Hello… Vasya? – This isn’t Vasya. It’s Helen… – Helen? And who are you?… – Excuse me, but who are YOU? I’m Vasily’s girlfriend. Did you need something?… My husband’s not here, he’s late at work… Suddenly I felt dizzy, spotted crimson droplets on the floor. My stomach cramped, I was curled in pain… I knew my baby was coming any moment. For five years now, my husband Vasily travels for work – once trucking in Germany, then doing renovations in Poland. He left for the money. We have two sons and always dreamed of giving them the best future. We knew in England we couldn’t get ahead. And you know, overseas, my husband got lucky. Every month he sent us care packages: tins, grains, oil, sweets. He’d also transfer money for me to save up at the bank. We managed to save enough for a flat for our eldest. Everything seemed fine. Then months ago, I felt off. First thought – menopause, but no. I’d gained weight, felt always tired, eating lots, mood swings. Every sign online said I was pregnant. Pregnant at 45? I didn’t believe it and took a test. But there they were – two bold red lines. I didn’t want to tell the boys or their wives about the baby. Why? So my own children would laugh at me? Say their mum had gone mad in her old age? Instead, I hid my pregnancy. Thankfully, winter was setting in – I wore big, warm clothes. No one saw the bump. The truth? I didn’t want another baby. People might say I’ve no faith, but at 45, I’m no longer young. I have sons and grandchildren I want to devote time to, not diapers and midnight feeds. Plus, we can’t afford a third child. Vasily would have to go back abroad, and I can’t do without him. The doctor said it was too late and risky for a termination. I tried convincing myself it would be alright. Maybe Vasily would be happy about another child? I decided to call him on Skype, sharing the news – mic only, no camera. – Hello, Vasya… – This isn’t Vasya, it’s Helen. – Helen? Who exactly are you? – Sorry, but who are YOU? I’m Vasily’s girlfriend. Did you need something? He’s still at work. I hung up, sobbing bitterly. Life can be cruel – husbands cheat, anywhere, with anyone. I wanted to file for divorce, toss all Vasily’s things, see and hear him no more. Still, some hope lived inside me. Maybe my husband would come back to us when he heard about the baby. He was expected home in February – the boys’ birthdays, and he’d got leave. I even dreamed we were all walking in the park together – Vasily holding our daughter’s hand, me the other. On Valentine’s Day, Vasily finally arrived home. I prepared a romantic dinner, lit candles, put on music. I wanted a peaceful, loving atmosphere. – Vasya, I have a surprise. I’m pregnant. It’s supposed to be a girl. – You wretch! – Vasily shouted. He went red with rage, crashed plates to the floor, pounded the table: – So while I work myself to the bone, you’re off with other men? Now you expect me to raise this brat? – Vasya, let me explain… – Take your hands off me! I don’t want to see you! – He shoved me, right into the edge of the table, and I fell. Vasily stormed out, grabbing his bag, slamming the door. I felt so dizzy, saw blood drops on the floor. My belly cramped, pain twisting my body. I barely managed to call emergency services as I felt my baby about to arrive. When the paramedics came, I was already holding our daughter. She was calm, not crying, sleeping soundly. – Well then, mum, are you coming with us? – No. Take the baby, I don’t want her. – What do you mean? – Just that. Take her! This child has ruined my family! Maybe someone will love her – but not me. Take her, I don’t want to see her! With no regret, I handed the baby over. The medics checked me at home. No tears, a straightforward birth. When the ambulance left, I tidied up, showered, and went to sleep. None of the children know I gave the girl away. Every day, I go to church and pray: may she grow up healthy, may she find her family. I know I can’t cope. I don’t want the burdens of motherhood again. I just want Vasily back home, but he’s gone to Germany once more, only speaking with the boys. Maybe you’ll call me crazy. But I am choosing my husband over my child. And God is my judge.

Hello Is that you, Barry?
Its not Barry. Its Helen.
Helen? And who might you be?
Well, my dear, who are you? Im Barrys girlfriend. Was there something you wanted? He isnt homegot stuck late at work.

