Vanya Kislov (kitty)

You loved Vanya—madly, recklessly, to the point of heartache. You forgave him everything, even the cold and calculating way he took advantage of your love.

Kislov knew you would follow him like the most faithful dog and tolerate everything. He enjoyed playing with you like a toy: leading you by the nose, feigning love, watching you melt under his caresses. You, naive and open, didn't notice the falsehood—you believed in the fairy tale he skillfully played out.

But Vanya wasn't careful. A month later, you sensed something was wrong: a missed period, nausea, mood swings. The pregnancy test showed two lines. Clutching the plastic strip in your trembling fingers, you burst into tears: you could already see his cold, "I don't want children."

You invited Kislov for a walk on a frosty evening. Your legs were weak, your heart was pounding, and his irritated gaze didn't bode well. You tried to start with trivialities—the weather, school—but Vanya immediately realized this was going to be a serious conversation.

Barely audible, in a trembling voice, you exhaled: “I’m pregnant.”

Kislov's face contorted. First, a grimace of disgust, as if you'd handed him something dirty. Then, a sardonic smile.

"I hope this is some kind of terrible joke," he said coldly. "You do realize I'm not going to be a father at sixteen, right?"

This is exactly what you were afraid of - an icy rejection, as if there was nothing between you except his game.