Irina carefully arranged the silverware on the dining table—spoons, forks, knives—making sure every piece was perfectly placed, just like in a fine restaurant. Yet, a faint, self-mocking smile tugged at her lips. “Gena probably wouldn’t even notice,” she thought. He used to appreciate these little details, but lately, it seemed he just didn’t care.
“But I will notice,” she told herself, shifting her plate just slightly.
The front door slammed open. Gennady stepped inside, still wearing his coat as if he intended to eat without even taking it off. His eyes barely glanced her way, his presence as unnoticed as a piece of furniture—something taken for granted.
“You’re late again,” Irina said, her tone calm but her grip tightening so fiercely around her spoon it seemed it might snap.
“Work,” he muttered, shrugging off his coat and hanging it awkwardly on a nearby rack, as if the radiator might become the next hang-up spot for his tie.
“Working at eight on a Friday night?” she smirked, forcing a smile. “Alright, sit down. The goulash is ready.”
Gennady lowered himself into a chair but didn’t touch his plate. He took a deep breath, and Irina felt a cold twist coil inside her chest.
“Ira, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice tried to stay steady, though it trembled beneath the surface.
“I… I’ve been seeing someone else.”
Silence. The spoon trembled in her hand, but she didn’t drop it. Somehow, she held herself together.
“Congratulations,” she managed to say. “How long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months,” she echoed quietly, as if the words might unravel everything. “And here I thought those gray hairs were from stress. Turns out, they came from happiness.”
Gennady’s frown deepened.
“Don’t get sarcastic. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, sure,” she shot back. “You wanted a secret life while I was here, every Friday, cooking goulash, living in a fantasy. Don’t even think to tell me where you’re going.”
Suddenly, Gennady rose, the chair scraping loudly on the floor.
“That’s enough! I won’t take this!”
“Take it?” Irina stood too, stepping close to him. “You didn’t ‘take it.’ You lied. For three months. Every day.”
Before she could stop herself, she raised the spoon and struck the crystal glass. It shattered, the shards scattering like the broken pieces of their marriage.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” Gennady shouted.
“Yes,” she whispered, “but this is just the beginning.”
A week later, they met again—this time in a posh restaurant. The atmosphere was thick with dimmed lights and quiet waiters pretending not to overhear their tense conversation.
Irina sat across from Gennady and the new woman in his life—Milena. She studied her quietly, as if dissecting a specimen.
Young, sure. Wearing the usual makeup, cheap watches, and an air of dignity. Clearly, the new queen of Gennady’s world.
“So that’s your type,” Irina said, taking a sip of wine.
Milena stammered, caught off guard. “I didn’t expect to run into you.”
“I did,” Irina retorted with a sharp smile. “You’re even pretty. Shame your virtues don’t go beyond your face.”
Gennady choked on his drink.
“Irina! Enough!”
“Oh, defending her now?” Irina leaned forward. “Milena, did he tell you about our joint bank account? That if we split, he’ll be left with nothing because the whole family will drain his pockets?”
Milena went pale, like a phone screen in the rain.
“What?”
“Oh, he didn’t mention? Well, why get into details. Doesn’t matter anyway.”
Gennady exploded with anger, slamming the table as if he could break more than just dishes.
“You’re lying!”
“Want proof?” Irina pulled out her phone like a judge calling the court to order. “Should I call my lawyer?”
Milena abruptly rose.
“I—I have to go.”
“Now?” Irina pouted playfully. “I thought we might have dessert. Or maybe you’re just in a hurry.”
Milena snatched her purse and practically bolted out, as if someone had grabbed her tail.
Gennady sat silently, eyes flicking between Irina and Milena.
“You ruined everything!”
“No, dear. You did.”
The final act.
Documents littered the table like remnants of a battlefield. Gennady tossed them angrily, his face dark with fury.
“You set me up from the start?”
Irina sat composed, unshaken.
“No. I just came prepared.”
“That contract… you signed it a year ago intentionally?”
“Of course. Like when you were late for work again,” she shot back with sarcasm.
He hurled the papers aside, scattering his last hopes across the table.
“I won’t sign!”
“Then it’s court. You’ll lose everything and end up in debt.”
Gennady grabbed her hand.
“You loved me!”
“Yes. And you?” She pulled away. “Sign it and go.”
A week later, Gennady showed up unannounced.
“Ira…”
She opened the door but didn’t let him in.
“Did you forget something?”
“I was wrong.”
“Too late.”
“Let’s try again.”
Irina laughed — a sound that made clear her laughter was her shield.
“Try again? Seriously?”
“I love you!”
“No. You just realized Milena loved your money, and now there’s none left.”
She shut the door firmly. Outside, rain began to fall.
A new beginning.
Rain tapped steadily against the window as Irina sat at the table sorting through papers: contracts, letters, reminders. The last traces of Gennady’s once-glorious career. The faint scent of fresh paper hinted at something — victory, revenge, and what was rightfully hers.
The incessant calls and messages demanding, “When will you get what you deserve?” had become routine. She knew them all by heart.
“Hello, Sergey Petrovich? Yes, this is Irina. No, I’m not bothering you… Just a heads-up — the audit you planned on Gennady’s company might be better unannounced. Yes, there are… irregularities,” she said, adjusting her hair. This wasn’t a casual call — it was a herald of collapse.
After hanging up, a slight smile played on her lips, as if the battle was already won without lifting a finger.
Two weeks later, Gennady stood outside locked office doors. Fired. No severance. Potential criminal charges looming. Everything he dreamed of slipping through his fingers like sand.
He pulled out his phone and, swallowing pride, dialed Milena.
“Hello?” Her voice was as cold as a glacier in winter.
“Milena, it’s me… I need help.”
“Oh Gena, I’m so busy right now…” she said, barely hiding her disdain.
“But you said you loved me!” His voice cracked, hollow.
“You loved me only when I had money,” she sneered.
Gennady stared at the phone in disbelief, feeling his heart shatter. Silence.
He slipped the phone away, feeling the ground vanish beneath him for the first time in years.
Irina watched from a distance, detached and composed. Through friends, social media, and whispers, she knew Gennady was spending nights in cheap motels, his expensive watch sold at auction, and that Milena had long since moved on. Now the story was hers to tell.
Stepping into the rain, droplets traced down her cheeks. She walked with quiet confidence, a look that brooked no doubt. She stopped beside him on a wet park bench, his expression a mix of despair and disbelief, waiting for some miracle that would never come.
“So, hero?” Irina stood over him, gazing down.
Gennady lifted his head, eyes pleading.
“Are you satisfied?”
“No,” she replied with a shrug, voice calm, almost indifferent. “I’m not here to celebrate your fall. I did this so you’d understand.”
He looked confused.
“That I could have destroyed you. But didn’t.”
She frowned, not meeting his eyes, and dropped an envelope in his lap. “This is a recommendation letter. And a plane ticket to Sochi. You’ll find work there — less glamorous, but honest.”
Gennady slowly opened the envelope, doubt clouding his gaze.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not you.” Irina’s voice held quiet pride as she turned and walked away.
“Wait!” Gennady called, grabbing her hand. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing,” she said, pulling free. “Just remember: I could have left you with nothing. But I spared you. Not out of love, but because I’m better.” Without looking back, she left — victorious, while he stood clutching a paper that couldn’t save him from reality.
The rain intensified, mirroring the weight of his fall. She was the only one who truly saw him. But now, it was too late.
She walked away, leaving behind his shattered hopes of redemption.