Natasha came home earlier than usual. As she took off her coat in the hallway, she heard Kirill talking to someone on the phone in the kitchen. His voice was soft and quiet, and Natasha involuntarily stopped to listen.
“Yeah, I understand. I’ll clarify it tomorrow,” her husband said calmly. “Uh-huh, I’m glad too. See you.”
Kirill came out of the kitchen with his phone in his hand and looked at his wife with mild surprise.
“Why are you home so early?”
“My last patient canceled,” Natasha said with a shrug, trying to smile as usual. “Have you been home long?”
“No, I just got in. There weren’t many clients today. Are you hungry?” Kirill asked, kissing her on the cheek before walking into the room.
“Not really. I’ll make something later.”
While Kirill was changing clothes in the bedroom, Natasha went into the kitchen to pour herself some water. Her husband’s phone was lying on the table. Suddenly, the screen lit up with a short message:
“Thanks for today, Kiryusha. I miss you already!”
Natasha’s heart suddenly sank. She froze, staring at the bright name “Marina” above the message. She had never heard her husband mention anyone by that name. Natasha quickly looked away and stepped back, almost as though she were afraid Kirill might catch her doing something inappropriate.
“Natash!” her husband called from the room. “I’m going to order pizza. Do you want ham?”
She swallowed and answered as neutrally as she could.
“Yeah, ham is fine.”
Natasha picked up her own phone and, without thinking for long, called her mother. Svetlana Pavlovna answered almost immediately.
“Sweetheart, what happened? You don’t usually call at this time.”
“Hi, Mom. Nothing really. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
Her mother was silent for a moment, as if she had sensed the anxiety in her daughter’s voice.
“Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”
Natasha sighed and said quietly:
“I don’t even know. I just saw a strange message on Kirill’s phone. From a woman. She said she misses him.”
Svetlana Pavlovna paused briefly before asking carefully:
“And what does Kirill say?”
“He doesn’t know I saw it, Mom. I haven’t said anything to him yet. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything…”
“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t,” her mother interrupted, more sharply than usual. “Don’t rush into anything yet. Watch him, pay attention… But you know, sweetheart, things like that usually don’t lead to anything good.”
“Mom, stop,” Natasha said, feeling irritated and anxious at the same time. “I didn’t call you so you could scare me even more.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. Just be careful, Natashenka. You know I wouldn’t give you bad advice.”
“Okay, Mom. We’ll talk later.”
Natasha ended the call and returned to the room. Kirill was sitting on the sofa scrolling through the news feed. He smiled at her warmly and calmly, just as he always did.
“The pizza is taking forever,” he said. “Want to watch a movie while we wait?”
Natasha nodded and sat beside him, feeling everything inside her tighten into a hard knot. Kirill put an arm around her, and Natasha could feel the question sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it.
“Everything is fine,” she told herself firmly, even though her mother’s words kept echoing in her head: “Be careful, sweetheart.” The message from the unfamiliar Marina stayed in Natasha’s mind like a tiny splinter, constantly reminding her of its presence. Every evening, Natasha tried to appear carefree. She smiled pleasantly at Kirill, asked him about work, while secretly paying attention to every word, every look, and every change in his tone.
Kirill, meanwhile, seemed not to notice anything. He behaved as usual, but he began coming home late more and more often. Little things he would once have noticed immediately now seemed to pass him by. Natasha had already reminded him twice about a doctor’s appointment, but Kirill completely forgot about it.
Eventually Natasha’s patience ran out, and she called Katya, her best friend.
“Katyush, I think I’m going crazy,” she blurted out as soon as her friend answered.
“What happened?” Katya asked calmly.
“I don’t know. Kirill is acting strange. He comes home late, he’s distracted, he keeps forgetting everything. And then there’s that message…”
“Natash, maybe you’re working yourself up for nothing? The message might not mean anything.”
“Maybe,” Natasha agreed, nervously adjusting her hair. “But I can feel that something isn’t right.”
