Every morning Yulia woke to the sound of raindrops tapping on the windowsill and saw gray clouds outside. The weather seemed to match her mood—anxious, uncertain, filled with vague suspicions.
For the third week in a row, her husband Igor packed a sports bag and announced:
“ My parents aren’t feeling well. I’ll go 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, your health really can fail you.
“Of course, go,” his wife said. “Give them my regards—tell them I’m worried too.”
Igor left on Friday evening and returned Monday morning. He came back tired and withdrawn, as if from a grueling shift. When asked about his parents’ condition, he answered curtly:
“They’re better. But still weak.”
“What exactly hurts your mom?” Yulia would ask.
“Everything hurts. Age,” her husband waved it off.
The second time, the same story repeated a week later.
“Bad again?” his wife asked, surprised.
“Mom fell and bruised herself. Dad’s nervous. I have to go,” Igor explained, tucking clean shirts into his bag.
“Maybe I should go too? I could help.”
“No need. It’s cramped there as it is. Better you stay home.”
Yulia agreed. With her husband’s parents she had always tried to keep a respectful distance. She didn’t impose, didn’t offer unsolicited advice. Lyudmila Pavlovna was a reserved woman, not particularly warm. They were polite to each other, but not close.
The third trip happened the following weekend.
“What is it this time?” Yulia asked, watching Igor pack jeans and a sweater into his bag.
“Dad’s really bad now. His pressure is all over the place. Mom can’t handle it alone.”
“Did you call a doctor?”
“We did. But you know what the local clinic doctors are like these days. He prescribed some pills and left.”
Igor sounded convincing, but something in his tone set Yulia on edge. It sounded too rehearsed, without the lived emotion of someone truly worried about sick parents.
“Igor, maybe they should be hospitalized? If it’s that serious?”
“They don’t want to. They’re afraid of hospitals. Say it’s calmer at home.”
He closed the bag and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Don’t miss me. I’ll try to get things sorted quickly.”
After Igor left, Yulia was alone with a growing sense of unease. She tried to remember when she had last spoken to her mother-in-law on the phone. It had been about a month ago. Lyudmila Pavlovna had called to congratulate a friend on her birthday.
Back then her mother-in-law had sounded lively, asked about Yulia’s work, and chatted about the dacha. No complaints about her health. On the contrary, she bragged about the tomato harvest and her plans for the winter.
“Strange,” Yulia murmured, standing at the window and watching the autumn rain. “If she’s feeling so bad, why hasn’t she called? She used to let me know whenever she was ill.”
On Monday, Igor came back even gloomier.
“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 local one. You said you called him.”
“Oh, right. He said to keep an eye on things. If it gets worse—hospital.”
Igor changed quickly and sat down at the computer. He clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation.
That evening, when her husband went to shower, Yulia picked up his phone. She had never checked his mobile before, but something told her—she needed to look.
There were no calls to his parents. None outgoing, none incoming. For the past two weeks—no contact at all with Lyudmila Pavlovna or Viktor Semyonovich.
“How can that be?” Yulia whispered. “If Igor is staying with them, why call?”
But usually, whenever her husband went away, his parents would phone Yulia at least once. To ask how she was, whether she needed to send anything with their son. This time—silence.
The fourth trip was the next Friday.
“Your parents again?” Yulia clarified.
“Yes. Mom’s running a fever. I’m afraid she caught a chill.”
“Igor, maybe I should go with you after all? I can help take care of them.”
“Why do you need extra trouble?” he snapped. “You have enough work of your own.”
“It’s no trouble. In the end, they’re your parents—which makes them mine too.”
“Yulia, don’t. It’s cramped there already. And you’ll just catch whatever they’ve got.”
Igor spoke persuasively, but he avoided meeting her eyes. He packed in a hurry, as if he were late for a train.
“Which commuter train are you taking?” his wife asked.
“The regular one. Seven in the evening.”
“Want me to walk you to the station?”
“No need. I’ll get there myself.”
He kissed her and hurried out. Yulia was left in an apartment full of unfinished sentences and odd coincidences.
She spent Saturday morning deep in thought. Her mind churned, giving her no rest. On the one hand, it would be unfair to accuse her husband of lying without proof. On the other, too many strange things had piled up over the past month.
“Am I really just a suspicious wife?” Yulia scolded herself. “Maybe his parents truly are ill, and I’m inventing problems out of nothing?”
By lunchtime she had made up her mind. If her in-laws were sick, they would surely welcome their daughter-in-law’s care. Yulia would bake a homemade pie, buy fruit, put together some treats, and go visit her husband’s parents.
“I’ll surprise them,” she decided. “And I’ll surprise Igor too.”
The kitchen was a pleasant mess. Yulia kneaded dough for a pie—her mother’s signature recipe. While it baked in the oven, she ran to the store for fruit and juice.
By three o’clock 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 pretty dress, put on a little makeup, and headed to the station.
On the train she smiled, imagining how delighted her husband would be by her sudden appearance. Igor would open the door, see his wife with bags of treats, blink in confusion, and then break into a smile.
“Yulia? Where did you come from?” he would say.
“I decided to visit,” she would reply. “To check on the patients.”
The trip to his parents’ house took an hour and a half. Lyudmila Pavlovna and Viktor Semyonovich lived in a small town outside Moscow, in a two-story house with a garden. Igor had grown up there and knew every corner.
