– Don’t you dare call me again, do you understand?! – Anastasia said with cold determination.
Just one phone call shattered Anastasia’s world, revealing the deception and secrets of her family life. But it is in the midst of betrayal and pain that fate will give her a chance to find true happiness.
– He asked me to tell you that he has such a convenient cutie like you. Only younger. And more beautiful.
The raspy voice on the other end of the line suddenly seemed unusually loud. The semi-dark room, lit only by the twilight light of an autumn day, seemed to be filled with the echo of these words.
“Who is this?” Anastasia asked, clutching the phone tighter.
In the kitchen, jam was being cooked from apples brought by a neighbor from the dacha. The smell of cinnamon and caramelizing sugar filled the apartment, mixing with the aroma of wilting flowers in a decorative Murano glass vase.
“It doesn’t matter,” the woman giggled. “Just know: Igor and I have a child. Our daughter is three years old. He’s moving in with us.”
The connection ended as suddenly as it had begun. Anastasia slowly lowered her hand with the phone and froze in the middle of the living room. Outside the window, silent cars sped along the wet asphalt of Dekabristov Street.
The solid oak furniture bought in a Swedish store last spring, the sofa upholstered in genuine dark chocolate-colored leather, the coffee table with a frosted glass top—all of this suddenly seemed alien, unreal, like scenery in a theater.
A deep breath escaped his chest. The turn of the key in the lock cut through the silence.
“Baby, I’m home!” a familiar voice rang out in the hallway.
Igor appeared on the threshold of the living room, tall, with light brown hair gathered in a careless ponytail. He smelled of expensive perfume and something unfamiliar, alien.
“Do you have a child?” Anastasia asked directly.
The husband’s face twitched. The muscles in his cheeks tensed.
“Who…” he began, but stopped. “I was going to tell you.”
– When exactly were you planning to do this? After three years of marriage? When we discussed our future child yesterday? – Each word was difficult to say.
Igor sank into a chair, running his hand over his face.
“It was a long time ago, before you,” he said quietly. “A casual affair. I didn’t know about the child.”
– Don’t lie at least now!
The man flinched at the harsh tone.
“Yes, I saw her. Several times,” he admitted after a pause. “We were working on a common cause. Then… everything started spinning.”
“Everything started spinning,” Anastasia echoed. “And how long did ‘everything spin’ for?”
The weight of silence filled the space between them. Somewhere in the kitchen, jam had run over, and the smell of burnt sugar was seeping into the room.
“About a year,” Igor answered barely audibly.
The silence that followed these words was deafening.
“At first, I just couldn’t give up communicating with my daughter when I found out about her,” he continued. “And then… then I realized that I couldn’t live without both of them.”
Something fell with a crash in the kitchen. The automatic coffee machine from Delonghi, a gift from Igor for their wedding anniversary, was turned on by a timer.
“So you understand,” Anastasia said slowly, feeling reality crumble into pieces. “So what now?”
Her husband looked up at her. There was something in his eyes that resembled regret, but not remorse.
– I’m leaving, Nastya. Sorry.
The apartment on Vasilievsky Island had been empty for three days already. A thin layer of dust settled on the furniture, and the pots with houseplants began to dry out.
The sound of a mobile phone cut through the silence. Anastasia groped for the device on the bedside table.
– Anastasia Viktorovna? - said the medical voice. – Your results are ready. The test is positive. You are pregnant.
The world stood still for a second. The pale light from the window fell on crumpled sheets and haphazardly scattered things.
“You need to come to an initial consultation,” the woman on the other end of the line continued. “Preferably with your husband.”
“My husband is no longer here,” Anastasia answered mechanically.
After the conversation ended, she continued to sit motionless, listening to the ticking of the Hermle wall clock, a gift from her mother-in-law. “A proper German clock for a proper Russian family,” she said then. Mechanically, her hand fell on her stomach.
Four years have passed since Anastasia’s world was shattered into pieces.
Little arms wrapped around her neck.
– Mommy, get up! We’re going to Petka’s birthday party today!
The light body of five-year-old Misha plopped down on the bed next to him. The little boy smiled, showing off a recently lost baby tooth.
“It’s still early, son,” Anastasia muttered, pulling the child closer to her. “Let’s cuddle a little longer.”
Children’s laughter filled the room. Alexey, standing in the doorway with a tray, smiled.
“Breakfast for my sleepyheads,” he said, entering the room. “Pancakes with cottage cheese and strawberry tea.”
Anastasia looked at her husband with gratitude. His grey eyes, the small wrinkles in the corners when he smiles, the calm expression on his face – all of this had become so familiar over the past three years.
