Darling, my friends are inviting me on a trip to Astrakhan. It’s only for a couple of weeks. I’ve cleared it at work, but how are things at home? There’ll be tents, fishing…I haven’t caught anything in ages,” Mikhail began the conversation with Irina one evening. The couple had gotten married a year ago, and this was the first time her husband had asked for something like this. Apparently, Mikhail was quite worried that his wife would react negatively to his desire to spend two weeks away from home.
“Go ahead,” Irina replied calmly. She wasn’t about to restrict anyone’s freedom. She had experienced enough in her previous marriage to a tyrant husband, who demanded a report of her every move, installed tracking apps on her phone, and suspected any man around her of having an affair with her. Having gone through all that, Ira now valued freedom above all else—both her own and others’. “Then I’ll take a couple of weeks off too, unpaid. I’ll go to a sanatorium with Nadyushka; we’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“That’s not bad,” her husband agreed.
However, the sanatorium plan fell through. Her friend broke her leg and couldn’t go. So Irina’s “vacation” ended up consisting of binge-watching TV series with candy and cakes. Not the worst option, and Irina was perfectly content.
But their cat Mars decided the mistress of the house shouldn’t relax too much. Let her run around, keep in shape. And to get her moving, the cat waited until Irina returned from the store, then deftly slipped out through the closing door.
“Marsik, where are you off to, you furry bandit? Stop right there!” Irina immediately dropped her bags and ran after the cat down the stairs. But the little beast was faster, and—just her luck—someone opened the entry door, allowing the cat to escape outside. Racing after him, Irina spotted his fluffy tail disappearing at the courtyard’s exit.
“Marsik, come here, kitty-kitty-kitty…”
Calling him was useless, of course. But she still clung to the tiny hope that the cat would hesitate, get tired, and then she’d be able to catch him and take him home.
That’s exactly what happened in the next courtyard. The cat froze by a tree, swishing his tail, seeming to wonder how to jump up onto it. Irina used that moment and grabbed him. She was about to scold the cat when she suddenly noticed a male figure ahead…and every word got stuck in her throat.
Because out of the nearest entrance stepped Mikhail, in the very tracksuit he’d supposedly taken “on the fishing trip,” holding a trash bag. He walked over to the dumpster, threw away its contents, and, without looking back, calmly headed back into the building.
Irina stood behind a tree, clutching the cat, who seemed to sense her mood. Mars began to purr softly, trying to calm his owner. In another situation it might have worked, but right now…
Dark thoughts kept intruding. She realized that this kind of lie wouldn’t lead to anything good. If he’d lied about going on vacation just to get away from home for two weeks, it meant he had someone else. A woman living in the neighboring courtyard, with whom he was likely “vacationing” not for the first time.
She needed to go home. Think it all through, draw conclusions, and contact a lawyer. And also find more convincing proof of her husband’s infidelity. Ideally, catch him in the act, but that would depend on luck. First she at least needed to figure out which apartment her husband was “fishing” in. As it turned out, luck was on her side.
The next morning, Irina returned to the neighboring courtyard. She didn’t bother with disguises like in spy movies. After all, she wasn’t the one who had lied about a trip to Astrakhan.
Fortune favored her again. Just as she reached the building in question, a woman with a mail carrier’s satchel was heading there too. Unlocking the door with her key, the mail carrier stepped inside. At that moment, Irina politely asked:
“Please, wait a second—don’t shut it yet.”
Subconsciously, she was ready to be asked which apartment she was from or whom she was visiting. But the mail carrier showed no great vigilance. Apparently deciding that a well-dressed woman posed no threat, she held the door open calmly, letting Irina in.
Having climbed to the fifth floor, Irina settled on the windowsill between the fourth and fifth floors and began her wait. Sooner or later, the cheater would poke his nose out of his “fishing nest,” and then…
A door on the third floor opened. Tiptoeing down, Irina couldn’t believe her luck: on the landing stood Mikhail, locking the door. Nearby was a girl of about ten who kept glancing at her smartphone and urging him on:
“Uncle Mish, hurry up or we’ll be late for school!”
So, school. Her wonderful husband not only keeps his mistress company and takes out her trash, but also walks her kid to school. A dream man indeed!
She could have confronted him right then, but Irina didn’t want to make a scene in front of the child. Besides, she still didn’t know exactly what to say. She wanted to avoid shouting or crying, not to show how deeply it had hurt her. She wanted to handle the situation with dignity.
So she came to the right door only in the evening. Wearing a beautiful dress, flawless makeup, and heels. Like a proper guest, she carried a cake in her hands—after all, you don’t visit empty-handed. After ringing the doorbell, Irina waited a minute before hearing a child’s voice.
“Who is it?”
“Please tell Uncle Misha that Auntie Ira is here. I brought a cake for tea,” the woman answered calmly. She wasn’t planning any scandal. She just wanted to look her almost ex-husband in the eye and see who he’d chosen over her. What was missing in their marriage that he’d started gravitating toward a woman with a child from a previous relationship? Once upon a time, when they were dating, he had insisted he’d never get involved in such situations. Had he just been agreeing with Irina back then, or had he met this particular “Mrs. X” and changed his mind?
