Ivan and I decided to have a second child.
‘I dream of being a father of two,’ he often said. Our eldest daughter Ada was about to turn seven, and we thought it was the right time.
After being more than five weeks late, I made an appointment with my GP.
“Congratulations, Christina! You’re pregnant!” – said the doctor. We were both over the moon.
But Ivan gave out something he’d never said before:
“If it’s not a son, you can pack your bags. ‘You don’t belong in the house.’
At the ultrasound they told me it was a girl. I didn’t know how to tell Ivan, so I lied.
When I got home, he asked me straight away:
“How did it go? What did the doctor say?
Erm… He said we can’t see yet. We’ll find out at the birth.
The day of the birth, he came out with two suitcases.
What are these? – I asked.
Did you think I was joking? If you give birth to a girl, you won’t come in the house again.
I wasn’t numb. I turned on. Over the months, I’d carried his words like a brick on my chest. I recorded that conversation when he first threatened to kick me out. I saved bank statements, scans of my marriage certificate and passport, all in my hospital bag.
And sent Sister Clara a coded message: 🐢 is our sign. Turtles carry the house with them.
I also spoke to a lawyer friend. ‘Just in case,’ I said.
He replied, ‘Better a paper shield than paper cuts.’
The labour was hard – 20 hours, one contraction after another. But when I heard the baby’s first cry, all the pain disappeared. The nurse gently wrapped the newborn and said to Ivan:
Daddy, do you want to sound out the gender?
Ivan held his breath. The nurse smiled:
Beautiful girl!
Silence. I heard his hopes fall to the tiles.
He didn’t go near the baby. Didn’t even look at it. Just turned round and walked away, dragging his suitcases behind him.
The head nurse looked at me with concern. I just whispered:
It’s all right. I’ll be taken away.
Ten minutes later the phone rang. My mother-in-law, Eleanor. We were on neutral terms.
I answered, preparing for accusations, but all I heard was:
Christina, where’s Ivan! He burst home screaming about the heir!
I told her everything. She gasped:
“Wait for me. I’m on my way.
Eleanor arrived before I was moved to the ward. She took her granddaughter in her arms, her eyes in tears:
Honey, you can’t imagine how much you are already loved.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed and gave out the turn of the day:
Her mother – Ivan’s grandmother, whom he adored – left a trust.
Under it, the first great-granddaughter in the family gets not only a large education fund but also a lake house.
He forgot about the clause in his will, blinded by his stupidity,” Eleanor shook her head.
I almost laughed. The grandmother from the grave had outplayed her grandson.
Ivan didn’t come back. When the doctor examined the baby girl, I sent Clara a turtle. She arrived in the morning with a car seat, coffee, and a playlist of Battle for Freedom.
On the way out of the maternity ward, Eleanor gave us a hug:
Live with me until everything is sorted out. And if my son gets in my way, I’ll deal with him myself.
Three days later Ivan sent… a note:
‘According to our agreement, vacate the apartment by Friday.’
I sent it to a lawyer friend. I enclosed audio of his threats, a photo of the suitcases, and a copy of the trust. Within 24 hours Ivan received a legal warning:
Any attempt to evict a wife after giving birth with two children is against the law.
And yes, we will demand full custody and child support if he continues.
But that wasn’t the big blow.
The main one came when Eleanor invited him over to her place and read her grandmother’s trust aloud. Ivan listened with a sagging jaw.
‘…to be passed on to the first great-granddaughter after birth,’ she emphasised.
‘But… but I wanted a son! – he stammered.
And God gave you what you really wanted,” she replied.
Seven weeks later
Life after childbirth is no fairy tale. I didn’t get enough sleep, Ada had to help with her lessons, and emotions were running high. But in Eleonora’s house I breathed easy. She made soups, sang lullabies in French and taught Ada how to knit.
One day she said:
“I saw Ivan’s fixation on “male heirs” a long time ago. I hoped he’d outgrow it. I was wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t intervene sooner.
Ivan was angry, then he tried to apologise. He missed Ada’s birthday. Then he sent:
‘I’ll take you back if you sign a pledge to try IVF for your son.’
I forwarded it to the lawyer. No comment.
At the mediation, Ivan looked tired. Before it started, he was handed an envelope.
There was a silver frame – Grandma’s favourite – with a photo of our baby girl in a bodysuit with the caption, ‘Grandma’s Best Gift’.
It had been handed down by Eleanor with a note:
‘If you can’t love her, return this.’
He stared for a long moment. His voice trembled:
I didn’t hate girls. I was just afraid of being a disappointment to my father… He always said that “a real man gives birth to sons”.”
The mediator nodded:
Chains are broken when someone is brave enough.
Ivan agreed to co-therapy and signed temporary terms that the girls would stay with me.
He handed the frame to me.
I’m not ready yet. But I don’t want to lose the chance.
This wasn’t forgiveness. It was a first step.
Six months later, we divorced.
Ivan takes his compulsory courses, doesn’t complain. He sees the kids. Ada likes fishing with him, and Liane laughs when he coos.
The house by the lake will become Lianine’s official home at 18. In the meantime, we spend every summer there.
Ada collects pebbles, Eleanor paints watercolours, and I sit on the veranda and watch my girls chase fireflies.
That’s the legacy. Not a family name. Not an ego. And children are who they are.
If someone only values you through the lens of your child’s gender, it’s time to change your audience.
Love doesn’t know gender. But self-respect does.
If this story awakened a forgotten sense of strength in you – give it a like and share. Someone close by needs a reminder:
you are not half, you are whole.
