My husband, Marcin, convinced me to have four children with him through IVF. After they were born, I realized each one looked exactly like one of his four ex-girlfriends. When one of his friends asked him about it in private, Marcin couldn’t help but reveal his grand design. "I couldn't bear to just let them go," he'd said with a smug grin. "Think of the children as... parting gifts." His friend was stunned. "What if your wife finds out?" Marcin just shrugged. "So what if she does? She took their spot, didn't she? The least she can do is contribute something." 1 When I married Marcin, he insisted we use IVF. He said he wanted the best for our future children, genetically speaking, and I agreed. Using a lab to screen the embryos meant our children would be healthier, smarter. The procedure was a success. We had quadruplets: two boys and two girls. Marcin was ecstatic. "One shot, four birds," he crowed. "A truly grand gift." "I get the 'four birds' part," I said, my voice flat, "but what do you mean by 'gift'?" "Oh," he stammered, a flicker of panic in his eyes. "I just mean—they're a gift from heaven, a gift to us…" Before he could finish his clumsy explanation, my best friend, Sarah, burst into the room, all excitement and congratulations. Marcin used the interruption to slip away. Sarah cooed over the four bassinets, but then her expression shifted to one of confusion. "This is strange," she murmured, looking from the babies to me. "What's strange?" "Well… none of them look a thing like either of you." A cool, tight smile formed on my lips. "You have a good eye." The look on my face must have startled her. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Claire… don't tell me these four babies have nothing to do with you." "You're right," I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. "None of them are mine." "What!?" Sarah gasped. "When did you find out?" "Just before the delivery. I overheard Marcin bragging to one of his buddies." "Then why did you go through with it? Why did you give birth to them?" "I was about to go into labor, Sarah. It was too late to do anything." "So why haven't you divorced him?" she demanded, her voice rising in outrage. "Divorce?" The corner of my mouth twitched upwards. "Oh, I'm not letting Marcin off the hook that easily. He made me a vessel for other women's children, humiliated me in the most intimate way possible. He made me suffer. Why would I ever grant him a clean break?" As the children grew, their features became more defined, and the questions from friends and family grew more frequent. "Are you sure there wasn't a mix-up at the clinic?" they'd ask, their eyes darting between me, Marcin, and the four children who bore no resemblance to us. Marcin would just flash a mysterious, knowing smile. I would pretend not to hear. One afternoon, Sarah called me for an urgent coffee. She slid a small stack of photos across the table. "I did some digging," she said, her voice grim. "These are his four exes." I picked them up. Four young women stared back at me from the glossy prints. Each one was a startlingly clear blueprint for one of my children. "There's no doubt about it," Sarah said, her hands clenched into fists. "He swapped your eggs for theirs during the IVF process. All four of them." She shook her head in disbelief. "Marcin always seemed so gentle, so devoted to you. I can't believe he's such a scumbag. No, not a scumbag—he's the absolute scum of the earth…" Her anger was a wildfire. "If I were you, I'd smother those four babies in their sleep and then stab that bastard Marcin with a kitchen knife. It would be a crime of passion! You'd get a few years, tops. Who cares? At least you'd have your revenge." I placed the photos down, one by one. "No," I said, my voice low and deliberate. "There are far crueler ways to destroy a man." Time passed. The children turned one. They were walking now, chattering their first words. The resemblance to the women in the photographs was uncanny. Even Marcin's friends started noticing. One finally cornered him and asked what was going on. Marcin, flushed with pride, couldn't resist revealing his master plan. "I couldn't bear to just let them go," he'd said. "Think of the children as... parting gifts for each of them." His friend was floored. "What if your wife finds out the truth?" Marcin laughed it off. "So what? She took their spot. It's only right she contributes something." Then, his mother arrived from her small town back in the Midwest. She stormed through the door without so much as a hello. "You have children and you don't even bother to tell me?" she snapped at Marcin. "Have you forgotten you even have a mother?" But then the four toddlers swarmed her, shouting "Grandma! Grandma!" and her anger melted away. Her face broke into a wide, beaming smile. She turned to me. "Claire, my dear, you're amazing! Four at once! The ancestors of the Miller family will be thanking you for generations." "It wasn't my talent," I replied