I thought I was catching a cheater. Instead, I was uncovering a plot to steal a child.
When my wife, Amanda, handed me the positive pregnancy test, wrapped in a little blue ribbon, my first emotion wasn’t joy. It was confusion. My second emotion was cold, hard rage.
See, Amanda didn’t know that six months ago, I had a vasectomy. We had been arguing about finances, and I decided to take control of our future quietly. The doctor had confirmed I was sterile. There was zero chance that baby was mine.
I hugged her. I smiled. I even squeezed out a tear. “I’m so happy,” I lied. Inside, I was already calculating the divorce settlement. I assumed she was sleeping with her personal trainer or maybe her old college boyfriend. I decided to play the long game. I wanted proof.
The Private Investigator
I hired a PI named Miller the next day. “Just find out who the guy is,” I told him. “I need photos, dates, everything.”
For weeks, I watched Amanda “grow.” She bought maternity clothes. She started complaining about morning sickness (which always seemed to happen when I was in the room). She even set up a nursery.
Two weeks later, Miller called me to meet at a diner. He looked disturbed. He didn’t slide a folder of photos across the table. He slid a single medical document.
“She’s not cheating on you, Dave,” Miller said quietly. “Then whose baby is it?” I asked. “There is no baby.”
He pointed to the document. It was a surgical record from five years ago—before I even met her. Procedure: Total Hysterectomy. Amanda had no uterus. She couldn’t carry a child. The “bump” I had been rubbing at night? Padding. The morning sickness? Acting.
“Why would she fake a pregnancy?” I asked, my blood running cold. “What is the end game?”
“I checked her browser history,” Miller said, looking grim. “She’s not looking for baby names. She’s been tracking someone.”
The Neighbor
We have neighbors, the millers (no relation to the PI), a young couple named Sarah and Ben. Sarah was pregnant—heavily pregnant. Due in three weeks.
Miller pulled up a map on his iPad. “Your wife has been tracking Sarah’s movements. She knows her OB-GYN appointments. She knows her husband’s work schedule. And get this—Amanda’s ‘due date’ is exactly the same day as Sarah’s.”
The pieces clicked together like a horrifying puzzle. Amanda wasn’t cheating. She was planning to harvest a baby. She was faking a pregnancy so that when she suddenly showed up with a newborn, no one would question where it came from. She planned to take Sarah’s baby. And usually, in these true crime stories, the mother doesn’t survive the theft.
The Intervention
I couldn’t just confront her. If she was delusional enough to plan a kidnapping (or worse), she was dangerous.
I went home early that day. Amanda was in the nursery, folding tiny onesies. She looked up and smiled, rubbing her fake belly. “Hey, Daddy,” she cooed.
It took everything I had not to vomit. “Hey,” I said. “We need to talk. I ran into Sarah today.”
Amanda’s smile faltered for a microsecond. “Oh? How is she?”
“She’s great,” I lied. “Actually, I invited her and Ben over for dinner tonight. Since you guys are due on the same day.”
“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Amanda stammered. “I’m not feeling well.”
“I insisted,” I said, stepping closer. “Because I also invited the police.”
The Breakdown
Amanda froze. “What?”
“I know about the hysterectomy, Amanda. I know about the tracking. And I know about the vasectomy I had six months ago.”
The color drained from her face. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just stared at me with dead, shark-like eyes. “You ruined it,” she whispered. “I had it all planned. We were going to be a family.”
“By stealing Sarah’s baby?” I yelled.
“She doesn’t deserve him!” Amanda shrieked, suddenly lunging at me. “She drinks coffee! She doesn’t take her vitamins! I would be a better mother!”
The Arrest
The police were already outside; I had texted them before I walked in. They heard the screaming and breached the door.
When they searched the house, they found a “birthing kit” in her closet. It didn’t contain towels and water. It contained sedatives, surgical scalpels, and duct tape.
She wasn’t just going to steal the baby. She was going to cut him out.
The Aftermath
Amanda is currently in a high-security forensic psychiatric ward. She has been diagnosed with pseudocyesis (phantom pregnancy) compounded by severe psychosis. She still believes she is pregnant.
I told Sarah and Ben everything. They moved away the next week. I don’t blame them.
As for me? I sold the house. I couldn’t sleep in a place where my wife had built a nursery for a murder victim. I live in a small apartment now, alone. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, thinking about how happy I was when she handed me that test, completely unaware that I was hugging a monster.
