The baby, swaddled in a soft blue blanket, was sleeping peacefully in Yulia’s arms, occasionally scrunching his nose and moving his little face. The nurse offered to walk her to the exit, but Yulia refused, still feeling very weak after childbirth.
“I’m fine, I’ll manage on my own,” she murmured, pressing her son close and fishing her phone from her pocket.
For five long days she waited to be discharged, imagining Artem greeting their little one. She dreamed of the moment he would take the baby in his arms, filled with joy and love.
Yulia took out her phone without moving her son and saw a message from her husband: “I’ve already left. Don’t come out without me.” A smile curved her lips. Artem always loved surprises; perhaps he had something special planned today.
The little one stirred in his blanket and made a tiny sound with his lips. Yulia gently pulled back the fabric to glimpse his face. Nikita. Their long‑awaited miracle. They had pursued this dream for seven years—and been married just as long.
“Daddy will be here soon, my little one,” she whispered, tucking the blanket around him.
The phone vibrated again.
“There’s news. I’m waiting for you to take the DNA test—otherwise it makes no sense for us to meet.”
Yulia reread the message several times, trying to make sense of it. The letters swam before her eyes as if mocking her hopes.
“Artem? Are you joking?” she murmured in a hoarse voice, speaking to the empty hallway.
The phone rang, displaying her husband’s name. Trembling, she answered.
“What do you mean?” Her tone was sharper than usual.
“Yul, no drama, okay?” Artem replied calmly, as if talking about groceries. “You know I need to be sure.”
“Sure of what?” Yulia felt her world collapse. The baby, sensing her distress, began to cry.
“That this child is really mine,” Artem explained patiently. “We’ve tried so long, and now… you see.”
“Are you serious?” her voice shook with anger. “Come and get us—we just left the maternity ward. He’s your son, damn it!”
“You know where you can shove your paranoia?” she spat, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My mother will pick us up, with Nikita. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Yul, stop this nonsense,” his tone remained measured. “Think it through.”
She hung up. Nikita now sobbed with worry, his tiny face red.
“It’s okay, my baby,” she rocked him, wiping his tears.
Shaking, Yulia dialed her mother.
“Mom, please come get us,” she said, trying to mask her trembling. “Artem… he’s not coming.”
Twenty minutes later, a familiar car pulled up. Elena Sergeyevna stepped out holding a handful of blue balloons.
“Where’s Artem?” she asked immediately, glancing behind her daughter.
Yulia nodded, cradling calm Nikita against her.
“I’ll explain later, Mom. Let’s go.”
Without looking back at the building where she’d been so happy, Yulia climbed into her mother’s car.
Her phone buzzed again. She glanced at it absentmindedly.
“Think hard, Yulia. This is important for all of us. I never meant to hurt you, if I did.”
She switched off the phone, determined not to hear anything more.
That evening, Nikita finally slept in his grandmother’s old cradle, brought down from the attic. Yulia sipped mint tea in the kitchen, her mind still haunted by that message.
“Seven years, Mom,” she whispered, staring at the light wallpaper. “Seven years of trying, hoping, believing. Doctors said the problem was him. And now this…”
Elena Sergeyevna sighed heavily:
“Maybe he was just scared of the responsibility? Men react that way. They want a child, and when it happens, they panic.”
“A DNA test, Mom! He demands a DNA test! As if I’d betrayed him. Where does responsibility fit into that?”
Yulia buried her face in her hands and finally let the tears she’d held back all day flow.
Memories of the past year surfaced. After yet another specialist visit, she’d returned in tears. The old doctor had stroked his graying beard before saying:
“Theoretically there’s a chance, my dear. But your husband will need treatment. At this stage, chances it’s his are slim. Perhaps consider other options?”
She’d cried in the car, dreading going home. How to tell Artem that six years of effort and hope meant almost nothing? Almost—because a theoretical chance still remained.
