SCT1

I brought two babies home alone after giving birth — my husband cursed, spat on them, and ran away.”
"Anna Sergeyevna, your discharge papers are ready. Who will be accompanying you home?" The nurse looked attentively at the frail woman whose pale face was framed by dark circles under her eyes.
"I… I'll manage on my own," Anna replied, trying to sound confident.
The nurse glanced over her with concern. A week after a difficult childbirth — and there was no one by her side. Her husband hadn’t shown up even once. Just one short phone call: “Don’t waste your time on me.”
Anna gently took Liza in her arms, cradling the tiny bundle in the bend of her elbow. The nurse helped her with the second baby — Mitya. Two small swaddles, two new little humans, for whom she now bore full responsibility. The bag went over her shoulder, and she clutched the bundle of baby blankets in the crook of her other arm.
"Are you sure you can carry them all?" the nurse still hesitated. "We could call a car."
"No need. The bus stop isn’t far."
Not far. Just a kilometer along a snowy February road, with two newborns and stitches that ached with every step. But there was no one to ask for help. And money for a taxi would barely cover milk and bread until the end of the month.
Her steps were small and cautious. The wind pelted her face with sharp snowflakes, the bag tugged at her arm, her back ached. Yet through the thin blankets, she felt the warmth of her babies. It warmed better than any coat.
At the bus stop, she had to wait. Passersby hurried past, shielding themselves from the wind. No one offered help. They just cast curious glances — a young woman, alone, with two infants. When the bus finally came, an elderly passenger helped her aboard and offered a seat.
"Going to your husband?" the woman asked.
"Yes," Anna lied, lowering her eyes.
Deep down, she still hoped Ivan had just panicked. That when he saw his children, he’d realize his mistake. Accept them. Love them. They had talked about this, made plans. Two years ago, when he proposed, it was he who said: "I want a son and a daughter — little copies of you." Fate had smiled on them — she’d been gifted both at once.
The house met her with hollow silence and stale air. Dirty dishes in the sink, cigarette butts in a jar on the table, empty bottles. She gently laid the babies on the couch, placing a clean towel beneath them. She opened the window to let in fresh air and winced at the pain in her lower abdomen.
"Ivan?" she called softly. "We’re home."
There was a rustle from the bedroom. Ivan emerged, pulling his robe closed. His gaze swept over the babies, the bags, and Anna — indifferent, cold. As if he were looking at strangers.
"Noisy," he muttered, nodding at the sleeping twins. "I bet they screamed all night?"
"They're good," she stepped forward, searching his face for any sign of warmth. "They barely cry. Mitya only when he's hungry, and Liza is always quiet. Look, they’re so beautiful..."
Ivan stepped back. In his eyes flashed something like disgust — or fear.
"You know, I’ve been thinking…" he began, rubbing his neck. "This isn’t for me."
"What?" Anna froze, not understanding.
"Babies, diapers, constant screaming. I'm not cut out for it."
Anna stared at him, stunned. How can you not be ready for your own children? Nine months. He had nine long months to prepare.
"But you said you wanted—"
"I changed my mind," he shrugged like he was talking about returning a phone. "I’m still young. I want to live my life, not deal with diapers."
He walked past her, opened the closet, and pulled out a gym bag. He began tossing clothes into it — t-shirts, jeans — without much care.
"You… you're leaving?" her voice sounded distant, unfamiliar.
"I’m leaving," he nodded, not even looking at her. "I’ll stay at Seryoga’s for a while, then figure out where to rent."
"And us?" Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Ivan zipped the bag and finally looked at her — annoyed, as if she’d asked a dumb question during an important meeting."You stay here. The house is in your name, I won’t go to your mother. I won’t pay child support — you chose to have them, so you deal with it."
He walked over to the couch where the babies slept. Mitya opened his eyes — dark like his father's. The baby didn’t cry, just stared at the man who gave him life and was now rejecting it.
"I don’t want them," Ivan muttered, turning away. "I’m out."
He spat on the floor, right beside the couch. Then he grabbed his bag and coat and left, slamming the door. The windows rattled, and Liza began to cry softly — as if she understood what had just happened.
Anna slowly sank to the floor. It felt like a chasm had opened in her chest, swallowing every emotion except raw, deafening fear.
She was alone…
Continued in the comments

