– 6 –
Varvara
Slamming the door was a gesture. Proud, desperate, theatrical.
Living on, alone, with a fragile, barely nascent miracle inside, without a plan other than a vague address on a sheet of paper torn from a diary – that was reality.
A heavy reality that fell upon me as soon as I found myself on the platform.
The train sped north, cutting through the gray haze of the autumn day. It felt like I’d left behind not only Gordey and our home, but all the oxygen in that past life.
It hurt to breathe. My chest tightened, and I instinctively pressed my hand to my heart, trying to calm its wild, nervous rhythm.
Heart palpitations. Dizziness. And a sharp, stabbing pain that came after I read Rita’s message and hasn’t gone away since.
I was on my way to see Vika and Sergey. Sergey is a classmate of mine who started dating Vika back in college. That’s how the three of us became friends.
But after graduation, our paths diverged. The boys moved to another city, just as Sergei’s father and his mother were separating, and after moving back to his hometown, he invited the boys there too.
The man held a respectable position there – head of the clinic.
I almost never told Gordey about the guys. And our communication with them was interrupted for years.
Until Vika found me on social media and messaged me. She was actively inviting me over.
Our connection was as thin as a thread, but I knew Vika and Sergey were people of their word and deeds. And, most importantly, they didn’t know Gordey.
When I called her from the station, I didn’t go into details.
“Vik, I need to disappear. For a long time. I can’t explain the reasons over the phone. But can you see me? Just don’t tell anyone about my call, please.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Vika is a sharp but wise woman.
– Varya… Maybe it’s emotions? Did you have a fight with your husband? Where are you now?
“I’m at the station,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her stomach. “And I really need you to help. Please, Vika. Hide me.”
She sighed heavily:
– Yes, come, of course. What time and when should I expect you? I’ll meet you.
A friend dictated their exact address to me, and I gave her the details of my intended train. Vika was also the only one I shared my contraindications with. I confided this secret to her a year ago, simply sharing my fears.
And here I am in a strange city. Thousands of kilometers from home. Vika and Sergey meet me on the platform.
Seryoga, a big, bearded man with kind eyes, immediately takes my heavy duffel bag. He doesn’t ask any questions, just nods to Vika, and she grabs my elbow.
Their apartment is quiet, bright, and very cozy. I immediately feel safe.
“Listen to me, Varya,” a few days after my arrival, Vika sits me down on the sofa and places my test results, which I had thoughtfully brought, in front of her. “You’re staying with us. We’ll tell everyone you’re my distant relative, visiting. I won’t give you up. But you give me your word: no stress. The most important thing now is you and the baby. Sergei has already made arrangements through his father. He will introduce you to the right person. He’s the best obstetrician-cardiologist in the city. He will be your caregiver and will help with the birth. So don’t worry about anything.”
Vika’s words are like balm for my wounded soul. Finally, no shouting, no arguing, but concrete help.
The following weeks blur together into one endless series of hospital walls. My pregnancy, which Gordey called “risky,” fully lives up to that label.
I’m unable to “enjoy” this time. Due to the constant stress caused by the escape and the emotional upheaval, my blood pressure is spiking, and my heart can’t cope with the strain.
I’m hardly ever home with Vika and Sergey. I’m put on bed rest. First for a week, then for two. And again, and again.
I’m lying in a quiet, bright room, looking out the window at how late autumn is turning into winter. Every day – IVs, dim lighting, clear instructions from the doctor.
I’m fighting. I have to prove, first and foremost to myself, that I can handle this. That my choice was the right one, that I’m not selfish, unlike Gordey.
“Your husband, Varya,” Vika visits me one Friday evening, bringing a whole mountain of fresh fruit, “he’s looking for you. Very actively. But you warned me this day would come.”
Everything inside me turns cold. I stop breathing.
– He… came?
Vika nods, biting into an apple. Her gaze is sympathetic.
“Yes, two days ago. By car, as usual. Black SUV, frowning face. He drove up like he was at home. I knew right away it was him. You asked us, and we were prepared.”
Yes, indeed, I begged the guys not to give me away, I prepared them mentally for this day.
– And what… what did he say?
“And Seryoga opened the door for him. You know, he’s a simple man, but one with principles. Your Gordey, of course, immediately had jealousy in his eyes, screaming, demanding you…” Vika grinned. “So Seryoga told him things were serious between you. Like, you’ve been living with him for a long time, and he wouldn’t give you up to anyone. Obviously, Seryoga lied to cool your husband down and discourage him from chasing you. Better let him wash diapers. But yours turned out to be as stubborn as a ram. I was outside the door, eavesdropping. My heart sank when they were sorting things out. It almost came to blows. Where did he even get our address?…”
I close my eyes, remembering Gordey. And it’s good that everything turned out this way. He won’t forgive me. He’ll calm down. He’ll decide I’ve met someone else, I’m happy with him, and nothing binds us anymore. He’ll peacefully raise his daughter and build a relationship with his young wife.
“And he… left?” I ask, worried.
“He left. When he saw your boots and old jacket in the hallway, he bolted. Seryoga says he was pretty gutted. I doubt he’ll come back here after that. Too proud. Now he thinks you’re with someone else. And that your leaving wasn’t just hysteria. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, Varya?”
I nod slowly, pressing my palm to my belly. My baby moves gently, as if in agreement.
– Yes. That’s how it should be, Vika. We’re officially divorced. He received the divorce notice, I’m sure. He has his own life now. A family. A daughter. And I have mine. And only my child.
– By the way, in the divorce papers… well, since you’ve already filed… according to the law, he can’t file a counterclaim until…
Vika stops short.
“Until the baby is born, so we can establish paternity,” I finish for her. “I know. I beat him to it. He thinks I had an abortion. Fulfilled his dream. So he has nothing to do with us now.”
I’m lying. Either to myself or to Vika. Legally, Gordey has a direct connection to us. But emotionally, after that photo, after his lies, after his “I need you, not your memory”… he became a stranger to me.
My life now consists of a struggle: a struggle for every heartbeat, for every extra day on bed rest, for every gram of the baby’s weight.
And in this fight I am alone. Because of him.
