The morning began as always, with the quiet rhythm honed over the years. Sofia brewed fragrant coffee in her favorite ceramic mug, the very one with the delicate gold rim along the edge. This object had been a silent witness to many of her morning thoughts and plans, a gift for one of those memorable dates, symbolizing the warmth of the home hearth. Outside the large window of her office, located on a high floor, the city was slowly waking up: the roofs of neighboring buildings were lightly dusted with the first autumn frost, and the sky, covered with thick clouds, promised a quiet, lingering rain. On the computer screen was the final version of the presentation—a result of many weeks of painstaking work: precise figures, carefully thought-out charts, a structured narrative logic that was supposed to win the hearts of the strictest investors.
The night before, Artem had helped her rehearse the speech, as he always did. He sat across from her, listening carefully to every phrase, and from time to time gently adjusted her intonation, joking that she spoke with such unshakable confidence as if she had already built this grand shopping complex with her own hands. She had laughed then, feeling a surge of tenderness, and leaned against his reliable shoulder, thinking about how lucky she was. Seven years side by side, and he still knew how to create this feeling of safety and understanding, could listen and support her in any situation.
The silence of the morning was suddenly broken by an insistent knock at the door.
“Come in,” Sofia said, without taking her eyes off the monitor, where the last slide seemed perfect.
The door opened, and a woman appeared in the office. She was a bright, almost jarring spot in the calm, restrained atmosphere of the workspace. Fair-haired, in a pink blazer, with flawless makeup and a stride full of confidence bordering on defiance. Sofia involuntarily frowned, feeling a flicker of irritation at the intrusion.
“Are you Sofia Igorevna?” the stranger’s voice was even and calm.
“Yes, that’s me. And you are? Did we have a meeting scheduled? I don’t recall.”
The woman took a few steps into the office and firmly closed the door behind her, as if cutting Sofia off from the outside world. Her smile was cold and unkind, never reaching her eyes.
“My name is Viktoria Semyonova. And I am the one your husband has been seeing for over a year.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unreal. The ceramic mug, that very one so dear to her heart, suddenly slipped from Sofia’s weakened fingers and shattered against the parquet with a sharp, piercing crash. The hot coffee spread in a dark pool across the light floor, staining her trousers, but she felt nothing except the growing emptiness inside.
“What did you say?” Her own voice sounded hoarse and foreign.
“Artem Borisovich has been spending a lot of time with me. Every Tuesday and every Thursday he is not at business meetings. He is with me. We rent a small but very cozy apartment in the northern part of the city. It has a fresh renovation, carefully chosen furniture… and the window looks out onto a playground. I find that very symbolic, don’t you?”
Sofia felt the floor slipping out from under her feet. Her heart pounded so furiously it seemed it would burst out of her chest at any moment. Her mouth went dry, and every word came with tremendous effort.
“Why are you telling me this? What’s your purpose?”
Viktoria slowly, almost with relish, ran her hand over her stomach, and that movement was full of horrifying meaning.
“Because we’re going to have a baby soon. I’m already five months along. We’re expecting a girl. We’ve already chosen a name for her—Alisa. Your husband has been promising for many weeks to sort out all the formalities and start a new life, but he keeps putting it off. I need clarity. I’m tired of waiting.”
“This can’t be,” Sofia whispered, shaking her head in a meaningless attempt to drive away the nightmare. “You’re mistaken.”
“You need proof? I’m ready to provide it.”
A modern smartphone appeared from her bag. With a strange, almost sadistic pleasure, Viktoria began flipping through photos that captured moments of someone else’s happiness.
“Here we are having dinner at a wonderful restaurant. We were celebrating the anniversary of our first meeting. And here, look—a gold bracelet set with sapphires. He gave it to me for my birthday. Recognize it?”
Sofia recognized it instantly. The very same bracelet, the one that cost quite a lot, the one Artem had explained as a gift for an important colleague named Ksenia, who had done the company an invaluable favor. She herself, trusting him without question, had even helped choose the piece in the jewelry store, sincerely believing that story. The idea of deception was so monstrous that her mind refused to accept it.
“And here we’re choosing a stroller together. He’s kissing my belly. You can see everything quite clearly here, can’t you?”
“Stop,” Sofia’s voice trembled. “Please, leave.”
Viktoria slowly, with a theatrical pause, put the phone back into her bag.
“Now you have all the information. I know where you live, your phone number, your work schedule. Think about what you’re going to do. And by the way…” She turned back in the doorway, throwing her final phrase over her shoulder, “Artem once mentioned that he likes my borscht much more. And that you, unfortunately, often overcook meat. It gets a bit too dry.”
The door closed, and Sofia was left completely alone among the fragments of the broken mug and the ruins of her former life, which only a few minutes ago had seemed so solid and secure.
She sat motionless for quite a while—perhaps fifteen minutes, perhaps longer—unable to comprehend what had happened. Then, almost automatically, she picked up her mobile phone and dialed a number.
“Artem, we need to meet. Urgently. Right now.”
“What’s happened?” His voice sounded wary; she could hear the anxiety in it.
“Viktoria Semyonova just came to my office.”
A long, oppressive silence hung on the other end of the line. Then he murmured quietly, almost inaudibly:
“It’s not what you think… It’s a complicated situation.”
“She told me she’s expecting your child.”
“Sofia, listen… We can’t be one hundred percent sure the child is mine. We need to sort this out.”
She didn’t answer. She simply set the phone down on the desk and rested her forehead against its cool, smooth surface. There were no tears, only a sensation of icy cold spreading through her veins, and a total emptiness.
