Maxim looked at Irina with disgust. Why was he being subjected to such a trial? In truth, he had never agreed to be a babysitter for a ghost.
Lately, he had been trying to minimize his time at home, just to see his wife less often—the very wife who had turned his life into a real nightmare.
They had lived together for ten years. Irina, whom he had considered his rock and reliable support, suddenly decided to change the rules of the game. Now she demanded care, instead of continuing to take care of him—as if her health had suddenly betrayed her.
And the cause of her illness turned out to be simple—idleness! At work, she was busy only until the evening; then she managed to iron a shirt and cook dinner. And if she sat at the computer late into the night, that was her own business. Maxim had always believed that one must manage finances so that they suffice for necessities.
About a year ago, it all began. The first time, Irina simply forgot to prepare dinner, citing exhaustion. But soon such incidents became increasingly frequent.
Then she began to neglect other household chores: ironing clothes, keeping things in order. Maxim tolerated it for a while, but it couldn’t continue for long. After all, he was building a career, and Irina had known that from the start. They had agreed that the main responsibility would fall on him, as she was not career-minded.
When his patience finally ran out, Maxim grabbed his wife’s hand and dragged her to the doctor:
“Now we’ll run some tests. We’ll see that you’re as healthy as an ox, and you’ll finally stop this nonsense,” he declared confidently.
“Maybe we shouldn’t? What if it’s something serious?” Irina timidly objected.
“Nothing serious can be wrong with you. It’s just a whim,” Maxim snapped.
That was the only moment in his life he later regretted not listening to her. The doctor reported the presence of a brain tumor. He explained that the situation was extremely serious, and if the tumor was not removed, the consequences would be tragic. However, the surgery was complicated, the tumor’s location extremely unfavorable, and hardly anyone in a state clinic would take it on. The only way out was a paid procedure, and the price was considerable.
“I understand that you’ll manage, so don’t delay,” said the doctor. “The tumor grows slowly, but inexorably. The longer you wait, the more complicated the treatment will become.”
Irina looked at her husband in fear as he nervously paced the room.
“You do understand we don’t have that kind of money,” she muttered. “What about taking a loan? It’s not such a large sum…”
Her eyes filled with hope.
“A loan? How nice of you to suggest that,” Maxim replied sarcastically. “And what if the surgery turns out to be useless? Am I supposed to pay off that debt for the rest of my life? It’s very convenient to think only of yourself.”
“But what then? Do we just wait for the end?” Irina asked desperately.
“Why not? Continue treatment by other means. It doesn’t have to be this surgery,” Maxim said coldly.
For a while, he took her to see other specialists. All confirmed the diagnosis—except one doctor from a dubious backwater clinic. It was his method of treatment with pills that satisfied Maxim.
Irina’s condition did not improve, and that irritated Maxim to the extreme. Now he had to not only cook but also iron shirts by himself. And when Irina, as she did that day, tried to help, everything slipped from her hands, causing even more irritation.
“Irina, lie down; I’ll do everything myself,” he snapped through gritted teeth.
“I want to help…” she stuttered.
“You’ll help if you disappear from my sight,” he rudely retorted.
Maxim found it unpleasant to look at her drawn face and shabby appearance. Was that the woman he had ever chosen? Now, in his life, there was Lyudmila—a mistress of several months. She was completely different. But for now, he was bound by obligations to Irina. His boss—a man of high moral principles—would never forgive him if he found out he abandoned his sick wife. His career would immediately go downhill. Maxim barely managed to finish his lunch when his phone vibrated in his pocket. As they say, thoughts materialize.
“Yes, Alexander Ivanovich?” he said respectfully.
He listened to the instructions for a long time and, without even finishing the conversation, leapt up from his chair.
“Of course, I’ll try to arrive as soon as possible. I understand the importance of the situation. Yes, I know that our dacha is not far from your location.”
He began to gather his things hastily. The boss’s car had broken down not far from Irina’s house—the old, rustic cottage. They used to go there often: the house was sturdy and the setting picturesque. But Maxim always found it boring, and gradually the trips stopped.
