Autumn evening wrapped the apartment in the golden light of table lamps. Taras stood by the window, looking at the city lights, when he heard the rattle of keys in the lock. Polina had returned from yet another corporate party—elegant, impeccable, as always.
“Third time, Polina! The third time in two years!” Taras’s voice trembled with barely contained emotion. He turned slowly to his wife, medical papers clenched in his hands. “And every time it’s the same clinic, the same certificates about a miscarriage!”
Polina stopped by the bar and poured herself some white wine. Her movements were measured, calm.
“Oh, how perceptive you are,” a cold smirk touched her lips. “It took a whole two years to add up the simplest math.”
“You… you did it on purpose?” The words stuck in Taras’s throat.
“Did you think I would breed like a rabbit? Ruin my body for the sake of your parents’ fantasies?” Polina took a sip of wine, looking at her husband with open contempt.
Taras sank into an armchair. The world around him was collapsing piece by piece, but it had been preceded by months of doubts and strange coincidences.
Half a year before that evening, Taras and his best friend, Maksim Topolev, had sat in the same kitchen. Sunbeams played on the polished table surface, and the city hummed outside the window.
“Listen, Taras,” Maksim set his coffee cup aside, “I don’t want to meddle, but the situation looks suspicious. Polina’s healthy, you’re healthy, and you still haven’t had kids for how many years?”
“Five soon since we married,” Taras stirred his sugar thoughtfully. “Doctors don’t find anything critical. Just fate, I guess.”
“And does she genuinely want this?”
“Of course! We’ve talked about it so many times. She’s upset herself after every failure…”
Maksim shook his head but decided not to push the subject.
That same morning Polina met her sister Alina at a small café not far from the office. Alina studied her sister’s face carefully.
“Pregnant again?” she asked quietly.
“Shh,” Polina quickly glanced around. “Yes, three months. And I’ll have to take care of it again… you know.”
“Polina, that’s awful! Why did you tie yourself down with marriage if motherhood isn’t in your plans?”
“What choice did I have?” Bitterness crept into Polina’s voice. “Thirty’s on the doorstep, all my classmates have kids and husbands. Our parents nagged me every day. Taras was a suitable option—non-intrusive, well-off. I thought I could talk him out of it.”
“And how does he react?”
“How do you think? He believes every word about accidents. I get the certificates through Sveta in the reception office. Three hundred euros per document, but the result is worth it.”
Alina shook her head in silence, realizing her sister wouldn’t be persuaded.
That evening at the Zhuravlyovs’, Taras’s mother, Zinaida Petrovna, and his sister, Veronika, gathered over tea to discuss the sore subject.
“Son, don’t be angry with your old mother,” Zinaida adjusted her glasses, “but five years of marriage with no children—it’s strange. In my day, by that age I was raising two already!”
“Mom, times are different now,” Veronika spoke up for her brother.
“Times may be different, but nature’s the same. Taras, does your Polina truly want children? Seems to me she only thinks about work.”
“Mom, she has medical problems. Twice already we lost babies early on.”
“Losses, you say?” Zinaida tensed. “And you saw the documents with your own eyes?”
“Of course!”
“Show them to me.”
Reluctantly, Taras brought a folder from the desk. Zinaida examined every line carefully.
“Strange… The dates look suspicious… And the stamp is kind of blurry.”
“Mom, are you now a medical documentation expert too?”
A week later Veronika decided to check her suspicions. Her old friend Lena worked at that very clinic that issued the certificates.
“Verochka, you know—doctor–patient confidentiality,” Lena nervously twisted a bracelet on her wrist.
“Lenok, I just need confirmation—did Polina ever receive treatment at your clinic or not. Nothing more.”
“Zhuravlyova Polina Sergeyevna?”
“That’s right.”
Lena hesitated, then slowly nodded.
“Yes, she’s our patient. Three times over the past two years. Just not because of spontaneous miscarriages.”
“Then for what?”
“Ver, I really can’t disclose details…”
“Lena, please!”
“Induced termination of pregnancy. Early term. Medication method.”
The words struck Veronika like a bolt of lightning.
For a whole month Veronika agonized, not knowing how to tell her brother this awful truth. The chance came when she ran into Polina by accident at a shopping mall. Her sister-in-law was trying on an expensive dress.
“Hi, Veronika!” Polina put on a cordial smile. “What brings you here?”
“Shopping. Picking out an outfit?”
