My parents are coming tomorrow to stay with us for a month to help with the baby,” my husband happily announced one evening, a week before my due date. He expected me to jump for joy. Instead, I silently packed my things and went to my mother’s, leaving him alone in our tiny apartment. He called, yelled something about “pregnancy hormones,” but he never realized that that evening he lost not only his wife, but also the right to be present at the birth of his own son.
Friday evening was settling over the city lazily and languidly. Alina, hugging her huge belly, sat in a cozy armchair by the window and watched the passersby hurrying home. Breathing was hard, her back ached, and the baby inside now and then arranged dances, as if getting ready to step out onto a big stage. There was a little more than a week left until her due date, and this time seemed like an eternity to her, filled at once with anxiety and sweet anticipation. The one-room apartment she and Igor had lovingly made their own now seemed like the perfect little nest for three. Small, but theirs. Everything was in its place, everything breathed their love and the expectation of a miracle.
She smiled, stroking her belly. “Well, little fidget, Daddy will be home soon, and we’ll have dinner.” Igor was a bit late today—end of the work week, reports. Alina had prepared his favorite mushroom casserole, whose aroma floated through the entire apartment, mixing with the smell of baby laundry detergent—she had just washed and ironed tiny shirts and caps. Everything was ready. The hospital bag stood in the hallway, the crib with its canopy was waiting for its little owner. Peace and quiet.
At last, the key turned in the lock.
“Alisha, I’m home!” came her husband’s cheerful voice.
She got up to meet him with difficulty, accepting his kiss and the bag of her favorite peaches.
“Tired, my love? Go wash your hands, dinner’s on the table,” she cooed, peering into his shining eyes. There was something unusual about him. He didn’t look tired—he looked excited, like a child promised a new toy.
“Just imagine what a surprise! I’ve got news for you!” he blurted out, not even taking off his coat.
“What surprise? Igor, don’t tell me you bought that stupid game console you’ve been dreaming about,” Alina laughed.
“No, no! Better! A hundred times better! My mom just called… Anyway, they’re coming tomorrow!” He spread into a happy grin, waiting for her joyful reaction.
Alina froze. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“Well, Mom and Dad, of course! They’re coming to us! To help you with the baby, it’s tough at first, you know. Just imagine how great that’ll be! My mom’s experienced, she’ll help you with everything!”
The ground disappeared from under Alina’s feet. All the air left her lungs. She leaned against the wall so she wouldn’t fall. “Tomorrow? Here? To help?” she repeated, feeling a cold wave wash over her from the inside.
“Yes! I’m telling you, it’s a surprise! They’ve already bought tickets, they’ll be here in the morning. They decided to stay for a month so they can really help you settle into your role as a mom!” Igor beamed. He didn’t notice the look on her face at all.
A month. In their one-room apartment. Where the three of them would barely fit. Where she had planned to recover after giving birth, to learn how to be a mother in peace and quiet, to get used to a new life with her husband and her child. And now… now his mother was coming here with her rules, advice, and total control. And his father, who liked to watch TV at full volume in the evenings.
“Igor…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re joking, right?”
“Alin, what’s wrong with you? Isn’t that great news? My parents want to help!” he said, his voice tinged with confusion that quickly turned to irritation.
“Help?” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Igor, they’re coming for a month. To our apartment. Where are we going to sleep? Where am I going to feed the baby? Where am I going to walk around in a robe with milk leaking through my bra? In the kitchen, on a folding cot?”
Icy rage, cold and sharp as a shard of glass, shot through Alina. A surprise. He’d called this a surprise.
The smile slid off Igor’s face. He finally saw her expression—pale, lips pressed tightly together. Confusion in his eyes gave way to hurt, and then to a dull annoyance.
“Alin, you’re so ungrateful! My parents are traveling across half the country to come help us, and you’re turning your nose up at them!” he started, raising his voice. “Where to sleep? We’ll figure something out! We’ll sleep on the couch, they’ll sleep on an air mattress in the kitchen. Cramped but close! Our parents lived like that their whole lives!”
