I stared at the two lines and couldn’t believe it. My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the test.
Pregnant.
Igor and I had dreamed about this for three years. For three years we had tried, gone to doctors, taken tests. And now — it had happened.
I rushed out of the bathroom. He was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“Igor, look.”
He took it, stared at the lines, then at me. And he smiled in a way he hadn’t smiled in a long time.
“Really?” he asked quietly. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I nodded.
We hugged in the middle of the kitchen, and I felt tears running down my cheeks.
“Let’s not tell anyone yet,” Igor said. “Let’s wait and make sure everything is all right. The first trimester is the most dangerous.”
I agreed. I wanted this happiness to belong only to us, too. At least for a little while.
For a week, we kept silent. I walked around as if I were floating, stroking my stomach, imagining how everything would be. Igor became even more gentle, even more caring. He bought me vitamins and made an appointment with the doctor for two weeks later.
And then Tamara Semyonovna called.
“Igorek, how are you? I baked a pie, apple, your favorite. Come by this evening and pick it up.”
Igor tensed. He always tensed when his mother called.
“Mom, I’m tired. Let’s do it on the weekend.”
“Igorek, but I baked it specially for you! And besides, we need to talk. About something important.”
He sighed.
“About what?”
“Come over and we’ll discuss it,” she said, and hung up.
Igor went alone. I stayed home, cooked dinner, and thought it was strange. Usually my mother-in-law invited both of us. More precisely, she invited Igor and tolerated me as an unavoidable attachment.
He came back three hours later, pale and silent.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, walking into the room without even kissing me at the door.
I followed him.
“Igor, what did your mother say?”
He was standing by the window with his back to me.
“She… she knows.”
Something inside me went cold.
“Knows what?”
“About the pregnancy.”
I couldn’t say a word. We hadn’t told anyone. No one. Not even my parents.
“How?”
“I don’t know. She said Svetka saw you at the pharmacy when you were buying the test. And she told Mom.”
Svetka. His cousin, who worked at the pharmacy two buildings away. I had completely forgotten about that.
“And what did she say?” I asked, although I already felt that I didn’t want to know the answer.
Igor looked away.
“She’s worried. About me. About us.”
“Worried? What do you mean? She should have been happy.”
“Well… she thinks it’s too soon. That we’re not financially ready. That we don’t have our own home, that we’re renting. That a child is a big responsibility.”
“We waited three years for this child,” I felt something boiling inside me. “Three years, Igor.”
“I know,” he ran a hand over his face. “That’s what I told her. But she… Basically, she wants us to think about it.”
“Think about what?” I didn’t recognize my own voice.
He was silent. And in that silence, I suddenly understood everything. I understood why he had sat at his mother’s place for three hours. Why he had come back pale. Why he wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“She said something else,” I said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Igor swallowed.
“Arina, don’t. She just got carried away. She said things she shouldn’t have.”
“What did she say?” I stepped closer.
My husband looked at me. And in his eyes, I saw something I had never seen before.
Doubt.
“Mom said that you… might have gotten pregnant on purpose. To tie me to you.”
I froze. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there and looked at the man I had lived with for five years.
“On purpose? We tried for three years. Together. Do you remember that, Igor?”
“I remember,” he turned away again. “But Mom says I’m about to get promoted. That there will be more money. And you could have… well, timed it.”
“Timed it,” I laughed. Hysterically, unpleasantly. “Timed a pregnancy. Igor, do you hear yourself?”
“Arina, that’s not what I meant…”
“Then what did you mean?” I felt cold running down my back. “What else did Tamara Semyonovna say?”
He was silent. Silent for a long time. Then he exhaled.
“She says you quit your job six months ago. That you live on my money. That it benefits you to have a child so I can’t leave.”
I sank down onto the sofa. My legs wouldn’t hold me.
“I quit my job because we were planning a pregnancy. You asked me to. You said stress was preventing conception. You said that when I relaxed, it would happen. Do you remember?”
“I remember. But…”
“But what?”
“But Mom is right that you’re financially dependent on me now. And if the child…”
He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. But I understood everything.
“If the child what, Igor? Say it.”