“Yeah, for an important work event. I want to look impeccable. You know, when you don’t have child-related worries, you can afford a fifty-thousand dress.”
“Comfortable, I bet?” Veronika looked at her closely. “No changes in appearance, sleeping soundly…”
“What are you getting at?” Polina tensed.
“I know all about your procedures, Polina.”
“I have no idea what you mean…”
“Three abortions in two years. The ‘Health’ clinic. My friend works there.”
Polina blanched but quickly regained composure.
“So what? Those are my personal decisions about my own body.”
“And what about Taras? He dreams of being a father!”
“Let him keep dreaming. Or find himself some simpleton ready to stamp out heirs for him.”
That same evening Veronika went to her brother’s place. Polina wasn’t home—staying late at the office, as usual.
“Taras, I need to tell you something.”
“If it’s Mom’s nagging again…”
“No. It’s about Polina.”
Veronika told him everything—about the clinic, her friend, the conversation at the store. Taras listened in silence, his face gradually turning to stone.
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“You can check yourself. Here’s Lena’s number; she’ll confirm every word.”
Taras dialed. A short conversation put everything in its place. The phone slipped from his hand.
“Three times… She killed our children three times…”
When Polina came home, Taras was sitting in the dim living room. Her medical papers lay in front of him.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” She switched on the overhead light.
“Thinking.”
“About what, so serious?” The usual mocking notes sounded in her voice.
“About how you terminated pregnancies three times and passed them off as natural losses.”
Polina froze for a second. Then she shrugged indifferently, kicked off her heels, and walked to the home bar.
“Veronika’s been busy? I figured that chatterbox wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Polina… How could you do this?”
“Very easily,” she said, pouring herself whiskey. “I took a pill—and the problem was solved.”
“They were our children!”
“They were pea-sized embryos. Don’t make a tragedy out of nothing.”
“I wanted kids so much! I dreamed of a family!”
“And I didn’t!” Polina spun toward him sharply. “I had no intention of turning into an exhausted hen with a ruined figure! I didn’t want to deal with diapers and forget what sleep is! I have a career, do you understand? I’m a deputy director at a major firm!”
“Then why bind yourself to me with marriage?”
“Because it was necessary. Because everyone expected it. Because thirty is a dangerous milestone for an unmarried woman.”
The next morning Taras went to see his mother-in-law, Marina Andreyevna. She was seeing clients at her notary office.
“Marina Andreyevna, did you know?”
“Know what exactly?” She looked up from her papers.
“That Polina doesn’t want children. That she has abortions.”
The woman leaned back in her chair.
“I suspected.”
“And you kept silent?”
“What was I supposed to do? It’s her life, her decisions. Though… I don’t approve of deception. If you don’t want children, say so openly.”
“She deceived me for five years!”
“I know. And that’s unacceptable. But you and your mother aren’t much better. You kept pressuring her. Demanding grandchildren, continuation of the family line…”
“That’s a natural desire!”
“Natural. But you can’t force it. Polina has always been… particular. Goal-oriented, independent. I hoped maternal feelings would awaken. I was wrong.”
The silence in the room grew heavier. Taras sat across from her, as if turned to stone by her candor.
“I’m filing for divorce,” he finally said, the words sounding surprisingly calm.
Polina set her glass on the glass-topped table and laughed—short and sharp.
“Excellent! At last you’ve made a sensible decision. By the way, the apartment is registered to me.”
“What?” Taras jerked as if struck.
“Don’t you read what you sign?” Polina stood and walked to the window. “Three months ago, I re-registered the apartment to myself. You signed the papers without even looking. As always.”
Taras stood up slowly. His face had gone pale.
“You… you planned it all in advance?”
“Of course,” Polina turned back to him. “I’m not stupid enough to leave a marriage empty-handed. The apartment is mine on paper, the car is in my name too. And your manager’s salary…” she shrugged, “well, it’ll be enough to rent a one-bedroom somewhere outside the city.”
“Polina,” Taras’s voice went hoarse, “is all this really just a game to you? A calculation?”
“What else?” She sat back down and took her glass. “Romance? Great love? Taras, we’re adults. These days only idiots marry for love.”
“So I’m an idiot?”
“Well…” Polina took a sip of wine, “I’d say you’re naive. Much too naive for this harsh world.”
Taras walked silently to the front door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” his wife called after him.
“To Maksim’s. I’ll pick up my things tomorrow.”
