Every morning, Yulia woke to the sound of raindrops tapping on the windowsill and saw gray clouds outside the window. The weather seemed to mirror her mood—anxious, uncertain, full of vague suspicions.
For the third week in a row, her husband Igor packed a gym bag and announced:
“My parents aren’t feeling well. I’m going to them for a couple of days.”
The first time, Yulia took his words with understanding. Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Pavlovna, had recently had gallbladder surgery. Her father-in-law, Viktor Semyonovich, complained of high blood pressure. At sixty-five, health can indeed fail.
“Of course, go,” his wife said. “Give them my regards—tell them I’m worried too.”
Igor left on Friday evenings and returned Monday mornings. He came back tired and withdrawn, as if from a grueling shift. When asked about his parents’ condition, he answered curtly:
“They’re better. Still weak.”
“What exactly is hurting your mom?” Yulia would ask.
“Everything. It’s her age,” her husband would wave it off.
The second time, the same story repeated a week later.
“Are they unwell again?” his wife asked in surprise.
“Mom fell and bruised herself. Dad’s nervous. I need to go,” Igor explained, packing clean shirts into his bag.
“Maybe I should go too? I could help somehow.”
“No need. It’s cramped there as it is. Better if you stay home.”
Yulia agreed. In dealing with her husband’s parents, she always tried to keep her distance. She didn’t impose, didn’t offer unsolicited advice. Lyudmila Pavlovna was a reserved woman, not particularly warm. They were polite with each other but never close.
The third trip happened the following weekend.
“What is it this time?” Yulia asked, watching Igor put jeans and a sweater into his bag.
“Dad’s feeling really bad. His blood pressure is spiking. Mom can’t manage alone.”
“Did you call a doctor?”
“We did. But you know how the clinic doctors are these days. He prescribed some pills and left.”
Igor sounded convincing, but something in his tone made his wife wary. It all sounded too rehearsed, lacking the genuine emotion of someone truly worried about sick parents.
“Igor, maybe they should go to the hospital if it’s that serious?”
“They don’t want to. They’re afraid of hospitals. They say it’s calmer at home.”
He zipped up his bag and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Don’t miss me. I’ll try to be quick.”
After Igor left, Yulia was alone with a growing unease. She tried to remember the last time she had spoken with her mother-in-law on the phone. It came out to be about a month ago. Lyudmila Pavlovna had called to congratulate her on a friend’s birthday.
Back then her mother-in-law had sounded lively, asked about Yulia’s work, and talked about the vegetable garden. There were no health complaints. On the contrary, she’d boasted about the tomato harvest and plans for the winter.
“Strange,” Yulia murmured, standing at the window and looking at the autumn rain. “If she’s feeling so bad, why hasn’t she called? She always used to let me know when she was sick.”
On Monday, Igor returned even more sullen.
“How are your parents?” his wife asked.
“Dad’s better. Mom’s still weak.”
“And what did the doctor say?”
“What doctor?” he didn’t understand.
“The clinic doctor. You said you had one come over.”
“Oh, right. He said to keep an eye on them. If it gets worse, take them to the hospital.”
Igor quickly changed clothes and sat down at the computer. He clearly didn’t want to keep talking.
That evening, when her husband went to shower, Yulia took his phone. She had never checked his mobile before, but something told her she needed to look.
There were no calls to or from his parents. Not a single outgoing or incoming call. For the last two weeks—no contact with Lyudmila Pavlovna or Viktor Semyonovich at all.
“How can that be?” Yulia whispered. “If Igor’s staying with them, why would he call?”
But usually, when her husband went away, his parents would phone Yulia at least once. To ask how she was, whether she needed anything sent along with their son. This time—silence.
The fourth trip came the next Friday.
“Your parents again?” Yulia checked.
“Yes. Mom’s running a fever. I’m afraid she caught a cold.”
“Igor, maybe I really should go with you? I can help take care of them.”
“Why do you need that extra hassle?” her husband snapped. “You’ve got enough work yourself.”
“It’s not a problem. In the end, they’re your parents. Which means they’re mine too.”
“Yulia, don’t. It’s cramped, and you might catch something.”
Igor sounded convincing, but he avoided meeting her eyes. He was throwing things into the bag hurriedly, as if he were late for a train.
“Which commuter train are you taking?” his wife asked.
“The regular one. Seven p.m.”
“Want me to walk you to the station?”