Less than a minute later, Mikhail showed up at the door. To Irina’s surprise, he looked more bewildered than guilty. Then again, if he’d had the nerve to hang around in someone else’s apartment a year into their marriage, maybe he didn’t feel guilty at all.
“Well, hello. Are you going to keep me standing here on the threshold, or shall we talk like civilized people?”
“You were following me?” Mikhail blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Irina shrugged but decided to clarify.
“Mars doesn’t share the whole ‘male solidarity’ thing. He’s more my cat, so he showed me where you’ve been hiding.”
Yes, it had all happened by chance, but Irina couldn’t resist poking at her almost ex-husband.
“Mars, is it? I see. When I get back home, he can kiss his chances of getting sausage from me goodbye.”
“Back home? Mish, are you sure you’ll still be let in? Because this is your home now—with that lovely girl you take to school and her mother. By the way, mind introducing me? At least for politeness’ sake. I’d like to see who you traded me for. What were you missing in our marriage, you wandering tomcat…”
“Uncle Mish, Uncle Mish!” Another child, this time a boy of about eight, ran out of the room. Irina immediately noticed that he was the spitting image of Misha in his childhood photos. She sighed inwardly. Everything was clear. She should have checked the man better before they started dating, let alone before marrying him. Apparently, Mikhail guessed what she was thinking, because he hurriedly raised his hands and said:
“Stas isn’t my son. And Vika isn’t my daughter.”
“It makes no difference to me who’s who here. I see your girlfriend isn’t eager to meet me. Fine. I’ll send the divorce papers here, if that’s alright with you. You can pick up your things.”
“Ira, there is no girlfriend,” Mikhail sighed. “They’re my sister’s children. I didn’t even know about them until recently. I can prove it—show you their birth certificates, mine too, though you’ve seen that one.”
“Oh, really?” Irina hadn’t yet decided whether to believe her lying husband, but she was willing to listen. Half an hour later, she was sitting in someone else’s kitchen, sipping tea with cake, listening to Mikhail’s explanation.
“Remember how I told you I cut off my family years ago, when I was twenty? They tried to pair me up with my mother’s friend’s daughter and stick me with her child?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my mother tracked me down recently through some acquaintances. She said, ‘Help out, Mikhail, your sister’s in the hospital, and there’s nowhere for her kids to go for two weeks, and I’m old…’ And on it went.”
“So you decided to move in with them, and at home you lied that you were going fishing.”
“Yeah. I remember you don’t like kids. You’d hardly have believed this was a one-off thing. I haven’t forgiven Sonya for that stunt and don’t plan to, but I feel sorry for the children. They’d just be sent somewhere else for two weeks, and that’s extra stress. So I decided to lie about a vacation and stay with them myself. Then Sonya would come back, and everything would go back to normal. Who could’ve guessed the cat would out me?”
“Alright, I get most of it. But one thing: why do you think I don’t like children?”
“Well, you yourself said you were looking for a man without kids from a previous relationship,” Mikhail replied, sounding uncertain.
“Sweetheart, a woman looks for a man without children not because she hates kids, but because she knows all too well that, sooner or later, those kids might get foisted onto her. And their biological mother would be somewhere in the background, trying to turn them against their stepmother.”
“That doesn’t happen in every case,” Mikhail said with a shrug.
“But you also wanted a woman without children, if I recall correctly.”
“That’s because I’d dated a few who had kids, and every time, there was some kind of drama. One wanted me to support her child even though we didn’t live together, and I wasn’t allowed to say anything to the boy since ‘I wasn’t the father.’ Another’s daughter would yell that I wasn’t her father and she wouldn’t listen to me, and anyway she wanted her mom to be with her dad, not me.”
“You see? You listed the same reasons I have. None of them have anything to do with not liking children.” Irina shrugged. She poured some boiling water for herself and sighed. “Alright, Misha. Let’s agree right now: in the future, no more lies or made-up stories. And as for your niece and nephew…if you decide you want to keep in touch, I won’t mind.”
“Unlikely. Sonya won’t let them near me.”
“Well, who knows what might happen. A lot of time has passed…”
Irina turned out to be right. Once Sonya got out of the hospital and learned that her “irresponsible” younger brother had been taking care of her kids all this time—while their mother had refused, citing her age and fatigue—she decided to make amends with Mikhail. She apologized for having interfered in his life before and invited him to visit more often, since they lived in neighboring courtyards but seldom saw one another.
As a result, the niece and nephew became friends with their uncle’s wife, dropping by on some weekends, inviting Mikhail and Irina to birthdays and holiday get-togethers. But for a long while afterward, Irina teased her husband whenever he’d head off to see his sister and her kids:
“Don’t forget your boat and fishing rods, fisherman! After all, you’re going to Astrakhan; it’s a long trip! And make sure you’re back in exactly two weeks.”
Mikhail would just brush off her jibes. He’d gotten used to his wife’s personality. And constant teasing was easy enough to live with. Another woman in her place might have done something drastic before sorting things out… But as for them, everything ended peacefully.