Evening light softly filtered through the sheer curtains, leaving whimsical patterns on the living room floor. Rita placed two dinner plates on the table and glanced at the clock almost on autopilot. Eight o’clock. Oleg had promised to be here at seven, but in recent months his words had become worth nothing.
Rita took out her mobile phone and dialed her husband, but a familiar recorded message informed her that the subscriber was temporarily unavailable. The woman sighed and put one plate into the refrigerator. Dining alone again. Just like yesterday. And the day before.
To outsiders, their family seemed impeccable. Together for more than ten years, with a beautiful suburban home and stable incomes. Rita worked at a travel agency, while Oleg was a manager at a large company. They took vacations twice a year, maintained the tradition of going to the cinema on Saturdays, and enjoyed Sunday walks in the park. Their friends considered them the perfect couple. Olga and Maxim were always bickering, Svetlana lived with her husband as if they were just neighbors, and Nastya, after her breakup, no longer believed in lasting relationships. Against this backdrop, Rita and Oleg’s marriage appeared to be the epitome of stability.
The most amazing thing was that Rita believed it too. Until recently.
It all began with something trivial. In February, Oleg forgot their anniversary—the first time in ten years. There were no flowers, no gift, not even a message. That evening, Rita asked her husband directly:
— Do you remember what day it is today?
— Wednesday, — replied Oleg, without looking up from his smartphone.
— No, what’s the date?
— The fifteenth, I think.
Rita said nothing then. She simply walked to the kitchen and stared out the window for a long time, trying to calm a strange unease. Maybe he was really swamped at work? After all, after ten years together, they weren’t newlyweds expecting an annual celebration.
Then she noticed: Oleg began staying up later more frequently. He used to be home by eight, now at best by ten. More often, he returned after midnight. He answered questions tersely and avoided eye contact.
— Work is overwhelming; there’s no time for chats.
— The boss demands, you understand.
Rita truly wanted to get to the bottom of it. She looked at her husband’s tired face, shaven as if defying that very fatigue, and stepped back. She didn’t start questioning him; instead, she retreated to her room, leaving Oleg with his ever-present phone.
Gradually, evenings alone became the norm. Out of habit, Rita prepared dinner for two, but increasingly the second portion remained untouched in the refrigerator. Oleg either stayed late or said he had grabbed a snack at work. Their shared dinners had dissolved into some other time—as if in a past life.
In mid‐March, Rita noticed changes in her husband’s appearance. A new haircut. Shirts that weren’t the ones she bought—expensive, stylish ones. And a scent: an unfamiliar perfume that had displaced the one she had given him for New Year’s. She asked:
— Decided to change your image?
— Oh, you mean that, — Oleg replied, as if reluctantly looking away from his phone. — At work, there’s a new policy—business attire. Nothing special.
But in his eyes, Rita saw a strange expression. Like that of a boy who had lied and was now frightened by his own falsehood.
Then came that very evening which finally confirmed what Rita had already suspected deep inside. Her husband’s phone beeped with a new message. Oleg was in the shower. Rita wasn’t planning to snoop—she simply walked past. But the sender’s name seemed to flash before her eyes.
“V.”
And a short message: “Same as usual today?”
Rita read no more. And there was no need to. Her hand automatically put the phone away, and her heart began to beat as if it were trying to break through her ribs. Her intuition had not deceived her. Rita knew that, among women with names beginning with “V,” Oleg only knew Valya—the accountant at work, who was over fifty—and that had never bothered her. But this clearly wasn’t Valya.
That evening, Rita called a friend. Svetlana listened and, as always, voiced her thoughts.
— Rit, just don’t catch him red-handed now, start a tantrum, or check his phone. I’ve been through it, I know. Either ask him directly, or decide for yourself what to do if he’s cheating.
Rita thought long over her friend’s words. What to do? Forgive him? Pretend nothing was happening? Or immediately get a divorce? They had lived together for ten years—almost a third of a lifetime. Yes, they hadn’t had children—both of them were building their careers, postponing that step. But everything else they had was shared: a home, friends, memories.
April brought final clarity. Rita was now going to bed alone and waking up alone—Oleg returned after midnight and left for work earlier than she did. As if he had become a tenant. Silent, tidy, polite, and completely unfamiliar.
