“I Gave Birth to Your Son, But We Don’t Want Anything from You” – The Mistress Called Lera’s husband looked at her like a chastened dog. “That’s right, you didn’t mishear me, Lera. I… I had someone else, half a year ago. Just a few times—nothing serious, just a fling. And now, she’s given birth to my son. Recently…” Lera’s head was spinning. Talk about earth-shattering news! Her steady, loving husband, a child on the side! The meaning of what he said barely penetrated. For a moment, she simply stared. He sat across from her, shoulders hunched, hands squeezed tight between his knees. He seemed smaller than usual—deflated somehow. “A son, then,” repeated Lera. “So, you, a married man, now have a son. And it wasn’t your wife who gave birth. Not me…” “Lera, honestly, I didn’t even know. I swear.” “You didn’t know how babies are made? You’re forty, Nick.” “I didn’t know she’d… well, that she’d choose to keep it. We broke up long ago, she’s with her husband now. I thought that was it.” He fumbled with his words. “Then, yesterday, a call: ‘You’ve got a son. Seven pounds, healthy.’ And then she hung up…” Lera stood, legs unsteady, knees like jelly as if she’d just run a marathon. Outside, autumn raged. Lera found herself distracted by the view—beautiful, even now. “So what now?” she asked, her back to him. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Oh, great answer. A real man’s answer. You don’t know.” She spun around. “Are you going over there? To see him?” Nick, panic in his eyes, managed to mumble, “Lera, she gave me the hospital’s address, said discharge is in two days. She said: ‘Come if you want, don’t if you don’t. We don’t want anything from you.’” “Very noble of her…” Lera echoed. “‘We don’t want anything.’ How naive…” The front door slammed—her two eldest had returned. Instantly, Lera slipped on a smile. Years in business had taught her to keep her head up, even when a deal was falling apart. Their older son poked his head into the kitchen—a tall, broad-shouldered lad, twenty. “Hey, Mum, Dad. You both look glum! Mum, is there any food? We’re starving after training.” “Manty in the fridge, heat it up,” she replied automatically. “Dad, you promised to look at the carburettor on my rust-bucket,” called out her younger son, clapping Nick’s shoulder. The family scene stabbed at Lera’s heart. They called him Dad. Their real father had faded into the background years ago—now just money transfers and the occasional postcard. Nick had raised them: taught them to drive, patched scraped knees, handled school issues. He was their real dad. “I’ll take a look, Alex,” Nick smiled. “Give Mum and me a minute.” They left, clattering plates. Lera turned to him. “They love you,” she whispered. “And yet you…” “Lera, stop it. I love them too. They’re my boys. And I’m not leaving. I’ve told you—it was a mistake, an error in judgment. Nothing serious.” “Nothing serious—just the kind of mistake that leads to changing nappies,” she shot back. Their six-year-old daughter, Maisie, then burst in, and Lera’s composure cracked. Maisie leapt into her dad’s lap. “Daddy! Why are you sad? Did Mum scold you?” Nick pulled her close, burying his face in her pale hair. For her, Lera knew, he would do anything. “No, princess. Just adult stuff. Go pop on cartoons, I’ll be in soon.” With Maisie gone, silence fell again. “Everything’s changed, you know,” Lera said quietly, sitting again. “There’s a son out there, and he needs a dad. That woman says ‘nothing now’, but give it time—when there’s winter coats to buy or doctor’s bills, she’ll ring. And you’ll go. You’re kind-hearted, Nick—you always have been.” He said nothing. “And the money, Nick? Where are you going to get that?” Lera’s words hit their mark. His business collapsed two years ago—their debts paid from her earnings. He scraped by now, but everything important—home, cars, holidays, the kids’ education—came from her. Even his bank card was one attached to her account. “I’ll figure it out,” he muttered. “Driving Ubers at night? Or dipping into my purse to support your lovechild? I bankroll us, and now you’ll bankroll them—with my money?” “She’s not my mistress!” Nick barked. “It was over six months ago!” “Children have a way of binding people closer than any marriage certificate. Will you go to the hospital when they discharge