“And that’s the right thing to do,” she waved a hand. “Just don’t forget—the apartment is mine on all the documents. And don’t you dare break anything out of spite.”
“I’m not you, Polina. I don’t touch what isn’t mine.”
But she wasn’t listening anymore, already buried in her phone.
A fine autumn drizzle tapped against the windows in Maksim’s apartment. Taras sat at the kitchen table, staring gloomily into a glass of cognac.
“Spill it, brother,” Maksim settled in opposite him. “What happened with you two?”
“She cheated on me,” Taras said slowly, enunciating each word. “For six months already. With some coworker.”
“Damn…” Maksim whistled. “How did you find out?”
“She told me herself. What’s more—she said she never loved me. She married so her parents would get off her back, and to her marriage is just a partnership.”
“What a bitch…”
“And that’s not all,” Taras tossed back his drink. “She re-registered the apartment into her name. On the sly. I didn’t even realize what I was signing.”
“How?”
“Very simple. Three months ago she brought some papers and said, ‘Sign this, it’s insurance or something household-related.’ I signed without reading. I trusted her…”
Maksim shook his head. “You can contest it in court. You put money into that place, right?”
“I don’t want to go to court,” Taras rubbed his forehead wearily. “Let her take everything. The main thing is never seeing her again.”
“Taras, man,” his friend put a hand on his shoulder, “forget her. You’re young, smart, good with your hands. You’ll find a normal woman.”
“After such a betrayal?” Taras gave a bitter smile. “I don’t know, Max. I don’t know if I can trust anyone again.”
“You will. Time heals. And let Polina stick with her calculations. You’ll see—sooner or later she’ll regret what she did.”
The divorce was finalized three months later. Polina hired an expensive lawyer who deftly handled everything. Taras didn’t resist—he just wanted to end the nightmare as soon as possible.
On the appointed day he came to collect his personal belongings. Polina met him at the door in a new designer dress.
“Oh, the ex-husband has graced us!” she said with undisguised irony. “Your things are in the bedroom, neatly packed in boxes. Take them and go.”
“Polina,” Taras paused on the threshold, “don’t you feel sorry? At all? We lived together for four years…”
“Sorry for what?” She shrugged. “The time I wasted? A little. But now things are much better for me.”
“So you’re already seeing someone?”
“How is that your business?” Polina smirked. “But if you must know—yes. Andrey from our department. A promising guy, ambitious. And unlike you, he understands that marriage is mutually beneficial cooperation, not sappy talk about great love.”
Taras walked silently into the bedroom. There really were three cardboard boxes with his things. While packing them, he couldn’t help overhearing Polina on the phone:
“Alina, hi! Yeah, everything’s great! We finally divorced, the apartment is fully mine. Now I can live peacefully and not worry about anything… What? Oh, I’m seeing someone. Andrey—remember I told you? Young, ambitious, we work at the same company… Kids?” She laughed. “Are you crazy? I explained to him right away—no kids. And he fully agrees. We’re both focused on our careers… Yes, I learned from the mistakes of my previous marriage. I’ve got everything under control now…”
Taras picked up the boxes and headed for the exit.
“Good luck, Polina,” he said from the doorway.
She glanced up from the phone. “And the same to you. Just leave the keys on the hall shelf.”
“So? Was it hard?” Maksim asked as they loaded the boxes into his car.
“You know,” Taras got into the passenger seat, “it’s strange. There’s no pain anymore. Just… some kind of emptiness.”
“That’s good. Means you’re letting go.”
“Maybe. By the way,” Taras looked at his friend, “you mentioned Sveta from your office…”
“Oh!” Maksim brightened. “She still asks about you. Want me to introduce you properly?”
“I don’t know… Maybe it’s too soon?”
“Taras, life goes on. And Sveta’s a gem. Kind, sincere. She wants a family, kids. You’ll see—she’ll cure you of Polina fast.”
He met Svetlana a month later, at Maksim’s birthday. A small, cozy gathering, a homey atmosphere—exactly what Taras had lacked after the cold, calculated life with Polina.
“Taras,” Svetlana offered her hand with a smile, “so nice to finally meet you. Maksim’s told me so much!”
“Only the good, I hope?” Taras smiled back.
“Exclusively,” she laughed. “He says you’re a born engineer and, in general, a wonderful person.”
They talked all evening. Svetlana turned out to be wonderfully easy to be around—no posing, no calculation, just straightforward sincerity.
