Oleg poked listlessly at the potatoes on his plate, letting out a heavy sigh every now and then. He looked uncomfortable, almost as though he felt guilty about something.
“Tom,” he finally began, “I’ve been thinking. You and I need to have a serious conversation.”
Oleg rarely initiated conversations like this. Usually, whenever he used those words, it meant he wanted to discuss money. This time, however, the reason was entirely different.
“They’re putting me in charge of a major project at work,” he continued. “You understand what that means—huge responsibility, business partners, constant meetings, endless things to deal with. And at home, you’re always there with your pots and pans. I simply won’t be able to concentrate properly.”
“And what do you suggest we do?” Toma asked calmly.
 
Oleg did not answer immediately. He remained silent for several seconds, as though gathering his courage, before finally saying:
“I think we should live separately for a while.”
“Is that so? And how long is ‘a while’?”
“Well… About a year.”
“I see. And who do you think should move out?”
“I will, of course,” Oleg replied quickly. “The apartment belongs to you, after all. I’ll rent a place closer to the office. You can stay here, live as usual, take care of the household…”
He studied his wife’s face before adding in a softer, more heartfelt voice:
“Please try to understand me, Tom. I’m already fifty-eight. This may be my last chance to finally become a director.”
So that was what this was about.
Oleg had dreamed of occupying the director’s chair for nearly twenty years—almost from the day he joined the company that sold boilers and radiators. Over the years, he had managed to rise to the position of deputy director. Now, apparently, he had decided to make one final push and reach the very top.
 
“Well…” Toma said thoughtfully. “As they say, a soldier who doesn’t dream of becoming a general is a poor soldier. All right. Let’s try living separately.”
Oleg immediately rose from the table, walked over to his wife, and unexpectedly dropped to one knee before her. Taking both her hands in his, he kissed each palm in turn.
“You’re such an incredible woman,” he said quietly.
“Oh, stop it,” Toma replied with an amused smile.
Oleg did not delay the move.
To Toma’s surprise, he packed quickly. He took some of his belongings with him immediately and left the rest at home, explaining that he would return for them later. Finding an apartment did not seem to cause him any difficulty either. Within three days, he had found a suitable place and moved out completely.
Before leaving, he promised solemnly:
“I’ll come and see you. I promise.”
Then he got into his car and drove away.
The following day, Toma met her longtime friend Zoya at a café and told her about her husband’s unexpected decision.
Zoya listened carefully to the whole story, and her face immediately darkened.
“So you’ve decided to live apart?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And all of this is supposedly for the sake of his career?”
“Yes, because of work,” Toma confirmed. “They gave him some important project.”
“A project…” Zoya repeated with such distaste that the word itself seemed bitter on her tongue. “Toma, tell me honestly: are you really that trusting, or are you only pretending?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything is wrong with it!” Zoya shook her head. “Think about it. What kind of extraordinary project forces a grown man to suddenly leave his comfortable home and rent a separate apartment? When have you ever heard of anything like that?”
 
She exhaled sharply, leaned across the table, and placed her hand over Toma’s.
“My dear Toma… He’s leaving you.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous! That’s exactly what he’s doing. He simply arranged everything neatly and politely so that you would agree to let him go without causing a scene.”
Those words made Toma uneasy.
An unpleasant suspicion stirred inside her, but she tried to push it away.
“Maybe it really is about work,” she said uncertainly. “You know that Oleg has dreamed of becoming a director his entire life.”
“Of course. A director,” Zoya replied with a mocking snort. “Fine, decide for yourself. But something tells me your future big boss is going to get himself into serious trouble.”
Toma said nothing and merely sighed.
 