her?” The question hung in the air. Nick covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know, Lera. Human decency says I should—after all, it’s not the child’s fault.” “And what about human decency toward me? Toward Maisie and the boys? You’ll hold that child, and you’ll get attached. Soon it’ll be weekly visits… then weekends away. You’ll start lying—to me, to the kids.” Nick grimaced. “She’s eight years younger than me, Nick. Thirty-two. She gave you a son—your own, flesh and blood. My sons aren’t yours by blood, as much as you raised them. That boy out there—he is.” Nick protested: “Nonsense. The boys are mine. I raised them.” “Men always want a legacy. Their very own.” “We have Maisie!” “She’s a girl, Nick…” Nick stood abruptly. “Enough! Stop pushing me out the door. I said I’m staying. I can’t just ignore the fact that somewhere there’s my own son. If you want me gone, I’ll leave—right now, pack my things and be gone. But don’t try to blackmail me, Lera!” Lera froze. If she said “leave” now, he would go—foolish, prideful, and broke. But he’d go straight to them. There, he’d be a hero, a savior, father—albeit a penniless one, but theirs. And then she’d lose him for good. Despite the pain, she didn’t want that. The children loved him. She did, too. “SIT,” she whispered. “No one’s throwing you out.” He hesitated, breathing heavily, then sat. “Lera, I’m sorry. I’m such a fool…” “A fool,” she agreed. “But MY fool…” That evening, Lera helped Maisie with homework, checked work emails… but her thoughts kept drifting. She pictured the other woman, young and beautiful, probably feeling victorious. “We don’t want anything!”—the most damning move of all. No demands, no drama, just presenting the facts. That pricks a man’s pride—makes him want to be the hero. Nick tossed and turned at night; Lera lay awake, staring into the dark. She was forty-five: gorgeous, stylish, successful—but aware that youth was not forever. The future belonged to that other woman. * The next morning was harder still. The boys ate quickly and left. Maisie cornered her father: “Daddy, braid my hair? Mum doesn’t do it right!” Nick obliged, his large hands strangely gentle. Lera sipped her coffee and watched: here was her husband—warm, familiar, hers. And out there was another child, who had the same claim. How was this fair? “Nick,” she said, as Maisie rushed off to dress. “We need to decide—now.” He set the brush aside. “I thought about it all night.” “And?” “I’m not going to the hospital.” Lera felt something tighten in her chest, but hid it. “Why?” “Because if I go, I’ll give hope—to her, to myself, to that child. I can’t be a part-time dad, split between two homes. I don’t want to lie to you, Lera. I don’t want to steal time from Maisie or the boys.” He looked at her, exhausted. “I chose you eleven years ago. You’re my wife. This—this is my family.” “And the boy?” Even she was surprised to hear herself ask it. “I’ll pay support. Through the courts or with a bank account—whatever’s needed. But visits? No. Better he grows up never knowing me, than waiting for a father who’s just watching the clock, desperate to get home to his real family. That’s fairer.” Lera was silent, rolling her wedding ring around her finger. “You’re sure you won’t regret this?” “I probably will,” Nick admitted. “I’ll worry, I’m sure. But if I go, I lose you—and you won’t stand for that. You’re strong, but not made of stone. You’ll start to hate me, and I can’t let that happen.” He crossed the kitchen, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want another life. I want you—and the kids. The rest is the price for my mistake. I’ll pay in money, and only in money. No time. No attention. That’s all I’ve got to give.” She placed her hand over his. “Your own money?” she smirked. “I’ll earn it. I’ll find a way. I’ll never ask for your help with this.” And with that, she was at peace. Her husband may not have behaved honourably toward her, but these were exactly the words she had needed. No sharing. The other woman could deal with her choices. Nick never went to the hospital. The mistress soon flooded his phone with angry voicemails. He told her bluntly: she could expect financial support, nothing more. She hung up, and for half a year—there wasn’t another word from her. Lera was more than satisfied with that.