“Then ask him directly. Just stay calm, no scandals. If you start accusing him immediately, nothing good will come of it.”
That evening, Natasha decided to follow her friend’s advice. She waited for Kirill to come home, prepared dinner, and, gathering all her courage, quietly asked:
“Kirill, who is Marina?”
Kirill, who had been cutting a piece of his cutlet, suddenly stopped and looked at her in surprise.
“What Marina?”
“I saw her message on your phone last week. I didn’t want to ask immediately, but…”
“You went through my phone?” His voice instantly turned cold, and his eyes narrowed.
“No, I didn’t go through it. It was lying on the table and the message appeared on the screen by itself,” Natasha said, feeling her cheeks begin to burn.
“And you immediately decided to interrogate me?” Kirill replied sharply, putting down his fork. “She’s just a colleague. There was nothing special about her message. And honestly, Natash, you need to stop imagining things.”
“I’m not imagining anything,” Natasha replied quietly, trying not to give in to irritation. “But you’ve changed. You’ve been staying late, you’re distracted all the time. What’s going on?”
Kirill stood up, pushing the chair back so sharply that Natasha flinched.
“I’m completely overwhelmed at work, and then I come home and instead of getting some rest, I have to deal with this! Thanks a lot.”
“Kirill, don’t avoid the conversation! I can feel that something is wrong!” “Nothing is happening!” he snapped irritably as he put on his jacket. “Everything between us is fine. You’re the one who keeps looking for problems. I’m tired of it, honestly.”
He quickly put on his shoes and left the apartment without looking at Natasha. Natasha remained frozen in the kitchen, feeling an unpleasant cold tighten around her chest. She called her mother, and when she heard the familiar voice, she could no longer hold herself together.
“Mom, I think you were right.”
Svetlana Pavlovna sighed into the phone and said gently:
“I told you, sweetheart. A mother’s heart doesn’t lie. But don’t rush. Give yourself time to think.”
“I’m afraid of destroying our family, Mom,” Natasha whispered as tears began to sting her eyes.
“It’s worse to live surrounded by lies,” her mother replied calmly. “But the decision is yours.”
Natasha silently stared out the window, not knowing what choice to make.
For the next several days, Natasha and Kirill barely spoke to each other. In the evenings, he silently ate dinner, then sat in front of the television and stared at the screen, doing his best to ignore his wife. Natasha remained deliberately calm, but she could feel the distance between them growing wider with every passing minute.
One day after work, Natasha met Katya at a café near the shopping center. She nervously stirred sugar into her cup and glanced at the clock.
“Katyush, I can’t keep living like this. I need to understand what’s happening, you know?”
Katya nodded as she took a sip of her latte.
“You’re right. How long can you torture yourself with guesses?”
“What should I do? How can I find out the truth? Kirill himself won’t tell me anything.”
Katya stared thoughtfully out the window, then suddenly brightened.
“Listen, Kirill still uses your old laptop, right? Remember?”
Natasha became alert.
“Yeah?”
“Your password is probably still saved there. If you log in, you might be able to see who he’s messaging on social media.”
Natasha hesitated for only a moment before nodding decisively.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
At home, while Kirill was still at work, Natasha opened the laptop. When she logged into the social network, she clenched her fists nervously. The conversation with Marina was right at the top of the list. It had begun a month earlier and had become more personal and affectionate with every passing day. Every word and every smiley Kirill had sent to another woman seemed to burn Natasha.
When Kirill returned home, Natasha was waiting for him in the living room.
“Hi,” he said cautiously. “What happened?”
“I know everything, Kirill,” she said quietly but clearly. “About Marina, about the fact that you’ve been lying to me for an entire month. And don’t try to accuse me of being paranoid again.”
Kirill slowly sat down on the sofa, rubbing his face with his hands. His expression darkened, and it became clear that he had no intention of trying to defend himself.
“You were spying on me?”
