The door to the office opened, and a tall, suntanned young man stepped in. He glanced at Vladislava with a warm smile and said in a pleasant voice, “Good afternoon, Vladislava Romanovna. I’m Mark, your new business partner.”
A sudden spark ran through her, and she managed a polite smile. “Hello, please take a seat,” she replied, flustered but quickly regaining her composure as the conversation began.
Outside, rain tapped against the windows. It was nearly midnight, and Vladislava glanced at the kitchen clock before putting away the untouched dinner. Lately, she’d stopped calling her husband, Mikhail, and no longer waited up for him. She was tired of overthinking—or perhaps just used to this lonely routine. There was no point in hysterics.
She still loved Mikhail. They’d married for love, a flame that had ignited in their third year at university. A year and a half later, their son, Arthur, was born. Now he was five.
Her parents had gifted them a flat in a new development as a wedding present, and though it was cozy, they’d planned to upgrade.
Right after graduation, Mikhail and his friend Adrian had started a business together. Adrian, a medical school graduate, had initially worked at a clinic before opening his own private practice. Mikhail, an economist, became his partner, and soon, Adrian recruited fellow graduates. The practice flourished, even opening two branches in town.
Vladislava had stayed home with Arthur. She’d wanted to work—being an economist herself—but Mikhail had insisted. “Darling, stay home with our son. I’ll provide for us comfortably. When Arthur starts school, you can think about work then.”
“Alright,” she’d agreed, though she found it dull.
Life had been good: annual holidays to Spain, no financial worries. He’d even bought her a car for her birthday. But as the business grew, so did Mikhail’s temper. He wasn’t the cheerful student she’d fallen for anymore.
Most evenings, she waited alone, often past midnight, for him to return. Sometimes she’d reheat his dinner; other times, he went straight to bed. The distance between them grew, their intimate conversations fading.
“I need a change,” she decided one day and booked an appointment at the salon.
After her transformation, she slipped into an elegant dress and surprised Mikhail at work. He blinked in shock. “Vladislava? You look incredible.” He forced a smile. “Let’s go to dinner tonight.” But his discomfort was obvious.
The evening went beautifully—flowers, a small gift, compliments. She was pleased with herself, relieved they’d reconnected.
“Darling,” she ventured over dessert, “should we think about a second child?”
He hesitated. “A second? I hadn’t considered it. We’ll see,” he replied vaguely.
That night, as she drifted off, the phone rang. The hospital. No explanations, just urgency. Trembling, she left Arthur with a neighbour and rushed out, dread gnawing at her. An accident?
In the hospital, a bloodied figure lay motionless on a gurney. Mikhail. Her beloved husband. Dead. She screamed, wept, refused to believe it—but reality was merciless. Fragments of words echoed in her mind: crash, resuscitation, a woman…
After the funeral, Arthur stayed with her parents while she locked herself away, drowning in grief—and brandy. Flipping through old photos, she relived their happiness, now shattered in an instant.
The police said another driver had veered into their lane. Mikhail and Adrian had been in the car together.
Weeks passed. Her mother refused to leave her alone. “Sweetheart, you can’t dwell on this. You have Arthur. Live for him. You’ll need to work now.”
Vladislava knew she’d inherit Mikhail’s share of the business. Steeling herself, she went to the clinic. A new receptionist sat at the desk.
“Hello. Where’s Daisy?”
The woman looked up. “You must be Vladislava Romanovna? I’m filling in—Daisy’s in hospital. Didn’t you know?”
“No. What happened?”
“She was in the car… with Mikhail Sergeyevich.”
Now Vladislava remembered—the mention of a woman, the resuscitation she’d ignored in her grief. She went to the hospital, but Daisy wasn’t allowed visitors yet. Days later, they finally let her in.
Daisy’s eyes widened in fear. She hadn’t been told about the others.
“How are you feeling?” Vladislava asked softly.
“Better.” Daisy’s cheeks flushed. “And Mikhail Sergeyevich? Adrian?”
Vladislava’s voice faltered. “They’re gone.”
Daisy burst into tears, turning away. Vladislava stepped out, assuming she was overwhelmed.
Weeks later, the hospital called again. “Daisy’s being discharged tomorrow. She and the baby are fine.”
“The baby? She’s pregnant?”
“You didn’t know?”
Daisy had no visitors, no family. Vladislava returned to her room.
“The doctor says you’re leaving tomorrow. Need a ride? Or will your husband come?”
“I don’t have a husband.”
“The father, then? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Daisy’s voice trembled. “I was afraid… of you.”
“Of me?”
“It’s… Mikhail Sergeyevich’s child.” She covered her face. “Forgive me!”
The blow was brutal. First her husband’s death—now his betrayal. Vladislava stormed out, driving aimlessly until she stopped outside the city.
“How could he?” she wept. A bitter thought crossed her mind—at least he’d never left her for Daisy.
She didn’t fire Daisy, letting her work until maternity leave. A boy, she was told. Vladislava didn’t ask after her again.
Months later, an early phone call startled her. An unknown number.
“Hello. Daisy died giving birth. The baby’s healthy. Your number was her only emergency contact.”
“Thank you,” Vladislava said numbly.
Another blow. Daisy had no family. The child would go to an orphanage.
But he was Arthur’s half-brother. Their father’s blood.
She made coffee in a daze, her decision solidifying by the second. At the hospital, she took the boy—Archie—home.
“Arthur, this is your little brother. Daddy sent him to us. You’ll love him, won’t you?”
Arthur grinned. “Yes! But he’s so tiny. Will he grow fast?”
“Of course. You were just as small.”
At Mikhail’s grave, she cradled Archie. “Your son, my love. I’ll care for him—he’s mine now. Arthur adores him.”
Time passed. Vladislava worked while her mother helped with the boys, quitting her job to become Archie’s nanny. The business thrived. Adrian’s brother, Mark, inherited the other half but remained in Germany—until the day he walked into her office.
Their eyes met, and lightning struck. Both froze, stunned. Vladislava recovered first, inviting him to sit. They talked for hours. Mark settled into his role.
A new chapter began—one she prayed would be free of tragedy. Mark, too, was happy. His first marriage had failed; his ex-wife and daughter stayed in Germany. But life moved on.
