After giving birth to our twin daughters, Ella and Sophie, I thought Derek would finally prioritize us. But instead of picking us up from the hospital, he bailed—said his mom, Lorraine, had chest pains and needed him. I took a taxi home, only to find my things dumped on the lawn and a cruel note: “Get out of here with your little moochers. I know everything. – Derek.”

Shocked, I called him—voicemail. Desperate, I called my mom. She rushed over and took us in. The next day, I went back to our house and found Lorraine, perfectly healthy, sipping tea. She smirked and confessed: she faked being sick, took Derek’s phone, and tricked him into leaving me. Why? Because I “failed” to give the family a boy.

Furious, I rushed to the hospital. Derek was frantic—he hadn’t known what happened. When I told him, his shock turned to rage. We returned home and confronted her. Derek told her off—“If you want sons, go make them yourself!”—and kicked her out.

That night, she left. Derek apologized, promised to do better, and finally, he chose us.