“No. I’ll get there myself.”
He kissed her and left in a rush. Yulia was left in an apartment full of unfinished sentences and odd coincidences.
She spent Saturday morning thinking. Her thoughts tangled and wouldn’t let her rest. On the one hand, accusing her husband of lying without proof would be unfair. On the other—too many oddities had piled up over the past month.
“What am I, a suspicious wife?” Yulia scolded herself. “Maybe his parents really are sick and I’m inventing problems out of thin air?”
By lunchtime she’d made a decision. If her in-laws were ill, surely they would be happy to have their daughter-in-law’s care. Yulia would bake a homemade pie, buy some fruit, put together a care package, and go visit her husband’s parents.
“I’ll surprise them,” she decided. “And surprise Igor too.”
The kitchen turned into a pleasant chaos. Yulia kneaded dough for a pie—her mother’s signature recipe. While it baked, she went to the store for fruit and juice.
By three in the afternoon, everything was ready. The fragrant pie was cooling on the table; a bag of oranges and bananas stood by the door. Yulia changed into a nice dress, put on a touch of makeup, and headed to the station.
On the commuter train she smiled, picturing how delighted her husband would be at her sudden appearance. Igor would open the door, see his wife with the care packages, blink in confusion, and then break into a smile.
“Yulia? Where did you come from?” he’d say.
“I decided to visit you,” she’d reply. “Check on the sick.”
The trip to his parents’ house took an hour and a half. Lyudmila Pavlovna and Viktor Semyonovich lived in a small town near Moscow, in a two-story house with a garden. Igor had grown up in that house; he knew every corner of it.
Yulia walked up to the familiar gate and rang the bell. A minute later the door opened and her mother-in-law appeared on the threshold.
“Yulia?” Lyudmila Pavlovna was surprised. “What are you doing here?”
She looked wonderful. Rosy cheeks, clear eyes, no signs of illness. She was wearing a tracksuit, her hair neatly pulled back into a ponytail.
“Hello, Lyudmila Pavlovna,” Yulia said, flustered. “I came to see you. Igor said you were sick.”
“Sick?” her mother-in-law laughed sincerely. “What sickness? We’re fit as horses! Where did you get that from?”
Yulia felt the blood rush to her face. Her heart started pounding, and the bags of treats suddenly seemed unbearably heavy.
“But Igor… He said he was caring for you. That you were feeling poorly.”
“Caring for us?” Lyudmila shook her head. “Yulenka, we haven’t seen our son for a week! Maybe longer!”
From deeper in the house her father-in-law’s voice sounded:
“Lyuda, who’s there?”
“Yulia came to see us!” she called back.
Viktor Semyonovich appeared in the entryway. A seventy-year-old man, gray-haired but sturdy, in work pants and a plaid shirt. Judging by his outfit, he’d just been puttering in the workshop.
“Oh, our daughter-in-law!” he greeted her warmly. “What brings you? You don’t visit us often!”
“Where is Igor, Viktor Semyonovich?” Yulia asked plainly.
“How should I know?” he shrugged. “Maybe at work? Or at your place?”
“He came here. He said you were ill and needed care.”
Her father-in-law exchanged a glance with his wife.
“Yulia, we’re not sick. And Igor hasn’t been here in a long time. When was the last time, Lyuda?”
“On Peter’s Day,” Lyudmila recalled. “In July. He came for his father’s birthday.”
“That’s right. He hasn’t even called since,” Viktor confirmed.
Something inside Yulia seemed to break. Every explanation from her husband, every trip to his “sick” parents had been a lie. A plain, bald-faced lie.
“Yulenka, what’s wrong?” Lyudmila grew concerned. “You’re pale. Come in, have some tea.”
“Thank you, but I should go,” the daughter-in-law muttered.
“How can you go? You just got here! And you brought a pie—I can see it!” her mother-in-law protested.
“Another time.” Yulia handed them the bags. “These are for you. Enjoy.”
“And where’s Igor?” her father-in-law didn’t understand. “Why isn’t he with you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
They walked her to the gate, exchanging baffled looks. Yulia headed for the bus stop, unable to feel her legs.
Broken bits of thought piled up in her head: Where had Igor been spending his weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as cover? And most importantly—how long had this lying been going on?
The bus to the station took half an hour. Yulia stared out at the gray September landscapes, trying to gather her thoughts. Each “trip to the sick parents” now seemed like mockery. Every explanation—cynical manipulation.
