My MIL Is Pregnant With A Billionaire's Heir, Or So She Thinks

My mother-in-law got pregnant after wearing a stranger s dirty underwear.
Looking at the two stark lines on the pregnancy test, I saw our already precarious life teetering on the edge of a cliff.
My first instinct was to drag Brenda to a clinic.
Forget for a moment that the father was some random, unknown man.
Brenda was nearly fifty. She had one foot in the grave, making her a high-risk pregnancy of the highest order.
The urgency burned in my gut, but when I looked up, I saw Brenda and my husband, Dustin, exchange a glance.
It wasn t fear I saw in their eyes. It was a strange mix of nervousness and reluctance.
Brenda patted my shoulder, her face a mask of solemn concern. "Willa, honey, I can't. An abortion costs money. With both you and Dustin out of work, I can't be so heartless as to add to your burden."
I stared at her, my jaw slack with disbelief.
I couldn't wrap my head around it.
An abortion was too expensive, but raising a child was free?
But then I looked at her tired, wrinkled face, and a wave of pity washed over me.
Brenda had raised Dustin on her own, a life spent pinching every penny. She wouldn't even buy herself new underwear.
Hence her habit of "dumpster diving" for lightly used garments, which had led to this& situation. She d picked up a pair of men's briefs, still damp from their previous owner's& activities.
And just like that, she was pregnant.
She'd suffered enough in her life.
I insisted, my voice firm. "We'll take out a loan if we have to. We can't let you risk your health over ignorance."
Brenda panicked, backing away from me, her voice rising to a shrill cry. "I'm not having an abortion! I'm an old woman, I won't be a burden to you!"
Dustin stepped in, his brow furrowed. "Willa, stop. If Mom doesn't want to, we should respect her wishes."
He d always been a mama's boy, his mother's word was law.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Brenda glaring at me, her expression now full of suspicion and resentment, as if I were trying to harm her.

A flicker of confusion sparked in my mind. Her reaction was& extreme.
With her resisting so fiercely, I sighed and dropped it. For now.
That night, the TV droned on, announcing the winning Powerball numbers.
I glanced over.
My body went rigid. A tremor ran through me, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The numbers on the screen matched the ones on my ticket. Perfectly.
I had won. Ten million dollars.
Tears of joy streamed down my face. I bolted out of my chair, bursting to share the news with Dustin and Brenda.
With this money, Brenda wouldn't have to worry about the cost of a clinic visit anymore.
I reached their bedroom door, but stopped short. They were having a hushed, secret meeting.
Why were they whispering behind my back?
I peered through the crack in the door.
Brenda was caressing her flat stomach, a grin on her face that a sledgehammer couldn't wipe off. She was preening, boasting to her son.
"See? And you always told me I was unhygienic for picking up men's underwear. If I didn't like wearing dirty briefs, how would I have gotten pregnant with the city's top billionaire's baby?"
"I heard that illegitimate children have inheritance rights too. Once I give birth to this baby, our family is going to be rich!"
I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp.
Brenda was pregnant with the *billionaire's* child? Did she think she d found *his* underwear?
Dustin stared at his mother s belly, his own grin stretching from ear to ear.
"Mom, you're so lucky! If it's a boy, the child support alone will be in the millions. Not to mention the inheritance he could get down the line."
His eyes gleamed with a greedy light, a string of drool escaping his lips.
I bit back a cold laugh. They really thought rich people were idiots.

