Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at the positive pregnancy test trembling in my hands. But they were not tears of joy. Ahead of me lay a battle for the right to be a mother to my own child, and I still didn’t know the price I would have to pay. At that moment, I had no idea that in just a few hours my world would collapse, and I would learn the truth that would turn upside down everything I thought I knew about the people I considered family.
Half a year ago, I became Viktor’s wife. Until then, my personal life had been terra incognita. Thirty years on this planet, and the number of serious relationships I’d had could be counted on the fingers of one hand. My mother’s advice had stuck firmly in my head:
— Education is your foundation for life, Katya! Men come and go!
I absorbed this wisdom with all my heart. Right after university, I landed an excellent job with a solid salary. My income allowed me to take out a mortgage on a three-room apartment in a prestigious district, which I paid off early in just four years. I renovated it beautifully, furnished it with dream furniture — it turned into a true cozy nest.
The salary was good, but the work was exhausting. There was simply no energy left for romantic adventures. I tried looking for a partner online, but quickly grew disillusioned with the quality of the candidates.
By the age of twenty-nine, I had mentally crossed out marriage and motherhood. Not everyone is destined to know family happiness — that’s reality. But I had my beloved profession as a lecturer at an elite university, public speaking engagements, academic work. My job consumed me entirely, leaving no room for longing over unfulfilled womanhood.
My mother kept comforting me, saying fate would surely send me a worthy man. I would just nod sadly, understanding her pity. She herself had met my father in her youth, and their union was the model of true love. Even in their later years, my father looked at his wife with admiration, while she surrounded him with tender care. I don’t remember conflicts in our home — only mutual respect and understanding. I was their only child. My parents had dreamed of a second baby, but that dream never came true.
I met Viktor at the most unexpected moment — when I had finally given up hope. At the supermarket, I couldn’t reach some cookies on the top shelf. A courteous stranger kindly came to the rescue. A light conversation began, and then we went for a walk around the neighborhood. It turned out he was visiting his mother and had brought a little girl to see her.
“A family man with a child,” I thought, preparing to say goodbye.
— Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee? — he suddenly suggested.
— I’m afraid your wife wouldn’t be thrilled, — I replied with a hint of irony.
— I don’t have a wife. She left us, abandoning our daughter, — the man said, looking away.
— I see. Well, then I’d love to.
The coffee in a cozy café turned out to be divine — with cardamom and cream. The place was near my home, and I sometimes treated myself to their desserts. Three hours flew by unnoticed, as if we had known each other forever.
Viktor’s story was sad. Five years earlier, he had fallen madly in love with a dazzling beauty with emerald eyes and platinum curls.
Elizaveta was the embodiment of perfection, a dreamy soul who captured the heart of an ordinary man. He lost his peace of mind, thinking only of her. A few months later, he proposed, and the divine princess agreed to grant him happiness. Viktor’s mother, Valentina Petrovna, welcomed her daughter-in-law with open arms, adoring her. When Elizaveta became pregnant, her mother-in-law practically worshiped her, while Viktor carried his wife in his arms and showered her with gifts.
Right on time, a beautiful baby girl was born — the spitting image of her mother. The same eyes, the same hair, chubby cheeks. The little one was adored by her father and grandmother, but when Olya turned one and a half, her mother let her slip from her arms. She simply vanished, leaving behind a farewell note saying she was abandoning the family. Viktor was shocked, enraged, and frightened. Being left alone with a toddler was a serious trial for any man. Listening to my future husband’s story, I couldn’t understand — how could a mother betray her own child? But Elizaveta did it with ease. She never reappeared, never offered financial help, as if she had dissolved into thin air.
This story was confirmed by my future mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna. Unlike Viktor, who recounted it delicately, she didn’t hold back in her expressions, describing Elizaveta in the harshest terms.
Our relationship developed over four months, and then Viktor proposed. During that time, I had fallen in love with him and, realizing that this might be my last chance to shape my womanly destiny, I agreed.
The wedding was modest — we registered at the civil registry office, celebrated at home with a cake, and began a quiet life together. I moved in with my husband and rented out my own apartment. The tenants turned out to be exemplary — they kept the place clean and paid the rent on time.
Overall, everything seemed to go well, except my relationship with my stepdaughter, which was far from smooth. Olya was a withdrawn child. Beneath her doll-like appearance hid a wary soul. At four years old, she preferred solitude, only coming alive with her cooing grandmother and occasionally with her father. The girl persistently ignored me — she didn’t answer my questions, avoided hugs, and rejected invitations to play. This genuinely upset me. I did not aspire to replace her mother — a mother is forever unique, no matter who she is. But I wanted to become a friend to my stepdaughter, a partner for games and mischief.
— Olyochka, shall I braid your hair into pretty little plaits?
She remained silent, looking at me from under her brows, clenching her fists, ready to defend herself if I approached.