evenly. "It was your son's." The nuance was lost on her. She turned back to the children, scooping them up one by one, her heart overflowing with joy. "Come, let Grandma see who these little treasures look like." She studied each child's face, her smile slowly fading and hardening into a suspicious frown. She pulled Marcin into the next room. I heard their hushed, urgent whispers. "Marcin, why don't any of these children look like you or Claire? Are you sure she hasn't been… seeing someone else?" Marcin scoffed. "Her? She wouldn't have the guts." "Then what is it?" He leaned in and whispered the whole story in her ear. Her face lit up with a conspiratorial glee. "My boy! You're a genius! What a brilliant plan!" Then, a shadow of caution crossed her face. She glanced nervously toward the door. "Does she know?" "I don't think she has a clue." "You're too careless!" his mother chided. "You can't hide something like this forever. She's bound to find out. What if she goes crazy and tries to harm our four precious grandchildren?" Marcin let out another dismissive snort. "She wouldn't dare." "A woman scorned is capable of anything," his mother insisted. "You need to test her. Find out where her head is at." "You're right, Mom. I'll listen to you." I watched the whole scene unfold through the crack in the door, a cold, silent laugh blooming in my chest. Like mother, like son. So that’s where Marcin got his charming personality. He wanted to test me? Fine. I was eager to see what he had in mind. The next day, for the first time in our marriage, Marcin didn't sleep in. He was up at the crack of dawn, not to rush to the office, but to make breakfast. After plating the food, he did something even stranger: he opened a bottle of red wine. "My love," he said, raising a glass. "You work so hard taking care of our four children. I must toast to you." I smiled sweetly. "I'm caring for my own children, not someone else's. It's no hardship at all." Marcin chuckled, a little too loudly. "Still, four is a handful, and I'm so busy with work. I wish I could help more." I put down my fork and met his gaze. "You're acting very strange today, Marcin. Did you happen to hear some… gossip?" He stammered, choosing his words carefully. "Y-you heard it too?" I slammed my bowl onto the table, my expression hardening. "It's a serious matter. How could I not have heard?" "Alright, fine!" He took a deep breath, as if bracing for a fight. "People are saying the kids don't look like us. They're saying that during the IVF, I might have… swapped your eggs for—" "They came from my body," I interrupted, my voice firm. "It doesn't matter if they don't look like me." He froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're not… afraid they might not be biologically yours?" A genuine, warm smile spread across my face for the first time in a year. I knew this moment was coming. He couldn't hold it in forever. The trap was set. It was time to spring it. "Well," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Shouldn't you be compensating me for all my trouble?" "Of course! Of course!" he exclaimed, relief flooding his face. He was overjoyed. "Oh, Claire! I had no idea you were so enlightened, so understanding! This is wonderful. I knew you wouldn't let me down." Giddy with relief, he poured himself another glass of wine, and then another. Soon, the drunken truth came spilling out. "Do you know why I never filed our marriage license?" he slurred, pointing a wobbly finger at me. "I was testing you. This whole time. I wanted to see if you were worthy." He grinned, a sloppy, triumphant expression. "And you are. You passed the test. I'm very, very satisfied with you." Seeing him completely wasted, I let my own smile turn sharp. "So, how will you compensate me? With money… or with your life?" He roared with laughter. "Haha! It's not often you make jokes like that, my love. But whether you want my money or my life, I'd give it to you willingly. Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we're going to City Hall and making this official. I'm going to marry you, Claire." "Take me to City Hall?" I purred. "Are you sure you don't want to live a few more years?" Marcin just laughed harder. "You're hilarious! I never knew you had such a dark sense of humor." "You think I'm joking?" I said, my smile unwavering. "You should be very, very sure about that." "Fine," he declared grandly. "For my four children, I'd happily give up a few years of my life." "Since you've made up your mind," I said smoothly, "I'll see you at the courthouse tomorrow." He didn't say another word, just let out a loud, wine-soaked burp and staggered off to bed. Deep in the night, his snores were punctuated by muffled, triumphant whispers. "...Finally... got her... locked down... yes... oh, yes..." I listened from the doorway, a chill spreading through my veins. You think this feels good, Marcin? I thought. You have no idea what true satisfaction feels like. But don't worry. You'll find out