Brenda let out a smug chuckle, her tone dripping with venom. "And that Willa wanted to take me for an abortion. In her dreams. I'm carrying my little golden goose."
Dustin chimed in with a laugh. "Mom, Willa's just jealous of your good fortune. She's always been a pathetic loser."
His words sent a shiver of rage down my spine.
Brenda cackled, her wrinkled face resembling a withered chrysanthemum in the dim light. She caught her breath, then her expression hardened as she looked at Dustin.
"Son, when we were poor, we needed your wife to work and earn money. But now, our good days are coming."
A cold dread washed over me. I had a very bad feeling.
Sure enough, her beady eyes narrowed. "And we can't bring Willa along for the ride. You understand, don't you?"
Dustin's face turned grim. He nodded, spitting on the floor in disgust. "I get it, Mom. I'll find an excuse to divorce her in the next few days."
"She can share my struggles, but she sure as hell isn't sharing my fortune."
A layer of icy sweat broke out on my back. The chill was bone-deep.
I looked down at the ten-million-dollar lottery ticket in my hand and quietly tucked it away.
I curled my lip into a sneer. Fine. Divorce it is.
As if I couldn't live a good life without them.
But one question lingered. Why was Brenda so sure she was pregnant with the billionaire's child?
He hadn't even been in the country for the past year.
To uncover the truth, I started paying close attention to Brenda's every move.
I noticed that ever since she got pregnant, she'd been wearing the same single pair of men's underwear. Unwashed. Unchanged.
The stench was eye-watering. I couldn't stand it. "Brenda, you need to maintain your hygiene. You should change your underwear regularly."
She just sniffed disdainfully, her chest puffed out with pride. "I will not. This is my lucky, life-changing pair of briefs."
Not only did she refuse to change them, but she also started wearing ultra-low-rise jeans. The kind that exposed half her backside every time she bent over.
At first, I didn't get it.

Then I saw her at the park, gyrating her hips, pointing at her exposed waistband, and showing off to her gaggle of gossiping friends.
"See this? This is the billionaire's underwear. It's even got his name embroidered on it."
"Putting your name on your underwear, he must be afraid of thieves. Underwear costs money, you know. You have to protect your assets."
"I can't believe in this day and age, a billionaire is still so frugal. He must be a good man."
As she spoke, her eyes shone, and her old face flushed a girlish red.
Brenda's greatest love in life was penny-pinching, and she admired anyone who was a 'man of thrift'.
It was her kryptonite.
So& she d fallen in love?
I winced, forcing my gaze onto the offending garment. I squinted.
Hilarious. I didn't see any embroidered name.
But Brenda s conviction was unshakeable.
I followed her pointing finger and looked again. My eyes widened.
Oh, for crying out loud.
There, on the waistband, was a machine-printed brand logo: XX.
The briefs were so worn that the surrounding letters of the brand name had faded away, leaving only those two letters.
And by some cosmic joke, those two letters were the exact initials of the city s top billionaire.
A muscle in my cheek twitched.
Brenda had made a colossal, world-class blunder.
She d mistaken a brand logo for a custom embroidery and was now parading around, convinced she was gestating a tiny tycoon.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to suppress a laugh. Brenda was going to be the author of her own spectacular downfall.

Low education is deadlier than cancer.
I turned away and drove straight to the lottery office.
After taxes, my ten-million-dollar prize came out to a cool eight million.
Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life.
A giggle escaped my lips.
The realization that my money was now *my* money, that I wouldn't have to spend another cent on this family, was intoxicating.
I thought back to Dustin s cold words about divorce. The heartbreak I d felt just days ago now seemed ridiculous.
I had been a fool, willingly enduring misery for a fantasy of family.
I returned home, humming, ready to bring up the divorce myself.
As I approached the door, I saw a pair of women s stilettos I didn't recognize.
The door was ajar. I frowned and peered inside. My eyes went wide.
Inside, Dustin was wrapped around his "cousin," Tinsley.
My face fell.
Tinsley, the so-called cousin who visited far too often, always a little too touchy-feely with my husband.
I'd questioned Dustin about it before.
He d waved me off impatiently. "We're related by blood, Willa. How could anything happen? Can't you just be normal for once?"
And I, fool that I was, had believed him. I d convinced myself I was just being paranoid.
But right now, their mouths were glued together like they were sharing the last bit of oxygen on earth.
If I still believed his lies, I should probably donate my brain to science.
They finally broke apart.

