I Was Finally Ready to Become a Mom at 42, but My Sister Took Every Penny of My IVF Fund to Pay for Her Third Wedding – Story of the Day

At 42, I’d saved every penny for IVF—my last chance to be a mom. But when I checked the account, it was empty. My sister had drained it… to fund her third “dream wedding.”

I was never the “special” one. Not the prettiest, not the most talented, not the kind of woman people turned their heads for. I was the kind who worked hard and put everything off “for later.”

And somehow, the years slipped by, and I ended up alone. Forty-two.

When years passed with no luck, and my husband started coming home less and less, it hit me: I either had a baby on my own or... I would have nothing at all.

“Sheesh, your husband left you, Lynn. Good riddance,” my Mom said, not even looking up. “You saw it yourself, he never really tried.”

I stood at the kitchen table, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“And now you’re thinking about IVF?” my sister Jenna cut in. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I am. With a donor. I’ve made up my mind. I can’t wait any longer.”

“You’re not fifty, for God’s sake,” she scoffed. “You could still find a decent man.”

“Forty-two. I’m ready to be a Mom. I’ll do it alone.”

Mom said nothing. Jenna rolled her eyes dramatically.

“You’re insane. Everyone nowadays is living for themselves. Kids are shackles.”

“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. And I remembered our joint account. The one you and Dad set up for both of us. I’ve been adding to it these past ten years.”

Jenna flinched. Mom suddenly stood up and grabbed a dish towel, wiping down an already clean counter.

I didn’t think much of it at the time.

But I should have…

***

The following morning, I walked into the bank clutching my handbag.

“Good morning. I’d like to check the balance of a joint account under my name and my sister’s,” I said, sliding my ID across the counter.

The woman behind the glass tapped a few keys. Then stopped. Her eyes flicked to the screen, then back to me.

“The balance is zero.”

“Excuse me?”

“There are no funds. The entire amount was withdrawn five days ago.”

“Who withdrew it?”

“Both parties have access. It was withdrawn by… Jenna M. Your sister.”

I don’t remember walking out. The world was quiet. Muffled.

I only came back to my senses when I was already outside Jenna’s apartment, pressing the buzzer with a trembling hand.

The door swung open almost immediately. Smiling, Jenna stood there in a pair of pajamas, latte in hand.

“Oh, Lynn! Look who’s here! Come in, come in. I was just thinking about calling you.”

“You emptied the account? All of it?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She shrugged, stepping aside like that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Why?! That money wasn’t just yours! It was mine too. My savings, for the baby.”

“Oh, don’t start,” she groaned, setting her coffee down. “I warned you this whole baby-on-your-own plan was nuts.”

“I didn’t ask for your blessing. I was counting on that money. MY portion would’ve been enough to cover the IVF and maternity leave.”

“Yeah, well,” she waved a hand. “A normal wedding costs money. A luxury wedding? Even more. But this one’s going to be PERFECT. It’s the last one I’m ever doing. I'm not cutting corners.”

“You mean to tell me you burned through tens of thousands of dollars for centerpieces and champagne toasts?”

Jenna reached into a velvet drawer and pulled out something.

“Here,” she said sweetly. “Your invitation.”

It was thick. Embossed. Gold-foiled. And completely absurd.

“Are you serious? You spent money on engraved invitations? These will end up in the trash!”

Jenna rolled her eyes. “You just don’t get it. This is about image. 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! Quietly. Carefully. 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? Be one. But don’t act like the world owes you for it.”

At that moment, our mother appeared in the doorway, dabbing her hands with a towel.

“Girls, really. It’s too early for yelling.”

“She stole from me,” I pointed at Jenna. “The joint account you and Dad opened for both of us? 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 me? 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? You want me to be happy for the woman who robbed me?”

“Lynn, sweetheart...”

“No! I’m done being the one who copes. Who sacrifices.”

I turned and walked out, the invitation still clutched in my fist like a cursed scroll. The hallway spun. Jenna had taken everything. But that wasn’t over.

My sis wanted her perfect wedding? Fine. But it would happen on MY terms.

***

I’d never reached out to Tyler before. He was Jenna’s last boyfriend—well, finally, her fiancé. The one she swore was “different this time.”

The one she paraded like a trophy after divorcing husband number two. We’d barely exchanged more than a few polite words at awkward family dinners. But that morning, I found myself dialing his number.

