Sam

Two lines. I looked at them and couldn't believe it. Pregnant. I had no idea who it was from. That evening after the fight with Mark had completely faded from my memory.

Mark is my husband. Now ex. I filed for divorce two weeks ago. Three years of hell are over. He was jealous of me, humiliated me in front of everyone, and the last time he left me alone in tears at a family party. I went to a friend's house, we drank, I wanted to forget my name.

What followed was a complete failure. I remember only strong arms, a deep voice, and a feeling of absolute safety. I woke up in a strange bed, no one nearby. A note: "You were beautiful. Call me, S." I burned it and decided it was an accident. Shame and oblivion.

And today I found out I'm pregnant. My due date is that very weekend.

That same day, my mother-in-law invited me to dinner. She decided that divorce wasn't a reason to break up. I went to pick up my things. Mark sat there with a sour expression; I didn't even look at him.

The door opened. A tall man of about forty entered, with a light stubble and green eyes. He smiled:

— Hello, family. Sorry I'm late.

Mark grimaced:

• Uncle Sam, you always...

Uncle. Sam. I felt the floor shift beneath my feet. A clear image flashed in my memory: his face above me, his hands on my waist, his whisper. It was HIM. The one who left the note. The one who allowed me to forget.

Sam turned his gaze to me. His eyes widened slightly—he recognized me. But a barely noticeable smile played on his lips. He kissed his mother-in-law on the cheek and sat down opposite me.

“It’s good to see you, daughter-in-law,” he said with an intonation that sent shivers down my spine.

I sat on pins and needles the entire dinner. Mark droned on about dividing up the property, my mother-in-law poured tea, and Sam stared at me. Panic, mixed with wild anger, was growing inside me. At Mark—he'd abandoned me. At myself—for my weakness. And at Sam, who sat there looking like he'd won the lottery.

When dinner was over, I ran out onto the porch. To breathe. To gather myself. A minute later, I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned around. He was standing two steps away, his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.