Tinsley snuggled into Dustin's arms, examining her glittering nails. "Dustin, honey, can't you give me a little more spending money each month?" she whined.
Dustin sighed. "Isn't the thousand I give you every month enough?"
I frowned. A thousand a month? Our entire joint savings account didn't even have a thousand dollars in it.
Tinsley pouted, complaining about new clothes, bags, and makeup she needed.
Dustin caved, nodding reluctantly.
Tinsley beamed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so generous, Dustin. I bet Willa has no idea you and your mom have hundreds of thousands stashed away."
"It's hilarious watching her scrimp and save, worrying about every penny. I can barely keep a straight face."
A chill ran down my spine.
It was true. We had less than a grand in the bank. Ever since we both lost our jobs, I d been shedding hair from stress.
I d worked as a cleaner, a nanny, a street vendor anything to bring in a little extra cash.
Meanwhile, Dustin had a secret nest egg of half a million dollars. No wonder he was so lazy, so unconcerned about our survival.
He and Tinsley were probably laughing at me behind my back.
I was an idiot. I squeezed my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Dustin snorted. "That's not the only thing we've lied to her about."
I held my breath, my ears straining.
What else was he hiding?
Dustin grinned, squeezing Tinsley's hand. "Like the fact that you're not my cousin, baby. You're my girl. She doesn't know that either."
"The moron still calls you 'cousin' to your face. Watching her get played like a fiddle is the best show in town."
He slapped his thigh, roaring with laughter.
"Dustin, you've finally decided to divorce her and be with me for real?" Tinsley's voice was thick with emotion, her eyes shining with joy.

Dustin licked his teeth, his voice trembling with malicious glee. "Of course. The second she gets back, I'm ending it. You can mock her all you want. Let's drive her insane before the ink is even dry on the divorce papers."
Tinsley's face twisted into an ugly, eager sneer.
Looking at their triumphant faces, a torrent of hatred and fury surged through me.
My plan to initiate the divorce vanished.
Leaving now would be letting them win. It would be giving them exactly what they wanted.
How boring. I was going to stay. I was going to play this game and destroy them.
With my newfound wealth, I could play for as long as I wanted.
But how could I stop Dustin from divorcing me now that he was so eager?
I lowered my eyes, a plan already forming.
I smirked and threw the door open with a crash.
I wouldn't just make him drop the idea of divorce. I would make him beg me to stay. And I'd make him punish Tinsley himself.
The sudden noise made them jump apart like startled cats.
Tinsley shot me a venomous look, her voice a shrill weapon.
"Willa, there you are. God, you have no shame, do you? Clinging to Dustin when you're ancient history."
"Take a look in the mirror. You're not good enough for him."
"I'm begging you, have some self-respect. Sign the papers and get out of his life. Let him be free."
"He can't stand you anymore! He's going to divorce me and marry me! Get a clue and get lost!"
Her words were a machine-gun spray of insults.
I glanced at Dustin.
He wasn't pretending to be a neutral peacemaker anymore. He was watching the show with a smug, excited expression.

Brenda, drawn by the commotion, emerged from her room, her face alight with the same cruel interest.
No one was on my side. They were all waiting for my breakdown.
But I pretended not to hear a word Tinsley said. Instead, I held out a piece of paper to Dustin and Brenda.
I raised my voice, forcing a joyful tremor into it. "Dustin, Brenda, I got a job! A thousand a week! And guess what? It's at the billionaire's company!"
I put extra emphasis on the word "billionaire."
Their eyes lit up instantly.
Brenda may have thought she was carrying his child, but she had no way of actually contacting him.
And I had just handed her a golden ticket.
Brenda's face split into a wide, sycophantic grin. She grabbed my hands, her voice dripping with honey. "Oh, my darling Willa, you're amazing! I'm the luckiest mother-in-law in the world to have you."
Dustin nodded vigorously.
Seeing my plan had worked, I slapped my forehead as if in sudden realization. I turned to Tinsley. "Mom, Tinsley says Dustin is going to divorce me to marry her. Is that true?"
The joyous expressions on their faces froze.
I sighed dramatically, my voice full of feigned regret. "Well, Tinsley is right. I should know my place. Fine, Dustin and I will get a divorce. Tinsley can have him."
"I'll leave. Now that I have a job, I can support myself."
I turned as if to walk away.
Brenda lunged, grabbing my arm in a panic. "Willa! Who's been feeding you this nonsense? We're not getting a divorce!"
She was as frantic as an ant on a hot pan. If I left, her bridge to the billionaire would burn.
I paused, my gaze drifting pointedly towards Tinsley.
Brenda's face hardened. For the first time ever, she roared at Tinsley. "Tinsley! You say one more word of this nonsense and I'll tear your mouth off!"
I let out another long-suffering sigh. "But she keeps saying she wants to be the lady of the house. I should just let her."