“Mom says we should do a DNA test. After the birth. To… to be sure.”
The silence was deafening.
I looked at him and didn’t recognize him. This was the man who had held my hand in the reproductive specialist’s office. This was the man who had cried when yet another test showed only one line. This was the man who had hugged me in the kitchen a week ago and whispered, “We did it.”
And now he was standing there talking about a DNA test.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out of this apartment. Now. Immediately.”
“Arina, you don’t understand…”
“I understand everything! You chose. You sat with your mommy for three hours, listening to her nonsense about what a greedy bitch I am, how I deliberately got pregnant to rob her precious son. And you believed her. You came home and repeated all of it to me. You chose.”
“I didn’t choose anything. I just… I had to tell you. We have to discuss it.”
“Discuss it. Discuss whether I’m cheating on you. Discuss whether I’m a slut. Discuss whether the child under my heart is yours. Is that what you want to discuss?”
“Don’t say it like that. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Igor?” I felt tears gathering in my eyes. “What exactly?”
He was silent. He just stood there and said nothing.
And in that silence, I suddenly saw our whole life.
Five years during which Tamara Semyonovna had decided where we went on vacation. What car we bought. What apartment we lived in. She had not approved of this one, but we rented it anyway. That had been my rebellion.
Five years during which she called in the evenings and asked, “What are you feeding Igorek? He’s picky, you know. He needs to be fed properly.”
Five years during which I endured it because I loved my husband and believed that one day he would take my side.
But he had taken hers.
“Go. To your mother. She’s waiting.”
“Arina…”
“Go, Igor. Or I’ll leave myself. Right now.”
My husband packed his things in twenty minutes. I sat in the kitchen and looked out the window. He left without saying goodbye.
The door slammed shut.
I was alone.
I spent three days in the apartment by myself. Igor didn’t call. Neither did I. I lay on the sofa, stroked my stomach, and thought. About how I saw my life. About what kind of family I wanted to raise my child in, and how. About whether the money I had saved would be enough to raise the baby until kindergarten age. About whether I was ready to spend another thirty years listening to Tamara Semyonovna decide everything for me.
On the fourth day, a message came.
“We need to talk. I’ll come by this evening.”
My husband came with flowers. Roses, my favorites. And a guilty face.
“Arina, forgive me,” he began from the doorway. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have listened to Mom. I shouldn’t have said that to you. I believe you. I believe the child is mine. No test is needed.”
I took the flowers and put them in a vase. Then I sat down on the sofa.
“Sit down.”
He sat beside me and reached out to hug me. I pulled away.
“Igor, were you at your mother’s these three days?”
He nodded.
“Did she talk to you about me?”
He was silent for a moment.
“She did. But I didn’t listen. I told her she was wrong.”
“You told her. And what did she answer?”
“She said I was making a mistake. That I would regret it. That you were using me.”
“And you?”
“And I came here. I chose you, Arina. I chose us.”
I stood up. Went into the bedroom. Took out a bag and started packing my things.
“What are you doing?” he jumped up.
“I’m leaving. To my parents. Until I give birth. After that, we’ll see.”
“Wait!” he grabbed my hand. “You heard me, didn’t you? I chose you!”
I freed my hand.
“You came here after three days you spent at your mother’s. You came with flowers and pretty words. But tomorrow she’ll call again. The day after tomorrow she’ll bake a pie. In a week she’ll come up with a reason why you need to go see her. And you’ll go. And she’ll keep dripping poison into your ear. Drip, drip, drip. About what a bad person I am. About how hard it is for you with me. About how the child isn’t yours. And sooner or later, you’ll come home again with that look. With that doubt. I don’t want to live like that, Igor.”
“I won’t allow it,” he turned pale. “I won’t listen to her.”
“You’ve been listening to her for five years,” I continued packing. “For five years she has been deciding for us. Where to go, what to buy, how to live. Not once have you told her no. Not once, Igor.”
“I will!” he raised his voice. “I’ll tell her right now. In front of you. I’ll tell her not to interfere in our life.”
I stopped. Looked at him.
“You will?”
“Yes!”
I took out my phone and handed it to him.
“Call her.”
He took the phone. Looked at the screen. Then at me.
