Betrayal. On the Edge of Love

— He filed for a divorce, — Zinaida said. Her voice was even, almost tender. This is how they speak to the dying. — The papers are with the lawyer. You’ll sign them—or you won’t, it doesn’t matter. In half a year they’ll divorce automatically. He knows— the child isn’t his!
— No. This is a lie!…
— Yes.
— No! This isn’t true! He loves me! I’m carrying his baby!
Zinaida smiled. With that smile of hers—thin and poisonous, the kind that made you want to rip your own skin off.
— His baby? — she tilted her head. — Darling, he knows everything. We all do. Your affairs. Your thefts. You got what you deserved.
— I didn’t cheat! I didn’t steal anything!
— You can tell that to the judge. Though he probably won’t believe you. The evidence is ironclad. Signatures, bank accounts, witnesses. Everything as it should be.
She stood up. Straightened her coat. Adjusted her gloves—thin, leather, surely worth more than I earned in a month.
— I warned him, — she said. — From the very beginning. Blood from an orphanage. Poverty. Lack of roots. It’s in the genes; you can’t eradicate it.