“Do you want a family?” she asked toward the end of the night. “Children?”
“Very much,” Taras said. “I’ve always dreamed of a big family.”
“So have I!” Svetlana beamed. “You know, I’m twenty-eight already, and all my friends are married, having kids. And I keep waiting for a prince on a white horse.”
“Maybe take a look at a prince on a gray one?” Taras suggested carefully.
“A gray one is fine too,” she laughed.
The wedding was modest—only the closest people. Zinaida Petrovna, Taras’s mother, couldn’t stop rejoicing over her new daughter-in-law.
“Son,” she whispered, hugging him, “at last you’re happy. I was so afraid after that… after Polina…”
“Mom, let’s not talk about the past,” Taras kissed her forehead. “It’s going to be good now.”
And indeed, life improved. Svetlana turned out to be exactly the woman Taras had dreamed of—faithful, caring, ready to share both joys and hardships.
A year later their daughter Kristina was born. Taras cried at the maternity hospital, holding the tiny bundle in his arms.
“Daddy,” Svetlana whispered, “she looks so much like you!”
“Like us,” he corrected. “Like both of us.”
Meanwhile Polina continued her “successful” life. The affair with Andrey lasted only three months—the guy found himself a younger girlfriend and left without much ceremony.
“Polina,” he said when they parted, “you’re an amazing woman, but too… cold, I guess. With you I feel like I’m in business negotiations, not with someone I love.”
“What sentimental nonsense!” she protested. “We agreed—no sappiness!”
“We did agree,” Andrey nodded. “But you see, without ‘sappiness’ life gets empty. Sorry.”
The next suitor lasted even less—a month. Then there was another, and another… They all left for the same reason—Polina didn’t know how to love, how to simply be a woman. She was a business partner, but not a life companion.
They met at the supermarket two years later. Polina was choosing frozen ready-meals for a solitary dinner when she heard a familiar voice:
“Sveta, maybe let’s get some more fruit purée? Kristina loves it…”
She turned and saw Taras. He was pushing a stroller, and beside him walked a pregnant woman—apparently that same Svetlana.
“Polina?” Taras didn’t recognize her at once. In two years she had changed a lot—slimmed down, looked older, with deep shadows under her eyes.
“Taras…” Polina couldn’t take her eyes off the stroller. “Your child?”
“Our daughter,” he corrected proudly. “Kristina. She’s eight months now. And the second one’s on the way.”
Polina looked at Svetlana. She smiled shyly, one hand stroking her rounded belly.
“Congratulations,” Polina managed to force out.
“Thank you,” Taras took his wife by the arm. “We’ve got to go—Kristina’s hungry. All the best, Polina.”
They walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the aisle with an empty basket in her hands. Polina watched them go—a happy young family, something she might have had…
Three years later the diagnosis struck like a lightning bolt—cancer. Polina sat in the doctor’s office holding her test results and, for the first time in many years, felt real fear.
“Are there chances?” she asked quietly.
“There are,” the doctor nodded. “But it will take long treatment. And… you’ll need support from loved ones.”
Loved ones. Polina mentally counted those who could be there for her. The list turned out frighteningly short.
Chemotherapy turned her life into a chain of hospital corridors and sleepless nights. The apartment that once seemed ideal now felt like a museum—beautiful but dead. No one called, no one came. Alina dropped by for half an hour now and then, but she had her own family, her own concerns.
Polina lay on the wide bed staring at the ceiling and, for the first time, truly understood the price of her choices. The silence pressed in; emptiness filled every corner. There was no child’s laughter, no warm hand to stroke her forehead, no one to bring a glass of water or simply sit nearby.
At the same time, in a small apartment across town, Taras was assembling a crib. Svetlana sat in an armchair, watching his efforts and stroking her big belly.
“Careful with the corner pieces,” she laughed. “Or our baby will arrive and the crib will still be in parts.”
“It’ll be ready,” Taras kissed his wife’s forehead. “Kristina, come help Daddy!”
Their two-year-old marched over importantly and handed him a screwdriver. The home was full of the sounds of life—childish babble, soft music, the smell of dinner that Svetlana was cooking.
“Happy?” his wife asked when the crib was finally done.
“Madly,” he answered, embracing his family.
And in her empty apartment Polina closed her eyes, realizing that everything that truly mattered she had pushed away with her own hands. And now it was far too late to change anything.