“Don’t change the subject. You’re having an affair with her, and I want to know why you did this to me.”
He remained silent, avoiding her gaze. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he admitted:
“I don’t understand it myself, Natash. It just somehow happened. I’m confused.”
“Confused?” Natasha felt anger beginning to push aside her fear. “Being ‘confused’ is an excuse for a teenager, not a grown man. I’m your wife, do you understand? I thought we were a family!”
“Natash, please forgive me… I didn’t want to hurt you…”
“But you did, Kirill,” she interrupted sharply, struggling to maintain her dignity. “You already did.”
Kirill looked up at her, his eyes full of confusion.
“I don’t know how to fix this now…”
“You can’t,” Natasha said, rising to her feet and looking at him with an unusual firmness. “I’m not going to tolerate betrayal. Even if I love you.”
He tried to say something, but Natasha merely shook her head and stopped him with a gesture.
“It’s too late now, Kirill.”
She turned away and went into the bedroom, leaving him alone in the living room, stunned and lost. For the first time in a long while, Natasha felt that she had made the right decision, despite the pain tearing her apart inside.
The next morning, Natasha took a bus to Lipetsk. Fields, patches of woodland, and small villages passed by outside the window, calming her with their simplicity and unhurried rhythm. She looked outside and tried not to think about what she had left behind. A strange mixture of freedom and bitterness filled her, and Natasha could barely hold back her tears.
Her mother met her at the bus station and immediately hugged her tightly.
“Well, hello, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go home. You’ll have some lunch and get some rest.”
“Mom, I’m not really hungry.”
“We’re going anyway. Once we’re home, we’ll figure out what you feel like eating.”
Her mother’s home had always smelled fresh and of baked goods. As a child, Natasha had often sat in this same kitchen watching her mother knead dough or cut apples. Today she once again felt the warmth and comfort she had been missing so badly lately.
“Just try not to think too much right now,” her mother said gently as she poured soup into their bowls. “Rest for a couple of days. Everything will work out.”
“Will it, Mom?” Natasha smiled sadly. “It feels like my life is over.”
“Don’t say silly things. You still have your whole life ahead of you.”
During the first few days, Natasha slept a lot and tried to think about Kirill as little as possible. Her mother stayed close but didn’t pressure her with questions. Sometimes they walked through the park and talked about neutral things—books, movies, and plans for the summer. Gradually, Natasha began to feel better.
One evening, while the two of them were sitting together in the kitchen, Natasha could no longer hold back and quietly asked:
“Mom, do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
Svetlana Pavlovna looked at her calmly and answered thoughtfully:
“I think you are, sweetheart. I once left your father for the same reason.”
Natasha looked up in surprise.
“You? You never told me…”
“I didn’t want to upset you. I always thought you were still too young. But now you’re an adult, and you understand everything. Your father was a good man, but he liked seeing other women. I put up with it for a long time, thinking he would eventually settle down. But then I realized I couldn’t live like that anymore. And I have never once regretted leaving him.”
“I had no idea…”
“No one knew,” her mother said with a smile that was both sad and warm. “But sometimes it’s better to separate than to suffer together.”
Natasha looked at her mother, feeling grateful for her understanding and support.
“Thank you, Mom.”
When Natasha returned to Voronezh a week later, she knew what she had to do. Her conversation with Kirill took place in a small café near their home. He looked calm but confused.
“Natash, I understand that there’s no way to bring things back to how they were…”
“Yes, Kirill. I’m not angry anymore. But I want to be free from lies and doubts. It will be better for both of us.”
“I didn’t want it to end this way,” he said quietly, looking down at the table.
“Neither did I,” Natasha replied sincerely. “But now, at least, I know what comes next.”
When they said goodbye, Natasha felt a sense of relief she hadn’t expected. She was still hurting, but for the first time in a long while, she could clearly see a future filled with uncertainty and new possibilities.
Taking a deep breath, she walked down the street, smiled softly to herself, and thought that her life was only just beginning.