Alina looked at him and didn’t recognize him. Where was the caring man who’d carried her in his arms during the first trimester when she was sick day and night? Who’d run out in the middle of the night for pickles and whispered that she was the best woman in the world? Now, standing in front of her, was a sulking little boy whose mommy had been unfairly offended.
“Cramped but close? Igor, do you even realize what you’re saying?—her voice rang with held-back tears and anger. “I’m nine months pregnant! I’m due in a week! I need peace, rest, personal space! I don’t want to come back from the maternity hospital to something that feels like a communal flat! I don’t want your mother teaching me how to swaddle MY baby and criticizing me because my soup isn’t rich enough! I want to be with my husband and my baby. The three of us!”
“How can you talk like that about my mother! She means well! She raised me, by the way, and I turned out fine! And you’re acting like an egoist! That’s her grandchild too!” Igor exploded. Their argument was rapidly gaining momentum, turning into a nasty, ugly fight.
“Yes, he’s her grandchild! But I’m the one who’ll be giving birth to him! And I’m the one who’ll have to recover after the birth, with stitches and bleeding!—she was shouting now, no longer able to hold herself back. “And I don’t want to go through that in front of your father, who’ll be sitting two meters away from me! Did you spare even a second to think about me? About my comfort? About my condition? No! You just thought about how to make your mommy happy!”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “Stop hysterics! It’s just your hormones talking! You’ll calm down and realize I was right. The help won’t hurt us.”
That phrase was the last straw. “Hormones? You’re calling my desire for basic human dignity ‘hormones’?” She looked at him with a long, cold gaze. Inside, something died. He didn’t understand her. And he never would.
“All right,” she said unexpectedly calmly, and her calmness made Igor uneasy. “Since you’ve already decided everything, I have my own decision. Here’s my ultimatum. Either your parents stay in a hotel and come visit for a few hours a day. Or tomorrow I pack my things and go to my parents’. And I’ll give birth there. And you stay here in your cramped little place, but not offended, right? Your choice.”
Igor stared at her in confusion. He was sure it was nothing but an empty threat. A pregnant woman, one week before her due date, wasn’t going anywhere. Just a tantrum.
“Don’t talk nonsense, Alina. You’re not going anywhere. Lie down and rest, we’ll talk in the morning with fresh heads,” he waved his hand, taking off his coat and heading to the kitchen to reheat the cooled casserole. He was sure she’d calm down by morning. He didn’t realize this wasn’t the beginning of the storm. It was the end.
The night went by in icy silence. Igor slept on the edge of the couch, turned toward the wall, while Alina sat in the armchair until morning, staring into the dark window. Her tears had dried, leaving behind nothing but bitter emptiness and steely resolve. He hadn’t just misunderstood her. He had devalued her feelings, writing it all off as “hormones.” He’d made his choice the moment he decided everything for her.
In the morning Igor behaved as if last night’s conversation had never happened. He cheerfully got up, made coffee, and even tried to hug her.
“Well, sleepyhead? How’d you sleep? See? Morning is wiser than evening. Let’s have breakfast and then tidy up a bit before my parents arrive,” he said with forced cheerfulness.
Alina quietly stepped away. She looked at him as if he were a stranger. He really believed she’d just “cool off” and resign herself. That certainty of his hurt even more than last night’s shouting.
Without saying a word, she went into the bedroom and took out a travel bag from the wardrobe. The very one that had been packed and ready for the hospital. She opened the wardrobe and began methodically, without haste, putting her clothes into another sports bag: a couple of robes, a tracksuit, underwear, slippers.
Igor froze in the kitchen doorway, coffee cup in hand. “What… what are you doing? Alin, stop this circus.”
She didn’t answer. Her silence was louder than any tantrum. She went into the bathroom, collected her toiletry bag, toothbrush, shampoo. Every move she made was measured and final. She didn’t slam doors or throw things around. She was simply getting ready to leave. For good. At least, that’s how it felt to her in that moment.