I’ve had a son by you, but we want nothing from you, rang the voice down the phone his mistress.

James looked at Clara with the mournful eyes of a beaten dog.

Yes, youve heard right. Clara, six months ago I got involved with another woman.

We met a few times, nothing serious just a fling.

Now shes had a baby. My son. Not long ago, actually

Claras head spins from the revelation. What a bombshell!

Her dependable, loving husband father to another womans child?

It takes Clara a full minute to absorb the meaning.

She studies James sitting opposite her, shoulders slumped, hands clamped between his knees.

He looks shrunken somehow, as though the lifes been drawn out of him.

So. A son, Clara says, trying to steady her voice. You, a married man, have a son. And it wasnt your wife who had him. Not me

Clara, I swear, I had no idea. Honestly.

You didnt know how babies get made? Youre forty, James.

I didnt know she that shed decide to keep it.

We split up ages ago, she went back to her husband.

I thought everything was fine over there.

Then yesterday, she rings. Just says, Youve got a son. Weighs seven pounds. Healthy. And hung up.

Clara gets to her feet. Her legs feel like jelly, weak as if shes just run a marathon.

Through the sitting room window, autumn rages in golden bursts.

She cant help but pause to take in the beautiful English rain-slicked landscape.

So what now? she asks, still facing the window.

I havent the slightest idea.

Truly inspiring, she scoffs. Words of the man in charge. I dont know.

She whirls round. Are you going over there? To see them?

James, embarrassed, finally meets her eyes.

She gave the hospital address in the text. Discharge is the day after tomorrow.

She said, Come if you want, dont if you dont. I dont need anything from you.

So proud

She says she needs nothing from me…

Nothing at all, Clara echoes. How perfectly naive.

The slam of the front door down the hall signals the older boys are back.

Clara instantly plasters on a smile years of business experience have taught her to save face even when her world implodes.

Her eldest, a broad-shouldered lad of twenty, pokes his head round the kitchen door.

Oh, hey. Parents. Why does the mood here feel like a funeral?

Mum, is there anything to eat? Were starving after training.

Theres some pies in the fridge, warm them up, Clara tosses over her shoulder.

Dad, you promised to check the car somethings playing up with the carburettor on the old banger, her younger son grins, clapping James on the back.

Clara watches, her heart clenching so tightly it hurts.

They call him Dad. Her boys real father disappeared into the mist ages ago, sending only a trickle of maintenance money and the odd birthday card.

James raised them. Taught them to drive, patched up scraped knees, went to parents evenings, sorted school nightmares.

He was their Dad. Their real Dad.

James manages a watery smile.

Ill have a look, Sam. Later. Let me finish talking to your mum.

The boys troop off to their feast, plates clattering.

They love you, Clara says quietly. And yet

Clara, please. I love them too. Theyre my lads. Im not leaving. I told you straight away it was a mistake. Nothing more.

We were it wasnt anything serious. Just a moment of madness!

Just a moment, and now there are nappies to change because of it

At that moment, six-year-old Daisy bursts in and Claras composure finally cracks. Their daughter leaps into Jamess lap.

Daddy! Why are you sad? Did Mummy tell you off?

James hugs her tightly, breathes in the scent of his little girl.

He lives for her Clara knows this. For Daisy, James would do anything. His devotion is total.

No, princess. Were just talking about grown-up things. Why dont you put on your cartoons? Ill be in soon.

When Daisy scampers off, silence floods the kitchen once more.

You do see everythings changed now? Clara says, sitting again.

Im not leaving, Clara. I love you, I love the children. I cant do without you, any of you.

Theyre only words, James. But the truth is you have a son out there. Hell need a father. That woman says she needs nothing now but after the rush fades, after a month, six months, when the baby falls ill, or needs clothes or nursery, shell ring you. James, we need a winter jacket. Or James, doctors appointment. And youll go. Of course you will, youre soft-hearted and cant stand guilt.

James keeps silent.

And the money, James? Clara lowers her voice. Where can you possibly get it?

She sees the question hits its mark. James lost his business two years back; Claras earnings paid their way out of debt.

He works now, hustles where he can, but its loose change compared to her salary.

House, cars, holidays, the childrens futures all courtesy of her.

His own bank cards are all frozen by debt collectors; he uses cash or one linked to Clara’s account.

Ill find a way, he mutters.

How? Drive taxis all night? Or will you raid my bedside drawer to support your other family? Can you see how ridiculous that is? I support our family, and you take my money to look after your mistress and her child?

Shes not my mistress! James snaps. It ended ages ago!

But a child binds people far tighter than any bit of paper. So are you going to the hospital?

The question hangs in the air. James buries his face in his hands.

I honestly dont know, Clara. The right thing for the baby I probably should. The childs done nothing wrong.

And what about whats right for me? For Daisy? For the lads? Clara laughs bitterly. Youll go see that bundle, hold it, and thats it. I know you, youll get attached, start visiting. Once a week. Then twice. Then weekends. And youll lie say theres extra work. While we wait at home.

Clara moves to the sink, runs the tap, watches the water, switches it off.

Shes eight years younger than me, James. Only thirty-two. Shes given you a son. Your own flesh and blood.

