To honor their father’s last wish, two young girls visit his grave on his birthday to show him their cute new dresses. Near the headstone, they spot two beautifully wrapped boxes with their names on them, not knowing what surprises are inside.
Six-year-old Isla and her sister, Madison, who is eight, missed their dad, Brian, deeply. Since he had passed away, their lives felt different. They no longer sneaked cookies and ice cream from the kitchen at night, teamed up to tease their mom, or went shopping like they used to. Without Daddy Brian, those little adventures just weren’t the same.
“You’re spoiling those girls, Brian!” his wife, Linda, would often say with a laugh. “Why do you always gang up against me? I know you’re sneaking them treats from the pantry!”
“Well, I’ll spoil them for the rest of my life!” Brian would say, smiling widely. “They will always come first for me as long as I live! I’m sorry, honey, but you’ve got competition! And you know, I love all my girls—including you,” he’d say, hugging her.
Brian was that kind of person, always balancing everything with love. He was the perfect family man. But after he passed, everything changed. Isla and Madison grew quiet, and Linda, his wife, struggled to cope with his loss.
Linda’s last memories of Brian were heartbreaking. She watched him lose a battle to stage four cancer, feeling helpless. Doctors tried their best, but the illness took him away. Brian’s health kept getting worse, and one morning, he didn’t wake up. Isla and Madison had slept beside him in the hospital the night before, as Brian had asked. He probably sensed it was his last night with them.
At 4 a.m. the next day, Linda called the doctors, worried. They gently informed her, “Time of death: 4 a.m. Tuesday…” Linda was devastated, staring as they covered Brian’s face with a white hospital sheet.
After his death, Linda couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. Her daughters, though, were braver—they attended his funeral. Linda, however, couldn’t bear to watch him being buried.
One of Brian’s last wishes was for his girls to visit him on his birthday, wearing their best outfits. “I want my little girls to look their prettiest. You must promise to visit me,” he had said. So, the day before his birthday, the girls asked Linda to take them shopping.
“Mommy,” Isla said, “Daddy loved my red dress. He got me one for my birthday. I want a red dress.”
“You can pick for me, Mom,” Madison added. “I want it to be Dad’s favorite color.”
Linda hesitated, still in grief. “I—I don’t think I can, girls,” she said, trying to avoid the topic.
“But we need to visit Daddy!” Isla insisted. “He wanted us to wear something pretty on his birthday.”
Linda’s heart softened, realizing she’d forgotten his birthday. “What did he ask you?” she asked, teary-eyed.
“Daddy wanted to see us in pretty dresses on his birthday,” Isla replied. “We have to go shopping, Mommy!”
Linda hadn’t known this was Brian’s last wish. Madison explained, “The night before he died, he held our hands and asked. Please, Mom? Isla misses Daddy a lot.”
Madison was wise for her age, sensing how important this was. Finally, she convinced Linda to go shopping.
“Alright,” Linda said. “Let’s get you both the prettiest outfits so Daddy knows what he’s missing!” She burst into tears, and her daughters hugged her.
“Dad wouldn’t want you to be sad, Mom,” Madison whispered.
The next day, on Brian’s birthday, the girls dressed up and walked hand-in-hand to his grave, with Linda following behind.
When they reached his grave, they spotted two wrapped boxes with their names on them. A small note on top said they were from Brian.
“Mommy!” Isla called out. “Look, Daddy left us gifts! He’s so silly—he doesn’t know we should give him gifts on his birthday!”
Madison exchanged a glance with Linda, understanding that the gifts couldn’t really be from Brian.
” Well, maybe he missed his daughters,” Linda smiled. “Go ahead and open them.”
The girls unwrapped the boxes, and Linda tried to hide her tears. Isla beamed with joy, while Madison cried for the first time since Brian’s death.
Inside each box was a lovely pair of pink Mary Janes and a letter from Brian.
“Shoes!” Isla exclaimed. “My favorite color!”
The letter read:
“My prettiest girls,
The angels here say you’re the most beautiful girls ever. I wanted to make you even prettier, so I picked these shoes. I hope you like them.
Remember, I’m not around you, but I’m always in your heart. I know you’re not sneaking cookies anymore. Don’t tell Mommy, but I saw her filling the pantry with cookies again! Next time, I want to hear stories about how you managed to sneak some. Just because Daddy isn’t there doesn’t mean you have to be perfectly good all the time.
Thank you for visiting me, and happy birthday to my beautiful girls. Daddy loves you and misses you.
With love,
Brian.”
“That’s too much to read!” Isla said. “Madison, what did Daddy say?”
Madison hugged her tightly. “He said he’s happy and wants us to be happy, too. He misses us. Thank you for this, Mom,” she added, knowing Linda was behind the gifts.
