A photo that makes your legs go numb. Veronika is in our bedroom, on our bed. She lies pressed against the sleeping Oleg; her dark hair on his shoulder. On her face is a smug, triumphant smirk.
Under the picture is a caption: “We’ve been together for a year. Oleg keeps dragging out the conversation about splitting up only out of pity—he’s afraid you’ll cut your own veins. He’s sick of your ‘proper’ ways. Do everyone a favor—disappear. And get rid of the child. If you won’t do it yourself, we’ll force you. I’ve got a friend who has an old lady—she’ll do it quickly and without consequences.”
I run from my civil husband, who pushes me toward an abortion. I give birth to a son—and seven years later I take him to school. And there it turns out that my “ex” has become the guardian of the child.