I always believed that having a child would bring Oleg and me closer, that finally, we would become a real family. But I never imagined his mother, Marina, would take control of everything — and that Oleg would let her.
I tried to set boundaries, to make it clear that this was our child, our family. But nothing could prepare me for the moment I stood at the doorstep with my newborn daughter in my arms, unsure of where to go.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon. Oleg and I had talked about this for so long, dreaming of the day we would hold our baby. I imagined us decorating the nursery together, choosing names, and savoring the early days of parenthood.
But I wasn’t the only one anticipating this baby. Marina was too — but not in the way I had hoped.
She never liked me. From the very beginning, she made it clear she thought I wasn’t good enough for her son.
“Oleg deserves better,” she’d say, shaking her head every time I was near.
But once she found out about my pregnancy, everything changed — for the worse.
It was as if the baby belonged to her, not me. She interfered in everything.
“You need someone to go with you to the doctor,” she said, already putting on her coat, not giving me a chance to argue. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”
When we began preparing for the baby’s arrival, she completely took over. She chose the furniture, dismissed my opinions, insisting:
“The nursery has to be blue. You’re having a boy.”
My pregnancy was difficult. I was constantly nauseous and barely able to eat. But Marina didn’t care. She would come to the house, filling it with the smells of rich, greasy food, watching with a satisfied smile as Oleg enjoyed her cooking while I struggled to stand.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I begged Oleg not to tell her anything.
But somehow, when we went to the ultrasound to find out the baby’s gender, Marina was already there in the waiting room. I froze. How did she find out?
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced.
I squeezed Oleg’s hand, my heart racing. We had waited so long for this moment. A daughter. Our little girl. I looked at Oleg, expecting to see joy in his eyes.
His face lit up with happiness. But then I noticed Marina.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“You couldn’t even give him a boy,” she hissed. “He needed a son to carry on the family name.”
I clenched my fists.
“A son of what? His video game collection?” I snapped. “By the way, it’s the father who determines the gender, not the mother.”
Marina narrowed her eyes.
“Lies,” she said flatly. “It’s your body’s fault! You were never worthy of my son.”
The doctor cleared her throat awkwardly. The nurse gave me a sympathetic look. I gritted my teeth.
“Let’s go, Oleg,” I whispered.
In the car, I turned to him.
“How did she know about the ultrasound?”
Oleg looked away.
“I told her.”
A rage boiled inside me.
“I asked you not to! She’s tormenting me!”
“She’s the grandmother,” he said simply.
I shook my head.
“And I’m your wife! I’m carrying our child! Don’t you care about how I feel?”
“Just ignore her,” he waved it off.
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being attacked. He wasn’t the one feeling alone. My husband failed to protect me.
When labor started, the pain came in waves. Everything blurred before my eyes. I barely heard the doctors.
Then everything went wrong.
As soon as my daughter was born, she was taken away immediately. I reached for her, but they wouldn’t let me have her.
“Too much bleeding!” the doctor shouted.
The world spun. Sounds faded. Then darkness.
When I woke, my body felt empty. They told me I had barely survived.
Then the door burst open, and Marina stormed in, her face twisted with rage.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me you were in labor?!” she screamed.
Oleg sighed.
“It all happened too fast.”
“That’s no excuse!” she hissed.
A nurse entered, carrying my daughter. My heart clenched. But before I could reach for her, Marina stepped forward and snatched the baby from the nurse’s arms.
“What a beauty,” she murmured, rocking the girl.
I barely lifted myself and croaked,
“Give her to me.”
“She’s hungry,” the nurse said.
Marina smiled.
“Let’s give her formula.”
Finally, Oleg intervened. He carefully took the baby and handed her to me.
I burst into tears. She was mine. And she was worth everything.
Two weeks passed. Marina kept coming uninvited, refusing to call my daughter by her real name.
“Little Lily,” she’d say with a smile.
“Her name is Anna,” I corrected.
Marina pretended not to hear. Oleg said nothing.
One day she showed up again, holding an envelope.
“What’s this?” Oleg frowned.
Marina smirked.
“Proof. Katya is cheating on you.”
Oleg’s hands trembled as he read the paper. His face darkened.
“Pack your things. You have one hour,” he said without looking at me, then left.
I gasped.
“What have you done?!” I yelled at Marina.
She crossed her arms.
“You were never good enough for him.”
I hugged Anna tighter.
“That test is fake!”
Marina shrugged.
“Oleg needs a real wife. One who will give him grandchildren.”
Anger flared inside me. I packed my things, grabbed Oleg’s toothbrush, and left.
A few days later, I took a genuine test.
I knocked on the door. Oleg opened.
“What do you want?”
I handed him the envelope.
“This is the real test. I used your toothbrush.”
He opened it.
“Ninety-nine point nine percent,” he muttered.
“Anna is your daughter,” I said.
Oleg looked up.
“Katya, forgive me…”
I shook my head.
“No. You never even thought about us. You just threw us away.”
“I’ll break up with her! Just come back!”
I stepped back.
“I’m filing for divorce. And I want full custody.”
Oleg reached for me, but I walked away.
As I left, I knew one thing: Anna and I would be okay.