It seems that only yesterday I thought Andrei and I were the perfect couple. Thirty years together, two children, a house—everything was complete.
We had it all: a seaside house, an apartment in the city, a car…
And I trusted him. “After all, he’s my husband, the father of my children,” I kept telling myself whenever a hint of suspicion crept into my soul.
But one day, everything was shattered.
Evening.
Andrei was staying late at work. I thought, well, it happens—he’s busy. He had left his second phone at home. Yes, my Andrei, who wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without it, had forgotten his mobile on the bedside table.
“Alright, maybe it’s nothing,” I thought. And then—ding!
A message arrived. One, then another. I wasn’t taking my eyes off the kitchen as I cooked, as usual, but… my heart skipped a beat. I picked up the phone and saw: “Marina.”
I sat there, staring, my eyes fixed on one spot. My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I had never spied before, but clearly, fate had other plans.
“I miss you… When can we meet? I’m waiting…” I read aloud. Everything inside me snapped.
He returned an hour later, and I had already made my decision. No, I wouldn’t throw a tantrum—hysterics were not my style. I had built my life brick by brick, investing all of myself into it.
He thought I wouldn’t notice a thing. Men generally believe that women are foolish and can be easily deceived, especially when it comes to infidelity.
For many years I had been his “quiet support,” and Andrei stopped taking me seriously. And that was his biggest mistake. Cry? There was no need! If a man betrays you, there’s no point in crying over him.
The plan quickly matured. I decided not just to find out more, but to make him regret everything. Only subtly, cunningly—without giving him the slightest chance to guess. First I would uncover everything, and then—we would act.
“You will succeed,” I whispered to myself in the mirror, looking at my reflection.
The next morning began with Andrei, as usual, leaving for work. He returned—late. I decided to behave calmly, without raising any suspicions, so that he wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
He held his phone in his hand, and my mind raced with thoughts: What else is he hiding? Who else is he talking to?
The next day, I saw that Marina. Not directly—in a café where they usually sat. I began going there every evening. And then I saw them: entering together, sitting at a table in the corner. She was young, about thirty, as thin as a reed. Andrei sat opposite her, smiling and caressing her hand.
“I wonder how long this has been going on…” flashed through my mind.
I started checking our bank accounts. I had an old acquaintance, Galina, who had worked for me as an accountant for several years. I approached her for advice—subtly, asking if she knew how to check bank statements. We sat in her kitchen, drinking coffee, and she listened to everything I said.
“You, Olya, aren’t taking an interest for nothing,” she finally remarked. “Did your husband do something?”
I told her everything. And within an hour, we were combing through bank documents. Galina checked every transfer, every account. And what did we find? For several months in a row, Andrei had been transferring money to an unknown account.
“What on earth is this?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Who was he sending such sums to?”
Obviously—he was spending money on his Marina. He had bought her an apartment and even sent her monthly transfers. That’s how it was.
Now everything fell into place. The hurt, like a nail, had lodged in my heart, but I knew I couldn’t show it—not even a hint, or the whole plan would unravel.
I had to get what was mine. I gathered all the documents, found a lawyer. We prepared everything, and with Galina, we scrutinized the accounts. Now I had a complete picture: where, how, and how much he had filched.
“Olga,” the lawyer said, “You will take everything you have. I have all the evidence in hand.”
But it wasn’t time yet. I decided to squeeze him further. I made copies of all the documents, hid them with a friend, and began preparing my counter-move. He had no idea. Every evening he returned home with a smile, while I waited for the moment when I could reveal all my cards.
I opened several of my own accounts and transferred most of our funds there.
Andrei noticed nothing. The money was moving slowly, gradually. I pretended everything was normal—buying groceries, taking care of the children and the house.
And he… he believed everything was as usual. He chirped about work and plans like a nightingale. He mentioned that he was facing financial difficulties, that we needed to sell part of our property, and I agreed. But everything was arranged in my name—quietly, without any fuss.
He didn’t even suspect that he was digging his own grave.
“Olya, I was thinking—maybe we should sell the summer house?” he said one evening.
“Of course, dear.”
All the documents were ready; all he had to do was sign where I instructed. He didn’t look, didn’t even bother to check. And why should he? After all, I was his faithful wife. What kind of verification could there be?
Thus, several months passed. Andrei still went to work and in the evenings met with Marina. I felt like screaming, tearing my hair out in anguish. But I had to keep myself together. I had a plan. If I let my emotions run wild, I would ruin everything.
At the next dinner, I looked at him. His gaze was like that of a contented cat. He smiled at me and refilled my wine. For a split second, I wanted to shout in his face: “You’re cheating! You betrayed our family!” But I held back, only squeezing my glass a little tighter.
“Olya, you seem a bit tense,” he suddenly remarked.