soon enough. True to his word, the next morning, Marcin took me to the courthouse and we signed the papers. We were legally married. Back home, he tossed a thick folder onto the coffee table in front of me. "Go on, celebrate. Thirty percent of the company is officially yours." I glanced at the stock certificates. His company was worth two hundred million dollars. "We're a married couple now," I said calmly. "Legally, I should be entitled to fifty percent. Where did the other twenty percent go?" "I've allocated ten percent to each of the four children. That's forty percent off the top. We split the remaining sixty percent, fifty-fifty." "You're so generous to them," I said, my voice dripping with an irony he completely missed. "Their mothers must be so grateful." "These children are my gifts to them," he said, puffing out his chest. "A guarantee for their future." "You're a truly wonderful man to your ex-girlfriends." "What can I say?" he shrugged. "I'm a man who takes responsibility. I have to see things through with every single one of them." I fought back the urge to gag. "Men with your sense of responsibility are a rare breed these days." "Don't start flattering me just yet, Claire," he said, gathering the documents. "You still need to raise those four children. This thirty percent is only yours if you continue to perform well." I feigned confusion. "But you said the shares were gifts for them. Shouldn't you be giving them to their mothers?" "It's not the right time," he said dismissively. "When will it be the right time?" "Now is not the right time." "Why not?" He was losing patience. "I have to think about them!" he snapped. "They're still young, they're dating, trying to find husbands. How is it going to look if they suddenly have a child to deal with?" "Oh, I see," I said, my face a mask of dawning understanding. "You're so thoughtful." "You stole their place," he said, his voice turning cold and hard. "You have to make some sacrifices. There will be… difficult moments ahead. You'll have to be prepared for that. But I trust you'll handle it with the same grace you've shown so far. Don't disappoint me." With that, he walked out the door. Soon enough, the "difficult moments" he'd warned me about began to arrive. One evening, Marcin came home with a woman in tow. I recognized her instantly from one of the photos. It was Chloe. She marched over to the playpen, picked up one of the boys, and immediately began comparing him to the other three. Her brow furrowed in anger. "Why is my son thinner than the others?" she demanded, whirling on me. She jabbed a finger in my face. "What kind of incompetent nanny are you? Don't you understand the concept of fairness? My child should be the biggest and healthiest of the lot, not the scrawniest!" She dug into her designer handbag, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and threw it in my face. "This is about money, isn't it? Fine! Take it! Go buy my son the most expensive supplements you can find." Throughout this tirade, Marcin just stood there with a weak, placating smile. "Chloe's just like that," he said to me afterward. "You're the bigger person here, Claire. You have to be patient with her." A few days later, another woman showed up. Isla. She went through the same routine, comparing her daughter to the other children. When she was done, she turned and slapped me hard across the face. Then she rounded on Marcin. "This is the 'graceful' and 'capable' wife you found?" she spat. Marcin stammered, "Isla, it was an oversight. I'll have a serious talk with her—" "Save it," she cut him off. "My daughter will be better cared for than the other three. See to it." In the weeks that followed, the other two mothers made their appearances as well. Each one was a storm of insults and threats, warning me of the dire consequences I'd face if I didn't prioritize their child. Through it all, I remained silent. I endured. And Marcin was, once again, deeply satisfied with my performance. He praised me for being such a smart woman, his praise laced with a familiar, menacing undertone. "You hit the jackpot marrying a CEO like me," he'd say. "Just keep me happy, Claire. That's all you have to do. Anything else would be foolish. And you're not a foolish woman, are you?" Word began to spread. The story of the corporate wife raising her husband's love children with his four ex-girlfriends became the juiciest piece of gossip in our social circle. How pathetic can one woman be? I can't imagine what's going through her head. To endure that kind of humiliation just to be a rich man's wife... it's unbelievable. Sarah came over, practically vibrating with rage. "Where's the fight you promised me?" she hissed. "All I see is you becoming a doormat!" I didn't answer her directly. I walked to the window and listened to the melancholy chirp of the late-summer cicadas. "Patience, my friend," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
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