My boys arent yours by birth, even if youre the only Dad theyve truly known. But over there hes yours, through and through.

You cant pretend that doesnt matter.

Dont talk rubbish. The boys are mine, full stop.

Oh, come off it! Men always want a proper heir. Their own.

Weve got Daisy!

Daisys a girl

James leaps up.

Thats enough! Stop hounding me! I told you, Im staying. But I cant ignore it completely either.

Theres a baby. My baby. Yes. Im to blame, its all my fault.

If you want, throw me out. Ill pack tonight. Go to Mums, a shared house, I dont care. But dont blackmail me!

Clara freezes; suddenly, shes afraid.

If she says Leave, hell do just that.

Stubborn man. Mad, but proud. Hell go, penniless, homeless, and then surely drift to that other woman.

Theyll welcome him, and hell be the hero, the father, even if he is broke. And she Clara will have lost him for good.

She doesnt want that. Despite the pain, despite the burning humiliation, she still loves him. The children adore him.

Its easy to destroy, a word and hes gone but how do you live alone in a house echoing with memories?

Sit down, she says softly. No ones sending you anywhere.

James stands shuffling for a moment, breathing heavily, then slumps into a chair.

Im sorry, Clara. Im a fool

You are, she agrees. But youre my fool

The evening passes in a haze.

Clara helps Daisy with homework, checks her work emails, but her mind wanders.

She pictures the other woman is she beautiful? Surely younger, with a fresh face.

Shes probably gazing at the baby now, feeling triumphant.

Says she wants nothing? Of course. Thats the cleverest tactic: dont demand, dont shout, just present him his son and claim great self-sufficiency.

It never fails men leap to play hero.

James tosses and turns all night, barely sleeping. Clara lies wide awake beside him, staring into the darkness.

Shes forty-five; still attractive, stylish, successful but age isnt far away.

And the other woman youth itself

**

Next morning is worse Clara struggles to steady herself.

The boys eat quickly and dash off, while Daisy throws a fit out of the blue.

Daddy, do my plaits! she insists. Mummy always does them all wrong.

James picks up the hairbrush. His big hands, used to steering wheels and spanners, gently work through Daisys fine hair.

He plaits with care, tongue sticking out with the effort.

Clara sips coffee and watches.

There he is. Her husband. Warm, familiar, tender. And somewhere, another child, equally entitled to a piece of him.

How is life ever fair?

James, she says when Daisy runs off to get her coat, we need a decision. Now.

James sets the hairbrush aside.

I thought about it all night.

And?

I wont go to the hospital.

Clara feels something tighten painfully inside, though she shows nothing.

Why?

If I go, Ill give hope to her, to myself, to that baby.

But I cant be a father in two houses. I dont want it, Clara! Im not going to lie to you or steal time from Daisy and the boys.

Eleven years ago I chose you. Youre my wife. This is my family.

And the boy? Clara surprises even herself by asking.

Ill send money. Formally maintenance payments, or arrange a bank account.

But visits no. Its better he grows up not knowing me, than waits for me every Saturday, with me clock-watching, desperate to get back here, my real family.

Its fairer that way.

She says nothing, twisting her wedding ring round her finger.

You sure you wont regret it?

I will, he admits. Of course Ill think about him, wonder how he is. But if I start down that road, Ill lose you all.

I know you, Clara, youre strong but not made of steel.

Youll start to hate me, and I never want you to hate me.

Lord, Im explaining this so poorly

He gets up, stands behind her, sets his hands on her shoulders.

Clara, I dont want another life. Ive already got everything you, my children.

The rest is my penance for being an idiot.

Ill pay money, and thats all I can give.

No time, no love, no care those belong to you.

Clara covers his hand with hers.

Money, you say? she smirks wryly.

Ill earn it. Ill move mountains if I have to. I wont ask you for a penny more not for this. Its my mess, Clara.

She feels relief.

Maybe Jamess mistakes aren’t honourable, but those were the words she needed.

She has no intention of sharing her husband the other womans feelings mean nothing to her.

She had a child by a married man? Thats her problem.

**

James doesnt go to the hospital.

The other woman bombards his phone for weeks: cries, rages, demands to know why he never showed.

James makes it clear: she can rely on financial support, nothing more.

She hangs up, and for the next half-year never once gets in touch again. Her phone numbers are disconnected. And Clara is more than content with that.