My Husband Convinced Me to Be a Surrogate Twice – When He Paid His Mom’s Debt, He Left Me
When I agreed to become a surrogate, I told myself it was love. Love for my husband, Ethan. Love for our son. I didn’t realize I was selling my body until the check cleared—and even then, I convinced myself it was sacrifice, not exploitation.
Ethan framed it as “for us.” What he didn’t say was that it was really for his mother, drowning in debt from choices she’d made. Every spare dollar we earned vanished into her house. Vacations disappeared. Promises turned into “maybe next year.” Still, I stayed quiet. That’s what love teaches you to do—until it breaks you.
The first surrogacy felt manageable. The intended parents treated me with dignity, and Ethan played the supportive husband. When the baby was born, I felt proud. Relieved. I believed we were finally free.
Then Ethan asked for a second time.
My body hadn’t healed, but he talked about wiping out the rest of the debt, about peace, about our future. I said yes again—against my instincts. That pregnancy hollowed me out. He moved into the guest room. When I needed help, he reminded me I’d “agreed to this.”
After the second baby was born and the money cleared, Ethan left. He said I’d changed. That he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.
What he took years to learn, I learned slowly: I wasn’t broken—I was used.
Today, I’m rebuilding. I work with women like me. I tell the truth. I reclaimed my body, my voice, and my future.
And that’s something no one gets to take from me again.
