Svetlana, a thirty-nine-year-old woman with straight dark hair, had been married to Sergey for over ten years. He had always been a calm person—almost excessively phlegmatic at times. In all those years of their life together, emotional outbursts were extremely rare for him; he preferred a measured pace and a clear daily routine. They had two children: nine-year-old Anton and six-year-old Vika. The family lived in a nine-story panel building on the outskirts of a small Russian town, where neighbors knew each other, though they were not always on friendly terms.
However, in the last couple of months, Svetlana began noticing oddities in her husband’s behavior. At first, it was the small details: he started coming home not at his usual six in the evening, but around half past seven. When she asked him about it, his answers were vague: “Just work, nothing special,” even though he used to detail his day so that she wouldn’t worry.
Moreover, Sergey began spending much more time at the computer at night, doing so as if he were under some kind of tension. As soon as Svetlana entered the room, he would immediately close his browser tabs and pretend he was just checking his email. “Strange,” she thought. “We’ve always been open with each other. What could he be afraid of? Pornography? Or an online casino? Perhaps he’s buying tickets for somewhere?”
But when Sergey started locking his desk drawers with a small key that Svetlana had never seen before, her anxiety grew. “He’s clearly hiding something,” raced through her mind. “But what?” One night, she went to the kitchen for some water and caught him in the storeroom at three in the morning. There were only some old tools and a mop stored there. “Looking for some tape,” he mumbled, shuddering, and quickly scurried away, avoiding her gaze.
Svetlana felt an unpleasant aftertaste. Either he was involved in something suspicious or he was preparing for something serious. Perhaps he had a second life. But it didn’t seem like the classic case of infidelity. In typical extramarital affairs, men usually start taking care of their appearance, hide their phone, or show signs of falling in love. Sergey, on the contrary, was becoming increasingly withdrawn and sometimes looked at her with worry. And yet another oddity—he started bringing strange items home: planks, plywood, screws. When Svetlana asked, “What’s that?” he evasively replied, “Oh, it’s for work.”
Doubts tormented her day and night. One evening, she shared her worries with her best friend, Olya. With a smirk, Olya suggested:
— Buy a hidden camera. Install it somewhere. You’ll see what your Sergey is up to. Maybe he really is planning something serious.
At first, Svetlana laughed: “Really? We’re not in a movie!” But then, unable to cope with her growing anxiety, she decided that it was the only way to find out the truth. She had never before invaded her husband’s privacy, but the feeling that “something was seriously wrong” wouldn’t let go.
In town, there was a small electronics store that sold surveillance devices: recorders, cameras, sensors. Svetlana went there on a weekday, trying to avoid meeting acquaintances. The salesperson, a young man of about twenty named Vitya, asked what she needed.
— I need a mini-camera with Wi-Fi connectivity so I can watch the live stream on my phone, she said quietly, nervous. — It’s important that it’s inconspicuous, really small.
— I understand, Vitya nodded with a knowing smile. — Here’s a suitable model. Its battery lasts several hours, and you can connect it to a power bank or an outlet. I recommend placing it on a shelf, camouflaged as a trinket.
— Fine, I’ll take it, she sighed, realizing she was crossing a line.
That very night, when her husband and children were sound asleep, Svetlana found the perfect spot. In their spacious room along the wall stood a shelf with books, albums, and various figurines. On one of the shelves, between the dictionaries, lay a hollow ceramic box—an ideal hiding place for the camera. Through small holes, there was a good view of Sergey’s work desk. After closing the shelf with books, she carefully camouflaged the device.
Then came the most critical stage: setting up the Wi-Fi module and the application on her phone. With trembling hands, Svetlana followed the instructions, fearing that her husband or the children might wake up. Finally, everything worked. “Now, if he’s doing something, I can check the live stream directly from my phone, even while at work,” she thought.
A sense of guilt weighed on her. “It’s silly, of course, to spy on my husband!” her conscience whispered. But curiosity and anxiety prevailed: “If he’s in trouble, I must know. And if he’s up to something bad, I definitely need to be in the loop!”
A day passed. Svetlana tried to check the live stream regularly, but in the evening Sergey came home tired, did nothing at his desk, just sat at the computer for a bit, and went to sleep. The second day was equally unsuspicious: he watched a TV series, then went to rest.
On the third evening, she got her chance. She was at work at a local children’s creativity center where she worked as an accountant. During a break, she stepped out into the corridor and opened the application. The screen showed an empty room. “He’s not there yet,” she thought. But a minute later, Sergey appeared on the screen: he took off his jacket, placed his backpack on a chair. Svetlana squeezed her phone harder, feeling her heart beat faster.
