turn me into his incubating machine. His baby factory.

I backed away from the door. Quiet and careful. My feet wobbled weakly as I used my hand to steady myself on the wall and walk away. The nursery folder lay abandoned on the floor.

Tears continued to stream down my eyes as I made it to our bedroom, falling to the floor like a loser.

Three years of sacrifice for this family, and this was what I got back?

Pregnant for seven months. And all of it was a lie. Even my fairytale marriage.

I wasn't his wife. I was his incubator.

And once I gave birth, I'd be nothing– nothing more than his foolish baby mama, who didn't suspect a damn thing.

Oh fuck him! I won't let him eat his cake and have it.

My body moved on autopilot, and I stood up. I grabbed my bag, while pulling clothes from drawers. Immediately after, I grabbed my passport from the nightstand. The emergency credit card my college roommate had made me get. "Just in case," she'd said. I'd laughed at her paranoia.

Well, thank God for paranoia now.

Marcus's safe was behind a painting in the closet, and I knew the code. Our anniversary. The date he'd locked me into this nightmare.

I pulled out cash. Lots of it, and I stuffed them into my back again, not even bothering to count them.

My wedding ring sat heavy on my finger, and I flinched it off. I only had a few minutes before he would come checking on me.

One last look at the bedroom. The bed where I'd given him my virginity. Where I'd cried myself to sleep more nights than I could count, wondering why he never held me after. I grabbed my bag and walked out.

The mansion was quiet. Staff had gone home. Marcus and his mother were still in the study, probably still planning my disposal.

I called a cab from the driveway and ran to it before anyone of the security could notice.

Well, waddled. Seven months pregnant didn't allow for running.

I sank into the seat immediately, the door closed, the grief finally settling in.

It was real.

This wasn't a nightmare. The tears flowed more hurriedly now, soaking my top as I bit my lip not to sob out loud.

The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, and took in my swollen belly, my bare feet, and my ugly tear-stained face.

"You okay, miss?"

"I will be,” I managed to say through my silent sob. “Just take me to the air– airport please.”

"Which airline?"

I put my hand on my stomach, feeling the little one kick again.

"Anywhere he can't find us.