Artem stood by the window, clutching his phone tightly, a smug smile curling his lips. His reflection in the glass mirrored the expression of a successful, fulfilled man who was about to become a father—not just once, but twice—in a single day. A whirlpool of thoughts tangled inside his mind, blending an intricate and shameful mix of pride, anxiety, and eager anticipation.
“The mistress and the wife were taken to the same maternity hospital…” His voice on the phone was unexpectedly calm and certain. “Everything will be fine! Children are happiness, no matter who the mother is… I’ll tell Sveta to keep quiet, not to gossip with the neighbors in the ward. Besides, she doesn’t even know Anna by sight. And Anna has no idea Sveta exists. Okay, buddy, I’ll call you later!”
He hung up and exhaled deeply. Today, he was about to become a father to multiple children: twins with Anna and a son with Sveta. Wasn’t that a perfect reason to sit back with friends that evening and celebrate his masculine success? He felt like the architect of his own universe, the master of fates, skillful and lucky. He had orchestrated everything flawlessly. Nothing seemed capable of spoiling his celebration.
However, that evening, as he anticipated the first drink with his loyal comrades, his phone rang. The display showed “Anna.” His heart skipped, but he calmed himself, thinking she probably wanted to show off their daughter.
“Our daughter is fine,” Anna’s voice was faint, lifeless, as if echoing from the depths of a well. “But the son… he is now an angel.”
Those words contained an abyss of chilling despair that took Artem’s breath away. The carefully constructed world he built cracked, and from that fissure blew a cold wind bearing the inevitability of sorrow.
“Anna, how? What happened? I’m coming right away… What?..” he stammered, feeling the ground slipping beneath him.
“No. They won’t let you in anyway. Wait for us at home,” Anna ended the call abruptly, without a farewell, leaving him on the most dreadful note.
Frozen in his silent living room, Artem was unable to move. He imagined Anna — strong, always composed — alone in the hospital room, enduring unbearable pain. She put down the phone and quietly sobbed. This grief, they would all survive; it just required time. But how vast would that time and effort be?
That evening, Artem canceled all his plans. The bottle of cognac remained untouched. Instead of the jubilant company, he paced his apartment hopelessly, futilely preparing for Anna and their daughter’s arrival. His universe had collapsed around him, and he wandered helplessly through the ruins. He told Sveta nothing but dryly congratulated her on the birth of their son.
“Listen, I have problems… Never mind, don’t worry about it. The most important thing is that you and the baby are healthy,” he said into the phone, struggling to keep his voice steady.
“I’m not abandoning fatherhood! I told you, I’ll be on the birth certificate… We’ll figure this out. But, for now, don’t call or write too often. I remember you and the baby; just give me some time, alright?”
“Understood, Artem… Okay, we’ll do as you said,” Sveta replied, hurt and disappointed. She sensed that his attention would now belong to the “legal” wife who had lost a child. But she had known what she was getting into when she chose to be with a married man and thus swallowed her resentment deep inside.
- Artem’s duplicity caused a storm of emotions between three lives intertwined by love and betrayal.
- Two families sharing a father, yet separated by deceit and tragedy.
- The impending emotional fallout that none could foretell.
* * *
Returning home, Anna resembled a shadow. She cared for her daughter mechanically, her eyes empty and dull. Looking at the newborn girl without pain was impossible — every breath, every motion reminded her of the lost infant. Deep down, however, she understood that for her daughter’s sake, she must gather the shards of her soul and keep moving forward. Artem kept insisting on this.
“Do you want to see a psychologist? Maybe you’ll need some medicine… To help,” he suggested cautiously, watching her detached expression.
“Maybe,” Anna whispered softly, swaddling their daughter. “For now, I’ll rely on spiritual practices.”
“But you promised me you’d give up those witchy hobbies,” Artem snapped irritably, recalling her strange interests.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. You wanted a big family. You wanted many children. And our son…” Her voice broke off.
“Cry if it makes you feel better. I’m here,” Artem tried to embrace her, but she pushed him away with desperation.
“No. Tears won’t help. Nothing will. We can’t bring him back. Can you? No! Then leave me alone. I have to grieve this loss by myself!”
Anna left the room, shutting the door behind her. Alone, Artem held their sleeping daughter in his arms. So tiny, so vulnerable, she smelled of innocence and childhood.
