We sit in silence for a moment, watching the kids play.
My eyes drop to her stomach where there’s a noticeable curve that wasn’t there before. “How’s it going with baby number three?”
She groans and leans back against the bench. “Tired. I'm so tired. I love my kids, but…” She trails off.
“But what?”
“Sometimes I wish I had more of a choice, you know?” She looks down at her hands. “Taras has been getting me pregnant every year since we got married. This is my third baby in four years.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It is.” She sighs. “And Taras wants four or five total. He already mentioned trying for the next one after this baby comes.”
I stare at her. “Four or five?”
“I know.” She laughs, but it’s not bitter. Just tired. “Don’t get me wrong. I love being his wife. Taras has changed so much since we got together. You remember how shy he used to be? He barely talked to anyone. Now he’s so confident. He takes care of me and provides everything I need. We live in this huge house and I don’t have to worry about money. It’s not something I ever could have imagined back when I was dancing.”
“But?”
She pauses, choosing her words. “It’s not a bad ‘but.’ It’s just different. Taras is very clear about what he wants. He wants me at home raising our kids. That’s it. Dancing is off the table.Working is off the table. He doesn’t even like when I go out alone.”
“Anya—”
“And before you say it, he doesn’t force me to do anything, especially in the bedroom where he always gives me a choice and checks in to make sure I’m comfortable with whatever’s happening. I’ve never once felt pressured or forced.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I think he keeps getting me pregnant because it’s his way of making sure I stay.” She gestures at her belly. “Between being pregnant and recovering from pregnancy, there’s no way I could go back to dancing or return to my old life even if I wanted to. I think that’s exactly what Taras intended when he pulled me out of that world, making sure I can never go back.”
“Do you want to go back?”
She thinks about it for a long moment. “No, I really don’t miss it. Dancing was miserable, the men who showed up were worse, and faking smiles for them made me sick. What bothers me isn’t missing that life, it’s that I never got to choose this one—it just became the only thing available to me.”
I squeeze her hand. “Anya, listen to me. I’m going to talk to Taras.”
Her eyes widen. “What? No, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. What you just described isn’t okay. I don’t care how much he loves you or how much he provides. You deserve timebetween pregnancies. You deserve to have your own life. If Taras can’t see that, then we need to have a conversation.”
“Zoya—”
“And you need to set some rules like waiting at least two years before the next baby. Or taking a class. Finding a hobby that you enjoy in your free time. You’re allowed to ask for those things.”
She looks down at her hands. “What if he says no?”
“Then we’ll deal with it. But you have to ask first. You have to tell him what you need.”
“I’ve tried. He says we’ll wait, but then a year passes and he starts talking about the next baby. And I give in.”
“Why?”
“Because I love him.” Her voice cracks. “I know he’s doing this out of fear. He’s scared I’ll leave and part of me feels like I owe him.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” I say firmly. “Taras chose to pull you out. You didn’t ask him to. Loving someone doesn’t mean being pregnant every single year. It doesn’t mean giving up everything you want just to make him feel secure.”
She wipes her eyes. “I know. I just don’t know how to say that without making him feel like I’m ungrateful.”
“You tell him exactly what you told me. That you love him and you love your life. But you need more time between babies. You need something for yourself. If Taras loves you the way he says he does, he’ll listen.”