After many years of struggling with infertility, I was convinced that the birth of two adorable daughters would be a joyful turning point for our family. I never imagined that instead of happiness, my husband would abandon us at the most important moment of our lives.
The pregnancy was difficult—several weeks of bed rest, sleepless nights, the constant fear of losing the babies… But when I held Masha and Sonia in my arms for the first time, all of that suddenly felt insignificant.
When my husband came to visit us, instead of a smile or tears of joy, his face froze in an expression I couldn’t understand.
“Hi,” I whispered. “Look at them—aren’t they a miracle?”
He stepped closer, looked at the girls, and his face became tense.
“What is this?” he muttered.
Frowning, I said, “These are our daughters. Masha and Sonia.”
“You knew I wanted a boy!” he snapped so harshly I almost dropped the baby in my arms.
I couldn’t believe it. “Igor, these are our children—healthy and beautiful. Isn’t that what matters most?”
“No, they’re not my children,” he murmured quietly.
“This is not what I expected.”
He claimed I had deceived him, that I had failed to meet his expectations. Then he turned and walked away, slamming the door behind him.
At that moment, my whole body clenched in pain. My joy vanished, leaving only emptiness and tears. The babies clung to me, as if they could feel my despair.
The next day, he didn’t come back. Not even after a week. I later found out he had gone on vacation abroad, as if nothing had happened. His mother, Olga Sergeevna, supported him. She even called me, accusing me of destroying the family and “betraying their name.”
Every message from her pierced my heart. But as I rocked the girls through those long nights, I realized I had to be strong—for them.
I hired a lawyer, filed for divorce, and secured full custody. It wasn’t easy, but through the process, I regained my confidence.