“Maxim, you’re a miracle! I didn’t even have time to get bored, and here you are already. What a beauty all around!” the boss exclaimed in admiration.
“Always happy to help,” Maxim replied with a fawning smile.
“And is that really your dacha nearby?” asked Alexander Ivanovich, glancing around.
“Yes, just a couple of kilometers,” confirmed Maxim.
“Really? How lucky! To have such a place is true happiness.”
“Well, we rarely go there anyway. I think it could be sold,” Maxim said indifferently.
Until that moment, he had never even considered selling it. Moreover, he was sure that Irina would never agree. But something inside hinted that it was a great way to get some money.
“Maybe we’ll drive over, take a look? Who knows, maybe we can negotiate?” suggested Alexander Ivanovich, as if casually.
Inside, Maxim felt a surge of joyful premonition. Of course, those funds were by no means intended for Irina’s treatment. He had already figured out how to spend them.
Alexander Ivanovich was enchanted by both the house and its location.
“Maxim, I just don’t understand how one can not appreciate such places. Not far from the city. With a little modernization, you could live there all year round. I’m buying it. We’ll discuss the price in the office. But your wife won’t mind?”
“No problem. She’s a city woman—she wouldn’t accept that kind of life,” Maxim assured him.
After the office conversation, there was only one thing left: to get Irina’s signature on the documents. Maxim pondered for a long time about how to do it, but the decision came naturally. In the evening, he entered the room where his wife was.
“We need to talk.”
Irina struggled to sit up.
“Ira, I can’t stand to see you suffer any longer. I’ve decided to take a loan for the operation. But for that, we need collateral. I thought about the dacha. It’s just sitting there doing nothing. We’ll just register it as collateral.”
Her eyes lit up with hope.
“Max, dear, thank you! But… I can’t go to the notary by myself. How will that work?”
“Don’t worry. Everything can be arranged remotely. You just sign the papers, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Maxim assured her generously.
“Of course,” Irina immediately agreed.
Maxim hadn’t even expected such an outcome. Now he chided himself for asking for too little. But nothing could be done—the deal was already sealed. Meanwhile, Lyudmila was making plans.
“Maxim, when will you finally be free?” she asked impatiently.
“Lyudok, you need to wait a bit. Her condition is worsening day by day. We must find a way to speed up the process,” he answered thoughtfully.
“Don’t talk nonsense. I’m not going to become an accomplice to anything illegal,” Lyudmila retorted indignantly.
Maxim felt uncomfortable with the conversation. Of course, Irina was a burden to him, but he didn’t want to cross a line. Lyudmila glared at him furiously. Time was passing, and her age waited for no one. Action was needed.
She took out her phone and sent a message without considering the consequences.
Irina struggled to reach her phone. It had been days since anyone had written or called. Upon opening the message, she froze, and then bitter tears began to stream down her cheeks. Of course, Maxim couldn’t love someone like her—sick and helpless.
She decided what to do. She needed to disappear, to hide. To make room for Maxim’s new life. She would wait for the end at the dacha, where no one would find her. Perhaps the whole loan story was just a way to get rid of her constant complaints.
Summoning her last strength, Irina got up. Every step was taken with incredible effort. The main thing was not to lose consciousness along the way. She would reach the dacha and there meet her end, freeing Maxim.
“We’re here, lady!” the taxi driver cheerfully announced.
Irina slowly opened her eyes. Yes, this was her home—or rather, her grandfather’s house. But why was the light on in the window? Perhaps it was a sign—her relatives had come for her? With enormous difficulty, she crawled to the porch. She could no longer move. Her vision blurred, and she lost consciousness, collapsing on the doorstep.
Maxim waited patiently for two weeks, wondering if Irina would appear. However, her letter was clear enough: she would not return. This only simplified matters—now he could file for divorce with a clear conscience. Everyone at work was shocked; Maxim had always seemed like an exemplary family man. Even Alexander Ivanovich once asked what had happened.
