Katya hadn’t touched her breakfast. The oatmeal sat cold and congealed in her bowl, as she absently stirred it round and round. Her face held no expression—just a silent stillness, like the calm after a storm. The digital clock above the microwave blinked 6:03 a.m. The children would be up soon. She needed to be strong. But how could she explain something she herself didn’t understand?
Just hours earlier, her husband had danced with another woman at the reunion. Not just any woman—Alla, a classmate Katya hadn’t seen since high school. They’d laughed, flirted, swayed in time to the music. Then Artyom had said, “I’ll walk her home.”
He didn’t return until sunrise.
No explanation. No apology.
When the front door finally creaked open, Katya flinched. Artyom stepped in, looking worn but defiant. Same shirt, same shoes, different man. The faint trace of a woman’s perfume hung in the air between them.
“Got any coffee?” he asked, as if he’d simply stepped out for fresh air.
Wordlessly, she pointed to the coffeemaker. Words trembled on the edge of her lips, but she bit them back. If she spoke now, she would either scream or cry—and she couldn’t afford either. Not with the kids about to wake.
He sat across from her, cradling the mug.
“Katya, you’ve misunderstood.”
She met his eyes calmly. “Oh? Did I misread you leaving with another woman and coming home at dawn?”
He looked away. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You reek of her perfume.”
“It was just a goodbye hug.”
Her hand came down hard on the table, shaking the cup. “Stop insulting me.”
Just then, thirteen-year-old Arseniy appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s going on?”
Katya turned to him with forced lightness. “Nothing, sweetheart. Dad just got back from his reunion. Go wash up—we’ll get ready for school.”
The boy hesitated, sensing the tension, but said nothing.
When he was gone, Katya looked back at Artyom. “We’ll talk tonight. After the kids are in bed.”
The day passed in a blur. Katya functioned on autopilot—dropped off Bella at school, went to work, sat at her desk, eyes fixed on spreadsheets she could no longer read. Everything in her life had become a question mark. How could Artyom have thrown away fifteen years so easily?
At six, he was waiting outside her office. He looked rested, even refreshed. That hurt more than anything.
“I’ll pick up Bella,” he said casually.
“No,” Katya replied. “We’ll go together.”
They rode in silence. When they arrived at the school, Bella came running toward them, her face lighting up.
“Daddy! You didn’t forget our trip to the amusement park, right?”
“Of course not, princess,” he said, forcing a smile.
Katya couldn’t help but wonder—had he planned all this? Had the reunion been a convenient excuse? Had Alla been waiting?
Back home, Arseniy was already deep in his homework. He barely acknowledged his father. Katya prepared dinner in a trance—chopping, peeling, boiling. The sounds of the kitchen were almost comforting. Familiar. Safe.
The meal was eaten in silence. The children, sensing something was off, didn’t ask.
Once they were tucked into bed, Katya faced Artyom.
“Now talk.”
He sighed. “It was stupid. Alla… it was nostalgia. A dumb, spontaneous thing.”
“Did you sleep with her?” she asked, her voice steady.
He hesitated. That was all the answer she needed.
“I can’t believe this,” she said quietly. “You threw away fifteen years. For what? A fling?”
“It meant nothing.”
“It meant enough to break everything.”
His tone hardened. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Katya stood. “I want you to leave.”
“You’re kicking me out? This is my home too!”
“No. It’s mine. My aunt left it to me. And you never missed a chance to remind me.”
His jaw clenched. “I spent years fixing this place up. Supported you!”
“I have a job too. I never asked for your money.”
“Your paycheck barely covers groceries!”
“But it covers peace of mind,” she said, her voice now steel. “So please—leave. Just for a few days. Give us space.”
“And go where?”
“To a friend. A hotel. Or maybe to Alla—since she was worth betraying your family for.”
He stared at her in disbelief, then slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll go. But we need to talk.”
“We will,” Katya said. “But not tonight.”
When the door closed behind him, she sat down and wept into her hands. Quietly, carefully—so the children wouldn’t hear.
Three days passed. Artyom came back with dark circles under his eyes and humility on his face. The children were out. Katya let him in.
“We need to talk,” he said softly.
She nodded.
They sat in the kitchen again. The same table, but everything had changed.
“I made a terrible mistake,” he began. “I’m sorry. Truly. I’ll do anything to make it right.”
Katya looked at him, searching for truth beneath the words. “Why did you do it?”
“I don’t know. Stress. Burnout. She made me feel seen again.”
“And I didn’t?”
“Not like that. I mean, I took it for granted.”
“Did she care that you were married?”
He was silent.
Katya exhaled. “This isn’t just about her. This is about you. Us. Something broke.”
“It can be fixed.”
“Can it?” she whispered. “Or are you just afraid of being alone?”
“I’m afraid of losing you,” he said. “You and the kids—you’re my life.”
Katya was quiet for a moment. “Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Move out. Stay close, see the kids, but give me space. If you want this marriage to survive, you’ll give me time to decide if it’s worth saving.”
Reluctantly, he agreed.
Over the next few weeks, Artyom visited daily. He picked up Bella, helped Arseniy with math, fixed leaky faucets. But with Katya, he kept his distance. Polite. Careful. Hopeful.
Then one night, he handed her an envelope.
“Tickets,” he said. “Your favorite play. Saturday night. Just… to talk. As friends.”
She hesitated. But she said yes.
That night at the theater, they sat side by side, but the space between them felt vast. He didn’t take her hand. She didn’t offer it.
Later, at a café, they talked about the children, about work, about anything but the truth.
“Do you miss our life?” she finally asked.
“I miss everything,” he said. “You most of all.”
“Even after what you did?”
“I was a fool. But I never stopped loving you.”
Weeks passed. Slowly, gently, things began to shift. He stayed for dinner more often. Katya let her guard down—inch by inch.
One evening, as they stood side by side making dinner, Artyom brushed against her shoulder. She didn’t flinch.
Later that night, she looked at him across the living room.
“I’ve made a decision,” she said.
He froze.
“I don’t want to keep reliving the betrayal. If we do this—if we try again—it has to be a new beginning. Not a return. Something new.”
His eyes welled up. “I’ll do anything.”
Katya smiled, for the first time in what felt like months. “We’ll see.”
That weekend, he moved back in—into the guest room, for now. The children were delighted. Arseniy remained cautious, but Bella beamed.
One night, Artyom took Katya’s hand across the dinner table.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Still. Always.”
She looked at him. “I know. And somehow… I still love you too. Even after everything.”
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin again.