My head spun so much that I nearly toppled over. Then I noticed tiny drops of red on the floor. My stomach was pulling so fiercely I was practically doubled over It felt like the baby was ready to jump out any minute.

My husband, Barry, has been working abroad for five years now. First, it was driving lorries across Germany, then fixing up flats in Poland. He chased the pound, really. Weve got two sons, and wanted to give them the best start we could. Honestly, we knew that in England these days, unless you own half of London, you wont get far.

And, you know, things did look up for Barry. Each month, he’d send us packagestins, pasta, oil, and chocolate bars. Hed transfer money to my account, telling me to put it in a savings ISA for the interest. We managed to squirrel away enough to buy our eldest a little flat.

Everything seemed peachy, until a few months ago, I felt off. At first, I figured it was the menopause on the march, but nope. Id packed on pounds, was always knackered, eating like I’d just finished the marathon, and my moods swung like a London bus on a roundabout. Internet saidpregnant. Pregnant! At forty-five! I was skeptical, but got a test anyway. And, sure enoughtwo solid, red stripes.

I didnt fancy telling the boys or their wives about the baby. Why bother? Let my grown-up sons mock me? Say their mother had lost it at her age? So, I hid the pregnancy. Luckily, winter was here and I could pile on oversized jumpers and big coats. No ones spotting a bump from under a woolly parka.

Truth be told, I wasnt keen to have this baby. Call me heartless, but at 45, Im hardly a spring chicken. Ive got sons and grandchildren already, and Id rather spend my time spoiling them than whizzing around after nappies and bottles. Moneys tight for a third child; Barryd only have to go off to Europe again, and I was miserable without him.

The doctors said it was far too late and dodgy to consider an operation. No way to guarantee my safety. So I tried convincing myself it would all work out. Maybe Barryd be thrilled to have another little one in the house? I decided to Skype him with the news, but left the camera offjust the microphone.

Hello, Barry
This isnt Barry. Its Helen.
Helen? Who are you?
My dear, who are you? Im Barrys girlfriend. Hes stuck at work.

I hung up, tears streaming. Turns out your husband can cheat wherever there’s WiFi. I fumedready to file for divorce, chuck all Barrys stuff on the street, never see him again.

But a tiny bit of hope lingered. Maybe Barryd come back when he heard about the baby. He was due to visit in Februaryour boys have their birthdays then, and hed managed to wrangle some holiday. I even dreamt wed stroll together in the park, Barry holding our daughters hand on one side, me on the other.

On Valentines Day, Barry turned up. I cooked a romantic dinner, lit candles, and put on soppy tunes. I wanted everything perfect.

Barry, Ive got a surprise for you. Im pregnant. They say its a girl.
You wretch! Barry roared.

He went beetroot red, swept the plates onto the floor, thumped the table, and bellowed: So while Im slogging away like a pack mule, youre off gallivanting with other blokes? And now you want to hang this bastard round my neck?

Barry, please let me explain
Get away, I dont want to see you! Barry shoved me so hard I smacked my belly on the corner of the table and collapsed.

Barry stormed out, duffel bag in hand, slamming the door for good measure. My head was spinning, spotting red drops on the floor. My stomach pulled so terribly I could hardly breathe. I fumbled for my mobile and dialled 999the ambulancebut I knew the baby was coming.

When the paramedics arrived, I was already clutching our baby daughter. She lay peacefully on my chest, not crying, just sound asleep.

So, mum, are you coming with us?
No. Take the baby, I dont want her.

What do you mean?
I said take her! This babys torn my family apart! Maybe someone else will love her, but it definitely wont be me. Go on, take her, I dont want to see her!

I handed her overno guilt, no fuss. They checked me over, everything fine, no tears, no drama. After the ambulance left, I tidied up the house, hopped in the shower, and went to bed.

None of my children know I gave the baby away. Every day, I go to church and pray that the little girl will find love and grow up happy and healthy. I know deep down I cant cope. I dont want to do motherhood again, I just want Barry to come home, but now hes off in Germany chatting only to our boys.

You might call me a madwoman. But for me, its husband over child. And God can be the judge of that.