When she finally gathered the courage, Artem surprised her with calm:
“We’ll find a solution, Yul. IVF if necessary. Otherwise, adoption.”
That’s when she loved him more. Despite difficulties and fights, he’d always been her rock.
And now this message demanding a DNA test seemed unimaginable. How? Why? Where did this reversal come from?
“Did you … consider donations?” Elena Sergeyevna asked gently.
“Mom!” Yulia snapped, lifting her head with a rebellious tremble. “Donations? This is our child! We tried—and it worked. A miracle, you see? And he…”
Elena pulled her into a hug.
“Alright, breathe. Sometimes men react badly to big changes. Talk to him, explain everything. He’ll understand.”
Yulia shook her head, recalling the end of her pregnancy. Artem had seemed happy, but that joy felt forced. He attended medical appointments, chose clothes, toys, the cradle—more out of duty than love.
She remembered remarks she’d once dismissed but now stung:
“Are you sure you didn’t stay too late at work?”
“Why is that accountant friends with you online?”
Her phone buzzed again: “Yulia, where are you? Are you okay?”
She set it aside. The conversation with Artem was inevitable, but she needed time.
On the third morning at her mother’s, she awoke to light and Nikita’s cries. Despite her abdominal pain, she scooped him up.
“Almost there, my little one…”
A knock at the door followed. Elena Sergeyevna called:
“I’ve got this. You’re busy.”
Yulia recognized Artem’s voice and tensed.
“Hello, Elena Sergeyevna. Is Yulia here?”
“Yes, but she’s feeding Nikita. Please wait a moment.”
“Alright.”
Ten minutes later, after Nikita fell asleep again, Yulia handed him to his grandmother and went to the living room. Artem stood impassive, holding his keys.
“Yul,” he began, approaching. “Why didn’t you pick up? I was worried.”
She folded her arms.
“Why did you feel you needed that test? Wouldn’t it have been better to trust me?”
Artem frowned.
“Please speak normally.”
“Normally? After seven years? After everything we’ve been through, you doubt me so easily?”
Nikita’s cry echoed from the other room. Yulia rushed off.
“That’s enough. If you really want the test, go ahead. But afterwards, nothing will ever be the same.”
She left clutching the baby. At the clinic, the DNA swab was quick; she didn’t look at Artem.
“The results will be ready in a week,” the nurse said.
“A week?” Artem tapped his fingers on the counter. “Isn’t there a faster option?”
“Express analysis—three days, extra fee.”
“Perfect.”
Yulia watched silently. Three days or a week—it didn’t matter: the trust was shattered.
Outside, Artem reached for her hand.
“Take it easy,” he said.
She pulled away sharply.
“Stop pretending you care.”
“I do care, really,” he replied earnestly. “Why this reaction? Why don’t you see my side?”
“See it?” she stood in the middle of the sidewalk. “Should I be happy about your doubts? About your choice to doubt instead of believe in me?”
“I never said you cheated!” he cried, then lowered his voice. “There are cases…”
She stared him down.
“Give me one reason that justifies your doubt!”
He fell silent. Yulia knew there was none. Sometimes it was better to ignore the truth to preserve one’s dignity.
Back home, she laid Nikita in his crib and sat beside him, face in her hands. A single word, a single doubt, had broken their bond.
On the third day, Artem called again.
“Can I come over? We need to talk.”
“Come,” she replied curtly.
When he entered, she regarded him without emotion. He offered flowers, but she looked away.
“You’re right,” he began, sitting down. “I should have trusted you from the start. All these stories… they frightened me.”
“Stories?” she whispered, voice trembling. “You compare me to women you don’t even know?”
“No, never. I love you and Nikita. The test won’t change that.”
“Everything’s already changed,” she murmured, voice quavering. “You destroyed what we built in seven years. Now I’ll always wonder if our story is worth continuing.”
Artem bowed his head, aware of his irreparable mistake. And Yulia knew nothing would ever be the same again.