Their meeting in the New Holland Park seemed inevitable. She was carrying a stroller in which three-month-old Misha was sleeping. He was carrying his seven-year-old son Kirill, who was flying a kite. The conversation began with a discussion of the weather and continued with a long walk along the alleys.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Alexey, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“About how much my life has changed,” Anastasia answered honestly. “Sometimes it seems to me that this is all a dream.”
Misha jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen, where his favorite toy, the transforming robot Optimus Prime, was waiting for him.
“You deserve to be happy,” Alexey said quietly, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “We all do.”
— Even after everything that happened?
– Especially after this.
Their conversation was interrupted by the doorbell.
– Kirill has arrived! – Misha exclaimed, running out of the kitchen.
Alexey stood up and headed for the door. Anastasia looked at him, tall, slightly stooped, with broad shoulders, and thought that fate sometimes takes amazing turns.
After an emergency operation in the fourth month of her first pregnancy, when doctors said that a successful birth was unlikely, Misha became a real miracle. A miracle that Anastasia decided to keep only for herself, without telling Igor about the child. On the day she signed the divorce papers, she had an ultrasound in her purse with a tiny image of a new life.
– Mom, Mom! – Misha flew into the room, and behind him came Kirill, a teenager with a serious look, so similar to his father. – Kirill downloaded a new game for me on my tablet!
“Only educational,” Kirill hastened to add, noticing Anastasia’s questioning look. “About space and planets.”
“I believe you know how to choose the right games,” she smiled.
Alexey returned to the room with an envelope in his hands.
“This is for you,” he said, handing Anastasia the letter. “The courier just delivered it.”
There was no return address on the white envelope, just a first and last name written in a familiar handwriting.
“Is it possible to do this to a person you swore to love for the rest of your life?” asked the girl in the linen dress, sitting on a bench near the Summer Garden, excitedly.
The young man with the artist’s sketchbook turned to face her.
“These vows… sometimes people say them without understanding their true meaning,” he replied, putting down his brush. “Life is more complicated than it seems at twenty.”
Anastasia was passing by, overhearing a random snippet of conversation. Her heart sank from uninvited memories. She had celebrated her twentieth birthday as a married woman, married to Igor in the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood. It had seemed then that love was forever, that no obstacles could destroy what they had built together.
“Mom, can I have some ice cream?” Misha tugged at her sleeve, pointing to the ice cream stand.
“You can, but only one,” Anastasia smiled, taking out her wallet.
The boy ran off to choose a flavor, and she sat down on the nearest bench, taking out of her bag an envelope that she had not dared to open for three days.
With trembling fingers, she tore the paper and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
———————————————————-
“Nastya,
I know I have no right to write to you after everything that happened. But so much time has passed, and I want to confess: the way I treated you was the biggest mistake of my life.
Every day I wake up with the realization that I destroyed something real for the sake of an illusion. Lera left me two years ago, taking my daughter. Now I can only see Sonya on weekends. Everything that seemed so important and real has crumbled like a house of cards.
I’m not asking for forgiveness, I’m not hoping for a comeback. I just want you to know that you deserved a better husband than me. I hope you’re happy and have found someone who truly appreciates you.
Igor”
“The strawberry one is the most delicious!” came Misha’s joyful voice, returning with a pink ball on a waffle cone.
Anastasia quickly folded the letter and put it back in her bag.
“Let me try,” she asked, leaning toward her son.
Misha held out the ice cream, and Anastasia pretended to try it, but in reality only touched the cold treat with her lips.
“Mom, were you crying?” the boy suddenly asked, looking at her attentively with dark brown eyes, so similar to his father’s eyes.
“No, honey, just the wind,” she replied, brushing away an uninvited tear.
“And dad said he’ll come over on the weekend and take us fishing,” Misha said, enthusiastically eating ice cream. “And Kirill’s going too!”
“We’ll definitely go,” Anastasia confirmed. “Just don’t eat so quickly, or your throat will hurt.”
In the evening, after putting Misha to bed, Anastasia went out onto the balcony of the apartment located on the fifteenth floor of a new building on Prosveshcheniya Avenue. Below, the neon landscape of nighttime St. Petersburg spread out, flickering with the lights of advertisements and street lamps.
Everything began to change on that spring day when Konstantin, Alexei’s army friend whom his husband had not seen for almost ten years, appeared in their house.
“Can you imagine, we met by chance in the gym on Komendantsky,” Alexey said excitedly, returning home earlier than usual. “Kostya is now in business, importing electronics.”