Sergey looked around, sat on the chair, and took out several planks of plywood, a bag of screws, and some glue from his backpack. Then came metallic brackets, a screwdriver, a ruler. He began to sketch something on the plywood…
“What on earth…?” she whispered to herself, not taking her eyes off her phone screen.
Meanwhile, Sergey got to work: he sawed a piece of plywood (apparently, he had a jigsaw hidden under the table), began sanding. Real time passed slowly, and Svetlana, holding her breath, watched for half an hour. What she saw resembled the assembly of some complex mechanism. “Could it be that he’s making a homemade weapon? Or a bomb?” the frightening thought flashed through her mind. But Sergey worked carefully, without aggression, fastening the pieces with screws. Finally, glancing at his watch, he quickly stuffed everything back into his backpack, got up, and apparently headed to the storeroom. The camera then showed nothing more.
Svetlana caught her breath, nearly dropping her phone. “This is definitely not a bomb… but then what is this secret contraption?” Her curiosity mingled with anxiety.
The next day, the situation repeated. On the camera, Sergey was again sawing something, tightening screws, laying out small cans of paint and brushing with a small brush. Svetlana noticed the colors—soft pink, light blue. “Damn, maybe he’s building… a doll’s coffin?” flashed an absurd thought. “No logic!”
She wanted to ask him directly: “Serge, what are you up to?” but she was afraid of revealing herself. Lately, he had become incredibly secretive. And if he were planning something bad, he would simply deny everything.
Svetlana decided to watch Sergey “in person.” She noticed that he would occasionally carry some boxes, sometimes disappearing into the storeroom late at night. A couple of times she pretended to sleep, only to find scraps of cardboard, glue, sawdust there by morning. Once, trying to sound casual, she asked:
— Honey, what is this strange junk in the storeroom?
Sergey hesitated, trying to joke it off:
— Oh, I was… fixing a child’s chair.
— But all our chairs are fine, she snorted.
— Ah, yes, I just adjusted one of the fittings… he mumbled uncertainly.
All of this looked even more suspicious. Svetlana’s friends began speculating: “Maybe he’s planning to run away abroad in some box? Or maybe he’s planning to open a workshop? Or even printing counterfeit money?” But beyond the guesses, nothing concrete emerged.
A month of such observations exhausted Svetlana. She couldn’t think of anything else. Work became difficult, reports got mixed up, and the children sensed her constant tension. One day, her son Anton asked:
— Mom, is Dad going to leave us?
She flinched:
— What makes you think that? No, silly, everything is fine, son.
Yet she herself was uncertain. “What if he is really planning to leave the family? But why then, secretly doing things at night?”
Then came the evening when Svetlana finally saw the conclusion of this mysterious process. Sergey, after coming home from work, had been busy at his desk. On the camera (Svetlana was watching from the bedroom via the app) it was visible how he took out an already assembled structure. Now it clearly resembled a small house with windows and doors. He was attaching hinges, inserting various parts.
“A little house…” she thought. “For the children? But for whom? For Vika? She’s already big… Maybe a dollhouse?”
Then he attached tiny light bulbs inside, connected wires to a power block, and turned it on. The little house lit up with cozy lights. Svetlana, sitting on the bed, almost dropped her phone: “My God… A dollhouse with lighting?!”
She froze, astonished. So that was what he had been working on. “Why?” she still couldn’t understand—who was it for, or why was he hiding it.
Sergey caressed the little house with his palm, inspecting it with pride. Then, as if sighing with relief, he began packing it into a box. Svetlana turned off the live stream and sat there in shock. She felt both amused and hurt: “So much nerve and suspicion, and he was just crafting a dollhouse? But why hide it so much?”
For several hours, she didn’t know how to react. She decided, “Let him explain. I’ll pretend I don’t understand anything.”
Later that night, well past midnight, when the children were asleep and Svetlana herself lay under the covers, she heard Sergey enter the room:
— Svet, are you asleep? he asked awkwardly.
— No, — she replied softly, trying to sound indifferent.
— Can I have a minute?
She tensed. “The moment of truth has come…” she thought, getting up. Sergey led her into the living room. On the table sat a rather large, closed box.
— Listen, — he began, stumbling slightly. — I’ve been working on something for almost a month. In secret, because… well, you understand, it sounds strange. But I really wanted to surprise you.
Svetlana tried to remain calm:
— Surprise? With what?
Sergey smiled and partially lifted the lid of the box. Svetlana saw his creation: a dollhouse. A large, three-story structure with windows and miniature wooden furniture inside. The walls were painted in soft hues, and a tiny cardboard chimney crowned the roof, while LED lights inside created the effect of real homely warmth.
— Look, — Sergey said. — There’s a button to turn the lights on. See? There’s even a fireplace, a table, a little bed. I made everything by hand.
Svetlana’s mouth fell open. It looked incredibly beautiful, like a miniature castle from her childhood.