“Nothing special,” Maxim replied gloomily. “My wife thanked me for everything I’d done for her, writing a letter and disappearing. It said something like ‘I left, I hated’ and included a phrase about me not even trying to find her.”
The boss looked at him strangely but added nothing. Maxim inwardly smirked: his boss had been a widower for many years and had clearly forgotten what it was like to have a family. Who was he to lecture on life?
Months passed one after the other, and the long-awaited promotion still did not come. Soon, a third trial was scheduled, after which their divorce would be finalized. But Lyudmila suddenly began to distance herself. She claimed that Maxim’s career growth had stalled, and she wasn’t ready for such a situation. Her hopes for his future were entirely different. Then Maxim decided to talk to his boss.
“Maybe it’s time to discuss a few matters? Come to my dacha tomorrow. I hope you remember where it is,” Maxim suggested mysteriously to Alexander Ivanovich.
Maxim was delighted. A more relaxed atmosphere was exactly what was needed. Of course, he remembered the place perfectly. When Lyudmila learned that he was going, she also wanted to join him.
“Your ex has long been out of your life. Why don’t you stop playing the bachelor?” she urged.
Maxim agreed:
“And the evening might just drag on. Let’s have a drink, and then stay over for the night. Let’s go together.”
The house greeted them with a transformed appearance. Everything was neatly renovated, with new decorative elements added. Maxim whistled:
“Wow! I had no idea Ivanych was so attached to this place!”
Lyudmila immediately teased:
“Looks like you really undersold yourself.”
“Maybe, but who would have thought he’d like this place so much?” Maxim mumbled as he retrieved a bag from the car.
They prepared thoroughly: they took some wine, and Lyudmila made an appetizer. Maxim was closing the car when Lyudmila began tugging at his sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” he asked irritably without turning around.
But she remained silent, continuing to pull his sleeve. He turned and followed her gaze. His heart stopped: standing before them were Irina and Alexander Ivanovich.
Irina was unrecognizable. Her short hair was almost completely hidden under a stylish turban, and her appearance had transformed beyond recognition. She looked remarkably beautiful—as if she were glowing from within.
Alexander Ivanovich supported her by the elbow with such attentiveness that it said it all. Maxim glanced, bewildered, at Lyudmila, but she stood there, mouth agape.
“Please come in,” Alexander Ivanovich softly invited.
“I wanted this conversation to take place here,” he continued coldly, “not to fire you in the office, but to do it in front of the one you betrayed.”
“Betrayed? But… but I found the letter! She left on her own!” protested Maxim.
“Is a sick person capable of just leaving?” the boss calmly countered. “I’m sure she had her reasons. Perhaps your mistress will tell you what’s really going on? Although now it doesn’t matter. By the way, you’ll have to return the money for the dacha. Yesterday, the contract was declared null and void, and a case has been opened against you.”
“What case? For what?” Maxim stuttered in shock.
“For fraud,” Alexander Ivanovich replied curtly.
“Lyud, why are you silent? Why are you ruining everyone’s life? You don’t have much time left!” he lashed out at Lyudmila.
Irina smiled:
“Another disappointment for you, Maxim. The doctors have informed me that I will live long and happily. And I will have time to bear children. And one more piece of news: Sasha paid for my operation. So your plans have failed once again.”
She turned and headed toward the house. Alexander Ivanovich lingered.
“Maxim, you understand that there is no longer a place for you in my company. And although Irina needs nothing, believe me, she now has everything necessary. I’ve hired a lawyer who will split the property in half. Prepare your money if you wish to keep your apartment and car.”
Maxim slowly sank into the car. He sat for a long time, staring at one spot, then started the engine.
“Maybe let’s get drunk today?” he suggested gloomily to Lyudmila.
“Not with me. Today I’m moving my things back home. So many years wasted—I could have long since married,” she snorted.
“But I’ll be free soon! Why are you refusing?” Maxim was astonished.
“Why would I need a man who drags me down? Thank you, but no,” Lyudmila cut him off.
Maxim looked at her, then at the house, and pressed the gas pedal hard. He had been used. Both Irina and Lyudmila had proven to be smarter than he had ever thought.