One evening, as they sat together, Mikhail hesitated before bringing up a request that had clearly been on his mind for a while. “Darling, my friends are planning a trip to Astrakhan—just for a couple of weeks. I’ve already cleared it at work. There’ll be camping, fishing… I haven’t gone in ages. How are things at home?” His voice held a note of uncertainty, betraying his concern about how Irina might react.
They had been married for a year, and this was the first time he had asked for such a trip. He feared she might take it badly, but Irina simply nodded. “Go ahead,” she said, unfazed. She had no interest in restricting anyone’s freedom—especially after enduring years of suffocating control in her previous marriage. Her ex-husband had tracked her movements, installed surveillance apps on her phone, and treated every man around her as a potential threat. Having escaped that life, she now valued independence, both for herself and others.
“In that case, I’ll take a couple of weeks off too,” she added. “Nadyushka and I have been talking about a sanatorium trip. Now seems like the perfect time.”
“That sounds nice,” Mikhail agreed, relieved.
But plans rarely go as expected. Nadyushka broke her leg, leaving Irina without a travel companion. With no trip to look forward to, she resigned herself to a staycation of binge-watching TV series, indulging in chocolates, and simply relaxing. Not the worst way to spend two weeks.
However, her cat, Mars, had other ideas. Just as Irina returned from the store one afternoon, he seized the opportunity and darted out the door.
“Marsik, you little bandit! Get back here!” she cried, abandoning her grocery bags to chase after the feline. But Mars was quick, slipping through the apartment entrance and vanishing into the courtyard.
Irina sprinted after him, calling his name in vain. She finally spotted him hesitating beneath a tree in the next courtyard over. Just as she was about to grab him, movement in her peripheral vision made her freeze.
A familiar figure emerged from a nearby apartment building, clad in the same tracksuit Mikhail had supposedly packed for his fishing trip. He carried a trash bag, walked briskly to the dumpster, disposed of it, and turned back inside without so much as a glance around.
Irina stood motionless, gripping Mars tightly as the cat purred against her. Her heart pounded, and dark thoughts flooded her mind. If Mikhail hadn’t gone fishing, then where had he been for the past few days? And more importantly—who was he staying with?
She needed answers.
The next morning, determined to uncover the truth, Irina returned to the courtyard. She wasn’t interested in disguises or secrecy. If Mikhail had been lying, he deserved to be caught. As she reached the building, a mail carrier arrived, unlocking the entrance. Seizing the opportunity, Irina stepped forward.
“Would you mind holding the door for a second?” she asked politely.
The mail carrier barely spared her a glance before nodding and letting her through. Irina climbed the stairs, settling herself on a windowsill between the fourth and fifth floors. Now, all she had to do was wait.
Her patience paid off. A short while later, a door on the third floor opened. Irina tiptoed down the stairs just in time to see Mikhail locking the door behind him. Beside him stood a young girl, about ten years old, tapping impatiently on her phone.
“Uncle Misha, hurry up! We’ll be late for school!” she urged.
Irina’s breath caught. Uncle? Her husband wasn’t just spending time with another woman—he was walking her child to school? The betrayal cut deeper than she had expected. But rather than confronting him then and there, she chose to wait.
That evening, she arrived at the same building again, but this time, she came prepared. Dressed elegantly, makeup flawless, and heels clicking confidently against the pavement, she held a beautifully decorated cake in her hands. If she was going to confront him, she would do it with dignity.
She rang the doorbell. Moments later, a child’s voice piped up from inside. “Who is it?”
“Tell Uncle Misha that Auntie Ira is here. I brought cake for tea.”
There was a pause before the door finally opened. Mikhail stood there, looking more bewildered than guilty.
“Well, hello,” Irina greeted coolly. “Are you going to invite me in, or shall we have this conversation in the hallway?”
Mikhail hesitated before blurting out, “You followed me?”
Irina smirked. “Mars showed me the way. He’s not big on male solidarity.”
Before Mikhail could respond, a young boy ran out, around eight years old. One look at him, and Irina felt a familiar pang—he looked just like Mikhail in childhood photos. Everything was clear now.
She exhaled sharply. “You might as well start packing. I’ll send the divorce papers soon.”
“Wait!” Mikhail raised his hands. “This isn’t what you think. These kids aren’t mine.”
“Oh? Then explain.”
Half an hour later, Irina found herself in the apartment’s modest kitchen, sipping tea and listening to Mikhail’s explanation. He spoke of his estranged family, a sister he hadn’t seen in years, and how their mother had begged him to care for his niece and nephew while their mother was hospitalized.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth,” he admitted. “You always said you didn’t want a man with baggage, with kids from a previous relationship. I thought you’d assume the worst.”
Irina sighed, setting her teacup down. “Misha, not wanting to date someone with children doesn’t mean I dislike kids. It means I didn’t want to deal with the inevitable drama that comes with exes, custody battles, and divided loyalties. Just like you didn’t want to date single mothers because of your own past experiences.”
Mikhail looked sheepish. “I guess I never saw it that way.”
She shook her head. “Next time, just tell me the truth.”
As it turned out, Mikhail’s sister, Sonya, was grateful for her brother’s help. Once she recovered, she softened toward him, and in time, Irina found herself growing fond of the two children. Their occasional weekend visits became the norm, and family birthdays became shared celebrations.
But Irina never let Mikhail live down his failed alibi. Whenever he planned a visit to his sister’s, she would smirk and call out, “Don’t forget your fishing gear, fisherman! Astrakhan is a long way!”
Mikhail would only shake his head, smiling. A little teasing was a small price to pay for the trust they had rebuilt.