The small wrinkles in the corners of her eyes betrayed her husband’s sincere joy. His light shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair was damp after a shower at the gym.
“That’s great,” Anastasia smiled, cutting vegetables for a salad. “Invite him over sometime.”
A week later, the spacious kitchen was filled with loud male laughter and the smell of expensive Hennessy cognac. Konstantin turned out to be a large man with a thick beard and a piercing gaze. A gold chain as thick as a little finger glittered on his neck, and his wrists were decorated with heavy bracelets.
“Lyokha, you’ve really settled down,” the guest declared loudly, looking around the apartment. “Family, kids… Well done!”
Misha looked at the unexpected guest with curiosity, and Kirill shyly pressed himself against the wall, leafing through the new issue of Marvel magazine.
“Sometimes you need to unwind,” Konstantin continued, winking at Alexey. “Remember how we rocked the training in Pskov?”
A slight blush ran across the husband’s cheeks.
“That happened,” he chuckled, casting a quick glance at Anastasia.
After dinner, the men retired to the living room, from where subdued laughter and the clink of glasses could be heard.
“Tomorrow Kostya and I will meet the guys from our company,” Alexey said before going to bed. “Do you mind if I come back late?”
The thin Egyptian cotton bed linen, bought at Togas, felt pleasantly cool against the skin. Young maple leaves rustled softly outside the window.
“Of course not,” Anastasia replied, although something inside her trembled. “It’s good for you to get distracted.”
At first, “meetings of fellow soldiers” happened once a week. Then twice. By the end of the month, Alexei was returning home late at night almost every evening. His shirts, even washed ones, emanated a strong smell of cigarette smoke and someone else’s perfume.
“Don’t you think you’ve gotten too carried away with these get-togethers?” Anastasia asked one day when her husband returned at three o’clock in the morning.
The narrow kitchen was drowning in gloom, diluted only by the soft light of a night lamp on the countertop. The man’s pale face looked haggard in the semi-darkness.
“Just catching up,” he replied, splashing water from an Aquaphor filter into a glass. “The guys and I haven’t seen each other in so many years.”
Soft faux fur house slippers stepped silently on the ceramic tiles.
“You should stop drinking,” Anastasia said quietly, not looking at her husband. “And I promised Misha to go to football tomorrow.”
Alexey sighed and put the empty glass on the table.
“I’m tired today,” he replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you should go? Or Kirill?”
A cold silence hung between them. The children’s digital photo frame on the wall flickered to a snapshot of their vacation together in Yalta.
“Okay, Kirill will go,” Anastasia finally said. “And I’ll finish the bookkeeping.”
Two weeks later, Alexei announced that he had rented out their one-room apartment in the Staraya Derevnya area to new tenants.
“We’re lucky,” he said over breakfast, spreading soft Philadelphia cheese on toast. “They’re moving in tomorrow, they paid for six months in advance.”
The cheesecakes on Anastasia’s plate remained untouched.
“It’s strange that you didn’t even consult,” she remarked, stirring her jasmine tea. “We agreed to keep that apartment for Kirill when he goes to university.”
A thin haze of steam from the hot drinks hung over the table. The man avoided direct eye contact.
“There are still four years until he enters,” Alexey waved his hand. “And now we need money for repairs in the nursery.”
The next evening, while looking through the joint bank account, Anastasia discovered strange expenses: furniture store “Hoff”, household appliances at “M.Video”, bedding sets.
“Are you converting the apartment for tenants?” she asked when her husband returned home.
There was a stack of bank statement printouts on the kitchen table. Alexey paused in the doorway for a moment.
“People want comfort,” he answered after a pause. “If we invest now, we can raise the rent.”
That evening, Anastasia noticed for the first time that her husband had removed their joint photo from his desktop, replacing it with a faceless screensaver with a mountain landscape.
May rain pounded the roof of her Toyota Camry as Anastasia parked near the Galereya shopping center on Ligovsky Prospekt. The sounds of a street orchestra playing jazz could be heard from the open window.
A phone call interrupted her thoughts:
– Anastasia Viktorovna? Good afternoon, this is Irina Viktorovna, Misha’s class teacher. Could you pick him up a little earlier? He has a fever.
“I’m already on my way,” Anastasia replied, starting the car. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The windshield was flooded with streams of water, the wipers could barely cope with the load. The flow of cars on Nevsky Prospect moved slowly, like a sluggish river.