Linda smiled, grateful for her girls, who helped her step out of her grief and gave her the strength to honor Brian’s memory.
I Became a Surrogate for My Sister & Her Husband — When They Saw the Baby, They Yelled, ‘This Isn’t the Baby We Expected’
What do you do when love turns conditional? When the baby you carried in your womb as a surrogate is deemed ‘unwanted’? Abigail dealt with that heartbreak when her sister and her husband saw the baby she birthed for them and shrieked: ‘THIS ISN’T THE BABY WE EXPECTED. WE DON’T WANT IT.’
I’ve always believed that love makes a family. Growing up, Rachel wasn’t just my little sister. She was my shadow, my confidante, and my other half. We shared everything: clothes, secrets, dreams, and an unshakeable belief that we’d raise our children together someday. But fate had other plans for Rachel. Her first miscarriage shattered her.
A sad woman leaning on a table | Source: Midjourney
I held her through the night as she sobbed with grief. The second miscarriage dimmed the light in her eyes. By the third, something in Rachel changed. She stopped talking about babies, stopped visiting friends with children, and stopped coming to my boys’ birthday parties.
It hurt watching her slip away, piece by piece.
I remember the day everything changed. It was my son Tommy’s seventh birthday party, and my other boys — Jack (10), Michael (8), and little David (4) — were racing around the backyard in superhero costumes.
Rachel stood at the kitchen window, watching them with such longing eyes that it hurt to see.
A heartbroken woman standing near the kitchen window | Source: Midjourney
“They’re getting so big,” she whispered, pressing her hand against the glass. “I keep thinking about how our kids were supposed to grow up together. Six rounds of IVF, Abby. Six. The doctors said I can no longer—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
That’s when her husband Jason stepped forward, his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “We’ve been talking to specialists. They suggested surrogacy.” He glanced at me meaningfully. “They said a biological sister would be ideal.”
The kitchen fell silent except for the distant shrieks of my children playing outside. Rachel turned to me, hope and fear warring in her eyes. “Abby, would you…” she started, then stopped, gathering courage. “Would you consider carrying our baby? I know it’s asking the impossible, but you’re my only hope. My last chance at becoming a mother.”
A distressed woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
My husband Luke, who had been quietly loading the dishwasher, straightened up. “A surrogate? That’s a big decision. We should all discuss this properly.”
That night, after the boys were asleep, Luke and I lay in bed, talking in whispers. “Four boys is already a handful,” he said, stroking my hair. “Another pregnancy, the risks, the emotional toll —”
“But every time I look at our boys,” I replied, “I think about Rachel watching from the sidelines. She deserves this, Luke. She deserves to know the joy we feel.”
A woman lying on the bed | Source: Midjourney
The decision wasn’t easy, but watching Rachel and Jason’s faces light up when we said yes made every doubt worthwhile. “You’re saving us,” Rachel sobbed, clinging to me. “You’re giving us everything.”
The pregnancy brought my sister back to life. She came to every appointment, painted the nursery herself, and spent hours talking to my growing belly. My boys got into the spirit too, arguing over who would be the best cousin.
“I’ll teach the baby baseball,” Jack would declare, while Michael insisted on reading bedtime stories. Tommy promised to share his superhero collection, and little David simply patted my belly and said, “My buddy is inside.”
A pregnant woman holding tiny baby shoes | Source: Unsplash
The time for the baby’s birth arrived. The contractions came in waves, each one stronger than the last, and still no sign of Rachel or Jason.
Luke paced the room, phone pressed to his ear. “Still no answer,” he said, worry etching lines around his eyes. “This isn’t like them.”
“Something must be wrong,” I gasped between contractions. “Rachel wouldn’t miss this. She’s wanted it too much, for too long.”
An anxious man holding a phone in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
Hours passed in a blur of pain and worry. The doctor’s steady voice guided me through each push, Luke’s hand anchoring me to reality.
And then, cutting through the fog of exhaustion, came the cry — strong, defiant, and beautiful.
“Congratulations,” the doctor beamed. “You have a healthy baby girl!”
She was perfect with delicate dark curls, a rosebud mouth, and tiny fingers curled into fists. As I held her, counting her perfect fingers and toes, I felt the same rush of love I’d experienced with each of my boys.
A newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
“Your mommy’s going to be so happy, princess,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
Two hours later, hurried footsteps in the hallway heralded Rachel and Jason’s arrival. The joy I expected to see on their faces was replaced by something else entirely. Something that made my heart stop.
Rachel’s eyes fixed on the baby, then darted to me, wide with horror. “The doctor just told us at the reception area. THIS ISN’T THE BABY WE EXPECTED,” she said, her voice shaking. “WE DON’T WANT IT.”
The words stung like poison. “What?” I whispered, instinctively pulling the baby closer. “Rachel, what are you saying?”