“How could this happen?” he whispered, suppressing tears. “Why us? Why me?”
At that moment, a sharp, almost physical ache pierced him — a longing to hold another child, the son Sveta had borne. The thought felt treacherous and dreadful, yet it settled within him, tormenting and gnawing.
Two months later, life gradually resumed its course, yet a quiet, muted sadness settled permanently in their home. Late one night, as Anna hummed a lullaby to their daughter, Artem returned home unexpectedly past midnight. She left the nursery and looked at him with tired, questioning eyes.
“Anna, we need to talk. I know it’s late, but the matter can’t wait,” his voice trembled, hands shaking visibly.
“What is it?” anxiety flew through her tone.
“I have a son by another woman. He was born the same day as our daughter,” Artem paused, fighting the surge of emotion. “But today a tragedy occurred… His mother died. She was struck by a slab of ice falling from a roof while walking with the stroller. The baby is fine, untouched, but she… she’s gone.”
He sobbed, unable to hold back tears. Anna froze, eyes wide open. She felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, the room starting to swim before her eyes.
“What are you saying? Where are you going with this?” Her voice sounded distant and unfamiliar.
“The child is legally mine. Two choices remain: I either relinquish him and he grows up in an orphanage, or we take him in and raise him as our own.”
Anna staggered and slowly sank to the floor like she’d been struck down. Artem sat beside her, holding her cold, lifeless hand. She did not resist. The news he brought scorched everything inside her — pain, anger, remnants of hope. Only emptiness and icy numbness remained.
“I beg you… He’s my son. A small boy needing care. He needs a mother first, then a father. I’m telling you honestly, there’s no turning back now. Think carefully. By morning, or at the latest by evening, I need your answer. Anna, this is not just some kid. This is my child, my blood. I want to be with him. Will you walk this path with me?”
“And… where is he now?” Anna asked softly, closing her eyes as if to shield herself from unbearable reality.
“With his mother’s friend — Sveta’s friend took the boy in. She recently gave birth too and promised to help during the first days. I know it’s hard for you. So much has happened. Please forgive me, Anna! I’m on my knees before you…”
“We’ll go for him in the morning. What time does this friend wake up? Better set an alarm, or we’ll oversleep,” Anna rose slowly, exerting immense effort, and walked to the bedroom without looking at Artem.
Stunned by her reaction, Artem followed. He had expected tears, hysteria, accusations — anything but this icy, unnatural calm. Anna behaved as if he had simply told her about a trip to the store, not the most brutal betrayal of their lives. She did not shout or scream but silently set an alarm and lay down, turning her back to him.
All the necessary documents were processed with alarming speed. Little Misha gradually acclimated to his new home, new mother, and sister. Anna treated him with astonishing, almost painful tenderness. She seemed to make no distinction between him and her biological daughter. Those two babies became utterly dear to her. Artem felt relieved, believing some unfathomable miracle in the tragedy reunited Anna with a son. Though terrified by the thought, he dared not admit it even to himself — this catastrophe suited him perfectly. No more tearing between two families, no more lies and evasions. Now, all his children lived under one roof. And Anna appeared to have forgiven him.
- The tragic accident tragically intertwined lives, blurring lines between biological ties and emotional bonds.
- Anna’s mysterious calm masked inner turmoil and quiet suffering.
- Artem’s conflicted emotions revealed his struggle between love, guilt, and relief.
But strange, unsettling events began to unfold around Anna.
One morning, she was gathering the children for a stroll. The siblings, energetic and wild, darted around the apartment, peeling off fresh clothes and giggling with delight at their mischief. Anna was utterly exhausted.
“Enough!” Artem snapped sternly from the doorway. “Kids, stop driving your mother crazy. Now sit quietly as we get ready for our walk.”
“Oh, Artem, stop it. Kids won’t sit still, that’s what kids do. Soon they’ll be older and dress themselves. As for us… all we can do is wait. Personally, I expected our twins to be quite active. They kicked so much in the womb, it bruised my ribs,” Anna smiled softly, dressing the children.