“Alina, I said stop!—he grabbed her by the arm when she reached for the hospital bag. “You’re not going anywhere! Are you out of your mind? You could go into labor any day now!”
She slowly freed her arm and looked him straight in the eyes. There was no anger or hurt in her gaze. Only cold, endless disappointment.
“I warned you, Igor. You made your choice. Now I’m making mine,” her voice was quiet but firm. “I’m going to my mom’s. I’ll be calm there. There they understand and respect me. And you can meet your parents. Help each other.”
She picked up both bags. They were heavy, her belly tugged downward painfully, but she didn’t show it. She ordered a taxi while he stood in the middle of the room in shock, unable to believe what was happening.
“Alina… wait… let’s talk! I didn’t think…” he started babbling as she was already putting on her shoes in the hallway.
“Too late, Igor. You didn’t think. That’s the whole problem,” she said, opening the door. On the threshold she turned for just a second. “When your son is born, I’ll send a message.”
The door closed behind her, leaving Igor alone in the ringing silence of their now-empty nest. He was still standing there with the cup in his hand when a single hot tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t yet realize that he had just lost not only his wife. He’d lost his family.
Igor stood frozen in the hallway for another ten minutes, staring blankly at the shut door. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She’d left. Just like that. Left, one week before her due date. He was sure it had been bluff, manipulation, a pregnant whim. But the sound of the departing taxi under the window sobered him. This was real.
In confusion, he walked into the living room. A dent in the chair cushion still showed where her body had rested, and the air still held a faint trace of her perfume. The apartment that had seemed so cozy yesterday suddenly felt empty and echoing. He lunged for the phone and dialed her number. Ringing. Long, indifferent ringing. She didn’t pick up.
In despair, he called her mother, his mother-in-law.
“Hello, Olga Dmitrievna… Is Alina with you?”
“She is, Igor, she is. Drinking chamomile tea,” her mother-in-law’s voice was cold as steel.
“Please, let me talk to her! We need to talk!”
“She has nothing to talk about with you, son. She made her choice, and I fully support her. When are you going to start using your own head instead of your mother’s? When you do, then call. For now, let the girl rest. She’s about to give birth.”
Short beeps. She’d hung up. That was it.
And then the intercom rang. His parents. He’d completely forgotten about them. He pressed the button and his heart dropped somewhere into his shoes. What was he going to tell them?
A couple of minutes later, his beaming mother, Valentina Petrovna, and father, Sergey Ivanovich, appeared on the threshold with huge suitcases and bags full of homemade preserves.
“Sonny! We’re here! Where’s our Alinka? Still sleeping, the sleepyhead? That’s good, she needs her rest!” his mother trilled, barreling into the apartment and looking around.
“Hi, Mom, Dad. Come in,” Igor managed to force out.
“Why does it look so… empty in here?—his mother frowned, setting the bags down. “Didn’t Alinka tidy up before we arrived?”
“Mom, Alina… she left,” Igor mumbled. “She went to her parents’.”
The smile slowly faded from his mother’s face. “Left? Why? We just got here! Did you fight or something?”
Igor couldn’t hold it in. He sank onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. “She said she doesn’t want to live in a communal flat. That she needs peace before giving birth. She gave me an ultimatum: either you stay at a hotel, or she leaves. I didn’t believe her…”
“What?!” shrieked Valentina Petrovna. “A hotel?! For her own in-laws who came to help?! Who does she think she is! Ungrateful girl! We came with all our heart, and she!..”
“Valya, enough,” her husband cut in, having silently inspected the tiny apartment. “The girl actually has a point. Where are we supposed to fit here? We won’t fit ourselves and we’ll be in the way of the young ones. You really should’ve thought about a hotel.”
But his mother was unstoppable now. She walked around the apartment, peering into every corner, and her dissatisfaction grew by the minute.
“And this is it? Just one room? And where exactly were you planning for us to sleep, son? On the floor? Oh, and what a flimsy crib… And these baby clothes—yellow, green… Oh, and pink! Are you sure it’s a boy? No, everything here needs to be redone! Good thing I came—I’ll put everything in order!”
