Everything came to light completely by accident. Alla had never kept tabs on her husband, never checked his phone, or monitored the flow of money on his bank cards. She had plenty of her own concerns—working at a travel agency where she resolved all sorts of important issues for vacationers, then picking up her three-year-old son Maxim from kindergarten and attending to his equally important needs. And then, as usual: preparing soup, cutlets, doing the laundry, and watching a series on the laptop. So as far as her husband Andrey’s life was concerned, all she knew was that he worked as a programmer at a large company, attended aikido classes twice a week, and sometimes went fishing with his friends on the weekends.
That day, misfortune struck Alla—the family of five missed their connecting flight due to a delayed departure. She spent the entire evening on the phone and became terribly exhausted, so once the situation was resolved, she simply went to take a bath, even though Andrey had not yet returned from his training session. She left the door open so she could listen to her son, and she gave him her phone. At first, everything was fine. But then she heard her son’s piercing cry, jumped out of the bath, and, getting tangled in the sleeves of her robe, rushed to rescue him. Both the boy and the phone fell. The screen shattered into pieces, and blood ran from a laceration on his head. Alla was about to scream herself, but she gathered her strength and began comforting her son, holding him tightly. Then, with her son in her arms, she dashed to the landline and called for an ambulance. To her surprise, it arrived quickly, and a young paramedic stated:
— “We need to stitch him up. Pack your things, we’re going to the hospital.”
Alla was still in her robe with wet hair. How was she supposed to travel like that? Fortunately, Andrey arrived just then—she could hear the keys turning in the door with relief. After quickly assessing the situation, he took their son and said:
— “I’ll drive him.”
— “I’ll come with you,” Alla pleaded plaintively, feeling an even deeper sense of guilt.
— “With wet hair?” Andrey asked skeptically. “Dry it first and then take a taxi after us.”
Alla pointed to her phone, its screen now covered in cracks and flickering incessantly. Andrey took out his own phone, handed it over to Alla, and said:
— “Take mine, let’s go.”
Swallowing her tears, Alla grabbed a hairdryer and dried her hair. She put on her jeans and jumper, opened an app to call a taxi. It immediately prompted her to rate the trip. Almost automatically, Alla set a rating, and before she could type in the destination, she noticed that the first suggested address was completely unfamiliar to her. But there wasn’t time to think about it, so she just ordered the car. Later, once she had gotten into the taxi, she glanced again at the app to see where the driver had gone. She had never done anything like that before, so her ears even began to redden, and it seemed as if the driver—a stern man with a mustache—suspected that she was up to something improper, watching her with disapproval. That address appeared in her trip history repeatedly with unnerving regularity. After taking a closer look at the dates, she realized with horror that these were exactly the days when her husband had aikido.
Alla turned off the screen. And now what was she supposed to do with this information? Why had she even looked at it? After thinking a bit more, she turned it on again to check the call log. And sure enough—in the outgoing calls, the last number was from someone named Lena. As the saying goes, “when trouble comes, let the gates be opened?”
At the hospital, she barely managed to find her husband and son; they were already admitted, and they were just about to stitch up her son’s head. Alla wanted to go with him, but her husband gently and confidently pushed her aside, saying that he would go—he didn’t want her to have to watch and suffer.
They returned home late, fed their son chocolate balls with milk, and then, as usual, Andrey read him a bedtime story.
Alla didn’t know how to act. If he, for example, had started scolding her for going into the bathroom and leaving the baby alone, she would have retorted that if he came home after work instead of going to see Lena, there would have been someone to look after their son. But he not only refrained from blaming her—in fact, he comforted her, saying that such things could happen to anyone. And the next day he even bought her a new phone.
“Don’t even think about saying anything to him!” advised her friend, to whom she had been the only one to confide her discovery. “All they wait for is to be exposed. Well, maybe he’s having a midlife crisis or is just tired of the everyday routine. He’ll snap and forget about that Lena.”
Alla obediently nodded; she herself did not want to part with her husband—her son needed a father, and she needed a husband, so…
But she could not endure it for long. Every time he returned from aikido, tossing his training bag onto the floor, she felt like gouging his eyes out. Seriously, how could he pretend like nothing was wrong? One day, she couldn’t take it anymore, dumped his training uniform on the floor, and loudly asked:
— “Are you aware that it smells of laundry detergent? Have you ever even worn it?”
