Miracle baby by my rapist

a beautiful gift born from something evil... Shock Factor

Juggling my laptop under one arm and a bag of snacks under the other, I fumbled in my pocket for my room key. It was January 2014, and I was away on business as a sign-language interpreter.

My husband Jeff, 38, was at home with our kids Julia, 16, Spencer, 14, Mackenzie, 11, and Noah, 8.

I’d been away for a week and missed them all like crazy.

But, thankfully, this was my last night at the hotel, before I made the four-hour journey home.

Only, unlocking the door, I felt someone behind me.

Turning around, I saw a young man in his early 20s.

I wondered if he was lost or had the wrong room.

Suddenly, he punched me hard in the face. I fell to the floor, dazed. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my front and my attacker was tugging down my trousers. Then everything went black. When I came round, I was lying in a stairwell. Naked, except for my bra. Pain shot through me. I’ve been raped, I realised, in a panic.

The a hotel cleaner was with me, and was phoning the emergency services.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I was rushed to hospital.

There, I heard the doctors talking about my injuries.

‘She’s got broken fingers from where she tried to fight off her attacker,’ one said.

I also had broken ribs and a bleed on the brain.

While I was being treated, someone must have phoned Jeff because, by the next day, he was by my side.

‘We’ll get through this together,’ he cried, tears in his eyes.

I was given drugs to prevent HIV and I was also tested for sexual diseases.

Thankfully, the tests came back clear. I was numb, as the police took my statement and collected swabs for DNA.

‘What will we tell the kids?’ I sobbed to Jeff.

I couldn’t bear for them to know the truth.

But my face was covered in bruises, my ribs were agony.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jeff reassured me. ‘We’ll tell them you had a car accident.’

So, back at home a few days on, that’s what we did.

Over the next few weeks, I was a nervous wreck.

Police hadn’t arrested anyone for my attack.

I kept having nightmares and flashbacks.

Poor Jeff didn’t know what to do to help. When we were in

When I came round, I was lying, naked, in a stairwell

bed, I curled up into a ball and if he even tried to cuddle me, I flinched. ‘I’m sorry!’ I cried. I felt terrible that the touch of my own husband was frightening to me.

But Jeff was so patient and understanding. He’d kiss me gently on the forehead, then stay over on his side of the bed. The attack tortured him as well, though. ‘I should’ve been there to protect you,’ he said one night. A few times I even heard him crying in the shower and hitting the walls. He kept it all to himself, though, not wanting to upset me. Then, five weeks on in February, I was working away from home again and had been feeling nauseous for a while. Antibiotics weren’t helping, so I went to the doctor.

‘Could you be pregnant?’ she asked. No chance, I thought. Jeff had a vasectomy after Noah was born.

Then suddenly, I froze.

‘I was raped five weeks ago,’ I blurted.

The doctor did some tests – which confirmed it. I was pregnant. And it couldn’t be Jeff ’s baby. That meant only one thing.

I was carrying my rapist’s baby.

After the attack, I’d had so many tests, but I just couldn’t remember taking the morning-after pill.

I was in such a state, it hadn’t occurred to me. That afternoon, I went for a scan. And, when I saw the grainy image on the screen, my heart skipped a beat. After four kids, I knew exactly what I was looking at. I was having a baby. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming rush of love. And, for the first time since I’d been raped, I felt I had control. This was my body – and my baby. While I couldn’t protect myself from attack, I could protect this child. And I knew Jeff would feel the same way. Without hesitation, I phoned him. ‘Are you sitting down?’ I asked. I took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant,’ I said. There was silence on the other end of the line. Then… ‘OK,’ he replied. ‘This is a beautiful gift from something evil.’ My heart burst with love for him. A lot of men would’ve struggled to accept their wife carrying another man’s baby – especially a rapist’s. But Jeff was incredible. ‘We can do this,’ he said. Eventually, we found out we were having a boy. Our eldest Julia knew about Jeff ’s vasectomy – as did some of our friends and family. There was no escaping the truth. So we sat each of the kids down and told them. The younger ones accepted it without asking questions. But Julia and Spencer, both teenagers, were devastated I’d been hurt. ‘I’m OK,’ I promised. ‘And this baby will give us some happiness again.’ When we told our close friends and family, we had mixed reactions. Many friends were disgusted I was keeping the baby. ‘What if you look at it and see your attacker?’ one asked. But from the very start he felt like mine and Jeff ’s baby.

For the first time since I’d been raped, I felt I had control