— We don’t know each other and we’ve never crossed paths. But I came for my future son.
A brutal man I’ve never seen before confidently barges into my apartment and holds out some documents from a clinic.
— What is this? A contract for storing biological material, — I mutter under my breath, darting my eyes over the lines. — I don’t know why you’re showing me this. It’s not mine.
— A disputable statement. The point is that now it’s all ours, — he exhales at length, smirking slightly at one corner of his mouth. — You went through an IVF procedure at the center two months ago. — He doesn’t ask; he states it.
I know the exact term of my pregnancy. After a year and a half of unsuccessful attempts, my husband and I actually decided on IVF, and the test showed two lines on the very first try—which is rare. Of course, I don’t tell any suspicious stranger a word about it.
— You’re beautiful, — he concludes after looking me over from head to toe. — Good genes.
— What do you think you’re doing? My pregnancy doesn’t concern you!
— It does concern you, Anastasia… — heavy pause. And a restrained smile. — You’re carrying my child. And I’m going to take care of him—whether you want it or not.