— I’m leaving for Oksana, — Denis said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and tossing it angrily onto the table. — She’s pregnant.
Nina was holding the frying pan with freshly cooked fried eggs. She had just made him breakfast. As always. For fifteen years, almost every morning the same way.
— Did you hear? She’s in her third month already. It’s going to be a boy. And you… you still couldn’t give me a child all these years.
Nina set the frying pan down on the stove. Her fingers loosened automatically.
The kitchen suddenly fell silent. The smell of breakfast, the eggs, the fresh coffee, the familiar sounds of home now pressed against her chest like bitter pain.
— Pack your things and move out by the end of the month, — Denis stood up and grabbed his jacket. — That apartment is mine. I brought the money in, and you? You cooked soups and washed socks… So free up the place. Oksana will need it.
With that, he slammed the door angrily. Nina stood in the middle of the kitchen. Outside, crows were cawing. The fried eggs slowly grew cold in the pan. Her life… seemed to have ended between the first and second sip of morning coffee.
A long line stretched all the way down the stairs outside the gynecology clinic. Nina sat on a hard chair, staring at the floor. The dizziness had been with her for three days. She felt nauseous in the mornings, blaming it on her nerves.
— Young lady, you look very pale, — a woman with short hair and intelligent eyes sat down beside her. — Shall I bring you some water?
— Thank you, I think I’ll be fine.
— My name is Svetlana Borisovna, — the woman took a handkerchief out of her bag and handed it to Nina. — I can see something serious is happening with you. Would you like me to just sit here beside you for a while? Sometimes it helps.
Nina didn’t know why she began to speak. Maybe because the woman was a stranger.
Maybe because there was no one else she could talk to. The words simply poured out — about Denis, about their supposed fault for being childless, about being driven out of the apartment.
Svetlana Borisovna listened, nodded, then quietly said:
— You know, I’ve seen many things in life. And I’ve noticed something: the loudest accusations always fall on those who are least guilty. Believe me, soon everything will fall into place.
— Eleven weeks, — the doctor smiled at her. — Congratulations.
Nina remained silent. There was a ringing in her ears. Eleven weeks.
For eleven weeks she had been carrying a child under her heart while Denis called her empty, worthless. While he was with Oksana, planning a new life. While he was throwing her out of their home.
— You need to register the pregnancy, — the doctor wrote in her file. — And most importantly: no stress. This isn’t an easy pregnancy, you must take care of yourself.
Nina stepped out into the corridor on unsteady legs. Svetlana Borisovna was still sitting on the bench.
— Well? — she stood up to meet her.
— I’m pregnant, — Nina said out loud and felt something break inside her, then slowly come back together. — Eleven weeks. And he… he called me barren and left.
Svetlana Borisovna wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
— Come on. We need to talk seriously.
In a small café across from the clinic, Nina drank sweet tea and listened.
— I have a lawyer I know, — Svetlana Borisovna wrote down a name on a napkin. — He’s very good. You need to act quickly. Your husband thinks you’re broken, but we’ll show him something.
Three days later, her old friend Masha called.
— Nina, are you sitting down? — her voice was trembling. — I accidentally found an online store. They’re selling your candles. Your candles.
At first, Nina didn’t understand.
— Mine?
— Just look, — Masha was clicking on her phone. — This one with the rose pattern… The Christmas candle with snowflakes. Remember? It’s there, and they’re selling them for insane prices. They even ship abroad.
Nina opened the link Masha sent. On the screen were every single candle she had made in the evenings in the kitchen while Denis watched TV. Dozens, hundreds of hours of work.
Denis and his mother, Zinaida Fyodorovna, had always taken the finished candles, saying they would give them to friends and relatives. Nina believed them. She always believed them.
But they were selling them. Selling her work as “exclusive.” The shop was registered under Zinaida’s name, but Nina recognized the style — Denis had written the product descriptions.
— This is illegal, — said the lawyer Svetlana Borisovna had brought, arranging printed pages in front of him.
— Your intellectual work was used without permission. Plus, they concealed the income from you. This will give us a serious advantage in court.
Denis arrived at the courtroom with his mother. Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a new suit, looked at Nina as if she had stolen their last penny.
— You’ll regret going to a lawyer, — she hissed in the hallway. — My son worked his whole life for you, and now you’re dragging him to court. Ungrateful woman.
Nina remained silent. Before, she would have justified herself, cried, apologized for things that were not her fault. Now she simply waited.
In the courtroom, the lawyer spoke calmly and clearly. Bank statements.
Screenshots of the shop. Customer reviews describing the beautiful handmade candles they had received. Then he placed a certificate from the gynecology clinic on the table.
— My client is pregnant, — he said, looking at the judge. — Eleven weeks. The father of the child is the defendant. At the very time he accused her of infertility and threw her out of the house, she was already carrying his child.
