Two bright red lines on a pregnancy test blur before my eyes. With trembling hands, I clutch the ill-fated wand that means so much.

Two small lines divide life into before and after, into life with and without Gleb. The designer's brain is feverishly suggesting the names of shades of red: amaranth, carmine, grenadine, scarlet... He tries to replace the unknown with understandable definitions.

But, no matter how you hide from reality, the fact remains.

I got pregnant. Or rather, flew in, forgetting to take a single pill. Someone will call it an accident, a careless oversight, but this forgetfulness costs me too much. Worth everything!

The brain is again...