“— And the toast?” my husband’s voice cut through the rich aroma of roasted meat. “To family. May it only grow bigger.”
Stas raised his glass but didn’t look at me. His gaze—warm and a little nervous—was fixed on my sister. On Lenka. She was sitting across from us, fiddling with the edge of her napkin and forcing a smile.
I pretended not to notice. It had become a habit over the past year—not noticing when he offered her coat, even though I was standing closer.
Not noticing when he laughed at her jokes louder than at mine. Not noticing how they’d fall silent the moment I entered the room.
“To family,” I echoed, taking a sip of tart grape juice.
Lenka flinched and finally looked up at me. In her eyes was a vast, cosmic sadness that made me uneasy for a moment.
“Len, are you okay? You’re… quiet today.”
She blinked, and the sadness washed away, replaced by her usual tired irony.
“Just a lot of work, Katya. Reports, deadlines. You know how it is.”
Of course, I knew. We worked at the same company, just in different departments. And I knew that this was her quietest time of the year. But I said nothing. Another habit I’d picked up.
Stas suddenly coughed, drawing attention to himself.
“Speaking of work. Remember I told you about that project in another city? It got approved.”
Something unpleasant clenched inside me.
“Approved? But you said it was just an idea, a draft.”
“Well, it is what it is,” he spread his arms, beaming. “I’m leaving in a month. For six months, maybe longer.”
He was saying it to me, but again, his eyes were on Lena. And she was staring at her plate like it held the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything.
“Six months?” I repeated, my voice betraying me with a tremble. “We were planning a summer vacation…”
“Katya, come on—this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” he exclaimed. “You want me to grow, to develop, right?”
He was saying all the right things—the kind of things no “normal” wife could argue with. A normal wife would have clapped her hands and started packing his suitcase.
But I wasn’t a normal wife. I was the wife who saw her husband’s hand reach under the table to touch her sister’s.
Just for a second. A light, barely-there touch.
Lenka jerked her hand away as if burned.
And I just sat there, watching them. My shining, hopeful husband. And my sister, who looked like she might crumble to dust right there in my kitchen chair.
Dinner ended awkwardly. Lena claimed she had a headache and asked to leave.
“I’ll take you,” Stas offered immediately. “I need to go to the pharmacy anyway.”
“It’s the opposite direction,” I noted absently.
“I’ll make a detour,” he said, already putting on his jacket. “It’s no trouble for my sister-in-law.”
He turned to me at the door. There was something new in his eyes. Not pity. More like… resolve. Like a man standing on the edge of a cliff who had finally decided to jump.
“We need to talk, Katya. Seriously. When I get back.”
And then he left, leaving me alone in a room filled with the smell of a ruined celebration and a deafening sense of impending doom.
The first two weeks, I lived in a fog. Stas called every night at nine sharp. Talked about his “project,” the new city, the rental apartment. His voice on the phone sounded foreign—mechanical.
He reported, not shared. Asked how I was, but never listened.
I tried clinging to my sister.
“Len, let’s go shopping this weekend? Or maybe a movie?”
But she kept slipping away.
“Oh Katya, I’m just so tired. Maybe another time.”
She really did look tired. She’d lost weight, with shadows under her eyes. At work, I’d noticed her a few times absentmindedly placing a hand on her stomach. A strange, unfamiliar gesture.
The suspicion didn’t come all at once. It grew slowly, like poisonous ivy, curling around my heart.
First, a thin sprout—when I accidentally saw a pregnancy test wrapper in her trash bin.
Then—when she started wearing loose sweaters, though she’d always taken pride in her figure.
The ivy grew, thickened, and its thorns dug deeper and deeper.
I stopped waiting for Stas’s calls. I knew he was lying. His “project” was a lie. But I didn’t know how to make them tell the truth.
The climax came unexpectedly. Wednesday evening. I was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at a black TV screen when the phone rang. Stas’s number.
“Hi,” I said into the receiver.
He was silent. I could only hear him breathing.
“Stas? Is something wrong?”
“I can’t lie anymore, Katya,” his voice was flat, emotionless. “I’m not coming back. It’s not about the project.”
I stayed silent. Waiting.
“It’s about Lena. We… we love each other.”
I closed my eyes. The ivy inside me stopped growing. It simply froze, turning into stone.
“I’m going to have a baby with your sister!” he blurted out in a single breath, as if afraid he’d never say it otherwise.
In the silence that followed, a strange sound rose—wet, choking. It took me a second to realize it was me. I was laughing.
At first quietly, then louder and louder. Not joyful laughter—this was hysteria, bubbling up from the depths of my soul.
I laughed with my head thrown back, tears running down my face. I laughed at the monstrous, ridiculous banality of it all. Husband, sister, baby. Like a bad soap opera I’d never bother watching.
“Katya?” came his alarmed voice from the phone. “Are you crying?”
“No,” I exhaled after the laughter subsided. “Not at all. I just realized what an idiot you are, Stas.”
