Divorce. I Beg You, Come Back

- Don’t cry, Stasik! We’ll go home now, and in the meantime choose a toy," said the little girl to a child of about ten.

He looked around three years old. He wiped his tears with his little fist and took a toy car from the shelf.

The girl handed the purchase to me and asked:

- By card, please.

I couldn’t help smiling at how grown-up she behaved. And when I looked at the bank card, my heart sank. It belonged to my husband.

- Where did you get that? I asked, pointing at the blue plastic rectangle.

Worn out, with a chipped corner.

The girl frowned, but answered:

- Dad gave it to me. It’s his card.

In the morning I learned that after several unsuccessful attempts to conceive, I was pregnant. And in the afternoon, two unfortunate children came into my toy shop—kids who, as it turned out later, my beloved husband was raising on the side.