The rest of the day passed as if in a dense fog. Colleagues came in, asked questions, inquired how she was feeling, and she merely nodded automatically, signed papers, and replied in monosyllabic “yes” or “no,” like a programmed mechanism. In her mind, the same memories played on a loop: their dinners by candlelight, his tender morning kisses in the kitchen, his words she had considered the truest in the world: “You are my real home, my safe harbor.”
In the evening they met in the same small café where they had once celebrated their first anniversary. Artem nervously toyed with his lighter, his fingers trembling slightly.
“It all happened completely by accident, at one corporate party… I wasn’t myself, I’d had too much to drink… She offered me a ride… One thing sort of flowed into another…”
“And this ‘other’ has been going on for an entire year?” Sofia asked, her voice even and cold.
“I tried to end it, honestly! But she started threatening to kill herself if I left! And now this pregnancy… I just didn’t know how to tell you…”
“Do you have feelings for her? Do you love her?”
“No! Of course not! My feelings are only for you! You have to believe me!”
“A year-long ‘mistake’ with a woman who is carrying your child? It’s hard to call that a simple mistake, Artem.”
“We can fix everything! I’ll do anything! We can start over, from a clean slate!”
She rose slowly from the table, feeling every cell of her body fill with heaviness and fatigue.
“Our train has already left. And it’s not coming back.”
He tried to take her hand, to grab her fingers, to hold her back, but she sharply, almost desperately, pulled away and, without looking back, walked out into the street, where the long-promised rain had just begun to fall.
At home, trying to warm herself with a cup of tea and honey, she suddenly remembered clearly: Viktoria Semyonova—she worked as a manager at Eastern Project, their main and most relentless competitor in the market. Six months earlier, it was this very woman who had managed to lure away one of Sofia’s key and most important clients. Back then, during an internal investigation, Sofia had uncovered a whole series of serious violations: the use of confidential data, elements of bribery, manipulation during tenders. But at the time, guided by the interests of her company and wishing to preserve business relations, she decided not to make the matter public, not to start a loud scandal. All the collected documents, evidence, and notes remained in her personal safe, in a folder with a harmless title: “Disputed Cases.”
Now the situation had changed dramatically. Everything had taken on a new, terrifying meaning.
The next morning Sofia arrived at the office before even the cleaning ladies began their rounds. She opened the secure safe, took out that very folder, and once more, slowly and thoughtfully, reread every page, every document. The violations she had recorded were not just serious—they were blatant, egregious. Exactly at nine o’clock she dialed the number of Andrey Petrovich Smirnov, the general director of Eastern Project.
“Andrey Petrovich, good morning, this is Sofia Igorevna from Northern Wind. Do you remember our last competition for the shopping complex construction contract?”
“How could I not? You proved yourself to be a very strong and worthy opponent. It was a fair fight.”
“I have information concerning the methods used by one of your employees—Viktoria Semyonova. It appears she has been systematically and knowingly violating the terms of our gentlemen’s agreement about fair competition.”
Their conversation lasted almost an hour. Sofia was calm and logical. She sent scans of the supporting documents and carefully, point by point, laid everything out. On the other end of the line, at first Andrey Petrovich was surprised, then shocked, but in the end he thanked her and promised to look into everything immediately.
“If the information you’ve provided is confirmed, we will take the harshest, unprecedented measures. Such behavior is unacceptable in our company.”
“I would be very grateful if my name did not appear in this investigation. I’d prefer to remain an anonymous source.”
“Of course, I understand. Your confidentiality will be protected.”
Two days later, Artem called. His voice sounded agitated and frightened.
“Viktoria’s been fired! There’s a real scandal in the company! She’s sure this is your firm’s doing!”
“What an incredible coincidence,” Sofia said in an even, dispassionate tone.
“She’s threatening to tell my bosses everything! About our relationship!”
“Let her try. That no longer concerns me.”
“But I could lose my position! Lose everything we’ve built!”
“Unfortunately, that’s no longer my problem. You made your own choices.”
A week later she officially filed for divorce. Artem drove to her house, begged, cried, swore eternal love and repentance. She listened to him silently behind the closed door, unable to utter a single word. Then the calls from Viktoria began—at first full of hateful threats and accusations, then, as despair engulfed her too, pleas for help and support. Sofia stopped answering those calls and simply deleted their numbers from her phone.
Her response was not driven by blind revenge or a desire to cause pain. She did not seek to destroy other people’s lives out of anger or resentment. She had simply restored trampled justice—both in the professional sphere and in her own personal life. And for the first time in many long and difficult weeks, she clearly felt: she was no longer a victim of circumstances and no longer a deceived wife. She was the full-fledged architect of her own destiny, the person who held the blueprint of her life in her own hands. And this new project awaiting her ahead was far grander, brighter, and more meaningful than any shopping center. It was a project of life from a clean slate, a life in which the main investor and inspirer was she herself.
And then one early morning, when the first rays of the sun were just beginning to gild the edges of the clouds, Sofia once again stood at her big window. In her hands she held a new mug—simple, white, without any decoration. She raised it in a silent toast to the rising sun. Not to the past, where pain and betrayal were left behind, and not to some phantom future that had not yet arrived. But to the present. To this quiet, clear morning, to this day that belonged only to her. And in that silence, in that light, a new hope was being born—quiet as the first snow and just as pure. She knew: the most important building was her own life. And its foundation, tested by trials, was from now on unshakable