My MIL gave me a “special gift” for my daughter’s first birthday, and I expected it. Nothing prepared me for what was in that gift package after months of subtle digs after employing a surrogate.

Linda greeted me by taking my hands and smiling. I felt chosen as her eyes ran over my face like she was memorizing me. Indeed, special.

“You’re perfect for him,” she murmured, pressing my fingers. “Just perfect.”

Linda welcomed me into her family after Jake and I married. Despite not having enough in common to be friends, we laughed over coffee and made a joke about Jake’s cousin’s terrible Thanksgiving green bean casserole.

Our good relationship made it tougher to accept Linda’s betrayal.

After a year of trying, Jake and I saw a reproductive doctor. I was devastated when I was diagnosed with “Early ovarian failure” after months of testing.

My eggs were infertile, therefore I couldn’t carry a child.

Jake and I were distraught. A conversation changed everything after we grieved over our unborn children.

“You could still adopt,” our longtime friend Cheryl advised. “Or consider surrogacy.”

I said, “Surrogacy could work,” staring at Jake. However, I would not know where to begin.

“I’d do it for you,” Cheryl said.

Casual discussion became planning.

We met with our fertility doctor and a lawyer about contracts.

Our situation was improving until we addressed it with Linda.

Surrogacy and egg donation. Oh, dear. “That’s mature, Mandy,” she remarked, as if I had enabled Jake’s cheating. “Won’t you feel left out, knowing you had to conceive with another woman?”

“No, of course not,” I stuttered, hating my defensiveness. We’ve discovered the perfect surrogate: Cheryl will help us.”

Linda’s eyes widened. She smiled at Cheryl. Instantaneous and unpleasant change.

“What a beautiful connection for my son,” she added, touching Cheryl’s hand. To maintain biological anchorage. Every kid needs one.”

Cheryl fidgeted in her seat. My oven bakes the kid and I provide the eggs, Linda. All done.”

Linda responded, “Oh, of course,” but kept looking at Cheryl. There’s something special about the mother. That link is irreplaceable.”

Her words made me cringe.

We were supposed to celebrate the gender reveal. I spent weeks organizing it, but Linda’s arrival changed the atmosphere.

She touched arms and whispered with our visitors like she was hosting the party.

In the yard, I heard her voice fragments.

“It’s a blessing that someone so nurturing could help,” she told my mother.

“The baby will have a strong maternal figure,” she informed her aunt.

“Sometimes things happen as they should���” she told my cousins.

My feet shifted when she clinked her glass for a toast. All conversations ceased. Everyone looked at her.

She said, “To Cheryl, the woman who made my son a father, the mother of my grandchild. You made us family.”

The courteous applause was accentuated by awkward glances. I told Jake, and we cut the cake after gathering.

Jake and I smiled at each other. Just as I lifted the knife, Linda cut.

“Wait! Need the mother. Cheryl?” Her hands on Cheryl’s shoulders guided her to Jake’s side.

Cheryl blushed and murmured, “Sorry. This is wrong.”

My mother-in-law was already urging others to take shots with an orchestral voice in the evening air.

“Stand closer. Ah, perfect. Wonderful family portrait.”

Standing there with that knife, seeing my husband’s perplexed face, I wondered whether anybody else could see how small I had become.

How I vanished in plain sight.

A gorgeous girl with dad-like curls was born in April. When I held her, I cried ugly, gulping cries from deep inside.

Linda already controlled the story.

She brought a professional photographer to the hospital without notifying us.

Cheryl cradling the infant, my husband looking down at his daughter, and three generations of women apparently connecting were her photos.

“We need to capture this moment,” she repeated. “This beautiful beginning.”

I appeared in some of those images, but always on the periphery, like I’d stumbled into someone else’s family portrait.

Within a week, she shared a carousel of photographs on social media with Cheryl holding Christina and my husband grinning beside her.

Caption: “Proud of my son and Cheryl. My adorable granddaughter has such wonderful parents! Blessings, Grandmother, New Family, Perfect Match

Her naïve eyes blinked at me as I mentioned it.

“I wanted to highlight the miracle-makers. You grasp.”

Not even a little. I stood there staring at the woman I believed I had a nice relationship with, wondering if it was all a lie.

Cheryl and I had coffee, and she said something that chilled me.

“Linda’s been calling me,” Cheryl whispered. She wants to shop with me for the baby. She keeps sending me odd texts about how Jake and I have excellent parenting chemistry and how I’m natural with Christina.

Chest constricted. “What?”

“I told her you’re the mother and I don’t parent Christina.” Cheryl’s voice lowered further. “She laughed, Mandy.”

It was my first time saying, “She doesn’t see me as Christina’s mom.”

The words were bitter, yet saying them felt like breathing after months of holding my air.

It frightens me! Cheryl said, “She’s writing me into a story that doesn’t exist.” Despite being your daughter, Christina acts like family.

Cheryl was right, but I couldn’t stop it.

“I’ll ask Jake to talk to her,” I said.

“Thanks,” Cheryl groaned. Linda used to be kind, but now she seems detached from reality. You don’t think she has early dementia?

Bitter laughter. “I think she’s showing her true colors.”

Unfortunately, Christina’s first birthday party reinforced my point.

My night before was spent curling ribbons and packaging homemade favors in pink bags until one in the morning. We laughed as we hadn’t in months while my spouse stole cupcake frosting.

Everything was OK until Linda came an hour late, blowing air kisses and hugging Cheryl before handing me a huge, tissue-filled gift bag.

“This is special from Grandma. Open it immediately, honey. Everyone should see.”

As I pulled out a heavy picture frame from the bag, tissue paper crinkled throughout the room.

Leaning in, guests’ bright faces faded as they examined the sight behind the glass.

Cheryl hugging Christina while Jake held her shoulders was a unique illustration. They looked like a lovely family on our front porch.

I was gone.

The room fell silent.

Jake squinted as Cheryl put her palm to her lips, unable to comprehend what he saw.

“What’s this, Mom?” Jake murmured. Where’s Mandy?

MIL shrugged like a teen caught skipping school. “I just wanted to capture her creators’ bond. Isn’t the biological relationship crucial?

She stopped to allow her words sink in before smiling at me. “Mandy, you’re part of her life in your own special way. Like the babysitter.”

I felt like the roof had crumbled. I glanced at Linda’s sugary grin and then the illustration.

Then I understood this would never end unless I stopped it.

I put the framed illustration back in the gift bag and gave it to Jake. Turning, I faced Linda.

You must depart. Now.”

Nervously, she laughed. “You’re exaggerating. Just a picture.”

“It’s not just a picture,” I remarked, staying calm despite my wrath. “It’s another of your deliberate attempts to erase me from my family’s story.”

“Your family history?” Raising an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, let’s be honest about who started this family.”

My voice was steady. “You can leave quietly or I’ll have someone walk you out.”

Her face became red as she puffed up in anger. Jake intervened before she spoke.

He pushed her gift back into her hands and added, “Take this with you.” We don’t want it.”

Her face sank. She grabbed the present bag and left, mumbling.

My in-laws texted me that evening, chastising me for spoiling Christina’s celebration, being harsh to Linda, and embarrassing her in public.

My husband seized my hand. I should have stopped months ago. Nothing was ruined. Family was safeguarded by you.”

Unexpected shame came in: Was I too harsh?