I brought two babies home alone after giving birth — my husband yelled at them in anger and then ran away.

I brought two babies home alone after giving birth — my husband yelled at them in anger and then ran away.

"Anna Sergeyevna, your discharge papers are ready. Who will be accompanying you home?" The nurse looked attentively at the frail woman whose pale face was framed by dark circles under her eyes.

"I… I'll manage on my own," Anna replied, trying to sound confident.

The nurse glanced over her with concern. A week after a difficult childbirth — and there was no one by her side. Her husband hadn’t shown up even once. Just one short phone call: “Don’t waste your time on me.”

Anna gently took Liza in her arms, cradling the tiny bundle in the bend of her elbow. The nurse helped her with the second baby — Mitya. Two small swaddles, two new little humans, for whom she now bore full responsibility. The bag went over her shoulder, and she clutched the bundle of baby blankets in the crook of her other arm.

"Are you sure you can carry them all?" the nurse still hesitated. "We could call a car."

"No need. The bus stop isn’t far."

Not far. Just a kilometer along a snowy February road, with two newborns and stitches that ached with every step. But there was no one to ask for help. And money for a taxi would barely cover milk and bread until the end of the month.

Her steps were small and cautious. The wind pelted her face with sharp snowflakes, the bag tugged at her arm, her back ached. Yet through the thin blankets, she felt the warmth of her babies. It warmed better than any coat.

At the bus stop, she had to wait. Passersby hurried past, shielding themselves from the wind. No one offered help. They just cast curious glances — a young woman, alone, with two infants. When the bus finally came, an elderly passenger helped her aboard and offered a seat.

"Going to your husband?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Anna lied, lowering her eyes.

Deep down, she still hoped Ivan had just panicked. That when he saw his children, he’d realize his mistake. Accept them. Love them. They had talked about this, made plans. Two years ago, when he proposed, it was he who said: "I want a son and a daughter — little copies of you." Fate had smiled on them — she’d been gifted both at once.

The house met her with hollow silence and stale air. Dirty dishes in the sink, cigarette butts in a jar on the table, empty bottles. She gently laid the babies on the couch, placing a clean towel beneath them. She opened the window to let in fresh air and winced at the pain in her lower abdomen.

"Ivan?" she called softly. "We’re home."

There was a rustle from the bedroom. Ivan emerged, pulling his robe closed. His gaze swept over the babies, the bags, and Anna — indifferent, cold. As if he were looking at strangers.

"Noisy," he muttered, nodding at the sleeping twins. "I bet they screamed all night?"

"They're good," she stepped forward, searching his face for any sign of warmth. "They barely cry. Mitya only when he's hungry, and Liza is always quiet. Look, they’re so beautiful..."

Ivan stepped back. In his eyes flashed something like disgust — or fear.

"You know, I’ve been thinking…" he began, rubbing his neck. "This isn’t for me."

"What?" Anna froze, not understanding.

"Babies, diapers, constant screaming. I'm not cut out for it."

Anna stared at him, stunned. How can you not be ready for your own children? Nine months. He had nine long months to prepare.

"But you said you wanted—"

"I changed my mind," he shrugged like he was talking about returning a phone. "I’m still young. I want to live my life, not deal with diapers."

He walked past her, opened the closet, and pulled out a gym bag. He began tossing clothes into it — t-shirts, jeans — without much care.

"You… you're leaving?" her voice sounded distant, unfamiliar.

"I’m leaving," he nodded, not even looking at her. "I’ll stay at Seryoga’s for a while, then figure out where to rent."

"And us?" Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Ivan zipped the bag and finally looked at her — annoyed, as if she’d asked a dumb question during an important meeting.

"You stay here. The house is in your name, I won’t go to your mother. I won’t pay child support — you chose to have them, so you deal with it."

He walked over to the couch where the babies slept. Mitya opened his eyes — dark like his father's. The baby didn’t cry, just stared at the man who gave him life and was now rejecting it.

"I don’t want them," Ivan muttered, turning away. "I’m out."

He spat on the floor, right beside the couch. Then he grabbed his bag and coat and left, slamming the door. The windows rattled, and Liza began to cry softly — as if she understood what had just happened.

Anna slowly sank to the floor. It felt like a chasm had opened in her chest, swallowing every emotion except raw, deafening fear.
She was alone…
Continued in the 1st comment

I brought two babies home alone after giving birth — my husband yelled at them in anger and then ran away.