Artem observed his wife with mounting concern. Though she was legally the mother of both children and they agreed not to reveal Misha’s origins, it was clear Anna knew he was not her biological child. Why, then, did she speak of how “they” kicked? Was it her way of bridging the divide? Or was there something more troubling? Perhaps she needed professional help—and maybe he did too. Misha increasingly resembled Sveta, a fact that tightened Artem’s chest painfully. Poor Sveta…
Anna gently tied a pink scarf around her daughter’s neck and a blue one around her son’s. The boy protested as the scratchy wool irritated him.
“Don’t bundle up my child!” a faint but clear whisper sounded behind him.
Artem whirled around. The room was empty except for them.
“Why not? It’s windy,” Anna replied, tightening the scarf without turning her head. “And what do you mean, ‘your child’? He’s our child! I gave birth to him, and I know how to dress children for the weather!”
“Anna, what’s happening?” Artem asked, shivers running down his spine. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You did. I heard you say: ‘Don’t bundle up my child.'” Now Anna was frightened; the words had sounded clear, whispered as if in a dream or illusion.
Artem decided not to press but felt a chilling pebble of dread settle in his heart. Something was deeply wrong with his wife. His own nerves were fraying; memories of Sveta haunted him. He felt immense guilt—not only towards Sveta and Anna but everyone around. He was alive and well, his children grew nearby, but she was gone. This thought consumed him.
* * *
One evening, returning late and weary from work, Artem longed only for silence, a hot shower, and bed.
A young, attractive new coworker, Lenochka, had been flirting with him all day, casting mischievous glances and ‘accidentally’ brushing against him. A year ago, he might have fallen for her charms, but after what happened with Sveta, even entertaining such ideas made his stomach turn. He coldly rebuffed her advances, and this made him angry—with himself, his weakness, and the whole situation.
At the apartment entrance, Anna stood still, almost statue-like, her calm but piercing gaze fixed on Artem.
“I warn you: if you bring another woman into this house, you won’t see me or the twins ever again. You wanted a big family, many kids? One more betrayal and you’ll be starting from scratch… building a family anew.”
Chilled by fear, Artem caught her use of “twins” again. He was also terrified that someone had informed her about Lenochka. The thought that he was being watched and his life scrutinized was unbearable.
“There’s no one else. And there will be no one,” he replied, exhausted and automatic. “Have you seen a psychologist?”
“No need for one. I’m fine,” Anna waved him off. “I put the children to bed. You stay in the kitchen and eat. Don’t come to the bedroom.”
“Why?” Artem stretched his neck, peering into the dark bedroom. The streetlight outside revealed a strange scene: tall, thin candles burning on the floor, a thick, worn book, a metal bowl, and a knife.
“What’s this? What are you doing?” he tried to move past her, but Anna gripped the doorframe fiercely, fiercely protecting her space.
“I need to perform a ritual,” she hissed, wild fire burning in her eyes. “You have no right to enter!”
“What ritual? What nonsense is this?”
“Sveta follows me. She talks to me and won’t let me be with my son properly. If I don’t do this, something terrible will happen. I feel it!”
“Darling, you promised me no black magic! We agreed! This isn’t safe!” he pleaded, panic strangling his throat.
“And you once promised me fidelity. And now?” Her scream cut through the night despite sleeping children nearby.
“God… I thought we settled this. It’s over.”
“We did. And I was lucky everything went as planned,” Anna said with a distant, eerie smile. “Otherwise… we wouldn’t be happy parents of twins now.”
A thick, ominous silence filled the room. Blood turned cold in Artem’s veins.
“What did you say? What do you mean by that? What did you do?” he inched forward, afraid to provoke the terrible truth. “Are you involved in what happened to Sveta?”
Anna stared blankly as genuine primal fear flickered in her eyes. She had kept her terrible secret for so long; now, with her own words, she flung open the gates to that nightmare. She closed her eyes, her memory dragging her back unwillingly to that maternity ward where everything began…
Anna silently stroked tiny blue booties. Meanwhile, her daughter whimpered plaintively in her crib. The newborn son’s belongings still lay untouched in a bag. Today, she had dressed only one of her children. The pain around her was so all-consuming there was no space even for tears.
“Friend! Hey, friend!” a gentle voice pulled her from despair. “I understand… Actually, no. I don’t understand or know what you feel. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. But you have a daughter. She’s small and desperately needs you. Look, she’s crying. Maybe she’s hungry. Help her, and she’ll help you.”
Anna slowly turned. Behind her stood her ward mate awkwardly rocking her own newborn.