He agreed to meet without hesitation.

“If this is about Jenna, I’d rather know than guess,” he said.

We met at a café near his office, upscale and polished, like him. He stood when I arrived.

“Lynn. You okay?”

“No,” I said, sitting across from him. “And I don’t think you will be either in about five minutes.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Jenna emptied a joint savings account. Mine and hers. It was meant for emergencies, set up by our parents. I’ve been contributing to it for years. I was saving for IVF.”

He looked stunned.

“Wait… what? She never mentioned that.”

“She didn’t mention it because she took every cent for the wedding. Five days ago. Without telling me.”

“But...” Tyler ran a hand through his hair, confused. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m paying for the wedding. Everything. Jenna said she wanted me to feel like it was my gift to us.”

“You’re paying?! For what exactly?”

He pulled out his phone and opened a folder in his gallery. Photos of receipts. Invoices. Confirmations.

“Floral designer. Venue deposit. Catering, invitations, even the harpist she insisted on. These all came from my account.”

I scrolled through silently. He wasn’t lying.

“So... if you're covering all of this, what is she doing with the money she took from me?”

He looked up slowly, realization dawning in his eyes.

“You think she’s hiding something?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

I leaned forward. “And I’m going to find out what it is.”

Tyler sat back, the color draining from his face. “I can’t believe she’d...” he stopped, like saying it aloud would make it real.

“I’m not asking you to pick sides. But you deserve to know who you’re marrying.”

“If you learn anything… tell me. Please.”

I stood up. Tyler didn’t stop me. He just watched me leave, holding his phone like it had betrayed him. Outside, I inhaled the cold air and closed my coat.

It was clear Jenna hadn’t just stolen my money. She was hiding something. Something big. And expensive. If she thought she could bury me under monogrammed napkins and gold-foiled menus, she was wrong.

I knew what I had to do next. And I knew exactly where to look.

***

It had been a week since I met with Tyler. Seven long days of fake smiles, sugary compliments, and pretending to care about napkin textures and flower arrangements.

I told Jenna I wanted to help with the wedding. That I was over it. That I was sorry. She bought every word.

She called me her “super sister” and handed me access to her entire schedule — vendors, emails, dress fittings. She wanted me close. Perfect. I needed to be closer. So I smiled. Nodded. Listened. Waited.

And then one night, while she was passed out on the couch after too many glasses of overpriced organic prosecco, I opened her laptop.

The screen was unlocked. Her inbox was chaos: discounts from bridal sites, invoices from florists, spam from yoga retreats. I almost missed it.

But there it was. An email thread titled: RE: Divorce Proceedings – Gregory S.

Subject: “Final request before formal filing.”

I opened it. And everything clicked. I printed the attachment and waited.

The following day, I stood in her bridal studio. A stylist buzzed around her. Perfect little princess in her perfect little world. Jenna turned when she saw me.

“Lynn. You look… intense.”

“I am.”

“What now?”

I handed her the paper. She took it, scanned the heading, and froze.

“Where did you get this?”

“Your inbox. Don’t worry, I hesitated. But then I remembered — you didn’t hesitate before robbing me blind.”

“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 eyes darted around the room.

“Keep your voice down!”

“I’ve tracked every move you made this week. Who you called, where you went. I saw the email you deleted from his lawyer. I know 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...”

“You were going to lie. Again. But this time, I’m holding the leash.”

“What do you want?”

I leaned in. “I want my money back. Every cent. Wired to my account by Friday. No tricks. No delays.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then Tyler gets the whole story. And while we’re at it, maybe I’ll let Mom read the love notes you sent both of them the same week.”

Jenna looked at me like she’d never seen me before. She was right. She hadn’t.

“You’re bluffing,” she whispered.

“Try me.”

I turned and walked out. The paper was still trembling in her hands. By the time I got home, my phone buzzed. Incoming wire transfer. The exact amount. To the cent.

I stared at the screen, exhaled slowly, and smiled. My sister thought she could build a fantasy world out of lies and lace. But I’d just torn it down — thread by thread. Because I had something bigger to fight for.

Something real. My little piece of joy. My daughter was born exactly one year later. Weighing 7 pounds, 1 ounce. Healthy. Beautiful. Mine.

And worth every battle I had to win to get to her.

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