— But… why? she asked, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.
Sergey gently closed the lid:
— Remember when you once told me that you dreamed of having a dollhouse as a child, but your mom couldn’t afford one? I remembered that. And I decided to try making one with my own hands, to give it to you. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. So I kept it secret, afraid you’d think I’d lost my mind.
Svetlana stood there, trembling slightly. All the worry, doubts, and mistrust that had tormented her for so long suddenly collapsed into a painful realization in her chest—she had suspected him of the worst, yet he was creating her childhood dream.
— And why so secretly? Why, Sergey? she whispered.
— Well, I… didn’t want to tell you too soon. I knew it would look silly: a husband working at night, sawing plywood. I was afraid of looking ridiculous, so I worked in the storeroom so you wouldn’t notice. I just… know that nowadays such things are done by factories, but here it’s handmade. But I wanted you to feel that it was made from the heart.
Tears welled in her eyes. She smiled through her sobs:
— My goodness, I… what a fool I was. I thought you were up to something criminal, or even unfaithful.
Sergey touched her shoulder:
— Why would I? Yes, I was secretive, but only so as not to ruin the surprise. Forgive me if my behavior scared you.
Svetlana couldn’t help but laugh through her tears. “So much for spying with a camera,” she thought. But she didn’t mention the camera; instead, she embraced her husband.
— This is… amazing! she said, running her fingers along the wall of the dollhouse. — Did you really make it all yourself? There are even shelves, a cabinet, and the lighting!
— Yes, — Sergey nodded with a relieved smile. — I learned from online video tutorials. I bought plywood, varnish, LEDs. I toiled through the nights so that no one would notice. I wanted to finish it by our anniversary, but I ran out of time, and it got delayed.
Svetlana blushed slightly: “I spent all that time watching you through the camera, and it turned out to be so touching.”
They both sat on the floor, admiring the miniature furniture. Sergey commented, “I tried to make a little kitchen, but it came out a bit crooked. But look at this table—it’s made of chipboard, covered with fabric.”
Svetlana listened, blinking now and then to hide her tears of joy and the guilt over her wild suspicions. “Maybe I should tell him about the camera?” she thought. But she decided to stay silent, not wanting to hurt his feelings or spoil this tender moment.
Later, when they had gone to bed, Sergey embraced her. It had been a long time since they’d felt that close. Carefully, she asked:
— Listen, forgive me if I acted strangely lately. I truly felt that you were hiding something. Even the children noticed.
— I understand, — he replied gently. — It was my fault. But I really wanted to surprise you. Surprises aren’t really my thing, but I tried. I hope you really like it.
— I do! I feel as if I’ve returned to my childhood, when I didn’t have a dollhouse, — she whispered. — Thank you, my dear.
Sergey patted her shoulder and sighed:
— I’m glad I could do it. I was worried you might not be interested anymore. But then I remembered how you once spoke dreamily about it. And I thought: since I love you, I’ll make it happen.
Svetlana squeezed his hand. Tears welled up again in her eyes. She wanted to confess that she had almost suspected him of infidelity and nearly driven herself to exhaustion. But she understood: why ruin this beautiful moment? Let their relationship remain gentle and peaceful.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, feeling a closeness they hadn’t felt in months. In the morning, the children were shown the dollhouse. Vika squealed with delight: “Wow, Dad, is this for me?!” — “Well, mainly for your mom, but you can play with it too,” Sergey winked slyly. “It’s your mother’s childhood dream, and you can enjoy it as well.”
Anton, inspecting the dollhouse, said with a serious look, “Cool, Dad, I respect that—it’s handmade!” Svetlana smiled as she watched the children explore the miniature mansion. “And here I was thinking he was going to leave us or doing something suspicious,” she sighed to herself. “How could I be so wrong?”
Feeling that it was time to close this chapter, she quietly deleted the surveillance app from her phone and turned off the camera hidden on the shelf. Then she removed the device and hid it away. “No more of that. I hope our family will now be honest,” she told herself.
A few days later, her friend Olya—the one who had suggested buying the camera—invited Svetlana out for a chat at a café. The three friends, along with another acquaintance, Tanya, sat at a table, sipping tea with pastries. Olya asked conspiratorially:
— So, did you figure it out? What was your husband up to?
Svetlana blushed:
— Oh, girls… Well, I was spying—I installed the camera and watched him. And guess what? He was making a dollhouse! With his own hands. For me.
— No way?! — Olya gasped in surprise, while Tanya burst out laughing, nearly choking on her tea.
— Can you believe it! — Svetlana laughed. — I thought he was involved in something criminal. But he was crafting a gift. He remembered that I dreamed of having one as a child.
Her friends laughed heartily, wiping away tears:
— Oh my, Svetlana, how touching and funny at the same time! Just like in the movies. You suspected him, and he turned out to be a master craftsman.
