“Next time will be the one,” he whispered, kissing her temple.
It had been four years already: endless injections, hormones, schedules.
The first failed IVF was a shock. Sergei hadn’t said anything: he had simply bought tickets and taken her to the seaside. They sat on the pier, ate ice cream with sprinkles, acted silly like teenagers, convinced they’d get there one day.
“The body needs rest,” the doctor insisted, adjusting his glasses.
But they rarely rested. Everything was at stake. Every cycle started with hope and to-do lists… only to end in tears in the bathroom.
One day, Natasha went to the pharmacy to buy another ovulation test. When she returned, she found her mother in the kitchen. As for Sergei… he was sitting in the bedroom, lights off, completely silent.
“What did she say to you?” Natasha whispered, desperate.
No answer.
Her mother brushed it off with, “We just talked. Nothing serious, sweetheart.”
But Natasha could feel it — something had changed.
Then came the silent evenings. Untouched cups. Meals gone cold.
Then her husband left.
On the third day, Natasha gave in. She went to her mother’s house.
“Mom, what did you do? What did you say to him?” she shouted, her voice breaking.
“There are things you just don’t touch,” her mother murmured, avoiding her gaze.
“Like what?!” Natasha trembled. “We’ve fought for years! And you… you ruined everything!”
Her mother turned pale.
“I wasn’t the one who destroyed it. You did. I… I couldn’t keep silent any longer.”
That evening, a message from Sergei:
“I’ll come by tomorrow to pick up my things.”
He came, as promised, and quietly gathered his clothes.
“Serjosha… tell me what she said,” she asked, her voice shaking.
“About Kirill,” he whispered. “That you had an abortion. A month before our wedding.”
“I was scared… I was young…” she stammered.
“That’s not the issue,” he shook his head.
“It’s that you lied. All those years, month after month, we shared hope and pain… and you knew. You lied.”
He left. A week later, she received the divorce papers.
Natasha signed them without even reading.
