“Your pregnant mistress called. She sends her regards,” Irina said without looking up from the stove.

Andrey froze in the kitchen doorway. Twenty years—a whole life—flashed before his eyes. The keys slipped from his hand.

“What are you talking about? What mistress?” His voice trembled.

“Alisa. Your assistant, isn’t she?” Irina finally turned. “Young, twenty-five. Says she’s four months along. Congratulations, daddy.”

There was such pain in her eyes that Andrey wanted to sink through the floor.

“Ira, I can explain…”

“Explain?” She gave a hoarse laugh. “Explain what exactly? How you were ‘having fun’ with your secretary while I ran from doctor to doctor trying to get pregnant? Or how you lied to me, saying you were working late?”

“You know what stings the most? I suspected it. But I believed you. Like an idiot, I believed!”

“Irochka, listen…” Andrey took a step toward his wife, but she threw up a hand.

“Don’t come near me! God, this is disgusting… Twenty years down the drain!”

“Hard?” Irina laughed again. “What’s hard about it? You took up with a young mistress. She got knocked up. And me…” her voice cracked, “I’m just an old barren cuckoo, right?”

The next second a stinging slap split the silence.

“Get out,” she whispered. “Get out to your… to her.”

“GET OUT!” She grabbed the salt shaker from the table and hurled it at him.

The front door slammed. Irina slowly sank into a chair. Her phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number: “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to turn out like this. —Alisa.”

“Bitch,” Irina whispered.

Andrey sat in the car. Fifteen missed calls from his mother—Irina had obviously called his mother-in-law. The phone rang again. Alisa.

“Where are you? Your wife! She came to my work and made a scene… Screamed in front of the whole office. Threw some papers in my face… Andryusha, they were her test results. For infertility.”

With a groan he dropped his head onto the steering wheel.

“I didn’t know… I really didn’t know you couldn’t have children together.”

“Come over. I’m scared to be alone.”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

His mother called immediately.

“You… dog!” her voice thundered. “What have you done, huh? Irochka’s in tears. Took up with some snot-nosed little thing! I’m not your mother anymore! Don’t call until you come to your senses!”

She hung up. Another message flashed—Irina: “The divorce papers will be ready in a week. Pick up your things on the weekend. I’m leaving.”

Another incoming call—Alisa.

“Are you coming soon? My stomach hurts a bit…”

“I’m already driving!” he answered, jerking the wheel.

The phone rang again.

“Oh, for—” He snatched it up without looking at the screen.

“This isn’t Alisa,” Irina said, her voice unusually calm. “I took a test. Imagine? I’m pregnant too.”

Everything seemed to stop. The screech of brakes. A crash. Darkness.

“A heart attack,” the doctor said dryly. “Plus a traumatic brain injury. Condition: critical but stable.”

Irina stood by the ICU window. Alisa sat nearby, her face buried in her hands.

“Stop bawling,” Irina ground out. “This isn’t a TV show.”

“You… you’re also…?” Alisa fell silent, staring at Irina’s barely noticeable belly.

“Also knocked up?” Irina smirked. “Uh-huh. Twenty years nothing, and now—bam.”

“You know,” Irina said suddenly, “I loved him since our first year at university. Then the wedding, everything by the book. And I turned out to be ‘defective.’”

“Don’t say that,” Alisa whispered.

“How else should I say it? Do you know how many doctors I went to? How many procedures? And he kept telling me, ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart…’ He lied. Just lied.”

“He loves you,” Alisa said.

“Even when he was doing you?”

“I thought… we were in love,” she murmured.

“What are we going to do?” Alisa asked.

“We’ll have the babies. Both of us will have them. And Andrey Mikhailych will have two heirs… When he pulls through—let him choose. Although…” she gave a short laugh, “not much of a choice: an old wife with a ‘trailer’ or a young mistress with an add-on.”

“I won’t give up what’s mine,” Irina said, looking straight into Alisa’s eyes. “Twenty years—that’s mine, understand? And you… you just jumped onto someone else’s train.”

Andrey came to a week later. The first thing he saw was his wife sitting in a chair by his bed.

“Ir…” His voice was rough.

“So you show up, handsome?” Her words had a touch of mockery. “I thought you were up there flirting with young angels.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t start. I’m not splitting the apartment. Keep the car. I’ve already quit my job.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m going back to Tver. To my parents. The air’s cleaner there. Better for the baby.”

“Ira, don’t…”

“I must, Andryusha. I’ve done a lot of thinking. You’re right—I really am an old fool. Only not for believing you. For being afraid to live without you.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

“You love me… maybe. Like a habit. But I don’t want to be a habit.”

She stood.

“Alisa came every day. Cried, said she renounces all claims. I gave her the number of a good OB-GYN. And a realtor—will help her find an apartment. A one-room place is too cramped with a baby.”

“You… what?” Andrey couldn’t believe his ears.

“What’s so strange? We’re in the same boat now.”

“Ira…”

“You know,” she paused in the doorway, “I really did love you. Madly… And now it’s like it let go. Like I took a breath of air. Thank you for that. And thanks to her.”

She left. A faint trace of her perfume lingered in the room. Andrey stared out the window. In the wet March city, two women carried under their hearts his children.

“I wonder,” he thought, “will the children be friends? Or will they spend their whole lives dividing… something?”