— Kitty, did he forget to tell you? This apartment is my premarital property — my husband’s mistress definitely wasn’t expecting that twist.

— Honey, did he forget to tell you? This is my premarital apartment — the husband’s mistress hadn’t expected that twist.
Lera turned off her phone and leaned back in the armchair in her friend’s living room. Outside, the July sun was blazing, but inside her, something was slowly tearing apart. She didn’t know how else to explain that feeling… It was as though she had been living with a stranger all these months.
Artyom had changed so gradually that at first she hadn’t even noticed. First, he stopped hugging her in the mornings. Then he began staying late at the office. And during the past few weeks, he had become completely distant, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely while Lera talked about work or their plans for the weekend.
“Are you listening to me?” his wife would ask, while her husband nodded and stared at his phone.
“Of course I’m listening,” Artyom would reply, but his eyes gave him away.
To be honest, Lera hadn’t expected things to go this far. When she found a long blond hair on the passenger seat headrest in her husband’s car, she tried to convince herself that it was an accident. Maybe he had given a female colleague a ride. Lera’s own hair was dark and short, so it definitely wasn’t hers.
Then she noticed that Artyom had stopped leaving his phone unattended. Before, she could easily ask to use it to call someone if her own phone had died, but now he clutched the device tightly even while sleeping. The password she had known by heart suddenly stopped working.
“Why did you change the passcode?” Lera asked him one day.
“Why do you need my phone?” Artyom snapped. “You have your own.”
That was when she first thought that perhaps something serious was happening. But people didn’t destroy a seven-year marriage for no reason, did they? There had to be some explanation.
Lera tried to become a better wife. She cooked Artyom’s favorite meals, suggested going to the theater or the movies, and even bought new lingerie, hoping to bring back their intimacy. But her attempts only seemed to irritate him.
“Why are you clinging to me?” he snapped one evening when Lera tried to put her arms around his shoulders while he was watching television. “I’ve had a hard day. I just want to rest.”
Rest.
From her.
From his own wife.
The final straw came last Friday. Lera was cooking dinner and telling him about a coworker who had brought back vacation photos from Turkey. She and Artyom hadn’t gone anywhere together in a long time. Maybe they could take a trip too? At least spend a weekend by the sea. It was so hot lately.
“Listen,” her husband interrupted without even looking up from the screen. “Why don’t you go stay with your friend Katya? Just let me breathe for once.”
Let me breathe.
As if Lera were suffocating him simply by being present in her own apartment.
“All right,” his wife said quietly, turning off the stove. “I’ll go.”
Artyom didn’t even lift his head.
She packed enough clothes for a few days and really did go to Katya’s place. Her friend welcomed her with a hug and cold lemonade, without asking unnecessary questions. Only toward evening, when they had turned on the air conditioner and the worst of the daytime heat had faded, did Katya cautiously ask what had happened.
“I don’t know,” Lera admitted. “I feel like I’m losing my husband, but I don’t know how to stop it.”
Katya silently hugged her.
The next morning, over breakfast, she suddenly said:
“You know, I have him on social media. I looked at his profile yesterday… Artyom likes some girl named Nastya’s photos every day. And not just ordinary pictures. They’re… well, you know.”
Lera nodded.
She understood. During hot weather, girls posted plenty of photos in swimsuits and light dresses. But occasional likes were one thing. Constant attention was another.
“Can you show me?” Lera asked.
Katya took out her phone and opened the profile.
Nastya turned out to be a blonde of about twenty-five, with bright makeup and countless selfies. And under her photos…
“Look,” Katya said, pointing at the screen. “Here your husband wrote, ‘Gorgeous,’ and here, ‘Absolutely smoking.’ Three days ago.”
Lera’s heart seemed to jump into her throat.
She scrolled farther through Nastya’s feed. Photos from the beach, from cafés, selfies inside a car. And everywhere there were likes from Artyom.
Not just likes.
Comments.
“It still doesn’t necessarily mean something is going on between them,” Katya tried to reassure her, although her own voice sounded uncertain.
“It does,” Lera said quietly. “He’s not an idiot. He knows I could see this.”
Or maybe he didn’t care.
