I was 42, and I’d spent years saving every spare penny for IVF—my last chance to be a mom.
But the day I checked my account, my stomach dropped.
The balance was zero.
My sister had drained it dry… to pay for her third “dream wedding.”
I’d never been the “special” one. Not the prettiest. Not the most talented. I wasn’t the type people stopped to stare at.
I was the type who worked hard, saved quietly, and kept telling herself, “Later. I’ll do the things I want later.”
But “later” had come and gone.
And suddenly, I was 42. Alone.
When years passed with no luck and my husband started coming home less and less, it hit me like a freight train—
If I wanted a baby, I’d have to do it alone.
Either I took the leap now, or… I’d never do it at all.
“Sheesh, your husband left you, Lynn. Good riddance,” my mom muttered one night, not even looking up from her phone. “You saw it yourself—he never really tried.”
I stood at the kitchen table, my throat tight.
“And now you’re thinking about IVF?” my sister Jenna asked, her eyebrow shooting up.
“Yes. With a donor. I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“You’re not fifty, for God’s sake,” she scoffed. “You could still find a decent man.”
“I’m forty-two,” I said firmly. “And I’m ready to be a mom. I’ll do it alone.”
Mom stayed silent. Jenna rolled her eyes.
“You’re insane. Everyone’s living for themselves these days. Kids are shackles.”
I fired back, “Tell that to your two ex-husbands.”
“I’m just not afraid to start over. Unlike you, always acting like the world owes you something. And FYI—IVF costs a fortune.”
“I have savings,” I said. “And there’s our joint account—the one you and Dad set up for us years ago. I’ve been adding to it for a decade.”
Jenna flinched. Mom suddenly stood up and started wiping an already spotless counter.
I should have noticed then.
The next morning, I walked into the bank, clutching my handbag.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’d like to check the balance of a joint account under my name and my sister’s.”
The teller typed, glanced at the screen, and hesitated.
“The balance is zero.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are no funds. The entire amount was withdrawn five days ago.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. “Who withdrew it?”
“Both parties have access,” she said. “It was withdrawn by… Jenna M. Your sister.”
I don’t remember walking out. Everything was muffled.
The next thing I knew, I was pressing the buzzer at Jenna’s apartment.
The door swung open. Jenna stood there in silk pajamas, a latte in hand.
“Oh, Lynn! Come in. I was just thinking about calling you.”
“You emptied the account? All of it?”
“Yeah. Why?” she said, stepping aside like it was nothing.
“That money wasn’t just yours! It was mine too. I was saving for a baby!”
“Oh, don’t start,” she groaned. “I told you this baby-on-your-own idea was nuts.”
“I wasn’t asking for your blessing. I was counting on that money. My share would’ve covered IVF and maternity leave.”
“Yeah, well, a normal wedding costs money. A luxury wedding? Even more. This one’s going to be PERFECT. I’m not cutting corners.”
“You spent tens of thousands on… centerpieces and champagne toasts?”
She grinned and handed me a thick gold-foiled envelope. “Here’s your invitation.”
I stared at it. “You spent money on engraved invitations? These will end up in the trash!”
“You just don’t get it,” she said. “Everything has to be top-tier: floral walls, signature cocktails, live harpist during dinner.”
“I was trying to create a life, and you were planning a circus.”
“Oh my God, Lynn. Always so dramatic.”
“I saved for years while you blew through your second alimony on Pilates classes and scented candles.”
“I’m not going to apologize for living well! You want to be a single mom? Fine. But don’t act like the world owes you for it.”
Our mother appeared in the doorway. “Girls, really. Too early for yelling.”
“She stole from me!” I snapped. “The joint account you and Dad opened? I kept contributing. She drained it.”
“Lynn, please,” Mom sighed. “Jenna just wants to celebrate her new beginning. Don’t hold her back. Someone in this family deserves to feel joy.”
“I don’t? What about MY beginning?”
“You’ve always been resilient. You’ll figure it out. But Jenna… she needs this. And she needs us to be happy for her.”
“Happy? For the woman who robbed me?”
“Lynn, sweetheart…”
“No! I’m done being the one who copes.”
I walked out with the invitation in my fist like it was cursed.
She’d taken everything. But this wasn’t over.
I called Tyler—Jenna’s fiancé. We’d barely spoken before, but when I told him I needed to meet, he didn’t hesitate.
“If this is about Jenna, I’d rather know than guess,” he said.
We met at a sleek café. He stood when I arrived. “Lynn. You okay?”
“No,” I said. “And you won’t be either in about five minutes.”
“What’s going on?”
“Jenna emptied a joint account—mine and hers. It was for emergencies. I’d been saving for IVF.”
His jaw dropped. “Wait… what? She never mentioned that.”
“She took it all for the wedding. Five days ago.”
“That makes no sense,” he said slowly. “I’m paying for the wedding. Everything. She told me it was my gift to us.”
I stared. “You’re paying? For all of it?”
He pulled out his phone and showed me receipts. Venue, flowers, catering—every item paid from his account.
“So if you’re covering it, where’s my money?”
He looked up, pale. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
He swallowed hard. “If you learn anything… tell me.”
“I will,” I promised.
For a week, I played the perfect sister. I smiled, helped with her plans, told her I was “over it.” She believed me. She even handed me access to her schedule and emails.
And then one night, while she was passed out after too much prosecco, I opened her laptop.
Her inbox was chaos—bridal spam, invoices, random junk. But then I saw it:
RE: Divorce Proceedings – Gregory S.
Subject: “Final request before formal filing.”
I opened the attachment. My blood ran cold.
The next day, I walked into her bridal studio. She was on a pedestal, a stylist fussing over her dress.
“Lynn,” she said, eyeing me. “You look… intense.”
“I am.”
“What now?”
I handed her the printed email. She froze.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your inbox,” I said. “Don’t worry, I hesitated. But then I remembered—you didn’t hesitate before robbing me.”
“You had no right.”
“And you had no conscience. Greg doesn’t want to divorce you without dragging you to court. You cheated, Jenna. He’s demanding restitution. And he’s got evidence.”
Her face drained of color. “Keep your voice down!”
“I’ve tracked every move you’ve made. I saw the lawyer’s email you deleted. You’re hiding it from Tyler—planning to fix it after the wedding, once you’re legally Mrs. Number Three.”
“I was going to take care of it…”
“No. You were going to lie. Again. But now, you’re going to pay me back. Every cent. By Friday.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then Tyler gets the whole story. And maybe Mom gets to read the love notes you sent both of them in the same week.”
“You’re bluffing,” she whispered.
“Try me.”
By the time I got home, my phone buzzed. Incoming wire transfer. The exact amount.
I exhaled. My sister thought she could build a fantasy world out of lace and lies.
But I’d just pulled it apart—thread by thread.
One year later, I held my daughter in my arms.
Seven pounds, one ounce. Healthy. Beautiful. Mine.
And worth every battle I’d fought to bring her into the world.