“There’s been a lot of work piling up,” I replied.
I waited for the right moment, and it arrived. I decided that it was time to strike. It was evening, and Andrei was once again preparing to head out to his “friends.” Of course, Marina was waiting for him.
But that evening, I wouldn’t let him go.
“Andrei, wait,” I said as he was already putting on his jacket. “We need to talk.”
“Did something happen?”
“Don’t you want to tell me something?” I asked with a smile.
“What nonsense again?”
I let a pause linger, tightening his nerves even further.
“Nonsense, you say?” I looked up at him, my eyes as cold as ice. “And what about Marina? Is that nonsense too?”
His expression changed abruptly. He paled and began darting his eyes from side to side. He clearly hadn’t expected such a turn.
“Olya, this… this is not what you think,” he began stuttering, like a schoolboy caught cheating.
“Really?” I abruptly stood up, walked over to the wardrobe, and pulled out an envelope filled with photographs and bank statements. “And what is this?”
For the first time in so many years, I saw fear in his eyes. He was no longer the confident man he once was. Now, before me stood a bewildered, pathetic man who didn’t know what to say.
“Olya, it’s a mistake. I’ll explain everything… It’s temporary; we’ll fix it all…” He began to get nervous, trying to approach me, but I stepped back.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You betrayed me not only with another woman but also spent our money on her. Aren’t you ashamed?”
I saw him floundering, not knowing what to say. A minute ago, he considered himself a king; now, his crown had fallen from his head and rolled under the table.
“We’re getting a divorce,” I said coldly. “Everything is ready. I’m taking the house, the summer house, and half of all assets. The rest is for the children. All the documents are in my hands. You signed everything.”
He stood before me, as white as snow. He tried to say something, but I didn’t listen. I had everything in my hands: money, evidence, documents. He tried to justify himself, but it was too little.
“Olya, wait… let’s somehow work this out, let’s talk…” he kept pleading.
“Talk?” I laughed.
Andrei tried to contact Marina, but as expected, she had vanished. After all, why would she want a man who could no longer provide her with a beautiful life? Andrei ended up with nothing.
The morning began as usual. I woke up, opened the windows—there was a light rain outside. Fresh air filled the room. I made myself coffee and sat at the kitchen table. Now, in this house, everything belonged only to me. My house. My money. My life.
I came across an old photograph of Andrei and me embracing and smiling.
Back then, I thought we had a future. Now that photograph seemed distant and almost unreal, like a scene from a movie. I stared at it for a long time, then crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
One evening, as I was relaxing with a book in hand, there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone. For a moment, I thought it might be the mail—but no. I stepped into the hallway and opened the door.
Standing on the threshold was Andrei. His gaze was heavy, exhausted. There was no trace of the self-satisfied man I had known just a year ago. He had aged—his hair was disheveled, his face sagged, and dark circles lay under his eyes.
“Olya… may I come in?” he said softly.
I looked at him silently, not hurrying to answer. The anger and hurt I had carried for so long began to subside—not because I had forgiven him, but because I saw before me a broken man who had cornered himself.
“Come in.”
He walked into the living room and sat in an armchair, staring ahead as if he didn’t know what to say. I stood opposite him, arms crossed, waiting for him to speak.
“Olya… I came… to ask for forgiveness,” he finally said without looking up at me. “I have lost everything. You, me, the children, our life… I realize it’s too late to change anything. But I want to apologize.”
“Did you come here seeking forgiveness?” I asked, looking at his haggard face. “Or because you have nowhere else to go?”
Marina had left him; his money was gone, and now he found himself in the very situation he had always despised—alone, without support, without means.
“Olya, I’m not asking for anything from you. I just… I just want you to know that I regret it. All this time I only thought about myself, about how to make life better for me. And you—I betrayed you. I have no excuse. I understand that.”
“Andrei,” I replied calmly, “I’m no longer angry with you. And I don’t want revenge. But you must understand—there is nothing left between us. You destroyed what we had built for so many years. And now you must live with that. That is your punishment.”
“Thank you for listening.”
He left, and as he did, I felt the final severing of the thread that had once connected me to the past. Everything.
A few months later, I met an old friend, Nikolai, whom I hadn’t seen in ten years. We had lived next door to each other many years ago, but then he moved to another city.
We met by chance in a store and started talking. He suggested having coffee, and I agreed. We talked about life, sharing our stories.
“You know, Olya,” he said, “time goes by, and you only become more beautiful.”
I laughed. His compliments no longer embarrassed me as they once had.
“Maybe it’s because I finally stopped living in the past?”
He looked at me in a new way, with genuine interest.
“Something has changed in you.”
Nikolai smiled, and I felt that this was the beginning of something new—as if life had given me a second chance.