The moment my husband’s fist connected with my sister’s stomach, the room exploded into chaos. It was her baby shower — a day meant to celebrate new life — but everything changed in an instant. My sister, who was eight months pregnant, doubled over and collapsed backward into the gift table. Balloons popped, presents scattered across the floor, and screams erupted from the shocked guests.
“What is wrong with you?!” I screamed, shoving my husband back. My mother was already on the phone with 911, her voice trembling as she reported the assault on a pregnant woman. My dad and brothers quickly restrained my husband, pinning him against the wall. Meanwhile, I dropped to the floor beside my sister, who clutched her belly and gasped through tears, “Don’t touch it. It hurts too much.” Her boyfriend frantically checked for any signs of blood, neighbors rushed to help, and the neighbor midwife knelt beside her.
Despite everyone’s concern, my sister fiercely protected her stomach, crying out not to be touched. Panic filled the room. My uncle was on the phone with a lawyer, demanding charges for attempted murder of an unborn child. My sister’s mother-in-law fainted from the stress. The air was thick with fear and confusion.
Then my husband shouted, struggling against my family’s grip: “Look at her stomach where I hit her!” I froze, looking down to see a deep dent that did not bounce back like it should. My heart pounded. I reached to feel the area, and my fingers brushed against something cold and firm — foam and Velcro straps hidden beneath her dress.
“That’s not a baby,” he spat, sweat pouring down his face. “She’s been faking this entire pregnancy.”
What followed was a horrifying revelation. My husband explained how my sister had been buying different-sized fake pregnancy bellies online, stealing ultrasound images from forums, and Photoshopping her name onto medical documents. She’d scammed nearly $30,000 for fake prenatal appointments. He’d even checked with every OB-GYN in the city and found no record of her visits.
As we investigated, more evidence surfaced. My sister had been spotted drinking in bars on days she claimed to have appointments. She’d been stalking a teenage pregnant girl at the local hospital, planning to steal her newborn. She’d bought a car seat, nurse scrubs, and was checking nurse schedules for the perfect moment to snatch the baby. Hormones had been purchased to induce lactation — she was preparing to impersonate a mother.
The fake belly shifted sideways, exposing the prosthetic. Guests gasped. My sister’s boyfriend recoiled. Police were called, and officers arrived quickly. My sister resisted arrest, screaming that the teenage girl didn’t deserve her baby, but the law saw it differently. She was taken into custody.
The hospital immediately secured the teenage mother, named Becca Torres, providing her with guards and support. My husband was also arrested for assault, despite our family arguing he had stopped a crime in progress. He spent the night in jail but was bailed out the next morning.
Our family struggled with the fallout. My sister had been living a complex web of lies, identity theft, and fraud. She had opened credit cards in my name and our mother’s, racking up tens of thousands of dollars in debt. Legal proceedings began, and the truth continued to unravel.
Months later, at trial, I testified for hours, presenting all the evidence. Becca, holding her healthy baby, recounted the fear of someone trying to steal her child. The jury found my sister guilty on all charges.
The judge sentenced her to eighteen years in prison, with possible parole after ten, contingent on psychiatric treatment. The psychiatrist diagnosed her with pseudocyesis — a delusional pregnancy — combined with antisocial behavior. Despite the diagnosis, my sister refused to accept responsibility, claiming she was “helping society.”
In the aftermath, Becca thrived. Supported by social workers and her recovering brother, she pursued social work studies and built a new life for herself and her baby. My husband began community service and therapy, sharing our story to teach others about the consequences of anger and the complexity of protecting loved ones.
A year later, I’m pregnant with our first child, hopeful for a future built on honesty and healing. Though our family was shattered, we found strength in truth and justice.