Your mother will be living in your apartment instead of your daughter!" the husband squealed. "And get rid of that little flirt!"
Vera mechanically poured coffee into a large mug and froze, staring out the window. Spring had been strange that year—snow one day, rain the next, followed by sudden warmth that made the city flower beds bloom with tulips ahead of time, only for the cold to return. She absently rubbed her shoulders, as if trying to warm herself, though the apartment was cozy. The door to the next room creaked open, and Vera glanced at the clock.
"Zlata, you're home early," she said, seeing her daughter standing in the kitchen doorway.
"The last two classes were canceled," Zlata replied, heading to the fridge and pulling out some orange juice. "The teacher got sick."
"And what about your homework?" Vera asked sternly.
"I did it last night," the girl said as she poured the juice and sat down on the edge of a chair. "Mom, what time is David coming?"
Vera frowned. Her daughter always referred to her stepfather by his first name, refusing to call him “dad,” which infuriated David. Lately, almost everything Zlata did seemed to annoy him.
"He said seven," Vera replied, noticing a flicker of tension on her daughter's face. "Do you have plans?"
"Not really," Zlata waved vaguely. "I wanted to study with Vika. We’ve got a physics test on Monday."
"You can do it here," Vera offered. "There’s plenty of space."
"No, I’ll go to her place," the girl replied quickly. "She’s got... the books, and it’s more convenient overall."
Vera nodded in understanding. Recently, her daughter had been trying to stay away from home—especially when David was around. Even the smallest thing irritated him: loud music, a mug left out, schoolbooks on the table. Vera increasingly felt that Zlata no longer felt at home in her own home.
"Mom, can I spend the night at Vika’s?" Zlata looked at her mother pleadingly. "Her parents are at the dacha, we were going to watch a movie."
"Of course," Vera said without asking further questions. What did it matter whether her daughter was telling the truth? The important thing was that her presence wouldn’t bother David. And that meant the evening would pass quietly, without reproaches or snide remarks.
David had entered their lives three years ago. Tall, confident, with a watchful gaze and good manners. He worked as a department head at a reputable company and had a stable income. He treated Vera with care—even tenderness. But things with Zlata were different. At first, he tried to build a relationship, gave her gifts, took interest in her schoolwork. But over time, his patience ran thin.
David’s irritation grew. More and more, he criticized the girl's behavior, her appearance, her habits. Vera tried to smooth things over, telling him that her daughter was growing up and needed space. But David brushed her off:
"I don’t hit her—be grateful for that," he once snapped. Vera had shuddered at those words. Was she really supposed to be grateful just because her stepfather didn’t raise a hand to her daughter?
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. On the threshold stood Anna Mikhailovna—Vera’s grandmother, a tiny but remarkably energetic old woman with a straight back and sharp eyes.
"Gran, hello!" Vera hugged the visitor. "Come in, quickly."
"Close the door—you’re letting the cold in," Anna Mikhailovna grumbled, stepping into the hallway.
Zlata peeked out of her room and lit up.
"Anna Mikhailovna!" the girl exclaimed, running to hug her great-grandmother. "I didn’t know you were coming today."
"Can’t I visit my own family without a warning?" the old woman mock-frowned, then smiled warmly at her great-granddaughter. "I just wanted to check on you. And I’ve got news."
"What is it?" Vera and Zlata asked in unison, helping Anna Mikhailovna take off her coat.
"Later," she said firmly. "First, give me some tea—I’m frozen."