Igor listened with horror. He watched his mother, heard her bossy tone, saw how she was already mentally remaking their life with Alina to her own liking, and for the first time in his life he understood… understood everything. He realized what Alina had been afraid of. This wasn’t just a visit. This was an invasion.
Three days passed. For Alina, they were filled with quiet, care, and rest. In her childhood room at her parents’ house, she was finally able to exhale. Her mother cooked her favorite meals without asking unnecessary questions, and her father quietly read to her in the evenings, just like he had when she was little. She slept—slept a lot, catching up for all the sleepless nights. She put her phone on silent and checked it only occasionally. Dozens of missed calls from Igor, angry messages that turned into pleas for forgiveness and then back into anger. She didn’t answer. She needed time. The pain had dulled, replaced by a cold, clear assessment of the situation. She realized that the problem wasn’t Igor’s parents, but Igor himself. His inability to be an adult man, the head of his own family.
For Igor, those three days turned into a personal hell. The apartment that had seemed small for two became unbearably cramped for three. From morning till night, his mother clattered pots and pans, criticizing everything Alina had ever bought or cooked. “The wrong oil, pots are bad, towels too rough.” Without asking, she rearranged the furniture “to make it more convenient,” shoving the crib into the darkest corner. His father sat in front of the TV in silence, turning the volume up to maximum and constantly smoking on the tiny balcony so that the smoke drifted right back into the room. Igor felt like a stranger in his own home.
On the evening of the third day, unable to stand it any longer, he called Alina again. To his surprise, she picked up.
“Alina, I’m begging you, come back,” he began in a pleading tone. “I can’t live without you. I was wrong, I realize that now.”
“What is it you’ve realized, Igor?” Her voice was calm and even, and that made him feel even worse.
“Well… that it’s hard for you, that you need peace… I’ll talk to them! They’ll behave quieter!”
At that moment, his mother intervened, snatching the phone from his hand.
“Alinochka, it’s Valentina Petrovna! When are you going to stop this circus? You should be ashamed of yourself, behaving like this! We’re here for you, and you… Come back home and stop disgracing the family! Ungrateful girl!”
Alina was silent at the other end. Igor yanked the phone back with force.
“Mom, what are you doing?!” he shouted in fury.
But it was too late. In the receiver, Alina’s quiet but firm voice said:
“I heard everything, Igor. Thank you for such a clear demonstration of why I will never come back as long as your parents are in my apartment. Don’t call me again. I’ll let you know when the baby is born. Goodbye.”
Short beeps.
Igor looked at his mother with eyes full of tears. “What did you do… What have you done, Mom?! You ruined everything!”
For the first time in his life, he yelled at her. For the first time he saw not a loving mother, but an egoistic woman destroying his life. He ran out of the apartment, slamming the door. He just ran through the night streets, gasping from despair and belated realization. He understood that he had lost her. Maybe forever. And it was his fault alone.
The contractions started suddenly, in the middle of the night, four days earlier than expected. Alina woke her mother, who, without wasting a second, called an ambulance and phoned her husband, who was on the night shift. Everything went calmly, organized, without panic. Alina had only one thought: “How good it is that I’m here. How good that I’m home.” Before leaving the house, she automatically sent Igor a short message: “It’s started. I’m going to Maternity Hospital No. 5.” Then she turned off her phone. She needed to focus on herself and the baby.
Igor saw the message only in the morning, when he came home after a sleepless night spent on a park bench. His heart skipped a beat. It had started! Without him! He rushed home, hastily grabbed his passport, some money, and raced to the hospital she’d named.
At admissions, he was told curtly that his wife was already in the delivery room and that all he could do was wait. He paced the corridor like a caged animal. An hour, two, three. The uncertainty was maddening. He imagined how hard and frightening it was for her there, and that he, the closest person to her, wasn’t there to hold her hand. Guilt was burning him from the inside.
Five hours later, his exhausted but happy mother-in-law walked out of the ward.
