— Mom told me everything. Are you really pregnant?
— Yes.
— Why didn’t you tell me?
— Because I knew your mother would ruin everything.
— She says you were hiding money. Sixty-five thousand. Is that true?
— Yes. I was saving for the baby. For our baby. And she stole it.
— She didn’t steal it. She took it to keep it safe. So you wouldn’t spend it on nonsense.
Olga couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was silent, unable to utter a word.
— I’ll be there tomorrow, we’ll talk.
Kirill hung up.
Olga sat with the phone in her hand, staring into space. Her husband had taken his mother’s side. Even now, when she had stolen money from her own grandchild, he took her side. She slowly got up and went to the bedroom. She lay on the bed and curled into a ball. She stroked her belly and whispered in a broken voice:
— Forgive me, little one, forgive me. I couldn’t protect you.
The night dragged on endlessly. Olga didn’t sleep, she lay with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled in her head. What should she do? How to get the money back? Go to her mother-in-law? Demand it? But she wouldn’t give it back. She would say she was keeping it for them, for safety. Kirill would support her. And Olga would be the one to blame. Or should she stay silent? Start saving again? But there was little time. Half a year until the birth, she couldn’t save that much. Or should she leave? Move out? Live separately? Raise the child alone? But on what? She couldn’t survive on her salary with a child.
By morning, Olga had made a decision. She would show Kirill what his mother had done. Show him in a way that he couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t justify. And if even after that he took his mother’s side — she would leave. Without regrets.
She got up, washed her face, and got dressed. She took an old sports bag from the closet. She packed her documents, clothes, and the money left in her wallet. If necessary, she would go to a friend’s, spend the night, and figure things out from there.
Kirill was supposed to come in the evening. Olga prepared. She did everything as she had planned. She laid out on the bed what was left: an empty shoebox (she found another one just like it), a few bills she found in the nightstand, a note on a piece of paper: “WE’RE THREE MONTHS OLD. HI, DAD!”. She bought another pack of diapers, a onesie. She laid everything out neatly, in a fan shape. She locked the bedroom door from the inside. She lay on the bed and waited.
At half-past ten in the evening, she heard footsteps in the stairwell. Voices — Kirill and Lyudmila Fyodorovna. Olga tensed. They had come together. The key turned in the lock. The door opened. Footsteps in the hallway.
— Olya! — Kirill shouted. — Are you home?
She was silent. She heard him go to the kitchen, the living room. Then to the bedroom. He jiggled the handle. Locked.
— Olya, open up!
Silence.
— Olya, I know you’re in there. Open up. We need to talk.
Silence. Kirill pulled the handle harder.
— Olya, don’t be silly! Open the door!
Behind him, Lyudmila Fyodorovna’s voice:
— Maybe she’s not feeling well? Maybe something’s wrong with the baby?
Kirill took a step back. Then, with a running start, he kicked the door. The door creaked but didn’t open. Another kick. The hinges gave way. The door flew open with a crash.
— Where’s the money from your card? — Kirill roared, storming into the bedroom. — Mom said you withdrew it all!
Olga lay on the bed — calm, motionless. She slowly reached for the light switch on the wall. Click. Light flooded the room. Kirill took a step forward and froze.
On the bed, neatly arranged in a fan, were three packs of baby diapers, several tiny white onesies with embroidered bunnies, an A5-sized ultrasound scan with a clear profile of a baby, and a note in large block letters: “WE’RE THREE MONTHS OLD. HI, DAD.”
Kirill’s face contorted. From rage to bewilderment, then to the horror of realization. He looked at the bed, then at Olga, then back at the bed. His lips moved, but no words came out. His knees buckled, he grabbed the doorframe, and slowly slid down, ending up on the floor.
— You… we… — he managed to say hoarsely.
Behind him, in the doorway, loomed Lyudmila Fyodorovna with a triumphant expression, ready to burst in and demand explanations. But upon seeing the bed, she froze. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open. She looked at the onesies, the diapers, the scan, and understanding slowly dawned on her.
— What? — she shrieked. — Pregnant? But you should have said…
Olga got up from the bed. Slowly, demonstratively, calmly. Barefoot, she walked to the door and stopped in front of her mother-in-law. She looked at her with a cold, hard gaze directly into her eyes.
— Should have? — Olga’s voice was quiet, but it rang with steel. — So you could swindle me out of this money too? So your perfectly fine refrigerator could be paid for with money set aside for your grandchild?
Lyudmila Fyodorovna stepped back, clutching the bag containing the stolen box of money.
— I… I didn’t know. I thought…
— You thought I was spending it on a lover or on myself? You didn’t even consider that I just want to provide a normal future for my child, your grandchild.
— Olenka, I…
— Where is the money? — Olga stepped forward. — Where are the 65,000 you stole an hour ago?
Her mother-in-law clutched the bag to her chest, her face turning pale.
— I didn’t steal it. I took it for safekeeping. So… so you wouldn’t spend it.
— Give it back. Right now.
— I won’t. It’s for your own good. I’ll keep it safe, and then, when the baby is born, I’ll give it back.
— You stole money from your own grandchild, — Olga said slowly, enunciating each word. — From a child who is three months old. Who is defenseless. Who hasn’t even been born yet. And you stole his future.
Lyudmila Fyodorovna opened her mouth, then closed it. Tears welled up in her eyes — fake, theatrical, for effect.
— I didn’t mean any harm. I wanted what was best. Kirillushka, tell her!
Kirill was still sitting on the floor by the doorframe, his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. It was unclear if he was crying or laughing. He lifted his head and looked at his mother. His eyes were filled with pain, shame, and disgust.
— Mom, what have you done?
— I wanted to help!
— You stole from my child! — Kirill’s voice broke into a scream. — You stole money that my wife was saving for our child from my son or daughter!
— But I’ll give it back!
— When? In a year? In two? And what is Olya supposed to buy a stroller, a crib, clothes with?
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