“I Refused to Carry My Sister’s Baby, and Now Her Husband Thinks He Can Force Me to Give Him a Child”

I’m thirty years old, and I have an identical twin sister named Stacy. Our story is complicated, but I never imagined it would turn into something like this. Our mother died giving birth to us, so we were raised by our dad alone. He did his best, but the absence of our mom was always felt, like a quiet shadow that followed us through everything.

Stacy and I have always been very different, even though we look exactly the same. She was the kind of girl who dreamed about being a wife and a mother since we were little. She used to draw pictures of her future wedding and pick out baby names when we were only ten. I, on the other hand, loved reading, traveling, and doing things on my own. I became a flight attendant because I love freedom and meeting new people. I’ve also been trying to publish my first novel.

Stacy married Jeff eight years ago. He’s tall, confident, and always wants things to go his way. I’ve been with my boyfriend, Mike, for three years. He’s calm, kind, and very protective of me.

For years, Stacy has been trying to have a baby. It’s been her dream since forever. Sadly, she had a miscarriage early in her marriage, and since then, she hasn’t been able to get pregnant again. She and Jeff have spent thousands of dollars on IVF and other fertility treatments, but nothing worked. After five years of disappointment, they started talking about other ways to have a child.

But Stacy refused to adopt. She kept saying she wanted a baby with her DNA and Jeff’s DNA — her exact words.

Three weeks ago, she came to my house like she often does. We were sitting on the couch watching Modern Family and talking about random things when she suddenly turned serious. “I need to ask you something important,” she said. “I have to do it before I lose my courage.”

Her tone made me nervous. Then she said it. “Could you be my surrogate?”

At first, I thought I misunderstood. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know what a surrogate is,” she said quickly. “I need you to carry my baby.”

I froze. I wasn’t expecting that. I told her gently what she already knew — that I’ve never wanted kids. Maybe it’s because of how we were born, maybe it’s just who I am, but I’ve never imagined myself as a mother. I offered something else instead. I told her she could have my eggs if she wanted, as many as she needed. But I couldn’t carry the pregnancy myself.

The moment I said that, her face changed. She got angry — really angry. Her face turned red, and she started shouting that I was jealous, cruel, and selfish. She said I was refusing to do “one small thing” for her. I didn’t want to make her even angrier, but I asked something that had been on my mind: she had always said she wanted more than four kids. Was I supposed to carry all of them for her?

She screamed that if I wouldn’t do this one thing, I wasn’t a real sister. Then she grabbed a picture of us from my shelf, smashed it on the floor, and ran out.

After that, she only sent me strange messages — photos of her old diaries and vision boards from childhood, saying I was “ruining her family’s future.” It made me feel sick and guilty. I even started thinking about giving in, just to make peace.

A few nights later, my dad called and asked me to come over for dinner. I knew Stacy had talked to him. Before I left, I told Mike everything. He said, “I’ll stand by you no matter what, but if you’re doing this because of pressure, I can’t support it.” He was right.

When we got to my dad’s house, Stacy and Jeff were already there. I greeted both of them, but only Stacy replied. Jeff just stared at me with this awful, disgusted look and shook Mike’s hand instead. We all sat down at the table. The silence was unbearable until my dad said, “Somebody start talking. We need to fix this.”

I took a deep breath and said I had done some research and had more concerns. I asked Stacy what exactly being a surrogate for her would look like. Her eyes lit up. “So you’re agreeing?” she asked, smiling through her tears.

“No,” I said, “I just want to understand.”

She started crying harder. I told her that doctors usually don’t let women who’ve never had children before become surrogates. “I know,” she said quickly. “We’d go to a private clinic. You and Jeff could pretend to be a couple. Once you’re pregnant, we’d transfer you to my doctor.”

My dad immediately spoke up. “Stacy, asking your sister to do something that doctors would deny is not how motherhood should begin.”

You could tell he was trying to stay neutral, but it was clear he didn’t approve. He asked Stacy why she couldn’t just use a professional surrogate. That’s when Jeff exploded.

“Don’t attack my wife!” he shouted. “Talk to your selfish daughter about why she won’t help her own sister!”

The room erupted. Mike stood up and told Jeff to stop talking to me like that. My dad told Jeff to leave if he couldn’t control himself. Stacy was crying, begging me to agree.

“Stacy,” I said softly, shaking, “if I could take your place, I would. But I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

I had never said that out loud before.

The argument went nowhere. Jeff was told to leave. Stacy asked me to talk with her outside before she followed him.

On the porch, she apologized for Jeff’s behavior, saying he was just stressed. I told her she didn’t need to apologize for him. Then she whispered, “You don’t understand.”