“Yes, you’re right. I should care for my daughter,” Anna said, rising abruptly as if compelled by foreign will.
Once the well-fed little girl fell asleep, a faint, barely visible smile touched Anna’s lips. Then she looked gratefully at the ward mate. Simple, everyday kindness momentarily lifted her from the abyss of grief and reminded her of responsibility. The neighbor smiled back and whispered:
“Well said. It’s right to keep busy hands and mind, so it hurts less. By the way, I’m Sveta, and let’s be on a first-name basis.”
“Anna… Is this your first child?”
“Yes. And probably the last. You know, I won’t let men get close to me anymore.”
“I hope I’ll have more children. My husband wants a big family.”
“See, you have a husband… My baby’s father already has a family — wife and kids. That happens… Sorry, if it’s unpleasant to hear.”
Anna only shrugged. A strange sense of relief stirred within. It turned out not everything in the world was perfect and calm. Others also suffered and made mistakes. That thought, as monstrous as it sounded, slightly eased her own pain.
“Yes, that happens. I don’t blame him,” she lied just to hear more.
“Good you don’t… I hadn’t planned any relationship; I got burned once. I wanted children, though. Then he came along — a good, well-off man, married. We agreed everything on the shore — kids too. He was happy because I wouldn’t invade his family. He just wanted heirs. And frankly, he didn’t care which woman. Just more children. Funny…”
A pang gripped Anna’s heart. An ominous premonition arose. She stared closely at Sveta, who was distracted by a message on her phone.
“How are you?” Sveta read aloud. “Please don’t be too frank with the neighbors in the ward. My wife’s in the same hospital.”
“Okay,” Sveta answered curtly, her face contorting in displeasure. It was clear the situation weighed heavily on her.
“What’s your… man’s name?” Anna asked, voice trembling.
“Huh?” Sveta looked up from her phone. “Artem. His name is Artem.”
The world shattered for Anna instantly. When Sveta fell asleep, Anna approached her crib, gazing long and painfully into the stranger baby’s face, searching for familiar features. Then, with trembling hands, she took Sveta’s unlocked phone and confirmed everything: recent messages, photos — the boy’s father was her Artem. The woman had shared a year-long relationship with Artem while Anna carried his children.
“She wanted children,” Anna clenched her fists as fury boiled inside—a cold, overwhelming rage. “But not to destroy a family!”
Secretly, she took a tiny baby mitten off the boy’s hand and carefully picked a long, light hair of Sveta from the pillow. She did not yet know how she would use these items but was certain the time would come. And she resolved not to tell Artem. Until she had a plan for revenge, his affair with Sveta must remain a secret.
Months later, her hour came.
“Darling, I’ll be late today. Work’s hectic. The meeting starts at six. I probably won’t get home before midnight,” Artem hurried, not looking at her.
“I understand,” Anna said, fully aware he was heading to Sveta’s.
Once the door closed, a sinister, triumphant smile spread across her face. She retrieved an old, battered book — her grandmother’s legacy containing knowledge of dark arts. There she found what she sought.
“Sorry, little one. It’s not your fault. But your mother treated me badly. For that, I’ll make things worse for her. Don’t worry—I’ll care for you. You’ll be my child. You’ll replace the son who sleeps in the clouds.”
She kissed the mitten and placed Sveta’s hair in the metal bowl. Everything was ready for a terrible ritual. Only the forbidden, ancient words remained to be spoken…
* * *
“What? What did you say? You’re involved in this?” Artem’s voice shook with horror. He stared at Anna, unable to believe what he saw in her eyes.
“No, of course not. I meant I planned to raise your son as my own… And I’m succeeding…” Anna turned away, but the shadow of truth had already passed between them; hiding it was impossible.
Artem exhaled heavily.
“Okay. I thought so.”
He glanced again at the strange ritual objects in the bedroom. He didn’t believe her. But uncovering the truth right here, in the dim light, with someone possibly crossing the darkest line, was deadly dangerous. Thoughts jumbled. If she was capable of this… what could she do to him? To the children? She needed stopping. Disarming. But how?
“Anna, I’m very tired today. Please do your ritual tomorrow. I want to rest now.”
She silently nodded. Such an act demanded solitude and silence. She’d perform it later, when he took the children out for a walk.