“Now?”
“Now,” I sat down on the bed. “Call your mother. And tell her the truth. Tell her this is our family, our child, our life. Tell her she will see her grandchild only if she learns to respect us. If she ever again calls me greedy or doubts that the child is yours, she will never see us again. Ever. Say it, Igor. Now. In front of me.”
My husband stood there with the phone in his hand. Silent. I saw him grow pale. I saw his fingers tremble.
“Arina, maybe not right now? Let me talk to her later, calmly…”
“No. Either now or never. I’m leaving, Igor. I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving a life where I am always third. Where the main woman in your life is your mother. Where my opinion means nothing and my feelings can be trampled because Tamara Semyonovna decided so.”
I stood up and took my bag.
“Choose. Either you make this call right now. Or I leave. Forever.”
He looked at the phone. Then at me. His hand was shaking.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“You can. You just don’t want to. Because it will hurt your mother. But it’s all right to hurt me. I’m allowed to be hurt.”
I reached for the door handle.
“Stop!” his voice broke. “Stop. I… I’ll call.”
Igor dialed the number. I saw his hands shaking. He put it on speaker.
“Igorek! How good that you called. I was just about to…”
“Mom, be quiet,” he interrupted.
Silence fell. It seemed Tamara Semyonovna was hearing that tone from her son for the first time in her life.
“Igor, what happened? Is that woman next to you? Is she forcing you…”
“Mom!” he raised his voice. “Be quiet. I’m going to speak now.”
He swallowed. I could see how tense his shoulders were, how tightly his jaw was clenched. He was breathing quickly, as if he were about to jump off a cliff.
“I’m calling to tell you one thing. Once. I won’t repeat it again. Arina is my wife. The child she is carrying is my son or daughter. This is my family. Not yours. Mine.”
“Igorechek, but I only want what’s best…”
“Don’t interrupt,” his voice grew firmer. “I’m not finished. You have no right to doubt my wife. You have no right to say she is greedy. You have no right to demand a DNA test. You have no right to decide when we have children, where we live, or how we build our life.
“I’m grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me. But I am a grown man. I have my own family. And if you want to be part of it, learn to respect my wife. Learn not to interfere in our decisions. Learn to accept that the most important person in my life is no longer you.”
“Igor… Are you really choosing her? Do you really not need me anymore?”
I saw my husband close his eyes. I saw him struggle with himself.
“I’m not choosing between you, Mom. I’m choosing the right life. You will see your grandchild. You will come to visit. But only if you stop manipulating me. If you stop turning me against my wife. If you learn to hold your tongue.”
“You’re talking to me like… like…” she sobbed. “My heart! You’re killing me!”
“Mom, your heart is fine. The doctor said so last month. Remember? So don’t. Don’t pretend. Don’t manipulate me. I’ve said everything. If you want to see your grandchild, accept the conditions. If not, that’s your right.”
“Igor, wait!”
He ended the call. Threw the phone onto the bed. Stood there, breathing heavily, not looking at me.
“For the first time in my life, I told her no.”
I came closer and hugged him from behind.
“I know how hard it is for you.”
“I feel like I’m going to die. My hands are shaking. My heart is pounding. But I can’t lose you. I can’t lose our child. I can’t live the way I used to. With Mom deciding everything for me while I just nodded.”
I stroked his back and felt him trembling.
“She’ll call more than once. She’ll cry, manipulate, press on your pity.”
“I know. But I won’t back down. Not anymore.”
I looked into his eyes. And for the first time in five years, I didn’t see a boy afraid of his mother.
I saw a man.
My man.
The man who had chosen us.
“Welcome home,” I whispered.
He kissed me. Long and tenderly. Then he sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against my stomach.
“Forgive me, little one,” he whispered. “Forgive me that Daddy was a coward. I won’t be anymore. I promise.”
I stroked his hair and cried. But these were different tears. Not from pain. From relief.
For the first time in five years, I felt that we had a family.
A real one.
A family where I didn’t have to share my husband with his mother. Where I wasn’t the unwanted third person. Where our child would grow up behind strong walls that we had built ourselves.
And those walls could no longer be destroyed.