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 said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
She looked wonderful. Rosy cheeks, clear eyes, no sign of illness. She wore a tracksuit, her hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hello, Lyudmila Pavlovna,” Yulia said, taken aback. “I came to see you. Igor said you were sick.”
“Sick?” her mother-in-law laughed. “What illness? We’re healthy as horses! Where did you hear that?”
Yulia felt the blood rush to her face. Her heart sped up, and the bags of treats suddenly seemed unbearably heavy.
“But Igor… He said he was taking care of you. That you weren’t feeling well.”
“Taking care of us?” Lyudmila shook her head. “Yulenka, we haven’t seen our son in a week! Maybe longer!”
A voice came from deeper in the house:
“Lyuda, who is it?”
“Yulia came to see us!” she called back.
Viktor Semyonovich appeared in the hallway. A seventy-year-old man, gray-haired but sturdy, in work pants and a plaid shirt. He’d clearly just been tinkering in his workshop.
“Oh, our daughter-in-law!” he brightened. “What brings you here? You don’t visit us often!”
“Viktor Semyonovich, where’s Igor?” Yulia asked bluntly.
“How should I know?” he shrugged. “Maybe at work? Or at home with you?”
“He came to you. He said you were ill and needed care.”
Her father-in-law exchanged a look with his wife.
“Yulia, we’re not ill. And we haven’t seen Igor in ages. When was it, Lyuda?”
“On Peter’s Day,” Lyudmila remembered. “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 snap. Every one of her husband’s explanations, every trip to his “sick parents,” turned out to be a lie. A clear, bald-faced lie.
“Yulenka, what happened?” Lyudmila asked anxiously. “You look pale. Come in, we’ll have tea.”
“Thank you, but I have to 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. Please enjoy.”
“And where’s Igor?” her father-in-law asked, puzzled. “Why isn’t he with you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
They walked her to the gate, exchanging bewildered looks. Yulia headed for the bus stop, hardly feeling her legs.
In her head, scraps of thoughts piled up: where had Igor been spending his weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as cover? And most importantly—how long had this lie been going on?
The bus ride to the station took half an hour. Yulia stared out the window at the gray September landscapes and tried to gather her thoughts. Every trip her husband had made to his “sick parents” now felt like mockery. Every explanation—a cynical manipulation.
“So while I was worrying about his parents, he…” Yulia couldn’t finish the thought.
On the train she took out her phone, intending to call her husband. Then she changed her mind. What would she ask? Where are you? With whom? Why are you lying?
Better to wait at home. To look him in the eye while he offered up another lie.
Yulia got home at eight in the evening. The apartment was quiet and empty. She sat on the couch and waited.
Igor returned Monday morning, as usual. Keys clinked in the lock; the door opened. He came in tired and rumpled, carrying the same sports bag.
“Hi,” Igor grunted, heading to the bedroom. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine,” Yulia answered calmly. “How was yours?”
“Rough. My parents are really bad.”
“Yeah?” She stood up from the couch. “What exactly is wrong with them?”
“Mom’s running a fever, Dad took his blood pressure all night. We’re worn out.”
He spoke without looking up, tossing dirty laundry into the basket and pulling medicine out of his 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 else? At my parents’. I told you.”
“Your parents are fine. They haven’t seen you in a week.”
Igor froze with a shirt in his hands.
“What are you talking about?”
“I went to see them yesterday. I wanted to help with the ‘patients.’ Lyudmila Pavlovna laughed when I asked about the illness.”
His face went pale.
“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’re 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 toward 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 coldly.
“Well… that I have someone. Another woman.”
“And isn’t that the case?”
Igor was silent. A minute passed, then another. At last he sighed heavily.
“There is,” he admitted quietly.
Yulia nodded. Strangely, she felt no anger. Only emptiness and clarity.
“I see.”
“Yulia, it’s not serious! It’s just… 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 figure myself out. To understand what I need.”
“And did you?”
He fell silent again.
“Igor, I’m asking: 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 supposedly sick parents for the sake of an affair.”
“It’s not an affair…”
“Call it what you like. The result is the same—you’ve been deceiving me for a month.”
She went to the bedroom and took a small suitcase from the closet.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked, alarmed.
“Packing,” Yulia said, putting in the essentials. “I’ll stay with a friend. While we sort things out.”
“What do you mean, sort things out?”
“You with your feelings. Me with the divorce papers.”
“Yulia, don’t rush! Let’s talk calmly!”
“About what?” She closed the suitcase. “About how you led me by the nose for a month? About how I worried over your perfectly healthy parents?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
“And 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 something, call me. But I doubt you’ll find an excuse for a month of lies.”
“What about our home? Our family?”
“Family is trust,” she replied. “The house can be divided through 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 sick parents again?”
“I won’t lie. I promise.”
“Igor,” she said at the threshold, “you promised to be a faithful husband. You can see how promises have turned out.”
She stepped out and closed the door. The stairwell was quiet; somewhere above, music was playing.
A fine drizzle fell outside—the same as a month ago, when it had all begun. Yulia raised the collar of her jacket and headed for the metro.
Her phone rang as she was going down into the underpass. Her husband’s name lit up the screen. Yulia declined the call and put the phone back in her bag.
The decision was made. She could no longer live with a man who had spent a month using his supposedly sick parents as cover for an affair. Trust was destroyed—and so was the family.
Ahead lay conversations with lawyers, division of property, a new life. But at least this life would be honest. No lies about sick parents and secret trips to another woman.
The subway train carried Yulia away from the past toward an unknown, but honest, future.