Denis jerked in his seat. Zinaida Fyodorovna opened her mouth.
— She’s lying! — Denis jumped up. — She just wants to squeeze money out of me!
— A DNA test after birth will show everything, — the lawyer shrugged. — But the medical documents clearly state that the conception occurred during the marriage.
The judge delivered the decision a week later. Most of the property went to Nina. Denis was ordered to pay compensation for using her work and child support.
He was also forbidden to approach his former wife without her consent.
Zinaida Fyodorovna sobbed in the courthouse corridor.
— You’ve ruined us! I brought you up into society, and you…
Nina walked past her. Without turning back.
The family cottage stood in a remote village fifty kilometers from the city. Nina arrived on Saturday morning. She needed silence. She just wanted to breathe, not think about courts, divorces, and betrayal.
The house greeted her with the smell of old wood and last year’s leaves. Nina opened the windows, wiped the dust, took out the candle-making materials from the pantry. Maybe here she could start a new life.
The neighbor, Uncle Peter, brought milk in a glass jar and potatoes in a sack.
— You’re alone here now? — he looked at her carefully. — Well, if you need anything, I’m nearby. Call right away. All sorts wander around here, especially on weekends. They think the cottages are empty.
— Thank you, Uncle Peter.
Nina didn’t pay much attention to his words. In vain.
On Sunday she went back to the village for bread and grain. She returned an hour later. As she approached the gate, she saw a familiar car by the fence. Denis’s black foreign car. The very one he had bought with the money from selling her candles.
Nina froze. She opened the gate and stepped into the yard.
On the porch stood Zinaida Fyodorovna holding a box. Denis was carrying the microwave out of the house.
— Stay where you are, — Nina said quietly, but her voice was firm.
Denis turned around. For a second his face twisted with fear, then he tried to smile.
— Nina, we just… you know, this was ours too. We decided to take a few things peacefully.
— According to the court decision, nothing here belongs to you, — Nina took out her phone. — Put everything back. Now.
— Are you going to call the police? — Zinaida Fyodorovna stepped forward. — On us? On family?
— You stopped being my family the moment you started robbing me, — Nina dialed the local officer’s number. — Now stand there and wait.
Denis turned pale. Zinaida Fyodorovna placed the box back on the porch.
— We were just joking. Right, Denis? We didn’t…
— I saw what you took, — Nina nodded toward the half-open trunk of the car. — Appliances, wax for candles, tools. You broke the lock and robbed me.
Uncle Peter appeared from around the corner with two neighbors. They silently stood by the gate, blocking the exit.
The police arrived within fifteen minutes. The local officer inspected the house, Denis’s trunk, and listened to the explanations.
— All right, — he took out a report form. — Breaking and entering. Theft. Violation of the court order prohibiting approach to the victim. Show your documents.
Denis muttered something about a misunderstanding. Zinaida Fyodorovna suddenly began to cry and clutched her chest.
— My blood pressure! I feel unwell!
— Shall I call an ambulance? — the officer looked at her sternly.
— No need, — Zinaida Fyodorovna wiped her eyes. — I’ll… I’ll be fine now.
The officer completed the report. Denis signed it without lifting his eyes. Zinaida Fyodorovna remained silent, staring at the ground.
Her makeup had run, her new suit was wrinkled. She no longer looked like the fearsome mother-in-law who had dictated Nina’s life for fifteen years.
— The report will be forwarded to court, — the officer put away the papers. — This is now a criminal matter. Prepare yourselves for questioning. If you show up here again, you’ll be taken to the station immediately.
Denis got behind the wheel. He started the car. His hands were trembling. Zinaida Fyodorovna sat in the passenger seat and suddenly burst into loud, ugly sobs. The car slowly drove off along the broken road. Clumps of mud flew from under the wheels.
Uncle Peter walked up to Nina.
— You did the right thing. You kept your head. Well done.
Nina nodded. Inside there was neither triumph nor revenge. Only emptiness. Light, almost weightless. As if a sack she had carried on her shoulders for fifteen years had finally been lifted, and she hadn’t even realized how heavy it was.
She went into the house. Walked through the rooms, checking what they had taken. Almost nothing. Only the microwave and a couple of boxes of wax. Everything else was in its place.
She sat down on the old sofa that still remembered her childhood. She placed her hand on her stomach. Inside, a tiny heart was beating. Her child.
He would never know what his father had been like when he drove his mother out of the house. How his grandmother stole her work and sold it. He would grow up here, in this house where the air smelled of apples and fresh wood.
Where neighbors brought milk and potatoes. Where there was no need to be afraid.
Nina stood up and walked to the window. Beyond the glass, the branches of the old bird cherry tree swayed gently. The sun broke through the clouds. Somewhere in the grass, grasshoppers chirped.
She opened the window wide. Fresh air rushed into the room.
For the first time in many years, Nina felt that she could finally breathe with her whole chest.