I hung up. The hysteria vanished as quickly as it came, leaving behind a ringing, crystalline clarity.
The stone inside didn’t weigh me down—it gave me balance. I stood up, got dressed, and walked out. Hailed a cab without thinking.
Lena opened the door. She was in a robe, disheveled, eyes red from crying. When she saw me, she flinched.
“Katya… He told you? I’m sorry, I…”
“Where is he?” I interrupted, walking into her apartment. My voice was calm. Too calm.
“He… he’s not here. He’s in another city…”
I looked around her tiny studio. A man’s jacket on the coat rack. His sneakers by the door. Two glasses on the coffee table.
“Stop lying, Lena. At least now.”
She shrank back.
“Katya, I know it’s awful! But we couldn’t help it! We love each other so much!”
She rambled on about feelings, torment, destiny. I didn’t listen. I waited for her to run out of breath.
“You’re pregnant,” I said when she finally stopped. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” she whispered, instinctively placing a hand on her belly. “We’re having a baby.”
I stepped up close. She flinched, expecting a slap, a scream—anything.
“Lena,” I looked straight into her eyes, “Why didn’t you ask me? Before sleeping with my husband and planning a family with him.”
“Ask you what?” she blinked.
“I would’ve told you. It’s no secret. At least not to me. Stas and I spent three years trying to have a baby. We saw all the doctors, did all the tests.”
I paused, letting the words sink in.
“Stas is infertile, Lena. Completely. Medically confirmed. He can’t have children. Ever.”
Her face began to change—confusion, denial, then horror. So primal it almost made me pity her.
“No…” she whispered. “You’re lying. You just want to hurt me. He… he said you were the problem…”
“Of course he did,” I gave a bitter smile. “It was easier for him. Easier to lie to you, to himself. Easier to steal your life than admit his failure.”
I turned to leave.
“So congratulations, little sister. You will have a baby. Just know—my husband has nothing to do with it.”
I closed the door behind me, leaving her alone in the wreckage of her “great love.”
The night air felt incredibly fresh. I took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, I could breathe freely.
Five years passed.
Is five years a long time or a short one? Long enough for old scars to stop aching when the weather changes.
Long enough to learn a new language, change careers, and move to a city where you can see the sea from your bedroom window.
I was sitting at a small café by the waterfront, lazily stirring the foam in my cappuccino.
A light breeze played with a paper napkin, and seagulls were crying somewhere in the distance.
I was waiting for Andrey—we were planning to drive out of town to choose a puppy from a shelter. The thought warmed me from the inside, filling me with a quiet, steady joy.
The doorbell jingled, and I glanced over.
And froze.
A woman walked in, holding a small boy’s hand. She was thin, gaunt, with lifeless eyes.
Wearing a shapeless gray cardigan that made her look even more faded.
I wouldn’t have recognized her if not for the familiar curve of her lips. Lena.
She saw me almost immediately. Flinched. Panic twisted her face for a moment. She wanted to turn and leave, but the boy was already pulling her toward the pastry display.
“Mom, I want that one—with the berry!”
Lena whispered something to him and, gathering her courage, led him to a table in the far corner—away from me.
I looked away, pretending to be absorbed in the pattern on my cup. But I could feel her gaze on my back like a spotlight.
The stone that once lived in my chest had long since crumbled to dust. But now, one tiny shard seemed to shift.
I felt no anger, no resentment. Only a strange, distant sadness.
Their order arrived quickly. The boy wrinkled his nose adorably as he ate his pastry. He was cute, fair-haired. Looked nothing like Stas. Or Lena.
I had decided to just wait for Andrey and leave without a word. But Lena suddenly stood up and approached my table.
“Hi,” she said in a quiet, almost whispering voice.
“Hi, Lena.”
She fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot.
“I… I didn’t know you’d be here. We’re just passing through.”
“It happens,” I shrugged.
“How are you?” she forced out.
“I’m doing well.”
Silence fell between us. Her son watched us curiously.
“Katya, I…” she faltered. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. I know it’s too late. I know it changes nothing. But I… I was such a fool.”
She looked at me with desperate hope. Waiting for a reply, forgiveness, maybe even a scolding. Something to show that I still cared.
But I didn’t care.
“It’s all in the past, Lena,” I said evenly. “Live your life.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She understood. She was just a ghost to me now. A page I had turned and would never read again.
The doorbell jingled again. Andrey walked in, smiling, holding two small bouquets of wild daisies.
“Sorry I’m late. These are for you.”
He handed me the flowers, then noticed Lena. He didn’t know her. To him, she was just a stranger crying at a table.
“Is something wrong?” he asked gently.
“No,” I smiled, taking the flowers. “Nothing. That woman is just leaving.”
Lena nodded silently, turned, and walked back to her son. I breathed in the sweet scent of the daisies.
Everything was right. Everyone had their own path.
And mine was leading forward—to the sea, the sun, and the man who brings me wildflowers just because.
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