* * *
The kitchen buzzed with usual morning activity. Anna bustled by the stove, the children finished their breakfast, and Artem sipped his coffee. Suddenly…
“Enough!” Anna’s sharp cry shattered the calm. “Enough! Stay out of my family!”
She grabbed a bread knife and waved it helplessly in the air, addressing an invisible presence.
The children immediately began to cry in fright. Artem hurriedly gathered them, pulling them aside. Anna continued standing in the kitchen, brandishing the knife and threatening an unseen foe.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” a mocking whisper, audible only to her, echoed. “The knife can’t hurt me!”
“Go away!” she screamed again, madness blazing in her eyes.
While she paced the kitchen, sobbing and shouting, Artem locked himself with the children in the bedroom and called emergency services.
Everything happened quickly. The medical team arrived, and Anna was taken by strangers. She struggled, kicked, cursed, still threatening Sveta’s ghost. That invisible entity, following her closely, whispered terrifying words in her ear.
“No one will believe you… Better stay silent, or the many medicines they give you will take away your voice… Calm down, Anna, I will watch over you…”
* * *
“She’s gone mad! I fear for myself and the kids,” Artem told a friend over the phone, pale and confused. “I begged her to see a psychologist right after the hospital. Now she’s admitted herself… The doctor throws up his hands. Therapy doesn’t help, she’s worse. She hears voices…”
Yes, Anna had to stay longer in treatment. In her condition, she couldn’t care for the children.
Nothing relieved Anna’s torment. She either drifted in complete, ringing emptiness or heard only Sveta’s voice. That presence never left her, becoming a cursed, eternal companion.
“I’m with you now… I don’t know why I can’t leave the children, but maybe I’m your punishment, and you’re mine…”
“Go away, please, be quiet! My head will burst,” Anna whispered weakly, oblivious to the nurse taking careful notes in her medical file. “Sveta, have mercy. I care for our children.”
“I can’t leave. I’m bound to you. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you much. Just chat sometimes. I understand how it feels now — alone, without support. But I’ll be here for you,” the phantom laughed silently.
In despair, Anna reached out to grasp the fleeting vision.
“Enough! Or they’ll make you wear a straightjacket!”
Anna closed her eyes, defeated. What about her children? Artem? What would become of her? Would anything remain in her life beyond endless hospital walls, medicine smells, and ghost whispers?
Bitterly she felt injustice: betrayed, deceived, and driven to despair—here, imprisoned; while he, the cause of all pain, was free at home with their children, doing as he pleased.
“Everyone’s free to do as they want,” Sveta’s voice teased. “But you can’t cross boundaries you don’t own. You wanted to punish me for my vile, yes, very vile deed. But you responded with a greater evil, the worst evil. Fair? Think about that when you envy Artem.”
Anna clenched her fists and cried quietly. Was Sveta right? Maybe. But this thought brought no relief, only deeper despair and hopelessness.
“Well,” the ghost’s tone seemed almost comforting, “Artem is just a weak ordinary man. You may blame, hate, seek revenge. But his fate is not ours to decide. Everyone answers for their sins. Sooner or later. I’m probably paying for mine. You too, I think… By the way, Artem’s doing well for now. Funny, isn’t it? He brewed this mess but isn’t the one cleaning it up… That’s fate.”
Fate… Like iron chains binding the will.
* * *
Soon Artem rekindled a relationship with Lenochka from work. She gladly took on caring for his children, then bore another child. Later, he met Lyuba, who left their child with him and ran off to find new love. Ten years after, Lera appeared in his life, though she never bore him children.
Meanwhile, Anna sat on a creaky hospital bed. The strong medication subdued her speech to a whisper, forcing endless silent conversations with her invisible eternal companion. That spirit seemed to understand her, or pretended to.
Or maybe there was never any Sveta—no whispers, no taunts—just the creation of Anna’s guilt-ridden, tortured mind, sinking into darkness, searching for explanations in a nightmare life transformed by lies and mistakes.
In this silent, hopeless darkness, only ghosts of the past and a bitter realization remained — the heavy price paid for errors, deceit, and attempting control over fate itself.
—
In summary, this profound story reveals how love intertwined with betrayal can shatter families, leading to profound grief and mental torment. Despite tragedy, resilience emerges in unexpected ways, yet the scars of deception linger. The tale warns of the fragility of trust and the heavy consequences of choices made in passion and secrecy.