“I won’t give you up. Not to anyone,” Marina whispers under her breath.
“May I come in?” A young woman peers through the half-open office door.
“Appointments are over for today. We only see patients by prior arrangement.”
Marina Ivanovna frowns, the girl’s face vaguely familiar. She never forgets a face—but she’s certain this young woman hasn’t been her patient before.
“Sorry, but your next available slot isn’t until the end of the month,” the girl says.
“Bookings open on Monday for the next fortnight. Or see another doctor,” Marina Ivanovna replies tiredly.
The other doctors in the clinic resent her—so many women request her specifically.
“I need to speak with you.”
And then, suddenly, she recognises her…
***
“Hey!” Ingrid bursts into the office without knocking, trailing expensive perfume.
“Ingrid, how many times? Knock first. There could’ve been a patient in here.”
“The corridor’s empty. You’re free.” Ingrid flashes an easy smile. “Fancy a coffee? Need to talk.”
“Say it here. Why go to a café?”
“That torture chair of yours makes my stomach twist. How do you work here?” She wrinkles her perfect nose.
“I help bring babies into the world. Not a bad mission, is it? Fine, I’ll change.” Marina disappears behind the screen.
“Shame you couldn’t manage it for yourself,” Ingrid mutters.
“Cheap shot,” Marina snaps from behind the divider.
“Sorry, that was thoughtless.”
“Forget it. You’re buying the coffee.” Marina steps out, forcing a smile.
The café in the next building is a clinic staple—staff and patients by day, younger crowds by evening. But it’s too early for that now, and after-hours workers hurry home. The place is quiet. They take a table by the window, order drinks.
“You wanted to talk,” Marina prompts as the waiter leaves.
Ingrid digs for her phone.
“Spit it out,” Marina presses. “You’re pregnant?”
“God, no. Oleg’s daughter’s enough. Never realised raising someone else’s kid would be this hard. She’s a nightmare. Was I like that?”
“Ingrid, I’m tired. Get to the point.”
The waiter brings their order. Ingrid sips her coffee, scrolling silently before sliding the phone across.
“Look.”
“Dan. So?” Marina moves to hand it back.
“Look closer. Who’s with him?” Ingrid’s eyes narrow—a tell when she’s tense.
“Some girl. And?”
“Keep swiping.”
Marina obeys. The next photo shows Dan helping the girl into her coat, his arm around her. Then—them kissing.
“Well? Recognise the place?” No triumph in Ingrid’s voice, just regret.
Marina’s eyes darken. “Why show me this?”
“So you’d know. Forewarned is forearmed. Dan’s cheating. I found out by accident—Oleg’s mate had a birthday do at that restaurant. Saw him when I went to the loo. At first, I thought you were there too. Then she showed up. He didn’t even notice me—wouldn’t have if the ceiling collapsed. You should’ve seen how he looked at her.”
Marina stands abruptly.
“Marina, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
Marina waves her off and walks out. On the street, she gulps air, heart hammering. The last photo burns behind her eyelids.
Fifteen years married. No children, despite everything. At first, Dan reassured her. Then they stopped talking about it. She’d seen his face light up playing with friends’ kids.
She knew this would happen. What did she expect? He wanted a family. She couldn’t give him one. But betrayal still blindsides her.
By the time she reaches home, the rage dulls. Dan isn’t back yet. She stares blankly at the telly, barely registering his return.
“You’re home already?” he asks, stepping into the lounge.
“Obviously. It’s nearly nine. Why so late?” Her voice is tight.
“Uh—” He loosens his tie, fumbles with his top button.
“With her?” She thrusts the phone at him.
Dan glances at the screen. His hand freezes.
“You followed me?” The button pops off as he yanks his collar.
“No. Ingrid saw you at the restaurant.”
“Photoshop. Look at her—she’s young enough to be my daughter. Ingrid’s really outdone herself.”
Marina notes his shaking hands.
“Don’t tell me she seduced you. Be a man and admit it. You want kids; she can give them to you. Or has she already?” Despair claws at her throat. “Don’t torture us both. She’s probably jealous. Go to her.”
Dan steps closer.
“Forgive me. Thought you’d scream, smash things. But you’re just—”
“Leave. Or I’ll start breaking crockery.”
He goes. Marina grabs the half-finished brandy, pours a shot, chokes it down. The burn spreads, her stomach clenches. She gulps water, coughs, drinks again.
The numbness comes.
By morning, her head throbs. She considers calling in sick but decides work might distract her.
Two days later, Dan returns.
“I’ll collect my things while you’re here. No sneaking around.”
“Fine. Take them. Where are you living?” Her calm surprises her.
“Renting a flat.”
“If it’s serious, we could sell this place. Too big for me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
They chat normally, as if nothing’s changed.
“You look exhausted,” she notes.
“Funny—yesterday I drove here out of habit. Only realised at the door…” Dan clutches his chest, sinks onto the sofa. His face contorts.
“What’s wrong? Heart?” She grabs the phone. Engaged.
Rushing to the kitchen, she scatters the medicine cupboard, finds valerian, shoves a tablet into his mouth. Redials 999.
“Forty-three-year-old male, heart attack—hurry!” She kneels beside him. “Hold on, Dan. Breathe…”
He dies in the ambulance. Massive infarction.
At the cemetery, Marina spots her—the girl, hovering at a distance in dark glasses.
“This is your fault!” Marina shouts. “Leave him alone!”
Ingrid grips her arm. “Quiet, people are staring.”
Marina scans the crowd—but the girl’s gone.
A gravedigger approaches. “Time,” he murmurs.
“Marina, toss the earth,” Ingrid whispers.
“I can’t.”
Ingrid does it for her. The crowd follows suit, dirt drumming on the coffin.
“Done. Now I’m truly alone,” Marina says as they leave.
“My fault. I shouldn’t have shown you those photos.”
“Not your fault. He’d have left anyway.” Marina’s eyes stay dry.
The wake passes in a blur. After ten minutes, she thanks guests and slips out.
“I’ll walk you,” Ingrid offers.
“Stay. I need to be alone.”
***
Back at work, life resumes. Marina convinces herself Dan left for his lover—not died. Easier that way. The anger fades.
Then the girl appears at her office.
“Why are you here?” Marina snaps.
“I—I know you hate me.”
“I wish you’d never existed.” Marina moves to the window.
“Dan said you were a brilliant doctor.” The girl’s voice wavers.
“Dan?” Marina whirls. “That’s it—you want an abortion. Thought a baby would trap him? Now he’s dead, it’s inconvenient.”
“No! I’m too far along. I can’t raise it alone—my dad drinks, Mum won’t take me back unwed. I’m still at uni. Dan paid my rent, but now…” The words spill out.
“Here for money, then?” Marina smirks.
Silence. Then: “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Careless. Girls your age know about contraception.”
“I know. But Dan wanted the baby. Said he’d help. That you…weren’t…”
“How much do you need?”
“£1,000 for three months. Landlady won’t allow kids—just till the birth.”
“Six months? Can’t tell. Boy or girl?”
“Girl. Dan wanted to name her after his mum—Alice.”
Marina exhales. “Fine. But book with Dr. Olivia Carter. You need proper care.”
“Thank you.” The girl leaves.
Ingrid storms in later.
“You’re really giving her money? She’s scamming you!”
Marina’s mind is made up. The girl seems genuine.
“She’s from some nowhere town. Dan never promised marriage. I’m the one who toldAs Alice, now five years old, curls into Marina’s lap one evening, whispering, “Mummy, tell me about Daddy again,” Marina smiles through tears and holds her tighter, knowing she’d never let go.