When I asked her to explain, she finally told me what had been happening. Jeff’s parents had made a cruel joke at dinner, calling her a “murderer” because of her miscarriage. When she asked Jeff why he didn’t defend her, he said, “Because they’re right.”

He told her she needed to make it right — that she had to give him a child who shared both their DNA. She said that when she mentioned the surrogate idea, Jeff seemed thrilled. But it felt like he had planted the thought in her head all along.

She said he hadn’t been this “excited” since before the miscarriage and begged me to help bring back their happiness. I told her nothing about this was normal. But before we could say more, Jeff started honking from the car, shouting for her to hurry.

After that night, I decided I couldn’t even donate my eggs anymore. There was no way I would ever let Jeff’s child grow inside me.

A few days later, during a football game at my dad’s house, Stacy showed up again. She asked Dad to go outside to talk to Jeff. Dad refused, saying Jeff could either come in and apologize or wait. She left without saying another word.

After the game, I went outside and found two flat tires and a shattered car window. My dad helped me tow the car into his garage and lent me his truck. I called Stacy, but she didn’t answer. I texted her instead: “Loving someone shouldn’t mean destroying your family in the process.”

Her reply came a few minutes later: “My family is already destroyed. You’re just refusing to help me fix it.”

That message gave me chills.

On my way home, I noticed a car following me. I recognized it — Jeff’s mother’s car. I called Mike, panicking, and asked him to meet me. When I parked in my driveway, the car stopped behind me. Jeff got out and started walking toward me.

“I just want to apologize!” he shouted. Mike arrived just then, jumped out of his car, and told Jeff to back off. They argued until Jeff got in his car and drove off, hitting Mike’s bumper as he left.

That night, I couldn’t stay home. I packed my things and went to Mike’s place. But even there, I noticed other cars following me — a red one, then a black one. Whenever I drove toward the police station, they disappeared.

A few days later, I went to brunch with friends. A waiter came to me and said, “Your husband is outside, there’s an emergency.” I thought it was Mike — but it was Jeff. I quietly told him to leave. He said, “I just wanted to say sorry.”

We stepped outside. He apologized again, then suddenly reached for my stomach. I stepped back. “You need to stop this,” I said. “You’re stalking me.”

As I turned to go inside, he grabbed a handful of my hair. “Don’t you walk away from me!” he shouted. People rushed to help, and he ran before the police came.

He was arrested two days later for trying to get into my workplace — he told security he was my husband and that there was an emergency. He got bailed out and started sending me disgusting texts.

My sister finally left him after that scene. She moved in with our dad, but she kept begging me to drop the charges. She said he “wasn’t himself.”

The messages continued from random numbers. He said he would find me, get me pregnant, and I’d be “his forever.” I told the police, but they said they couldn’t prove it was him.

I was terrified. Mike started driving me everywhere. I barely slept. Every time Jeff texted, I sent screenshots to Stacy. My dad told me to stop, saying it was too hard on her, but I wanted her to see what he was really doing.

At the police’s suggestion, I unblocked Jeff’s real number so they could trace it. The threats kept coming. I stopped working, moved in fully with Mike, and tried to stay safe.

Then, one afternoon while grocery shopping, someone touched my back. It was Jeff. He smiled and said, “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” He acted calm, like nothing had happened, and people nearby believed him. I couldn’t even speak.

The next day, my apartment was broken into. Everything was destroyed. The day after, I got a text from an unknown number: “It’ll only get worse.”

I felt like I was living in a nightmare. Stacy kept insisting Jeff was out of state, “trying to get his head straight.” I didn’t believe it.

Then, a miracle — Stacy called me crying. She said she had followed Jeff and discovered he was stalking me. She went to the police and told them everything. We talked for five hours. She said she finally understood how dangerous he was and that she was sorry. She admitted that part of her was still shocked I had said no, but she now realized she had been manipulated by him.

Later, Dad told me she had found real proof that Jeff had broken into my home — and that she had hesitated to go to the police because she was scared. He forced her to report it.

The police set up surveillance for me. They asked if they could have an undercover agent follow me to catch Jeff in the act. Within two hours, they caught him tailing me again.

He was arrested right there. I was shaking when they called to tell me.

I cried that night — out of fear, out of relief. Then I drank too many margaritas to calm down.

The detective said I’d be hearing from the district attorney’s office soon. I don’t know how long he’ll be locked up, but I hope his phone proves it was him sending all those messages.

Now, I’m finally going back to work after taking a long break. My first flight is this week. I’m living with Mike — who’s now my fiancé, because he proposed when I felt too scared to face the world alone.

This Sunday, we watched football at my dad’s house with Stacy, and for the first time in months, everything felt peaceful again.

I hope I never have to relive this nightmare or tell this story again. But I’m grateful to finally feel safe.