— Yes, — Svetlana nodded. — Honestly, I feel a bit ashamed. But it’s also amusing. Everything turned out fine.
— Thank goodness, — Olya sighed. — This proves that secrets aren’t always about infidelity.
Svetlana nodded, feeling warmth in her chest.
In the following weeks, calm returned to their family. Sergey stopped locking himself in the storeroom and returned to his old routine, adding a new element to his life—occasionally, he would make various crafts with the children when he saw that they were interested. Svetlana greeted it with joy, though she sometimes teased him:
— So, you’re not building any more secret projects?
Sergey smiled:
— Unless I’m making a surprise for your birthday—but now I know that secrets can scare you.
— Oh, come on, — she laughed, recalling her wild spying.
One evening, when the children had fallen asleep, Sergey and Svetlana settled in the living room, where the dollhouse was prominently displayed. Svetlana gently ran her hand along its carved windows:
— Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.
Sergey smoothed her hair:
— I’m glad I hit the mark. I remember your childhood confession from when we were dating. You said your mother couldn’t buy one for you. So I decided to fill that gap.
Svetlana squeezed his hand and looked up:
— You know, I… did suspect you of something bad. I’m sorry.
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead:
— I understand. Forgive me for the secrets. But now everything is clear, with no deceit.
She nodded, knowing that the truth was deeper—after all, there was a camera. But she decided not to ruin this moment by confessing about the spying.
And so, they slept in each other’s arms, feeling a closeness they hadn’t experienced in many months. The camera, along with all her anxious thoughts, now seemed both silly and absurd.
The next morning, the dollhouse was shown to the children. Vika shrieked with delight: “Wow, Dad, is this for me?!” — “Well, it’s primarily for Mom, but you can play with it too,” Sergey said with a sly wink. “It’s your mom’s childhood dream, and you should enjoy it as well.”
Anton, after examining the dollhouse, said solemnly, “Cool, Dad, I respect that—it’s handmade!” Svetlana smiled as she watched the children explore the miniature mansion. “I thought he was going to leave us or do something suspicious,” she sighed to herself. “How could I be so mistaken?”
As if feeling the need to conclude the story, she quietly deleted the surveillance app from her phone and turned off the camera hidden on the shelf. Then she removed the device and hid it away. “No more of that. I hope our family will now be honest,” she told herself.
A few days later, her friend Olya—the one who had suggested buying the camera—invited Svetlana for a chat at a café. The three friends, along with another acquaintance named Tanya, sat at a table, sipping tea with pastries. Olya asked conspiratorially:
— So, did you figure it out? What was your husband up to?
Svetlana blushed:
— Oh, girls… I ended up spying, installed a camera, watched him. And guess what? He was making a dollhouse! With his own hands. For me.
— No way?! — Olya gasped in surprise, and Tanya burst out laughing, nearly choking on her tea.
— Can you believe it! — Svetlana laughed. — I thought he was involved in something criminal. But he was crafting a gift. He remembered that I dreamed of having one as a child.
Her friends laughed loudly, wiping away tears:
— Oh my, Svetlana, how touching and funny at the same time! Just like in the movies. You suspected him, and he turned out to be the master craftsman.
— Yes, — Svetlana nodded. — Honestly, I feel a bit ashamed. But it’s also funny. Everything turned out fine.
— Thank goodness, — Olya sighed. — This proves that secrets aren’t always about infidelity.
Svetlana nodded, feeling warmth in her chest.
In the following weeks, calm returned to their family. Sergey stopped locking himself in the storeroom and resumed his old routine, now adding a new element—occasionally, he made various crafts with the children when he saw they were interested. Svetlana welcomed this with joy, though she sometimes teased him:
— So, you’re not building any more secret projects?
Sergey smiled:
— Unless I’m making a surprise for your birthday—but now I know that secrets can scare you.
— Oh, come on, — she laughed, recalling her crazy spying.
One evening, when the children were asleep, Sergey and Svetlana settled in the living room where the dollhouse was prominently displayed. Svetlana gently ran her hand along its carved windows:
— Thank you. You have no idea how important this is to me.
Sergey smoothed her hair:
— I’m glad I got it right. I remember when you once dreamily mentioned that your mother couldn’t buy you one. So I decided to fill that gap.
Svetlana squeezed his hand and looked up:
— You know, I did suspect you of something bad. I’m sorry.
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead:
— I understand. Forgive me for the secrets. But now everything is clear, with no deceit.
She nodded, knowing that the truth ran deeper—after all, there was a camera. But she decided not to ruin this tender moment by mentioning the spying.
And so, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, feeling the closeness they hadn’t experienced in many months. The camera and all her anxious thoughts now seemed both silly and absurd.