Lera spent three days at her friend’s place trying to understand her own feelings. Artyom never called or texted once. It was as though his wife’s disappearance didn’t concern him at all.
Meanwhile, new likes from him kept appearing under Nastya’s photographs.
“Listen,” Katya said on the evening of the third day as they sat on the balcony trying to escape the heat. “There are some strange photos in his stories. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who’s suffering because you’re gone.”
Lera took her friend’s phone and looked.
Artyom’s story showed a dinner for two.
A beautifully set table.
Candles.
Wine.
And a woman’s hand with bright manicured nails reaching toward a glass.
“That’s it,” Lera said, handing the phone back. “Enough.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going home. Without warning him.”
Katya nodded.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. I can handle it myself.”
The following day, closer to evening, when the heat had eased slightly, Lera got into her car and drove home.
On the way, she tried to imagine what she would say to her husband and how she would react if her suspicions proved true.
But her thoughts were a mess.
Too many emotions.
Too many questions.
She parked in the courtyard and went upstairs. At the apartment door, she stopped and listened.
Music was coming from inside.
And laughter.
A woman’s laughter.
Lera took out her keys and quietly unlocked the door.
The first thing she noticed in the hallway was an unfamiliar pair of high-heeled shoes.
Red.
Expensive.
Beside them stood Artyom’s shoes.
Lera removed her sandals and walked farther inside.
The kitchen smelled of expensive perfume and some unfamiliar cream.
Voices came from the living room.
“Artyom, come on, let’s have another glass,” a woman’s voice said. “It would be a shame to waste such good wine.”
“Nastya, you’ve had enough already,” Artyom laughed. “You have work tomorrow.”
Nastya.
The very same blonde from social media.
Lera took a deep breath and headed toward the living room.
She froze in the doorway.
Her husband was sitting on the sofa wearing nothing but shorts.
Next to him sat a girl wearing Lera’s house robe.
The very same silk robe Artyom had given Lera for her birthday last year.
Nastya noticed her first.
She lowered her wineglass, looked Lera up and down, and asked arrogantly:
“And who are you supposed to be?”
Lera stood in the doorway staring at the scene.
Her husband turned pale.
The girl stared at her defiantly.
And something inside Lera suddenly clicked, like a switch being flipped.
“Honey,” Lera said calmly, looking directly at Nastya, “did my husband forget to tell you? This is my premarital apartment. So come on, slippers on and out you go.”
Nastya turned so pale that even her bright makeup couldn’t hide her fear.
The wineglass slipped from her hand and shattered on the parquet floor, splashing red wine across the pale wood.
Lera didn’t even blink.
She simply continued staring at the uninvited guest.
“I… I didn’t know…” Nastya stammered, jumping up from the sofa and grabbing the handbag lying beside her. “Artyom said you threw him out! He said the apartment belongs to him now!”
“Artyom says a lot of things,” Lera replied calmly. “But the ownership documents are in my name.”
The girl rushed toward the exit, but the robe slipped from her shoulder and nearly fell off completely.
Nastya frantically grabbed the fabric, trying to hold onto both the robe, her handbag, and whatever remained of her dignity.
“Take off the robe,” Lera added. “It’s mine.”
“But I… I don’t have anything underneath it…” Nastya whispered.
“Your problem.”
At that moment, footsteps came from the bathroom, and Artyom appeared, hurriedly wrapping a towel around his hips.
His hair was wet, and his face showed complete shock.
“Lera, wait…” her husband began, but his wife raised one hand to stop him.
“Let the lady get herself together first. There’ll be time for explanations afterward.”
Nastya dropped the robe straight onto the floor and, covering herself with her handbag, rushed toward the door.
A second later, the front door slammed shut and the sound of her heels echoed down the stairs.
Artyom swallowed hard and took a step toward his wife.
“This isn’t what you think…”
“And what exactly do I think?” Lera asked calmly, bending down and picking up the robe from the floor.
“Well… that something happened between us…”
“Nothing happened between you?” Lera carefully hung the robe over the back of a chair. “What about the photos on your social media? Your comments under her selfies? The romantic dinner you posted in your stories?”
