You Are My Wife. The Real One

“Is it true?” His gaze presses down, but I stubbornly lift my chin.
“I’m not afraid of you, David.”

“Of what exactly?” I ask.
“In our life there’s so much lies—I can’t even keep track anymore.”

“Am I the one?” he nods toward my belly.
“Who, David?” I don’t give up, still hoping I misunderstood the question.
“Don’t be stupid, Vasilisa! The baby is mine?”

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t cry. His question hurts, but he won’t see my tears. A little calmer, I answer slowly and indifferently:

“Not yours. Go to your future wife—or to the mother of your child. This child isn’t yours.”