Two weeks passed.
Oleg did keep in touch. He called his wife about every other day, although their conversations rarely lasted longer than two or three minutes.
He told her very little about himself. He claimed that he was overwhelmed with work. According to him, the rented apartment was not particularly comfortable, but at least it was located close to the office. Oleg’s voice always sounded cheerful and energetic, as though he truly spent every day resolving crucial problems and managing some enormous project.
Meanwhile, Toma gradually adjusted to her new life.
The days continued as usual.
She made an appointment at a hair salon and changed her hairstyle slightly. She bought several new outfits she had been admiring for a long time. In the evenings, she settled in front of the television with her knitting and increasingly found herself thinking that this temporary separation might actually do her some good.
After all, spending one year living entirely for herself did not sound so terrible.
She no longer had to prepare meals at a particular hour or organize her life around someone else’s schedule. She could finally do whatever she wanted in peace.
Then Zoya called unexpectedly.
It was not in the evening, as usual, but right in the middle of the working day.
“Toma, are you sitting down? If not, you’d better find a chair. I’m going to send you some photographs. Just be careful not to fall over when you see them.”
Toma frowned.
“What photographs?”
“You’ll see in a moment. I’m sending everything now. Look at them carefully, then call me back immediately.”
A few seconds later, her phone announced the arrival of several messages. Toma opened the photographs and stared at them in silence. Then her strength seemed to abandon her, and she sank onto a low stool beside the worktable.
Oleg was in the first picture.
Her husband was standing outside the entrance of an ordinary five-story apartment building. He was wearing the new blue jacket Toma had given him for his birthday. He held a large shopping bag in each hand and was chatting animatedly with an attractive woman.
Toma opened the next photograph.
 
This time, they were walking toward the building together.
She recognized the woman almost immediately. It was Stella, a manager at Oleg’s company. She dyed her hair red and was approximately ten years younger than Toma.
The pictures had clearly been taken in secret from behind a tree.
Toma called Zoya at once.
“Was this you?” was all she managed to say.
“Yes. My niece lives in that courtyard,” her friend explained quickly. “I came to see her today and… Well, you can see the rest for yourself.”
“What… What was Oleg doing there?”
Zoya fell silent for a moment.
“What do you think he was doing? He lives there.”
“With… With her?”
“Well, they entered the building together. And somehow I doubt your Oleg was merely helping her carry the groceries upstairs.”
Toma remained silent for several seconds, struggling to collect her thoughts.
“Can you give me the address?”
“Twelve Ponomarev Street, second entrance. I’ll try to find out the apartment number and call you back, all right?”
“Mm-hmm…”
 
“Toma, please don’t cry,” Zoya pleaded. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”
“I’m not crying,” Toma answered quietly.
She finished her shift and went home only after the working day was over.
The same thoughts circled endlessly through her mind along the way.
So much for his important project.
So much for the apartment near the office.
He had rented a place, all right. Except he had simply moved in with his mistress, where everything had already been prepared for him.
And he had deceived Toma as easily as though she were a naïve schoolgirl. The most painful part was not even the lie itself. It was the fact that she had helped him carry out his plan with her own hands. She had calmly agreed to the separation and willingly allowed her husband to leave.
That hurt more than anything else.
When Toma arrived home, the first thing she did was stop in front of the mirror.
For a long time, she examined her reflection.
Her age was already visible. Her figure had grown heavier, and most of her hair was gray.
Of course.
Stella was younger. Red-haired and attractive.
Everything was perfectly obvious.
Strangely, however, Toma did not feel like crying.
She felt a much stronger desire to get her hands on Oleg and give him exactly what he deserved.
“Just you wait…” she muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll show you…”
 
She brewed herself an exceptionally strong cup of tea and drank it almost in one gulp. After sitting quietly for a few minutes, she slapped her palms against her knees, stood up with determination, and rinsed the cup.
She had to do something.
But what?
Suppose Zoya found out Stella’s apartment number. Toma could go there and ring the doorbell…
Then what?
She did not yet have an answer to that question.
Zoya called the following morning while Toma was already at work.
“I found out,” her friend announced in a conspiratorial voice, as though she had obtained highly classified information.
She dictated the apartment number.
“Thank you,” Toma said.
“What are you planning to do now?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Zoya paused before adding cautiously:
“Listen, my friend… If you decide to go over there, please don’t break anything in the apartment, all right?”
Toma could not help smiling.
“All right. You’ve convinced me.”
“And one more thing… Maybe you’ll need some support. I can go with you if you want.”
Toma laughed.
 
