A New Mom Rushed Home to Surprise Her Husband After Giving Birth — What She Found in Their Bedroom Left Her Screaming.
Svetlana slammed the phone down and blocked the number faster than she could even catch her breath. Another one for the record books, she thought, bitterness curling at the corners of her mouth.
No more than thirty minutes later, the phone buzzed again. A different number appeared on the screen, as if her mother had gone out of her way to invent new ways to harass her.
“Sweetheart,” her mother cooed, her voice syrupy and overdone, “we’re all so worried…”
“Oh really?” Svetlana fired back, her tone sharp. “A little late for concern, isn’t it? Perhaps you should’ve worried when your other precious daughter was sneaking around with my husband?”
“Don’t you dare speak that way! She’s suffering far more than anyone because of your selfishness!”
“She’s suffering?” Svetlana laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “Oh, the poor dear—must be agonizing in my own bed. Truly, my heart aches for her.”
Her mother’s voice hissed through the line, venomous: “You’ve always been a spiteful snake! At least Marina knows how to cherish family!”
“Family? You mean someone else’s family,” Svetlana shot back, hitting “end” without hesitation. She tossed the phone onto the couch like it carried some contagious disease.
At that moment, her father entered the apartment, burdened under a mountain of grocery bags, looking more like a desert camel than a man.
“Looks like that’s everything,” he muttered, scanning the haul as if defusing a bomb. “I’m not entirely sure what half of this is, but the store assured me it’s all essential.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Svetlana said softly, genuine warmth seeping into her voice. “You’re doing more for me than anyone has ever done in my life.”
Awkwardly, her father patted her head, as if she were made of glass and might shatter at the wrong touch.
“I’m just trying to make up for lost time,” he murmured.
“None of this is your fault, Dad. You’ve always been there when you could be.”
The phone rang again. Svetlana glanced at the screen and snorted.
“Oh, so now my sister wants to join the fun.”
“Don’t answer,” her father advised.
“I want to hear what the newly crowned lady of my household has to say,” Svetlana replied, switching to speaker.
“Sveta! Stop sulking!” Marina’s bratty voice squealed through. “We’re adults—we can talk this out civilly!”
“Civilly?” Svetlana repeated, incredulous. “Do you mean civilly, like when a sister sleeps with her sister’s husband? Or civilly, like when the world finds out?”
“Don’t be so primitive! Love is something sublime—you can’t choose it!”
“Cheating, on the other hand, is a choice. And a particularly vile one,” Svetlana said coolly.
“You’re just jealous!” Marina snapped. “Jealous that Sergei picked me!”
“Jealous?” Svetlana laughed, a low, cutting sound. “No, darling. I’m grateful. You saved me the trouble of dealing with that trash myself.”
Her father nodded, amused, while Marina sputtered indignantly.
“How dare you! Sergei is a wonderful man!”
“Of course,” Svetlana replied. “Especially wonderful in bed with his wife’s sister. Truly a shining beacon of virtue.”
“You’ve always been cruel!” Marina shrieked. “Always jealous! Mom’s right—you’re rotten!”
“And you,” Svetlana said softly, “have always coveted what isn’t yours. Remember the toys you stole as a child? Then you grew up and went for husbands. Impressive progress.”
After hanging up on her incensed sister, Svetlana started to rise.
“I’ll make us some food,” she began.
“Sit tight,” her father said. “I’ve cooked enough for one lifetime. Let me whip up a meal worthy of licking your fingers… though I can’t promise it’s actually edible. My cooking skills are on par with a rhino trying ballet.”
“Dad, you’re incredible,” she murmured, genuine affection softening her voice. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
“A parent’s home is always open,” he said, waving a hand. “Even if your mother sometimes forgets that… time sorts everything out.”
Within half an hour, the kitchen was fragrant with the sizzling of meat and herbs. Svetlana sat at the table, watching her father’s clumsy but earnest culinary attempts.
“Dad… why are you alone?” she asked.
He froze, as if someone had paused life itself.
“I tried again,” he said quietly, not turning. “A second marriage… it didn’t work. I suppose bachelorhood is my destiny. At least now no one scolds me for leaving socks around.”
Svetlana nodded, understanding without prying. Once she had put her daughter to bed, she returned to the kitchen to lend a hand.
“Stay here,” he said, stirring a pot. “Take your time figuring things out. I’m not kicking you out. You can live here as long as you need—until retirement if you want. Mine,” he added, smirking.
“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered.
And then the floodgates opened. Words spilled out in torrents, punctuated by sobs and ragged breaths. She told him about the husband she had loved, about giving birth to her daughter, about how she had planned to surprise him by returning early…
“…and I walk in on him with my sister!” she shouted, fists clenched. “And she’s pregnant with his child! And Mother—can you believe it?—she knew everything! Covered for them!”
Her father listened in silence, his expression darkening with each revelation.
“A nest of vipers,” he muttered once she was finished.
That simple, blunt statement eased some of the weight off her chest.