On that Wednesday when everything was decided, Rita came home from work early. She was simply tired, not in the mood. She turned on the TV but didn’t really watch it—lost in thought. Around seven, she heard the familiar sound of keys in the lock.
Oleg entered and froze in the doorway upon seeing her.
— You’re early.
— You too, — she replied, turning off the TV.
Something in her calmness made Oleg sit down in the armchair opposite her. He didn’t look so much guilty as determined. Like someone who was internally prepared for a difficult conversation.
— We need to talk, — he said seriously.
Rita nodded. Inside, everything came to a standstill with a strange premonition.
— I’m leaving, — Oleg said plainly, without any preamble. — I have another woman. I love her.
Just like that. No apologies, no explanations. Everything that had been building up over weeks was compressed into three short phrases. Rita felt a strange numbness. The pain was there, but it had settled deep within. And on the surface, there was only cold clarity.
— Her name is Veronika? — Rita asked.
Oleg flinched slightly.
— Where did you…
— It doesn’t matter, — Rita shrugged. — How long?
— About three months, — Oleg said, looking away. — At first, I didn’t think it was that serious. But then I realized—this is real.
Real. And what they had—was it not real? Ten years of life together—an illusion? Rita chose not to ask any more questions.
— Fine, — she said, rising from the couch. — Just know—there’s no turning back. Never. You can sleep here tonight, but tomorrow, may you lose your spirit.
Oleg seemed surprised by such a reaction. Perhaps he had expected tears, pleading, or a scene with shattered dishes. But Rita simply turned and went to the bedroom. She closed the door and quietly lay on the bed.
Tears came later, during the night. Silent, exhausting. She wept not because Oleg had gone to another, but because everything in the past months had turned out to be a lie. Because she had been blind. And because a part of her still loved that person, despite everything.
In the morning, Oleg packed his things and left without a word. Rita found his keys bundled on the table. All—ten years of life condensed into one duffel bag.
The apartment felt strangely empty. Without Oleg, his scattered socks, the scent of his cologne, and his habit of blasting the TV. Rita walked through the rooms, noting the spots that once held so much of him—and now, held nothing at all. A T-shirt left on the back of a chair. An old photo album. A toothbrush in the bathroom.
Strangely, Rita felt relieved. It hurt, yes. It was certainly empty. But the air felt cleaner. As if the heavy cloud that had hung over her head for months had finally burst into a downpour and vanished.
She called her workplace and took the day off. Then she called her friend.
— Sveta, he’s gone.
— Damn it! — Svetlana exclaimed. — I’ll come over right away.
— No need, — Rita stopped her. — I’m fine. Really. You know, I kind of expected this. It would have been worse if he stayed and kept lying.
Svetlana was silent for a moment.
— You’re in shock right now, Rit. That’s normal. But later it will hurt even more.
— I know. I just want to be alone. To process it.
That evening, her mother called—as if sensing something was wrong.
— Is everything okay? — the voice of Anna Petrovna sounded anxious.
— Oleg’s gone, — Rita said simply. — He has another woman.
A heavy pause hung on the other end of the line.
— I’ll come over right now.
— No need, Mom. I’m really okay.
But Anna Petrovna wouldn’t listen. Within an hour, she was at her daughter’s place with bags of food and a bottle of cognac. The mother didn’t lecture or show pity. She just embraced Rita and said:
— Well, off you go. If he doesn’t appreciate you, then he isn’t worth your tears.
That evening, lying in bed, Rita tried to sleep. But sleep eluded her. Her thoughts kept returning to one question: “Why did he choose her?” What was it about this Veronika that she didn’t have? Younger? More attractive? More successful? Or simply new? That question gnawed at her more fiercely than the betrayal itself.
Two weeks passed. Rita immersed herself in work, coming home late and trying not to think about her husband. Her ex-husband—the divorce papers were already waiting their turn at the registry office. Without any unnecessary drama or division of assets—they had no major joint purchases; the apartment had belonged to Rita even before they married.
None of their mutual acquaintances judged her. Even Oleg’s mother, Tamara Sergeevna, called and apologized profusely for her son. Colleagues supported her; friends invited her out to distract herself.