瓦那🐼, [4/24/2025 4:50 PM]
Over tea, Anna Mikhailovna watched her great-granddaughter carefully. The girl had changed. She used to be cheerful, open, but now seemed withdrawn, even subdued. That worried the perceptive old woman.
"So, how’s school?" Anna Mikhailovna asked, breaking off a piece of pastry.
"Fine," Zlata shrugged. "Only physics is a bit rough."
"And your art? You used to love drawing."
"No time now," Zlata glanced at the clock. "I’m preparing for the state exams—tutors, all that."
"I see," Anna Mikhailovna nodded, then turned to Vera. "Where’s your husband?"
"At work," Vera replied. "He said he’d be home in the evening."
"Good," the old woman sipped her tea. "Because I need to talk to you both. It’s important."
Vera grew alert. Her grandmother rarely brought up serious matters—she preferred chatting about everyday things.
"What happened?" she asked.
"My sister passed away," Anna Mikhailovna said calmly. "Six months ago."
"Oh... I’m so sorry," Vera said, flustered.
"It’s all right," the old woman waved it off. "She lived to be ninety-two—had a good life. That’s not the point. She left me her apartment—can you believe it? A whole one-bedroom place."
"And now?" Vera asked cautiously. "You’re not thinking of moving there, are you?"
"Heavens, no!" the old woman scoffed. "At my age? I’m staying in my Khrushchyovka, thank you very much. But I do have an idea."
She cast a mischievous look at Zlata, who was listening intently.
"I’ve decided to gift that apartment to Zlata," she announced. "Let the girl have her own place."
Zlata froze, unable to believe her ears.
"What?" she barely whispered. "Me? Seriously?"
"Why not?" the old woman said reasonably. "You’ll be eighteen soon, starting university—your adult life is beginning. Having your own place is a big help."
"Grandma..." Vera was at a loss for words. "That’s... incredibly generous."
"Not generous—practical," Anna Mikhailovna snapped. "I won’t live forever. It’s better to settle these things now. You’ll get my place, Vera. And this one goes to Zlata. It’ll give me peace of mind and help the girl."
Zlata jumped up and hugged her great-grandmother tightly.
"Thank you so much! This is amazing!"
Vera looked at her daughter’s glowing face, and her heart warmed. It had been a long time since she’d seen Zlata so happy.
"But there’s one condition," Anna Mikhailovna added sternly, pulling away from the hug...
Continued in the comments

— Mom, if I hear one more nasty word from you about my wife, I don’t care that you’re my mother! I’ll knock you right in the face so hard you won’t know what hit you!

— Styopa, maybe we shouldn’t go today? I can say I’m not feeling well, — Alina nervously twisted the edge of the tablecloth, avoiding her husband’s gaze.

Stepan moved to his wife and gently took her hand.

— Alinka, we’ve already talked about this. If you keep refusing my mother’s Sunday dinners, she’ll only become more convinced that something’s wrong with you. We have to go.

Alina sighed. Sunday dinners at her mother-in-law’s had become a real trial for her. Tamara Ivanovna, an elegant lady with impeccable manners and a razor-sharp tongue, never missed an opportunity to remind her daughter-in-law how completely she fell short of her standards for a suitable match for her son.

— You know how she looks at me, — Alina stood up and began clearing the dishes from the table. — As if I were some… ragamuffin who wandered into decent society by mistake.

Stepan wrapped his arms around his wife from behind, burying his face in her hair.

— She just doesn’t really know you yet. Give her time.

— A year, Styopa. It’s been a whole year, and she still acts like I’m just a temporary phenomenon in your life.

Stepan turned Alina around to face him. His eyes were full of resolve.

— You are my wife. I chose you myself, and I don’t care what my mother—or anyone else—thinks.

Alina couldn’t help but smile as she remembered their first meeting in the library where she worked after graduating from teacher’s college. Stepan, a successful architect, had come in looking for books on art history and ended up staying three hours, talking with her about favorite authors. A month later he’d proposed, despite Tamara Ivanovna’s shock—she’d already been eyeing her university friend’s daughter as a match for her son.

Alina’s phone chirped with a new message. She slipped out of her husband’s embrace and looked at the screen.

— Kostya says he can come tomorrow, — her face lit up. — He’ll just be passing through, only for a day, but at least we’ll see each other.

— That’s fantastic! — Stepan exclaimed. — I can take the day off, and we—

— No, no, — Alina interrupted quickly. — You have that project presentation. I’ll just meet him for lunch while you’re at work.

Stepan frowned.

— Are you sure? I could reschedule…

— I’m sure, — Alina answered firmly. — That presentation is too important for you. I can catch up with Kostya on my own just fine.

