Artem

The frost grew stronger, the patterns on the windows becoming more and more bizarre. You tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep. The seventh month of pregnancy made you feel like a clumsy whale. Artyom snored next to you. The silence in the apartment was broken only by the soft ticking of the wall clock and the howling of the wind outside the window. And suddenly… You had a terrible craving for tangerines. Sweet, juicy, with squirting juice.

You sighed, knowing that there wasn't a single tangerine in the house.

• Artyom... Artyom, wake up.

• What's happened?

— I want tangerines.

— Mandarins? Now? Are you serious? It's three in the morning!

• Yes. It's for a child!

— There we go again! Every time you want something, it's "for the child"! Understand, now is not an option! Where am I supposed to get them in the middle of the night? Ask Santa Claus?

— You could at least try! You don't care about me or our child!

— What makes you think that?! I work like crazy so we have everything! I'm tired! And I just want to sleep! And you're here with your tangerines!

"You don't love me!" you blurted out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

• What nonsense! Of course I love you! It's just, really, can't it wait until the morning?

Artyom sighed. He knew this scenario. Pregnancy hormones are tricky things. He got out of bed and threw on some clothes.

"Okay, I'll think of something now!" he muttered, heading for the exit.