Our secret story has been around for 15 years. I’m sharing it because my husband already knows, so it’s okay.
Just before giving birth, I spent 26 days in the hospital, enjoying what felt like an extraordinary break before the sleepless nights ahead. Oksana shared the room with me. She was 21, pretty, from a modest background, living with her parents. Her pregnancy was unplanned, and the father was not pleased, not even proposing marriage—a common scenario she seemed unconcerned about. She once mentioned that her mum wanted a granddaughter while her dad didn’t mind who he’d be teaching to ride a bike. We chatted a lot and became friends, enjoying treats together.
One morning, the doctor asked her during a check-up:
– Have you changed your mind?
– No, – she responded firmly.
– The nurse will bring you the form. Legally, you have six months to reconsider.
I pondered, not daring to ask. Later, the nurse handed over some documents, and Oksana filled them out. The thoughts in my head were overwhelming; I couldn’t stay silent:
– What is this?
– A relinquishment form.
– Why!? You’ll manage, your parents will help, you’re young and strong. What are you thinking!?
– I’ll have more! It’s not the right time, I don’t need this!
Her reply was cold, devoid of sorrow or pity for the child, not a tear in her eye. I watched, waiting for her to cry, thinking that’s when I could convince her! But she didn’t cry.
We stopped our walks and barely spoke afterward. However, I began to dream of adopting the child. After a sleepless night of pondering, not knowing what would become of her decision, I approached my doctor the next day. Explained everything, and we went to see the head of the department, then the chief physician. I finally voiced my plan:
– Can we arrange it so I am listed as the birth mother, as if she never gave birth? I don’t know how, but so that the child is legally mine? I don’t want to explain this to my husband and family; just say I had twins! Considering my severe polyhydramnios, it seemed like a brilliant idea to me.
Doctors gaped with open mouths. The chief physician rolled his eyes.
– Are you out of your mind, dear? It’s against the law! Do you want me to risk going to court over this?
– Why does it matter to you?! Think of something! Please! Even if we give birth on different days, register it with my delivery! Or are you going to sell the baby to someone? – I regretted that instantly, earning me a quick dismissal.
That night, Oksana gave birth. I was upset but hoped fate had a good path for that child. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it, to avoid tears, and soothed myself by patting my large belly.
The next evening I went into labor. It was a tough birth. At 6:55 a.m., I became a mother to my darling Julie.
Right after the delivery, while I was still in a daze, the chief physician approached me:
– Have you changed your mind?
I didn’t immediately grasp what he meant. Once I did, I shook my head fiercely:
– No! No! I haven’t changed my mind!
And just like that, I became a mother to twins – Daniel and Julia. Daniel nursed like a champ, while Julia was quite lazy but gained healthy weight.
I asked the head physician how I could assist the department. He made a list, saying:
– The more, the better, these supplies are always in need.
I didn’t tell my husband about the twins over the phone. I asked him to come to us. When he saw, he didn’t exactly faint, but he did need to sit down, ask for water, take a drink, and then inquire:
– But… the ultrasound…? So now ultrasounds…? Did you name them already?
– What do you suggest?
– Well, we planned on Julia, but here…, – he suddenly stood and smiled, as if recalling something – How about Daniel, after my grandfather?
Of course, let’s! I was in tears, and he thought they were from joy. And I was joyful, but also terrified about the deception I’d commit against him and everyone in two days.
I don’t know how they arranged everything, but all documentation was correct from the start – from the wristbands to the discharge papers.
On April 21st, both our children turned 15. We went fishing to celebrate. Daniel got a fishing rod, and Julia received a mountain bike. I decided that night I would tell my husband. I couldn’t do it sober – I feared his reaction, but with some wine, it felt less daunting. On our way back, I picked up two bottles of strong wine. Surprised, my husband said, “But it’s a celebration.” The kids went to bed late, and I set up a continuation of our meal in the kitchen. With just a little wine left, I told him. Igor listened and then said:
– I don’t believe it.
– I swear! – with a drunken, shaky hand gesture.
The next evening he asked again:
– Is it true?
– Yes, – with less bravery now, my head hung low.
We had a long chat, and I cried. It was as if a weight lifted off my chest; my husband understood me.
– Well, you… you’re something else! Daniel, Julia, come here! – the kids approached, and I froze. – Your mother is a strong and wise woman! Be gentle with her, he said with a kind smile.