Her husband turned even paler.
“You were spying on me?”
“You asked me to let you breathe,” Lera said with a smile. “So breathe deeply. You’re going to have plenty of oxygen now.”
“Lera, please…” Artyom rushed toward his wife and grabbed her hands. “I thought you had left forever! When you packed your things and went away, I decided it was over…”
“So you immediately found someone to comfort you?” His wife pulled her hands free. “That same evening?”
“No! Not the same… I mean…” Artyom became tangled in his own words. “We just met at a café and started talking…”
“Met?” Lera laughed, but the sound was cold. “Artyom, you’d been liking her photos for more than a month. I saw them. You were writing comments while I was still living here, cooking your dinners and trying to understand what was happening to us.”
Her husband stood silently in the middle of the living room wearing nothing but a towel.
What could he possibly say?
“You know what surprises me most?” Lera continued as she picked up the broken pieces of glass. “It’s not even that you cheated. Not that you lied. It’s that you brought her into my apartment. Into my bed. You gave her my robe.”
“It was a mistake…”
“Did it ever occur to you to think?” Lera straightened up and looked her husband directly in the eyes. “While you were bringing girls into MY apartment?”
“She was only here today! It was the first time!”
“And liking her pictures every day was also the first time?”
Artyom lowered his head.
The towel slipped slightly, and he automatically adjusted it.
“Lera, I didn’t mean to… It just happened… I was lonely without you…”
“Lonely?” His wife raised her eyebrows. “You asked me to leave. In your own words. ‘Let me breathe,’ remember?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually leave…”
“And I didn’t think I had this kind of husband.”
Suddenly, Artyom dropped to his knees right in the middle of the living room.
The towel slipped completely, but at that point he had more serious things to worry about.
“Forgive me,” he pleaded, grabbing Lera’s hand. “It was a mistake, a stupid mistake! You’re the only one I love!”
“You love me?” Lera gently pulled her hand away. “Interesting. When exactly did you realize that? While liking her bikini selfies or while inviting her over for a romantic dinner?”
“Lera, please… We’ve been together for seven years…”
“Exactly. Seven years. And after only three days of me being gone, you already brought another woman into my home.”
Her husband tried to wrap his arms around her legs, but Lera stepped backward.
“Artyom, get up. And put some clothes on already.”
“Don’t throw me out… I’ll change…”
“Have you forgotten whose apartment you’re standing in?” Lera walked to the front door and opened it wide. “Which means you’re standing on your way out.”
“What?”
“Go,” his wife said, pointing toward the hallway.
“But… where am I supposed to go? My things are here…”
“You can collect them tomorrow. With witnesses present.”
“Lera!”
“Or should I call the police and explain that there’s an unauthorized man refusing to leave my apartment?”
Artyom slowly rose from his knees and trudged toward the bedroom to get dressed.
Several minutes later, he came back fully clothed, carrying a small sports bag.
“You’re not going to change your mind?” he asked, stopping at the threshold.
“No.”
“What if I prove that I love you?”
“You already proved enough,” Lera replied, and slammed the door shut.
The first thing she did after her husband left was call a locksmith and arrange to have the locks changed the next day.
The second thing she did was call a lawyer whom Katya had once recommended.
“I want to file for divorce,” Lera said into the phone. “Do you have time tomorrow morning?”
Half an hour later, the apartment was clean.
The broken glass had been picked up.
The wine stains had been washed away.
Lera made herself a cup of tea, sat down on the sofa, and looked around.
For the first time in many months, her home was quiet and peaceful.
No one was sighing irritably.
No one was frowning.
No one was staring at a phone while ignoring everything she said.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Artyom:
“Lera, please think about it again. I’ll change.”
She deleted the message without replying.
Then she blocked her husband on every social network.
And on her phone too.
Outside, the July sun was still shining. Somewhere nearby, children were playing and a dog was barking.
Ordinary summer life continued.
And Lera realized that, for the first time in a very long while, she felt free.
Tomorrow the locksmith would come and change the locks.
The day after that, she would meet with the lawyer.
And in a month, the divorce would be finalized.
Lera hadn’t lost.
She had set herself free.