— Viktor, I’m worried about Olya’s behavior. She’s completely closed off, — I shared my concerns with my husband.
— After what her cuckoo mother did, what else can you expect? — my mother-in-law replied, who had just come for dinner. — She betrayed her child, scarred that little soul, the wretch!
— I think things will gradually get better, — I shook my head.
— Olya is a good girl, she just doesn’t trust yet. Don’t be upset, find a way to her heart, — Viktor encouraged me.
But over six months, I tried thousands of approaches, and the door to that small soul simply wouldn’t open. Olya refused to play or talk with me, didn’t allow me to touch her hair. How deeply the mother’s betrayal had wounded this poor child!
In the last few weeks, my own health had been declining. Nausea, drowsiness, loss of appetite. I told a friend about my symptoms, and she insisted I take a pregnancy test. I was surprised — the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. But my friend, a mother of three, was an unquestionable authority on this matter.
I sat on the bathroom floor, biting my lip, my eyes shifting from my wedding ring to the second line that was becoming increasingly visible. I instinctively covered my stomach with my hand, as if shielding the nascent life from all the troubles in the world.
It was a day off; Viktor was at home, and Valentina Petrovna had come to visit her granddaughter. I heard Olya and her grandmother singing a children’s song: “The little blue wagon runs, it rocks…”
I came out holding the test in my trembling hand and silently showed it to my husband. My mother-in-law turned pale as Viktor showed her the two lines.
— Bad timing… — Viktor said tersely.
Valentina Petrovna flushed with anxiety.
— Katya, it’s too early for you to have children of your own. First, you need to take care of Olya, — my mother-in-law said.
I looked at my husband and his mother, bewildered.
— And how do you propose I “wait”? You mean to say I should give up my baby?…
— Exactly! Olya is enough for us. We fought so hard to get her away from that cuckoo!
At that moment, I completely lost my temper.
— So is she a cuckoo or a hen? You won’t be seeing me here again!
I started packing my things, while my husband followed, trying to reason with me. I didn’t listen, hurrying to leave the house.
On the way, I contacted the tenants and asked them to vacate the apartment. To my surprise, they were happy — they had just received mortgage approval for their own place and were planning to move out.
I returned to my own home, turned on the computer. I knew Viktor’s ex-wife’s full name — Elizaveta Vladimirovna Orlova. Finding her wasn’t difficult; I remembered her face well. A social network quickly gave me her profile. I wrote to her, introducing myself.
Elizaveta responded immediately, asking for my phone number to talk. I gave it to her, and the ex-wife of my almost-ex husband called right away.
— Katya, you did the right thing by leaving! These are terrible people. They took everything from me, first and foremost Olya. My husband twisted everything so that I supposedly appeared to be a bad mother, even though I simply didn’t work because I was taking care of the baby.
He had a lawyer friend, and that’s how these monsters managed it all. They even forbid me from seeing my own child. Run, Katya, don’t repeat my mistakes!
After talking to Elizaveta, I was in complete shock. Everything I had been told about this woman turned out to be a lie. She hadn’t abandoned her daughter — she had been thrown out of her child’s life.
Later, my mother-in-law called, threatening to take my property and even my unborn child. I sent her packing, blocked her everywhere, and filed for divorce.
Seven months later, Semen was born. I gave him my surname. Despite all the efforts of the lawyer friend, Viktor couldn’t take anything from me.
Premarital property, car — everything remained under my and my son’s control. I settled comfortably in my own three-room apartment, having set up the nursery during pregnancy. My workplace granted me maternity leave, promising they would wait for my return.
I reveled in motherhood. Semen became the meaning of my life, a source of light. I had feared loneliness and dreamed of marriage. It turned out I should have dreamed about this tiny human with delightful dimples on his chubby hands and cheeks. He was the spitting image of my father — a true grandfather’s grandson.
Even his nose was the same, with its characteristic narrow nostrils. I was glad he didn’t resemble Viktor. I wanted nothing more to do with that man. By the time Semen was born, my ex-husband had already forgotten I existed — he didn’t write or call. My mother-in-law had also vanished from the horizon, much to my relief.
I devoted myself entirely to caring for my child. The world transformed with his arrival, once and for all. My parents visited regularly — my mother and father. Grandmother and grandfather adored Semen, helping gladly. My mother supported me in every way, encouraging me.
But I didn’t need support. I regretted nothing — everything was worth it with the birth of my son. Fortunately, I had recognized the true nature of Valentina Petrovna and Viktor in time and escaped from their snake’s lair. Now, nothing threatened Semen and me. We lived quietly and peacefully, cherishing every day.
Morning and evening walks in the park, feeding ducks and sparrows. At night, the baby slept soundly, never fussy. He ate well and grew rapidly. And I watched him, sometimes gasping from the overwhelming tenderness. With my son, all my cherished wishes came true, and loneliness vanished forever. Semen had freed me from it.