The truth was, Alina was worried about something else. Kostya, her younger brother, was the only family she had left since their parents died. He was as simple and unpretentious as she was. Alina didn’t want him to face her mother-in-law’s cold disdain—Tamara Ivanovna would surely find a way to make him understand that his sister’s family wasn’t their circle.

— All right, — Stepan didn’t press the issue. — But invite him for dinner here tonight. I’ll wrap up quickly and come home.

Alina pressed her face into his shoulder, wiping away tears of gratitude she hadn’t even realized she’d cried. What she loved most about her husband was his genuine care for her feelings.

— Just let’s not tell your mother about Kostya’s visit yet, — she asked. — Otherwise she’ll want to meet him, and he barely has any time.

Stepan gently pulled back and looked into her eyes.

— Alin, someday she’ll have to meet your brother. She needs to understand that you have a family too.

— Yes, but not now, — Alina looked away. — First we have to survive tonight’s dinner.

The clock read half past four. There was an hour and a half until Tamara Ivanovna’s dinner, and Alina went to the bedroom to prepare—really, to steel herself for another round of veiled reproaches and subtle hints about her lack of education, refinement, and social polish. She knew Stepan sincerely hoped to reconcile the two most important women in his life, but she had nearly abandoned that hope.

瓦那🐼, [4/24/2025 4:42 PM]
The “Akvarel” café was tucked away in a quiet side street not far from the city center. Alina chose a table by the window and glanced at her watch. Kostya had never been known for his punctuality, but today she was even glad—she could gather her thoughts after yesterday’s tense dinner at her mother-in-law’s.

Yesterday Tamara Ivanovna had been surprisingly restrained, though she couldn’t resist noting that Alina’s blouse, bought in an ordinary shopping mall, looked “quite nice for its price”—and that Alina’s haircut was “rather practical, if a bit lacking in sophistication.” Stepan frowned but stayed silent, and Alina, as always, smiled and nodded, swallowing her hurt along with the exquisite dinner.

— Alinka! — a joyful shout made her look up.

Kostya, sun-tanned and thinner after working in the south, was standing at the café entrance with a broad grin. Alina jumped up, and in an instant her brother had swept her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the floor.

— You’ve gotten so light, — he teased mock-seriously as he put her down. — Is your husband feeding you poorly?

— Quite the opposite, — Alina laughed as she sat back down. — Stepan believes a good meal solves all problems.

Kostya plopped down opposite her and gave her a concerned look.

— Any problems? — he asked, suddenly serious.

Alina waved her hand.

— The usual family troubles. Nothing special.

— Mother-in-law giving you a hard time? — Kostya was always perceptive. — I remember you said she wasn’t thrilled about your marriage.

Alina sighed as she studied the menu.

— Let’s not dwell on sad topics. Tell me about you. Did you find work in Krasnodar?

Kostya understood that his sister didn’t want to talk about her own problems and didn’t press the matter. For the next hour they talked about his new construction job, his plans to start his own firm, and old friends. When dessert arrived, Alina finally asked:

— Maybe you could come by our place tonight? Stepan really wants to see you. He’ll be free around seven.

— With pleasure, — Kostya nodded. — But first I need to swing by Sergeich’s and pick up some documents. It won’t take long, then I’ll come straight to you.

They chatted a bit longer before Kostya insisted on paying despite his sister’s protests. They left the café, hugging again on parting.

Alina didn’t notice that Galina Petrovna, Tamara Ivanovna’s neighbor, was sitting at the next table.

Family dinner at Tamara Ivanovna’s house began, as usual, with an aperitif in the drawing room. Besides Stepan and Alina, Tamara Ivanovna’s cousin and her husband were invited, along with Galina Petrovna, the widow of a retired colonel who lived next door and was the hostess’s closest friend.

— Alina, dear, you look especially… refreshed today, — Tamara Ivanovna remarked, surveying her daughter-in-law with an appraising glance. — Had a good day?

— Thank you, Tamara Ivanovna, — Alina forced a smile. — Just an ordinary workday.

— And lunch? — Galina Petrovna suddenly asked, giving Alina a strange look. — Where did you have lunch today?… Continued in the comments