The nurse gently asked, “Anna Sergeyevna, the documents are ready. Who will be taking you home?”

Her eyes studied Anna, whose fragile face was shadowed by dark circles.

“I’ll manage on my own,” Anna responded, trying to sound confident.
The nurse looked concerned. A week had passed since the difficult childbirth, and still, no one had been there for her. Ivan hadn’t visited even once.
Anna carefully held her newborn daughter, Liza, in one arm, while the nurse assisted with Mitya, the second baby. The money she had was barely enough for milk and bread to last until the end of the month, leaving her unable to afford a taxi.

At the bus stop, she waited, clinging to the hope that Ivan had been scared. She remembered his words two years ago when he proposed: “I want a son and a daughter, just like you.” Fate had granted her both, in one single moment.
But when she arrived home, she was met with silence and stale air.

“Ivan?” she called out. “We’re home.”
Ivan appeared, tightening his robe. His cold, detached gaze swept over Anna, the babies, and the bags—almost as if he were seeing strangers.

Without emotion, Ivan spoke, “I’ve been thinking… this isn’t for me.”

“But you said—”

“I changed my mind,” he shrugged, as though discarding a broken item. “I’m still young. I want to live my life, not deal with diapers.”
“I’m leaving,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll stay at Seryoga’s for now and figure things out later.”
“The place is in your name. I’m not dealing with custody or child support. Your choice to give birth, your problem now.”
With that, he spat on the floor near the couch, grabbed his bag and coat, and slammed the door behind him.

Anna, overwhelmed with grief and disbelief, crawled to the couch, clutching her babies to her chest. This was her new reality.
“We’ll survive,” she whispered to herself, repeating the mantra that would carry her through the years ahead.

Three years passed.

Anna worked a night shift on the farm, covering for a sick coworker. The children stayed with a neighbor who had become like a second mother to them.
One evening, Anna returned home exhausted but smiling. She carried a loaf of bread, a can of milk, and a bag of caramels.

“Mom!” the children rushed to her, their arms wrapping around her.
“There’s going to be a party at the kindergarten,” she said, catching her breath. “For moms and dads.”
“We should invite Daddy,” Mitya suggested.
Anna’s heart sank. The moment she had feared had arrived. Her children were growing up and starting to ask difficult questions.
“You don’t have a dad,” she said quietly.
That night, the children cried—not from hunger or pain, but from the realization that something was missing.
Anna held them close, now teenagers, on the brink of a new life. Her hope, her reason, and her heart torn in two.

“Mom, was Dad really a bad person?” Mitya asked.
“No,” she replied, her voice heavy. “Not bad. Just weak. He was afraid of responsibility.”
She didn’t sleep that night, knowing that the time would soon come when her children would need to know the full truth about their father—the truth she had sheltered them from for so long.

Years passed.

Liza noticed a man standing near the school gate, his eyes scanning the crowd. Mitya looked up and saw him too. Their eyes met—exactly like Ivan’s.
“Hello,” the man said, his voice hoarse. “You’re Liza and Mitya, right? Anna’s children?”
The silence stretched, the years of unanswered questions weighing heavily between them.
“I’m your father,” Ivan finally said. “I’m Ivan.”
“I just wanted to talk… to see you,” he stammered, a lifetime of regrets in his voice. “Maybe it’s not too late. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

Mitya’s voice was calm but firm. “Mom’s home. If you want to talk, go to her.”
“I know I’m to blame,” Ivan murmured. “I’ve lost everything. But… I wonder if I could still get to know you?”
“You don’t know anything about us,” Liza said, her voice trembling with anger. “You have no right to show up like nothing happened.”

Ivan lowered his head, defeated by the years of mistakes.

Without another word, Liza and Mitya walked away together, side by side. Ivan watched them leave, his eyes filled with regret, and for the first time in years, real tears welled up in his eyes.
When Anna saw her children enter, she knew something had happened. Mitya’s pale face and Liza’s stiff posture told the story.
Anna covered her face with her hands, a storm of emotions raging inside her—anger at Ivan, fear for her children, and an odd sense of relief that he was still alive and had remembered them.
“I didn’t want him back,” she thought. “Without him, we became better. Stronger. A real family.”
The three of them embraced—three bodies, three hearts, beating as one.