After many years of struggling with infertility, I was certain that the birth of our two beautiful daughters would be a joyful turning point for our family. I never imagined that instead of happiness, my husband would leave us at the most important moment of our lives.
The pregnancy had been tough. Weeks of bed rest, sleepless nights, and the fear of losing the babies… But when I first held Masha and Sonya in my arms, all of it seemed insignificant.
When my husband came to visit, instead of a smile or tears of joy, he had 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 tightened.
“What is this?” he muttered.
I frowned.
“These are our daughters. Masha and Sonya.”
“You knew I wanted a son!” he snapped, his voice so harsh that I almost dropped the baby.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Igor, these are our children, they’re healthy and beautiful. Isn’t that the most important thing?”
“No, they’re not my children,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“They’re not what I expected.”
He accused me of deceiving him, of letting him down with my “false expectations.” Then he turned around and walked out, 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 sensing my despair.
The next day, he didn’t return. Nor the week after. I found out he had gone on vacation abroad, as if nothing had happened. His mother, Olga Sergeevna, supported him in this. She called me, accusing me of destroying the family and “betraying their name.”
Every message from her cut me to the bone. But as I rocked the girls through long nights, I realized: for them, I had to be strong. I turned to a lawyer, filed for divorce, and applied for full custody. It wasn’t easy, but through the process, I found confidence in myself.
