After Giving Birth, a Young Mother Hurried Home to Surprise Her Husband — But Her Bedroom Revealed a Sh0cking Scene.
Svetlana didn’t even wait for the first ring to finish before she slammed the phone down and blocked the number. Another one bites the dust, she thought with a bitter smile.
Half an hour later, the phone lit up again. A new number—her mother must have been experimenting with creativity.
“Darling,” her mother began, dripping with false concern, “we’re all so worried about you…”
“Oh really?” Svetlana snapped. “A little late for that, don’t you think? Maybe you should’ve worried when your other precious daughter was having an affair with my husband?”
“Don’t speak that way! She’s suffering more than anyone because of your selfishness!”
“Is she?” Svetlana laughed, a sound sharp enough to cut glass. “Poor thing, lying in my former bed. I’m positively devastated for her.”
Her mother’s voice seethed: “You’ve always been vindictive! At least Marina knows the value of family!”
“Family? Especially someone else’s,” Svetlana said, pressing “end” and tossing the phone on the couch like it had a virus.
Just then, her father appeared, arms weighed down by bags, waddling slightly under the load.
“Looks like that’s everything,” he muttered, surveying the groceries as if disarming a bomb. “Not sure what half of it is, but the store said it was essential.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Svetlana said, her voice soft with warmth. “You’re doing more for me than anyone ever has.”
He awkwardly patted her head, like a fragile object might shatter under his touch.
“I’m just trying to make up for lost time,” he said quietly.
“None of this is your fault, Dad. You’ve always been there whenever you could be.”
The phone rang again. Svetlana glanced at it and snorted.
“Oh, so now my sister wants to play.”
“Don’t answer,” her father advised.
“I want to hear what the newly crowned lady of my house has to say,” Svetlana replied, switching on speaker.
“Sveta, stop sulking!” Marina’s bratty voice rang out. “We can talk like adults!”
“Adults?” Svetlana repeated, incredulous. “You mean like when a sister sleeps with her sister’s husband? Or like when everyone finds out?”
“Don’t be so old-fashioned! Love is sublime—you can’t help who you love!”
“Cheating, however, is a choice. And a particularly disgusting one,” Svetlana said firmly.
“You’re just jealous!” Marina shrieked. “Jealous that Sergei picked me!”
“Jealous?” Svetlana laughed, a cold, cutting laugh. “No, darling. I’m thankful. You made taking out the trash easy for me.”
Her father nodded, quietly amused, while Marina sputtered indignantly.
“How dare you! Sergei is wonderful!”
“Of course,” Svetlana replied. “Especially wonderful with his wife’s sister. Integrity personified.”
“You’ve always been cruel!” Marina screamed. “Always jealous! Mom’s right—you’re rotten!”
“And you,” Svetlana said softly, “always took what wasn’t yours. Remember stealing my toys? Then you graduated to husbands. Impressive growth.”
After ending the call, Svetlana started to rise.
“I’ll make dinner,” she said.
“Sit,” her father said. “I’ve cooked enough for one lifetime. Let me whip up a meal you’ll remember—though I make no promises about it being edible. My cooking skills are comparable to a rhinoceros attempting ballet.”
“Dad, you’re incredible,” she murmured sincerely. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
“A parent’s home is always open,” he said, waving. “Even if your mother sometimes forgets. Time has a way of putting everything right.”
Within half an hour, the kitchen smelled of sizzling meat and fragrant herbs. Svetlana watched her father, moving awkwardly but determinedly, making his magic at the stove.
“Dad… why are you alone?” she asked.
He paused as if someone had pressed a pause button on life.
“I tried a second time,” he said quietly. “It didn’t work. Bachelorhood may be my fate. At least no one scolds me for leaving socks lying around.”
Svetlana nodded silently, respecting his boundaries. After putting Arina to bed, she returned to help in the kitchen.
“Stay here,” he said, stirring. “Take your time. Sort your problems out. I’m not kicking you out—you can stay as long as you need. Until retirement, even. Mine,” he added with a playful smirk.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said softly.
And then the floodgates opened. Words tumbled out, punctuated by tears and deep breaths. She told him about the husband she had loved, the birth of her daughter, her plan to surprise him by returning early…
“…and I walked in on him with my sister!” she shouted, fists clenched. “And she’s pregnant by him! And Mother—can you believe it?—she knew and covered for them!”
Her father listened quietly, his face darkening.
“A nest of vipers,” he finally said.
The blunt, simple words eased a bit of her burden.
