– 12 –
“Stop it,” Gordey snaps. “I’m not going to explain everything you don’t know and didn’t want to know. And it won’t fix the past.”
“Of course,” I laugh quietly, mirthlessly. “Why? You didn’t think it necessary to tell your pregnant wife about it. The one with the heart condition. The one you were so worried about that you ended up taking the other one out of the hospital.”
Anger flashes in his eyes.
“What did you expect, Varya? When they want to find out something, they talk. You burned all the bridges yourself,” he snaps. “You ran away, cleaned out the safe, wrote that you’d ‘solved the problem, just like I wanted.’ Remember? You yourself said back then that you’d gotten rid of the child. Although I was unhappy, I didn’t force you to do anything. These were all your decisions.”
“I wrote this after the photo,” I say, looking away. “After I saw you with someone else’s child. So don’t shift the blame. You’re with the people you love, so what do you want from me now?”
My heart is beating so hard that I’m afraid it’s going to burst out of my chest.
Gordey looks at me without looking away, breathing heavily.
“I wanted to understand what motivated you, to have you tell me all your grievances to my face, so that it wouldn’t be a guess, but straight out. You made your decision for both of us back then,” he finally says. “Without talking. Without asking. You simply took one picture and drew conclusions.”
“And you decided,” I retort, “for both of us even earlier. When you started lying to me and leading a double life behind my back. You somehow didn’t rush to let me in on your secret family.”
We stand opposite each other, literally incinerating each other with our gazes.
“Nika…” For the first time in the entire conversation, he hesitates slightly, as if he’s uncomfortable even saying it out loud. “That’s a whole other story. And no,” his gaze turns icy, “it’s not a secret family I’ve been hiding from you for years. But you still won’t believe me, because you prefer to see me as a dog.”
“You had time to tell me everything, but you chose to lie. So there was something to lie about and something to hide. And yes, after that, I filled in the missing details myself. And as it turned out, very accurately. Do you know what’s actually more convenient for me, Gordey?” I say with a bitter smile. “I’d rather die on the operating table than live knowing my husband didn’t want our child, while he was holding another, desired, harmless girl in his arms.”
A hot, nasty tear runs down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, angry at myself for being so weak.
Gordey smiles crookedly.
“There,” he says quietly. “Finally, it’s honest. You would choose death to spite me. You do everything to spite me.”
“I chose life to spite you,” I snap back.
We both fall silent.
His gaze catches my face, lingering on the dark circles under my eyes. I can almost physically feel the question rising within him: “And how has this life helped you?”
“Well, yes. Life,” he repeats slowly. “In which you hide with strangers, live in this…” he glances around the kitchen, wincing, “kennel, walk around half-dead from exhaustion, and hate me as if I were the one torturing you. Is this your great choice, Varya?”
“Yes,” I stubbornly raise my chin.
He exhales loudly, as if he’s holding back from yelling obscenities.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he blurts out unexpectedly. “For months. I thought something had happened to you, that you were sick, that you needed help. I…”
“I know. Mom told me,” I say dryly. “How you were darting back and forth. And then suddenly… like a whisper. You stopped. So you found something more interesting to do.”
“I understand that you don’t want to be found,” he corrects harshly. “Your Seryoga convinced me of that very clearly.”
“Convinced?” I smile.
“Seeing a man in the same apartment as you was enough for me,” his tone becomes low, dangerous. “And your shoes in the hallway next to his. I didn’t mean to start a fight on someone else’s doorstep. If you chose someone else, then that’s the way it should be.”
“What did you think?” I can’t help but ask. “That you could simultaneously call my child unwanted, hide another woman with a baby from me, and still expect me to wait faithfully by the window? Forever?”
“I thought you wouldn’t act so rashly,” he retorts harshly. “That you wouldn’t go into a hysterical abortion. That you’d have enough sense and…” he grits his teeth, “respect for me to at least give me a chance to explain myself.”
The word “abortion” seems to hiss between us like acid.
Everything inside me is twisted into a tight ball. Tears burn my eyes. I can’t tell him the truth.
If I tell him, Lyova will no longer be mine alone. In a fit of resentment and anger, Gordey can get on my nerves, not just mine, but our child’s as well. He didn’t need it then, so why would my ex be so worried about my son’s mental state now?
“It was too late to explain,” I exhale wearily. “It’s so convenient to remember those conversations when you’re already standing there holding someone else’s child and lying to your wife about being at work.”
He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, anger and fatigue are coiled tightly in them.
“I’m no saint,” Gordey says, surprisingly evenly. “I’ve never pretended to be. Yeah, I did a lot of stupid things back then. Yeah, I didn’t tell you the truth about Nika and the baby. Because I didn’t think you were capable of taking it well in that state.”
He looks straight into my eyes.
“But can you at least once in your life admit that you, too, did something stupid? That your note wasn’t an act of great freedom, but cowardice and stupidity?”
It takes my breath away.
– No. If I stayed, I would have betrayed myself.
I take a step back, leaning against the doorframe because my legs are shaking.
– And now at least I know that I did everything I could. Unlike you.
Gordey chuckled irritably.
“All I could do was abandon everything and everyone, leave one note, and disappear. That’s all your heroism.”
He glances at the clock above the door, as if putting a period.
“Okay,” his tone becomes dry and businesslike. “Noted. Your theory remains the same: I’m the dog, you’re the victim.”
He turns and walks into the corridor.
I stand rooted to the floor, listening to him put on his shoes and the click of the lock. The door closes silently, without a slam.
The silence falls so suddenly that my ears ring. I hope he’s gone forever and never speaks to me again.