“You won’t believe this,” he said suddenly, turning to her. “I was thinking… maybe we should send your ex a gift? Live cockroaches, perhaps. Or a voodoo course. I hear that works wonders.”
Svetlana laughed, the sound fragile but genuine.
“Dad, you’re incorrigible!”
“What?” he asked mock-offended. “I only care about justice.”
They cooked together, teasing each other, concocting ludicrous revenge plots. Though the hurt didn’t vanish, Svetlana felt a rare sense of safety with her father nearby.
As evening fell, Svetlana’s phone glowed red from relentless calls, an infernal machine threatening to explode. Each time she snatched it, she barked:
“To hell with all of you! Enough, you vultures!”
One by one, she blocked numbers—cheating husband, scheming mother, annoying sister—her contact list becoming a graveyard of blacklisted callers.
“What a family,” she muttered, rocking her softly snoring daughter. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll manage—without the two-faced ones.”
Night crept in. The fridge hummed softly, a gentle soundtrack to a quiet conversation between father and daughter. Svetlana shared thoughts on school, friends, and plans, sighing between sentences.
A week had passed since she had fled her unfaithful husband, baby in tow, and moved in with her father. Her mother, Margarita Stepanovna, had called from hundreds of numbers, demanding her return.
“Are you out of your mind? Go back to your husband this instant!” she screamed.
Svetlana blocked yet another number, not responding. Deep down, she longed for an apology—from her mother or ex—but pride kept them from making the first move.
Returning from the clinic one day, Svetlana froze at the sight of a mountain of boxes. Strange clinks and rattles drifted from her room. Peeking in, she gasped: her father was assembling a beautiful crib. Beside it, a finished stroller waited.
“Daddy, you’re a miracle!” she whispered.
“What won’t a man do for his granddaughter?” he chuckled, stroking his mustache.
Svetlana kissed him on the cheek, then brought Arina over for a kiss. The spirited little girl only snorted, amused.
That night, Arina slept in her new crib. Svetlana switched on the nightlight, pulled the door closed, and returned to the half-dark kitchen. Her father sat silently, spinning a cup of cold tea in his hands.
“Dad… why did you leave Mom?” she asked softly.
He stood, gazing out the window. Silence stretched long, heavy.
“You’re not my daughter,” he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.
Svetlana’s eyes widened.
“I found out three years later,” he continued, trembling slightly. “Forgive me… I couldn’t live with it.”
Unsure what to say, Svetlana approached, gently touching his back. She pressed herself against him, seeking comfort. On impulse, she kissed his shoulder blades.
“Dad,” she breathed.
“Just don’t leave,” he said hoarsely. “Stay here.”
“But Dad… I’m a stranger to you,” she whispered.
“No,” he said firmly. “Just stay. That’s enough.”
The baby cried from the nursery. Time slipped on. Soon Arina was busy in the sandbox, chubby cheeks dusted with sand.
“Hey, little rascal! Don’t eat that sand!” Svetlana teased. The baby laughed, patting out tiny sand cakes.
“You know, sunshine,” Svetlana said, adjusting her daughter’s sunhat, “your mom was clever at your age. Sometimes stubborn, though.”
Arina held out a sand cake.
“For me?” Svetlana was touched. “Thank you, my love.”
The phone rang again. Rocking Arina, Svetlana picked up.
“Svetlana?” came her mother’s sharp voice. “I thought you’d forgotten the telephone existed.”
“Good evening,” Svetlana said evenly. “Arina’s teething.”
“Ah, teething! I thought you were avoiding me,” her mother sneered.
“If it’s important, speak,” Svetlana said. “Arina needs soothing.”
“Important? Old woman things! I just wanted to know about my granddaughter. Too much to ask?”
“Cut the theatrics. She’s fine. Teeth are in.”
“Theatrics? Me?” her mother protested.
Svetlana counted silently to ten. “Goodbye.”
Later, when Arina slept, Svetlana sat with her father.
“Dad… I want a DNA test,” she said. He nodded, no surprise or objection.
A week later, the results confirmed his story: he was not her biological father.
“I may not be your blood father,” he said gently, “but I’ll always be your dad.”
“Of course,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.
Months passed. Svetlana walked with Arina sleeping peacefully in her stroller.
Her phone buzzed. “Ex.” She rolled her eyes, declining.
After four court hearings, Dmitry finally signed the divorce. The apartment Svetlana had bought before marriage was now hers.
She contacted a relocation service:
“Hello… could you remove an especially stubborn ex-husband from my apartment?”
Days later, the place was cleared. Svetlana laughed, imagining herself in a spy film.
All her belongings were safely moved.
“Time for a fresh start, little one,” she whispered to sleeping Arina.
The next morning, Svetlana and her father strolled down the green alley, her father pushing the stroller, her running alongside, laughing.
Months later, Dmitry fled from pregnant Viktoria once the free ride ended. Meanwhile, Svetlana enjoyed life with her father. Arina toddled confidently, speaking her first words, and Svetlana thrived—remote work, a rented apartment, and finally, a life filled with honesty, love, and stability.