“So while I worried about his parents, he…” Yulia couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.
On the train she pulled out her phone to call her husband. Then changed her mind. What would she ask? Where are you? With whom? Why are you lying?
Better to wait at home. Look him in the eye when he spun his next lie.
She got home by eight in the evening. The apartment was quiet and empty. Yulia sat on the couch and waited.
Igor returned Monday morning as usual. Keys clinked in the lock, the door opened. He came in exhausted and rumpled, with the same gym bag.
“Hi,” Igor muttered, heading to the bedroom. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine,” Yulia replied calmly. “And yours?”
“Rough. My parents are really bad.”
“Yeah?” She stood up from the couch. “What exactly is wrong with them?”
“Mom had a fever, Dad was taking his blood pressure all night. We’re worn out.”
He spoke without looking up, sorting dirty laundry into the basket and pulling medicines from the bag.
“Igor,” his wife called softly. “Look at me.”
He raised his head. Anxiety flickered in his eyes.
“Where were you all these days?” Yulia asked directly.
“Where do you think? With my parents. I told you.”
“Your parents are fine. They haven’t seen you in a week.”
Igor froze, a shirt in his hands.
“What are you talking about?”
“I went to see them yesterday. I wanted to help with the sick. Lyudmila Pavlovna laughed when I asked about illness.”
His face drained of color.
“You went to my parents? Why?”
“Because I believed you. I thought they were really sick.”
“Yulia, you don’t understand…”
“What don’t I understand?” she cut him off. “That you’ve been lying to me for a month? That you’ve been using your parents as cover?”
“It’s not a lie…”
“Then what is it?” Yulia stepped closer. “Igor, where did you spend the weekends? With whom?”
He turned to the window.
“I can’t explain right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Yulia, trust me. It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” she asked coolly.
“Well… that I’ve got someone. Another woman.”
“And isn’t that true?”
Igor was silent. The silence stretched for a minute, then another. At last he sighed heavily.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly.
Yulia nodded. Strangely, she felt no anger. Only emptiness and clarity.
“I see.”
“Yulia, it’s not serious! It just… happened…”
“A month ago it ‘happened’?”
“No, earlier. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“So you lied about your sick parents?”
“I wanted to sort myself out. To understand what I need.”
“And did you?”
He fell silent again.
“Igor, I’m asking you: did you figure out what you need?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
“I do,” Yulia said. “I need someone who doesn’t lie. Who doesn’t hide behind sick parents as cover for an affair.”
“It’s not an affair…”
“Call it what you want. The result is the same—you’ve been deceiving me for a month.”
She went into the bedroom and took a small suitcase from the closet.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked, alarmed.
“Packing,” Yulia said, putting the essentials into the case. “I’ll stay with a friend. While we sort things out.”
“Sort what out?”
“You—your feelings. Me—the divorce papers.”
“Yulia, don’t rush! Let’s talk calmly!”
“About what? How you led me by the nose for a month? How I worried about your perfectly healthy parents?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you…”
“So you hurt me even more.”
Yulia took the documents from the safe, put her phone and charger into her bag.
“If you want to explain anything, call. But I doubt you’ll find excuses for a month of lies.”
“What about our home? Our family?”
“Family is trust,” she replied. “And a house can be divided by lawyers.”
Yulia walked to the door.
“Wait,” Igor pleaded. “Maybe we can still try? I’ll end everything, we’ll start over…”
“Start with what? With you lying about your parents being sick again?”
“I won’t lie. I promise.”
“Igor,” she paused on the threshold, “you promised to be a faithful husband. You can see how your promises turned out.”
Yulia stepped out and closed the door behind her. The stairwell was quiet; somewhere upstairs, music was playing.
A fine drizzle was falling outside. The same as a month ago, when it all began. Yulia turned up her collar and walked toward the metro.
Her phone rang as she went down into the underpass. Her husband’s name lit up the screen. Yulia declined the call and slipped the phone back into her bag.
The decision was made. She could no longer live with a man who had used his supposedly ill parents for a month as cover for his infidelity. The trust was gone, and so was the family.
Ahead lay talks with lawyers, division of property, a new life. But at least that life would be honest—no lies about sick parents and no secret trips to another woman.
The subway train carried Yulia away from the past and toward an unknown, but honest, future.