After leaving his lover at her doorstep, Buchin gently kissed her goodbye and drove away, his heart thumping anxiously as he mentally rehearsed what he needed to tell his wife. Arriving home, he hesitated briefly at the door, gathering courage, before finally ascending the steps and unlocking the apartment.
“Hello?” Buchin called cautiously. “Vera, are you here?”
“Right here,” Vera replied, her tone steady and unemotional as ever. “Hello. Shall we fry up some schnitzel tonight?”
Resolutely, Buchin decided to strike immediately—firmly, decisively, as a true man should! He would end his double life now, while his lover’s scent still lingered on his skin, before mundane reality could claim him again.
“Vera,” he announced, clearing his throat purposefully, “I need to tell you something… We should end our marriage.”
Surprisingly, Vera took the news with complete composure. It had always been challenging for Buchin to provoke an emotional response from his wife. Once, he’d even jokingly called her “Ice Vera.”
“Is that so?” Vera asked, standing casually in the kitchen doorway. “Then I suppose the schnitzel is off?”
“That’s entirely your decision,” Buchin retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. “Cook it, don’t cook it. I’m leaving you for someone else.”
Most wives, confronted with such news, might respond violently or dramatically. But Vera was distinctly different.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered. “By the way, did you collect my shoes from the cobbler?”
“I didn’t,” Buchin stammered. “If it’s so important, I’ll go right now!”
“Oh dear,” Vera sighed, shaking her head. “That’s just classic you, Buchin. Send you out for new shoes, and you’d come back with old slippers.”
Offended, Buchin realized his grand announcement wasn’t having the desired dramatic effect. It lacked fire, emotion, and heated exchanges—though perhaps expecting passion from his coldly pragmatic wife was naive.
“Vera, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously!” Buchin exclaimed. “I’m officially leaving you for another woman, and you’re fussing about footwear!”
“Indeed,” Vera agreed dryly. “Unlike you, I can actually walk away anytime. Your shoes aren’t at the cobbler anyway. Maybe you should wear them yourself.”
Years together had not taught Buchin to discern when his wife was joking or sincere. He had initially fallen in love with Vera’s calm demeanor, her brief and clear speech, her reliability, and yes, her appealing curves. But now he was passionately, deeply, and irrevocably in love with another. He had to draw a firm line.
“Vera,” he said solemnly, “I’m grateful for everything, truly. But I don’t love you anymore—I love someone else, passionately and recklessly. And I’m leaving for her.”
“Oh, how original,” Vera replied sarcastically. “My mother loved bingo nights, and my father loved fishing and cheap beer. Yet here I am, surprisingly well-adjusted.”
Buchin groaned inwardly. Arguing with Vera was hopeless; each of her words carried undeniable weight. His initial enthusiasm faded quickly.
“You’re wonderful, Vera,” he admitted sarcastically. “But I’ve found true love. I need to leave, understand?”
“Who’s your new flame?” she inquired casually. “Is it Natasha Krapivina?”
Buchin froze. He had indeed been involved with Natasha, briefly, last year, but never suspected Vera knew!
“How do you even know her?” he spluttered, then reconsidered. “No, forget that. No, it’s not Krapivina.”
Vera merely shrugged.
“Maybe Svetlana Burbulyovskaya?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Buchin felt chills. Burbulyovskaya had indeed been an earlier conquest. If Vera knew, why had she kept quiet? Ah yes—because she was Ice Vera.
“Wrong again!” Buchin declared firmly. “It’s neither of them. This woman is special, unique, my ultimate dream. I’m leaving you for her, and don’t try talking me out of it!”
“Oh, Buchin, you transparent fool,” Vera sighed. “It’s obviously Maya Valentinovna Gusyayeva, isn’t it? Thirty-five years old, divorced once, has a kid, two medical procedures in her history… Am I right?”
Buchin paled. Vera had guessed perfectly. “But…how? Were you spying?”
“Simple, Buchin,” Vera explained patiently. “I am an experienced doctor, remember? Every woman in town has been in my office, and trust me, I can easily recognize your footprints.”
Deflated, Buchin sighed. “Fine, yes, it’s Maya. But it doesn’t matter—I’m still leaving.”
“You foolish man,” Vera scoffed. “Next time, at least check with me first. As a doctor, I must inform you—there’s nothing special about Maya medically, but her file isn’t exactly stellar either.”
“I didn’t know…” Buchin admitted meekly.
“Clearly! First, go shower immediately,” Vera instructed sharply. “Then I’ll book an appointment for you at the clinic tomorrow. It’s shameful—my own husband, unable to choose a healthy partner!”
“What do you want me to do?” Buchin asked, suddenly unsure.
“I’ll make schnitzel,” Vera replied calmly. “Go wash yourself, and afterward, if you still want your ‘dream woman,’ at least let me recommend someone with a clean bill of health.”