A woman pointing a finger | Source: Midjourney
“It’s a girl,” she said flatly as if those three words explained everything. “We wanted a boy. Jason needs a son.”
Jason stood rigid by the door, his face twisted with disappointment. “We assumed since you had four boys…” he paused, his jaw clenching. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
“Have you both lost your minds?” Luke’s voice trembled with fury. “This is your daughter. Your child. The one Abby carried for nine months. The one you’ve been dreaming of.”
“You don’t understand. Jason said he’d leave if I brought home a girl,” Rachel explained. “He said his family needs a son to carry on the name. He gave me a choice — him or…” She gestured helplessly at the baby.
A sad woman closing her eyes | Source: Midjourney
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked.
“You gave birth to four healthy boys, Abby. I didn’t think it was necessary to —”
“So you’d rather abandon your child?” The words ripped from my throat. “This innocent baby who’s done nothing wrong except be born female? What happened to my sister who used to say love makes a family?”
“We’ll find her a good home,” Rachel whispered, unable to meet my eyes. “A shelter maybe. Or someone who wants a girl.”
The baby stirred in my arms, her tiny hand wrapping around my finger. Rage and protectiveness surged through me. “GET OUT!” I yelled. “Get out until you remember what it means to be a mother. Until you remember who you are.”
An angry woman yelling | Source: Midjourney
“Abby, please!” Rachel reached out, but Luke stepped between us.
“You heard her. Leave. Think about what you’re doing. Think about who you’re becoming.”
The week that followed was a blur of emotions. My boys came to meet their cousin, their eyes beaming with innocence.
Jack, my oldest, looked at the baby with fierce protectiveness. “She’s adorable,” he declared. “Mom, can we take her home?”
Grayscale shot of a newborn baby girl yawning | Source: Unsplash
At that moment, looking down at her perfect face, something fierce and unshakeable crystallized in my heart. I made my decision right then and there. If Rachel and Jason couldn’t see past their prejudices, I would adopt the baby myself.
This precious child deserved more than just shelter, more than being cast aside for something as meaningless as gender. She deserved a family who would cherish her, and if her own parents couldn’t do that, then I would.
I already had four beautiful boys, and my heart had plenty of room for one more.
A mother holding a baby | Source: Unsplash
Days passed. Then, one rainy evening, Rachel appeared at our door. She looked different. Smaller somehow, but also stronger. Her wedding ring was gone.
“I made the wrong choice,” she said, watching baby Kelly fast asleep in my arms. “I let his prejudice poison everything. I chose him that day at the hospital because I was scared of being alone… scared of failing as a single mother.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch Kelly’s cheek. “But I’ve been dying inside, every minute, every single day, knowing my daughter is out there and I abandoned her.”
An emotional woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
Tears streamed down her face. “I told Jason I want a divorce. He said I was choosing a mistake over our marriage. But looking at her now, she’s not a mistake. She’s perfect. She’s my daughter, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for those first terrible hours.”
“It won’t be easy,” I warned, but Rachel’s eyes never left Kelly’s face.
“I know,” she whispered. “Will you help me? Will you teach me how to be the mother she deserves?”
Looking at my sister — broken but determined, scared but brave — I saw echoes of the girl who used to share all her dreams with me. “We’ll figure it out together,” I promised. “That’s what sisters do.”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
The months that followed proved both challenging and beautiful.
Rachel moved into a small apartment nearby, throwing herself into motherhood with the same determination she’d once shown in her career. My boys became Kelly’s fierce protectors, four honorary big brothers who doted on their baby cousin with boundless enthusiasm.
Tommy taught her to throw a ball before she could walk. Michael read her stories every afternoon. Jack appointed himself her personal bodyguard at family gatherings, while little David simply followed her around with devoted admiration.
Watching Rachel with Kelly now, you’d never guess their rocky start. The way she lights up when Kelly calls her “Mama,” the fierce pride in her eyes at every milestone, the gentle patience as she braids Kelly’s dark curls. It’s like watching a flower bloom in the desert.
A woman feeding her little daughter | Source: Unsplash
Sometimes, at family gatherings, I catch Rachel watching her daughter with love and regret. “I can’t believe I almost threw this away,” she whispered to me once, as we watched Kelly chase her cousins around the yard. “I can’t believe I let someone else’s prejudice blind me to what really matters.”
“What matters,” I told her, “is that when it really counted, you chose love. You chose her.”
Kelly might not have been the baby my sister and her ex-husband had expected, but she became something even more precious: the daughter who taught us all that family isn’t about meeting expectations or fulfilling someone else’s dreams. It’s about opening your heart wide enough to let love surprise you, change you, and make you better than you ever thought you could be.
A baby girl sitting against the backdrop of Christmas decorations | Source: Unsplash
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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