Brenda immediately turned back to me, her smile nauseatingly sweet. "What 'lady of the house'? You misheard. She just meant she wants to come in and be your maid, to take care of you."
Her eyes shone with smug self-satisfaction. She thought she'd found the perfect solution.
After all, with me working and her needing to rest for her precious pregnancy, they would need a maid.
Tinsley's jaw dropped. Her face cycled through shades of white and green before she let out a furious shriek.
But Brenda was unmoved, shooting a sharp look at Dustin.
He understood instantly, grabbing a struggling, sobbing Tinsley and shoving her into the kitchen.
Seeing that I had finally dropped the topic of divorce, Brenda breathed a sigh of relief.
In the kitchen, Tinsley, her face a mask of rage, was cursing Brenda under her breath.
Dustin rushed to console her. "Baby, don't be angry. Mom's just thinking about our future."
Tinsley looked at him, baffled.
Dustin explained the whole "billionaire's baby" theory.
Tinsley shot to her feet, her eyes wide with shock.
"What? Brenda's pregnant with the billionaire's baby?"
She was so excited she was practically vibrating, her previous anger forgotten.
Dustin gave her a knowing look. "Yeah. Mom and I were worried about how to contact him. But now, with Willa working there, it's only a matter of time."
"Once we tell him he has a son, millions in child support will be the least of it. My little brother could even inherit his entire fortune one day."
Tinsley's eyes glittered with avarice. "Dustin, you and your mom are geniuses," she cooed.
The praise went straight to Dustin's head. He puffed out his chest.
"So for now, baby," he said, "you just have to play the part of the maid and put up with Willa. Once we get the money, our good life begins."
Tinsley nodded eagerly.

I watched her, practically dancing with joy, and a cold, dark smile touched my lips.
Let them be happy. The higher they climbed, the harder they would fall.
The next morning, Tinsley was a model of domestic efficiency, eagerly taking on all the household chores.
I pretended to go to work each day, but secretly, I was using my time and money to investigate the true identity of Brenda's baby daddy.
Brenda's pregnancy was a dramatic affair. She spent half her days hunched over the toilet, retching until her face turned a pale shade of green.
Dustin was a ball of anxiety.
I made a show of suggesting a hospital visit.
Tinsley just rolled her eyes, as if I were an ignorant child.
She patted Brenda's back, delivering her expert diagnosis.
"A rough pregnancy means it's a boy. Boys are just naturally more active. Girls are quiet."
"You're so lucky, Brenda. This one's definitely a boy."
The words were music to Brenda's ears. Her face lit up.
She shot me a look of pure contempt. "Willa, you've never been pregnant, so you wouldn't understand. A boy is supposed to be a handful. It means he's strong, that he'll be successful."
The greedy light in her eyes intensified.
If she gave birth to a successful son, she wouldn't just get child support. The billionaire might be so thrilled he'd hand over his entire empire.
Brenda was grinning from ear to ear.
I said nothing more.
You can't help those who don't want to be helped. You can only respect their choices, even if those choices are suicidal.
If Brenda wanted to walk off a cliff, I wasn't going to stand in her way.
By the fifth month, Brenda's belly was a small, tight drum.