Rita didn’t keep up with news about Oleg. But the world is small, especially in their area. Someone saw him with a tall brunette at a shopping mall. Someone else mentioned that Oleg had rented an apartment in a new building. He had switched to fashionable shirts, began wearing glasses with thin frames—as if, with the new woman, he had completely reinvented himself.
Rita tried not to give it much thought. Life goes on, even when it feels as if the world has collapsed.
Everything changed on the day Rita encountered Denis, Oleg’s colleague, at the shopping mall. Denis pretended for a long time not to notice the ex-wife of his boss, but Rita herself approached him.
— Hello, Denis, — Rita said calmly. — How are things at work? How’s Oleg? Haven’t seen him?
Denis forced a strained smile.
— Don’t you know? Oleg was fired three weeks ago.
Rita raised her eyebrows in surprise.
— And for what reason?
— The project collapsed, — Denis said, looking away. — Well, it happened that way.
— Strange, Oleg was always meticulous at work, — Rita noted.
— Who knows him, — Denis shrugged. — Maybe love made him lose his head. Veronika knows how to distract.
Something flickered in Denis’s eyes that made Rita wary.
— Have you known Veronika for long? — Rita asked.
— Since college, — Denis replied, then paused, realizing he’d said too much.
Rita was stunned. Veronika had been working at their company for only six months. Oleg had certainly not mentioned “college days” to her. So, Denis and Veronika have known each other for a long time?
— And does Oleg know that you and Veronika are old friends? — Rita asked, surprised by the directness of her own question.
Denis’s expression changed.
— Come on, Rit. I’m not involved in this at all. It just happened. Veronika decided for herself.
— Decided what?
— Well, um… to ingratiate herself with him, — Denis became nervous. — Listen, I have to go. It was nice seeing you.
Denis turned and walked away, but his last words ignited a suspicion in Rita’s mind. “To ingratiate herself”? What did that mean?
The answer came two days later when Rita met Nelya, the accountant from Oleg’s company. Frowning, Nelya confessed:
— It was a setup, Rit. Everyone knew, but no one said anything. Denis had long been eyeing Oleg’s position. Veronika is his old friend. Oleg didn’t know. She deliberately ingratiated herself with him to distract him, and then leaked important documents to competitors. The project collapsed, and Oleg was made the scapegoat. I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier, but I thought you were in on it and already knew.
Rita listened without interrupting. The puzzle was gradually coming together—how Veronika “accidentally” appeared at the company party, how quickly she set her sights on Oleg, how purposefully she courted him.
— Who is currently holding Denis’s position? — Rita inquired.
— The head of the department, — Nelya replied. — In Oleg’s former place.
That same night, there was a knock at Rita’s apartment door. Standing on the threshold was Oleg—pale, haggard, in an old jacket.
— Hello, — Oleg said quietly. — Sorry for being so late.
Rita silently stepped aside, letting her ex-husband into the apartment. Oleg walked in and stopped in the middle of the living room, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
— Can I spend the night? Just today… I have nowhere else to go.
Rita nodded.
— The couch is free.
In the morning, Rita saw Oleg sleeping on the couch. His shirt was rumpled, he had a two-day stubble, and dark circles under his eyes. Any trace of his former confidence was gone.
— Veronika left me, — Oleg said as he woke up and saw Rita. — As soon as I was fired. I had paid for the apartment a month in advance, but I have no money left. Yesterday, I had to move out.
Rita set a cup of coffee before him.
— Veronika and Denis. They’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t they?
Oleg’s gaze turned lifeless.
— You know that.
— I found out by chance.
Oleg lowered his head.
— I was set up. Veronika and Denis acted in concert. Denis wanted my position, and Veronika… apparently, she was just helping. For money or something else between them. I realized it all later when I was disgracefully ousted.
Rita listened silently. She didn’t interrupt or ask any questions.
— I’m not trying to justify myself, — Oleg continued. — I’m to blame. I lived ten years with you, and I acted like a boy swayed by a pretty wrapper. I destroyed everything myself.
Rita shrugged.