Her husband stared at her with genuine bewilderment, and Alla sank onto a footstool, covering her face with her hands, crying as she demanded:
— “Who is Lena?”
Andrey made a strange sound, then said:
— “I knew I couldn’t hide this from you for much longer… I’m sorry…”
“Sorry?” Alla exploded and nearly lunged at him with her fists. “Is that all you can say? Get out!”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of,” he sighed. “That you’d break up with me right away.”
“So you weren’t afraid to go there, huh?” Alla sneered. “One might think someone forced you.”
“No, I did it on my own,” Andrey replied without protest. “But you have to understand, who else could help her but me?”
“Who am I supposed to understand? That’s just outrageous! And who is going to understand me? Does she even know you have a wife and child?”
“Of course she knows—I always show her photographs.”
Alla could hardly imagine that one could consider showing photos of a son eating ice cream and a wife holding a bouquet of flowers to a mistress. Her husband certainly had a way of surprising her.
“You know what—enough. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Gather your things and leave.”
Andrey did not argue; he packed a couple of shirts, jeans, a razor, and his laptop into that very bag.
“I’ll collect the rest later,” he grumbled and left.
Alla had to tell her son that his father had gone on a business trip. At that moment, she didn’t have the strength to explain to him that his father was a cheat leading a double life, and that there was no longer room for him in this life. She cried all evening, and by morning everything went on as usual, leaving her no time to weep.
When the doorbell rang the next evening, Alla hoped that it was Andrey coming to beg forgiveness. At the same time, she feared he might simply want to take back his remaining belongings. She was also angry and prepared to tell him everything she thought of him. But at the doorstep stood not Andrey, but a slim girl of about fifteen years, in a short blue jacket and sneakers on bare feet—how else does one typically see teenagers around?
“Hello,” the girl said. “Are you Alla?”
“Yes,” Alla answered, bewildered, not understanding why this kid was here.
“I’m Lena. Andrey’s sister.”
Alla’s expression must have shown utter confusion, so the girl clarified:
“Your husband. He said that you found out everything about me and about Mom.”
“Sister?” Alla stammered. “What sister? He’s an orphan…”
The girl’s eyes widened, but then realization began to dawn on Alla.
“Sorry,” the girl said. “Come in.”
Alla swung the door open and stepped back. The girl entered the apartment and hesitated. At that moment, her son ran out into the corridor, already long recovered from his injury though a pale green stripe still marred his forehead.
“Maximka!” the girl joyfully exclaimed, and catching Alla’s glance, added, “I’ve always wanted to see him…”
Alla practically dragged Lena into the kitchen, and while Lena asked for forgiveness on behalf of her brother and assumed all the blame herself, Alla, through persistent questioning, uncovered the whole truth. When Andrey had met Alla, the daughter of a professor and art critic, he had been too frightened to tell her parents the truth—as was customary on the day of a first meeting, they began probing into the biographical and financial details of the man courting their daughter. How could one tell such people that his father was killed in a street brawl and his mother was an alcoholic? So he lied, claiming that his parents had long since died in a car accident. And then one lie led to another. Whatever his mother was like, she was still his mother—and he regularly visited her, brought groceries, fixed faucets and light switches. Moreover, he had a sister, for whom he was nothing less than a ray of light in a dark kingdom. This year, Lena was preparing for her exams, and Andrey would come over to tutor her. So it was all Lena’s fault. She was even willing to give up the tutoring sessions if it meant that Andrey could return home and Alla could forgive him.
“Is he with you now?” Alla asked.
Lena nodded.
Alla didn’t hesitate long. She gathered her son, called a taxi, and, together with Lena, went to that very address which had stubbornly lodged itself in her memory. Maxim asked about Lena:
“Who is that?”
“That’s your Aunt Lena,” Alla said. “And now you’ll also meet your grandmother.”
To be honest, Alla didn’t forgive Andrey right away. Not because he had deceived her for so long, but because he was ashamed of his family and had deprived his mother and sister of contact with Maxim.
“Did you ever read about semolina porridge in your childhood?” she finally asked with a smile, once her anger and resentment had completely subsided. Andrey caught her mood, smiled broadly, and said:
“I did. Everything hidden eventually becomes revealed. I won’t do it anymore.”
And they both laughed.