“You’re funny. First you ask me not to destroy anything, and then you volunteer to come along.”
“I’m only offering.”
“There’s no need, Zoya. You’ve already done more than enough for me.”
“Whatever you say.”
After the call ended, Toma suddenly realized exactly what she needed to do.
Yes, she would certainly send something to Stella’s address.
But she would not go there herself.
She would send Oleg’s remaining possessions.
If her husband had decided to build a new life with another woman, then he could do it properly—without keeping a spare wardrobe in his wife’s apartment.
On her way home, however, Toma changed her mind about delivering the belongings personally.
“Absolutely not. That would be giving him far too much attention,” she muttered irritably. “I’ll pack everything and send it with a courier.”
And that was precisely what she did.
At home, she took out two large travel bags and filled them with everything Oleg had left behind. Once all his belongings were packed, Toma sat down to write a note.
Unexpectedly, that simple task proved to be the most difficult part.
She wanted to come up with something clever, sharp, and devastating enough to make Oleg uncomfortable.
But every phrase she considered sounded either too angry or too wounded.
For nearly forty minutes, Toma wrote sentences, crossed them out, and started again.
Finally, she wrote just three words:
“Separate means separate.”
She read the message again.
It was perfect.
 
Short, clear, and free of unnecessary emotion. Almost businesslike—exactly the way Oleg preferred things.
Toma placed the note inside one of the bags, called a courier, gave him Stella’s address, and paid for the delivery herself.
When the car drove away with both bags, she suddenly felt lighter.
It was as though part of the weight that had been crushing her since the previous day had left the apartment along with Oleg’s clothes.
Approximately two hours later, her phone rang.
It was Oleg.
Toma answered.
“Toma!” he shouted so loudly that she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “What have you done?! Why did you send my belongings here? And… And how did you even get this address?”
“Hello, Oleg,” she replied in a perfectly calm voice. “I decided to help you. You said you would collect the rest of your things later, but apparently you don’t have any free time. You’re working nonstop on that important project, after all. And you still have to become a director. So I thought I’d make your life a little easier.”
“How could you… This is…!” Oleg was so furious that he appeared to be choking on his own words.
A woman’s voice could be heard somewhere near him. Stella was clearly unhappy and angrily demanding answers.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Oleg finally shouted. “You’ve put me in an impossible position!”
“Why would I need to put you in one? You managed perfectly well on your own,” Toma replied evenly. “You were the one who suggested that we live separately, so go ahead and do exactly that. By the way, did you find my note?”
Oleg suddenly fell silent.
 
Stella, on the other hand, could now be heard perfectly clearly in the background. She loudly demanded to know who was calling, where the bags had come from, and what was going on.
“Toma, please don’t do this,” Oleg said suddenly, his voice low and almost pleading. “We’re both adults. This is only temporary. I told you about the project…”
Toma gave a dry laugh.
“Why is Stella so upset, then? What exactly did you tell her about me? Did you say we were already divorced? Or that the divorce was almost finalized?”
“Toma, I’m coming over right now,” Oleg declared firmly.
“No, you aren’t. I changed the locks.”
Silence filled the line.
“You… What?”
“You heard me.”
Toma ended the call and immediately switched her phone to silent mode.
Oleg attempted to call her five more times, but eventually gave up.
In truth, Toma had not changed the locks yet.
After that conversation, however, she decided it was an excellent idea and saw no reason to postpone it. The apartment had belonged to her before the marriage, so she had every right to decide who could enter her home.
A few days later, Zoya called again.
“How are you doing?” her friend asked.
“I’m all right, I suppose.”
“I visited my niece again today,” Zoya said. “And you won’t believe it—I saw your Oleg there again. He was standing outside the building with all his bags, and that woman was beside him. They were arguing so loudly that the entire courtyard could hear them. She kept shouting, ‘You told me something completely different about your wife!’ And he kept insisting, ‘You misunderstood everything!’ Can you imagine? People were leaning out of their windows to watch.”
 
“Well…” was all Toma could say.
“Has he come to see you?”
“No. Why would he?”
“Then where did he go with all those bags?”
Toma sighed.
“I don’t know, Zoya. And honestly, I have no desire to find out.”
Oleg continued trying to contact her for some time.
First, he called. Then he switched to text messages.
At the beginning, his messages were angry and demanding. Gradually, however, his tone changed.
Soon, they became pitiful and pleading:
“Toma, my dear, I understand everything now. Forgive me. Let’s try to start over.”
Toma read the messages but never replied.
 
“Separate means separate,” she thought.
Before long, their marriage officially ended.
And Toma already knew exactly what she intended to do next.
To begin with, she decided to follow Oleg’s original plan and spend a year living separately.
Only now, she would not be living apart from her husband.
She would be living entirely for herself.
And what happened after that?
Only time would tell.