And her suffering had escalated.
One evening, during dinner, she suddenly sprayed a mouthful of food across the table. She clutched her stomach, screaming, and collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony.
Terrified, Dustin rushed her to the hospital.
After a series of tests, the doctor's face was grim. "The fetus has XYY syndrome. A 'super-male'. And given your age, your body likely won't withstand the strain of the pregnancy and birth. We strongly advise you to terminate."
My heart skipped a beat. It all made sense now.
XYY syndrome. A rare genetic condition. Not only did these pregnancies wreak havoc on the mother, but the children born with it often had severe behavioral problems, including violent tendencies and antisocial personalities.
Bringing a child like that into the world was inviting disaster.
The whole family was stunned into silence.
Dustin looked from his mother to the doctor, his face a canvas of indecision. This baby was their lottery ticket.
But he was a mama's boy. He couldn't just ignore a threat to her life.
Tinsley, however, had no such conflict.
"No! Absolutely not!" she shrieked.
She'd been playing maid for months, all for the promise of a life of luxury. If the baby was gone, her dreams would be shattered.
She'd be stuck with Dustin and his meager thousand-a-month allowance. Her eyes burned with resentment.
The thought was unbearable.
And it wasn't just Tinsley. The same greedy calculus was running through Dustin's and Brenda's minds.
Tinsley grabbed Brenda's hand, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Brenda, don't listen to them. I've seen doctors like this before. They blow everything out of proportion to scare you into an abortion so they can pocket the money."
Brenda's gaze wavered. The thought of paying for an abortion was physically painful to her.
Tinsley pressed her advantage. "Are you going to trust some machine over the incredible luck of your own son? He chose you, Brenda. He's your miracle, come to lift you out of this miserable life."
That did it. Brenda was sold.

She squeezed Tinsley's hand. "You're right. He's my lucky star. These doctors are just jealous. They can't stand to see me succeed."
She turned on the doctor, her eyes bulging with malice. "You're just trying to trick me into killing my son! I'm going to report you! I'll have your license!"
The doctor stared, flabbergasted, then angry. "Ma'am, you're twenty weeks along. In a few more weeks, termination will be impossible. This is extremely dangerous."
Brenda was already craning her neck to read his name tag. I quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her view and gesturing for the doctor to leave.
You can't reason with a ghost on a mission. Let her march to her doom.
As they left the hospital, Tinsley and Brenda were already complaining about the "scam artists" and vowing never to return.
I followed behind them, my phone buzzing with a new message.
"Father of the child has been located."
During my fake workdays, I'd hired a private investigator.
After months of digging, he'd finally found him.
I read the file he sent over, my blood turning to ice.
Just as I'd suspected. The baby was a "super-male." And so was his father.
The owner of the underwear was a man named Rocco Gallo, a recently released convict.
The night Brenda found his underwear, Rocco had been stalking a college student.
Luckily, she had pepper spray and managed to escape.
Frustrated, Rocco had taken matters into his own hands. Afterward, he'd disgustedly stripped off his old briefs and tossed them in the trash.
Minutes later, Brenda, my scavenger mother-in-law, had come along and gleefully put on the still-warm underwear.
And by a grotesque twist of fate, got pregnant.
Men with XYY syndrome are often predisposed to antisocial behavior. They can be a cancer on society.
And Rocco Gallo was the king of them all.

He had a rap sheet a mile long, a connoisseur of stalking young women.
Several of his victims had dropped out of school, spiraling into depression. Their lives were ruined.
I clenched my jaw, my knuckles white.
Rocco Gallo was a monster.
I remembered reading an article once. Men like him, men full of bottomless malice, are always searching for weaker targets to unleash their violence upon.
They are incapable of kindness.
A creature like that shouldn't be allowed to roam the streets, preying on innocent girls.
Preying on the weak is no great feat. Why not pit a monster against another monster?
An idea began to form, cold and sharp in my mind.
Rocco was a "super-male," yes. But my mother-in-law, Brenda, was her own brand of super-villain.
Her specialty, besides hoarding junk, was tormenting the kind and the vulnerable.
Once, she'd publicly ripped the crop top off a young woman, screaming, "Little tramp, showing off your waist! Let me help you show it all, so every man can get a good look!"
The girl was traumatized. She developed a psychological disorder and later took her own life.
When the girl's family came for an explanation, Brenda had screamed that she deserved to die.
I looked at the PI's report, then thought of Brenda, strutting through the park with her small belly, arrogant and proud.
Just last week, she'd kicked a small child who ran too close to her.
When the mother protested, Brenda had shrieked, "I'm carrying a precious treasure in here! What if that little brat scared my baby boy? Can you take responsibility for that?"
I looked down at my phone and sent a message to the investigator.
"Find Rocco Gallo. Tell him he's about to be a father. And then... bring him to me. I have a surprise for him."
A super-male versus a super-hag. The show was going to be spectacular.

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