— You can stay for now. On the couch. But don’t think I have forgotten or forgiven.
Oleg nodded, accepting the conditions.
And so it went. Oleg lived in the living room, and Rita—in the bedroom. The ex-husband did not impose himself, did not intrude. He quietly prepared his own food, cleaned up after himself, and did his own laundry. He helped with small repairs and never asked for anything.
Rita watched him out of the corner of her eye. The changes were remarkable. Previously, Oleg left dirty dishes in the sink, scattered his belongings, and couldn’t stand household chores. Now, the entire apartment gleamed with cleanliness, and her ex-husband had become an almost inconspicuous neighbor.
— Have you decided to forgive him? — Svetlana asked when they met in a café.
— Forgive? — Rita pondered. — No. Just… you know, I’ve begun to understand that one can live without resentment. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I’m simply moving on.
Two months passed in the blink of an eye. Oleg found a new job—less prestigious, with a lower salary, but stable. He fixed the bathroom Rita had been putting off for three years, replaced the light bulbs, and repaired a leaking tap.
Rita, too, didn’t remain idle. She enrolled in photography courses she had long dreamed of, started going to yoga again, met with friends, and welcomed her mother—without hiding that Oleg still lived with her.
— Are you sure this is the right thing? — Anna Petrovna once asked.
— I’m not sure of anything, — Rita replied honestly. — But I no longer expect someone else to make me happy. This is my life. My responsibility.
Anna Petrovna looked at her daughter for a long while, then quietly said:
— You’ve grown up, Rit. Finally.
That same evening, Oleg returned from work carrying a small box. He silently placed it on the table before Rita. She opened it and found inside her favorite pastry—a caramel eclair with hazelnut from a little confectionery on the other side of town.
— Thank you, — Rita said. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t refuse it either.
— I was just passing by, — Oleg shrugged.
Rita took a bite, closing her eyes in pleasure.
— Don’t think that we’re back to how things were, — she said while chewing. — It’s just that it tastes good. But I won’t forget everything right away.
— I know, — Oleg replied. — I’m not expecting anything. Truly.
A week later, Rita prepared dinner for two on her own. Nothing special—just ordinary pasta with chicken. But for the first time in a long while, they ate together at one table.
The conversation didn’t really flow. They talked about the weather, work, and the news. But something had imperceptibly changed. Rita no longer felt the deep-seated resentment that had tormented her before. Questions and distrust remained. But the burning pain had dulled.
In the evening, lying in bed, Rita thought about what had transpired over these months. Oleg had betrayed her, destroyed their relationship, and left for another woman. But then—broken, remorseful—he returned and tried to atone for his guilt. Can such a thing be forgiven?
Will she ever be able to trust him again like before?
Another month passed. Oleg was still sleeping on the couch in the living room. Rita still kept her distance. But the black void inside was gradually being filled with something new—not with her old feelings, but with something more mature, more conscious.
One evening, Rita sat on the balcony with a cup of tea, watching the city. The lights of skyscrapers, the hustle below, the noise of cars. Somewhere out there, people were hurrying home to their families or on dates, quarreling and making up, planning and facing disappointments.
The world hadn’t stopped. And neither had her life.
The balcony door creaked softly. Oleg stood next to her, hesitating to sit down, as if waiting for permission.
— May I? — asked the ex-husband.
Rita nodded.
— I’ve been thinking, — Oleg began, looking into the distance, — whether I can ever make things right, restore your trust.
Rita was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
— I don’t know, — she said honestly. — Trust is hard to rebuild. Maybe it’s even impossible. But I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I don’t want to be stuck in resentment.
Oleg turned to her.
— That means…
— That means I’m not making any promises, — Rita interrupted. — Maybe someday I’ll be able to forgive. Or maybe not. But the choice is mine now.
Suddenly, Rita realized that for the first time in a long while, she felt an inner support. Before, she had defined herself through relationships—first with her parents, then with Oleg. Now, she stood on her own foundation.
And that feeling was worth all the pain she had endured.
She took a sip of tea and smiled at her thoughts. Whatever happens next—whether Oleg comes back for good or leaves again—she will remain with herself. With the new self she had discovered through loss and pain.
And that was what mattered most.