“Congratulations, Daddy. You’ve got a son. Three kilos six hundred, fifty-three centimeters. Alina and the baby are fine, they’re resting.”
“A son…” Igor whispered. “I have a son… Can I see them?”
“Not now. She’s sleeping. And I don’t think she wants to see you,” Olga Dmitrievna replied coldly. “You missed your chance to be there, Igor. Go home. And think long and hard about your life.”
He went back home, but it was no longer his home. It was his parents’ territory. Walking into the apartment, he saw his mother trying to dust the baby’s crib.
“Well? She had the baby?” she asked without turning.
That phrase pulled the trigger. All the pain, guilt, despair, and rage that had built up inside him burst out.
“I have a son, Mom!—he shouted so loudly the windows rattled. “A son! And I wasn’t there! Because my wife ran away from here! Ran away from your ‘order’ and your ‘help’! I nearly lost my family because of you!”
“Son, what’s gotten into you…” his mother stammered in fright.
“Pack your things!—he cut her off. “Right now. I’m calling you a taxi to the station. I’ll pay for your tickets. But I want you gone from here within two hours.”
“Igor, are you throwing us out?” his father asked quietly.
“Yes!” Igor replied firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m throwing you out so I can try to save my family. You raised me, and I’m grateful to you for that. But now let me finally be a husband and a father. Let me make my own mistakes and fix them myself.”
For the first time in his life he didn’t feel guilty in front of his parents. He felt he was doing the right thing. Two hours later, he’d seen them off and helped them into the taxi. Then he sat down in the middle of the empty, echoing apartment and cried silently for a long time. From grief and from relief. It was the first step. The hardest one.
Two weeks passed. Every day Igor went to the hospital, bringing bags of food, diapers, and baby things. He didn’t call and didn’t demand to see her. He simply handed the bags and small notes to the nurses: “I love you. I’m waiting for you. Igor.” When Alina was discharged, she went, as expected, to her parents’ house. He didn’t argue. He knew he had no right.
He spent those two weeks turning their apartment into a real fortress for his wife and son. He did a deep clean, threw out the old air mattress, and rearranged everything the way it had been when Alina was there. He bought a humidifier, a nightlight with a star projector, and the comfortable nursing chair Alina had dreamed of. He wanted her, when she came back, to see not words but actions.
Finally, working up his courage, he went to her parents’ house. With a huge bouquet. Her mother opened the door. She silently looked him up and down and, without a word, let him in.
Alina was in the living room, feeding the baby. She looked tired, but peaceful. She raised her eyes to him, and there was no hatred in them. Only endless fatigue.
He silently handed her the flowers and sat down on a chair at a respectful distance.
“He looks a lot like you,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Igor whispered, his voice breaking. “Forgive me, if you can. I was such an idiot. A blind, deaf egoist. I’ve understood everything now, Alin. Too late, but I have. My family is you and our son. There’s no one and nothing more important. My parents left the very day our son was born. I sent them away. And I told them that next time they want to visit, there’ll be a hotel room booked for them. And they’ll come only when we invite them. I screwed everything up, but I’m ready to spend my whole life fixing it. Just let me be there.”
He spoke excitedly, his cheeks flushed.
Alina was silent for a long time, looking down at the tiny sleeping person in her arms. Then she looked at Igor.
“You’re going to have to try very hard for me to be able to trust you again,” she said quietly. “Trust is not flowers and not a new chair. It’s actions. Every day.”
“I know,” he nodded. “I’m ready.”
She sighed. “Do you want to hold your son?”
It was more than he’d dared hope for. He came closer and she carefully passed him the precious, snuffling bundle. He held his son clumsily but gently against his chest, and an enormous, overwhelming feeling of love and tenderness crashed over him. He looked at Alina over the baby’s head. She watched them, and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
They didn’t go back home that same day. Or even a week later. But the ice had begun to melt. Ahead lay a long, difficult road toward forgiveness and rebuilding their family. But now Igor knew for sure that he would walk it to the end. Because in his arms he was holding his future. And he would never let it go again