Suddenly, ahead, at the traffic light, Anastasia noticed a familiar figure. Alexey, covering two women with an umbrella, was helping them get into a taxi. One of them was very young, about twenty years old, with long blond hair. The second was an elegant middle-aged lady in a stylish beige coat.
The sudden realization took her breath away. Nastasia pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, watching her husband carefully close the taxi door and say something to the women through the open window. A smile played on his face that she hadn’t seen for weeks.
School No. 583, where Misha studied, greeted her with a muffled hum of children’s voices. The boy sat in the medical office, pale, with red spots on his cheeks.
“Mommy,” he muttered when he saw Anastasia. “My throat hurts.”
A cool palm lay on his son’s hot forehead.
“Let’s go home, little one,” she whispered, helping him put on his jacket.
She spent the entire evening at the sick child’s bedside, changing compresses and measuring his temperature. The phone was silent – Alexey did not answer calls or messages.
He returned home closer to midnight. Misha was already asleep, and Anastasia was sitting in the kitchen, studying work documents by the light of a desk lamp.
“How’s Misha?” asked the husband, taking off his jacket. “The school called, but I was busy.”
Slowly closing the laptop, Anastasia looked up at her husband.
— Who are these women you helped get into a taxi on Nevsky?
The air seemed to thicken in the small kitchen. The man’s hand, reaching for the refrigerator, froze.
“Casual acquaintances,” he answered without turning around. “From work.”
A quiet laugh escaped Anastasia’s chest, surprising her.
“You know I saw you today,” she said quietly. “Are these the same women who rent our apartment?”
The man turned slowly, dark shadows under his eyes and a pale pink lipstick mark on the collar of his shirt.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s them.”
The soft upholstery of the chair creaked under Anastasia’s weight as she leaned back.
– And who are they?
The heavy pause stretched out for several seconds.
“Vera and Ksenia,” Alexey answered reluctantly. “Vera is Ksenia’s mother.”
A thin thread of guesswork stretched in Anastasia’s mind.
– And why did you hide them from me?
Alexey ran his hand through his hair, avoiding direct eye contact.
“Ksenia… she’s my daughter,” he finally squeezed out. “I only found out about it when I met Kostya. He accidentally mentioned that he was in touch with Vera – we dated before the army.
The floor beneath my feet seemed to have sunk into the abyss. The pendulum of the wall clock, bought at Ikea, continued its monotonous movement, counting down the seconds of crumbling happiness.
“Are you saying that you have a twenty-year-old daughter that you only just found out about?” Anastasia said slowly. “And you decided to move her and her mother into our apartment?”
The man nodded, looking at the floor.
“I wanted to sort this out myself first,” he muttered. “It’s all so confusing… Ksyusha returned from France, where she studied. Vera got divorced a year ago. They needed a place to live…”
Alexey’s phone, lying on the table, rang. The name “Vera” appeared on the screen. The man jerked to pick up the receiver, but stopped under his wife’s gaze.
“Answer,” Anastasia said calmly. “There’s no point in making her worry.”
Alexey looked at her with gratitude and went out into the corridor. From there came the quiet, gentle intonations of his voice, which Anastasia had not heard for many weeks.
Ten minutes later he returned, stopping in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have told you sooner.”
Anastasia looked at him attentively.
“Tell me everything now,” she asked, pointing to the chair opposite. “The whole truth.”
The man sank heavily into a chair, clasping his hands.
“The truth is…” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I fell in love with Vera. Again. Like twenty years ago.”
The words fell between them like heavy stones.
“So what now?” Anastasia asked, surprised at her own calm.
After much deliberation, Anastasia sold their shared apartment and moved with Misha to Kaliningrad, a city that smelled of the sea and new opportunities. She informed Alexey of her decision in a short letter, keeping quiet about her second pregnancy. Seven months later, a girl with sea-colored eyes was born — Alisa. Having become a mother of two, Anastasia completely immersed herself in motherhood, giving up new relationships and opening a small online school of foreign languages.
Alexey, deprived of his family and comfort, was forced to return to his one-room apartment with Kirill. The cramped quarters, the tension in his relationship with Vera and Ksenia’s difficult character soon turned his life into a series of conflicts. Six months later, Vera, tired of the teenager’s constant presence, ultimatums and unfulfilled expectations, took her daughter and went to St. Petersburg, leaving Alexey alone with his mistakes.
When Kirill entered the university in Kaliningrad, he left his father without a second thought and moved in with Anastasia, whom he always considered his real mother. Every evening, watching her read fairy tales to Misha and Alisa, he understood: a real family is not where you are betrayed, but where you are taught to love, no matter what.