“You won’t believe it,” he said, turning to her suddenly. “Maybe we should send your ex a gift. Live cockroaches, perhaps. Or take a voodoo course. I hear it works wonders.”
Svetlana laughed, a genuine, shaky laugh.
“Dad, you’re incorrigible!”
“What?” he said, mock-offended. “I’m concerned with justice.”
They cooked together, teased, plotted ridiculous revenge schemes. Though her pain didn’t vanish, Svetlana felt safe with her father by her side.
Evening came. The phone burned with calls. Each time she snatched it up, she barked:
“To hell with all of you! Enough, vultures!”
One by one, she blocked numbers—cheating husband, scheming mother, annoying sister. Her contact list became a graveyard.
“What a family,” she muttered, rocking her sleeping daughter. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll survive—without them.”
Night fell. The fridge hummed softly. Svetlana shared school stories, friends, plans, sighing between sentences.
A week passed. Her mother, Margarita Stepanovna, called relentlessly from different numbers, demanding her return.
“Go back to your husband at once!” she screeched.
Svetlana ignored her, blocking yet another number. Deep down, she wished for an apology—but pride kept both her mother and ex from acting first.
Coming home from the clinic, she froze at the threshold. Strange sounds came from her room. Peeking in, she gasped. Her father was assembling a beautiful crib. Beside it, a finished stroller gleamed.
“Daddy, you’re a miracle!” she whispered.
“What won’t a man do for his granddaughter?” he chuckled.
Svetlana kissed him on the cheek, then brought Arina to do the same. The little girl snorted, amused.
That night, Arina slept in her new crib. Svetlana turned on the nightlight, pulled the door closed, and returned to the half-dark kitchen. Her father sat quietly, spinning a cup of cold tea.
“Dad… why did you leave Mom?” she asked softly.
He stood, gazing out the window. Silence stretched, heavy and long.
“You’re not my daughter,” he said finally, voice low.
Svetlana gasped.
“I discovered it three years later,” he continued. “Forgive me… I couldn’t live with it.”
Not knowing what to say, Svetlana approached, gently touched his back, pressed herself to him. On impulse, she kissed his shoulder blades.
“Dad,” she whispered.
“Just stay,” he said hoarsely. “Live here.”
“But Dad… I’m a stranger to you,” she murmured.
“No,” he said firmly. “Just live here. That’s all.”
The baby cried from the nursery. Time passed. Soon Arina was busy in the sandbox, cheeks chubby, hands covered in sand.
“Hey, little rascal! Don’t eat that!” Svetlana teased. Arina laughed, patting out sand cakes.
“You know, sunshine,” Svetlana said, adjusting her daughter’s sunhat, “your mom was clever at your age. Sometimes a little stubborn.”
Arina offered her a sand cake.
“For me?” Svetlana smiled. “Thank you, my love.”
The phone rang. Rocking Arina, Svetlana picked up.
“Svetlana?” her mother’s voice. “Finally! I thought you forgot the phone existed.”
“Good evening,” Svetlana said evenly. “Arina is teething.”
“Ah! I thought you were avoiding me,” her mother sneered.
“If it’s important, speak,” Svetlana said. “She needs soothing.”
“Important? Old woman stuff! Just wanted to know how my granddaughter is. Too much?”
“Cut the theatrics. She’s healthy. Teeth in.”
“Theatrics? Me?” her mother protested.
Svetlana counted to ten silently. “Goodbye.”
Later, when Arina slept, Svetlana sat with her father.
“Dad… I want a DNA test,” she said. He only nodded.
A week later, the result confirmed his story: not her biological father.
“I may not be blood-related,” he said gently, “but I will always be your dad.”
“Of course,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
Months passed. Svetlana walked with Arina sleeping in the stroller.
Her phone buzzed. “Ex.” Eye-roll. Declined.
After four court hearings, Dmitry finally signed the divorce. Svetlana’s apartment, bought before marriage, was now hers.
She called a moving service.
“Could you… remove an especially stubborn ex-husband?”
Days later, her apartment was cleared. Svetlana laughed, imagining a spy film.
All belongings safely moved.
“Time for a fresh start, little one,” she whispered to Arina.
Next morning, Svetlana and her father walked down the green alley, her father pushing the stroller, her racing beside, laughing.
Months later, Dmitry fled pregnant Viktoria once the free ride ended. Meanwhile, Svetlana thrived at her father’s home. Arina toddled confidently, speaking her first words, and Svetlana lived freely—remote work, rented apartment, honesty, love, and stability at last.