I found it impossible to fall asleep. In the dark, I lay staring at the ceiling, absorbing the silence of an empty apartment. Oleg hadn’t come home again for the night. He called in the evening, mentioning he was stuck at a project site due to some document issues made by the contractors, and that he needed to stay until morning to sort things out. His weary tone was familiar, yet I believed him. How many months had it been since I started trusting his words?
Getting up, I made my way to the window. Outside, rain was gently falling, and the streetlights appeared blurred through the wet glass. The yard below was deserted—it’s deep night, and everyone was asleep. I was about to close the curtains and return to bed when I noticed a vehicle. A dark SUV parked directly beneath my windows, identical to Oleg’s.
My heart raced. I cautiously opened the window, peering down. The license plate remained unseen in the darkness, but the car was surely his. Could it mean he was close? But why hadn’t he come upstairs?
Then I spotted them. Oleg emerged from the entrance of the neighboring building, the one across the street. He was not alone. A young woman accompanied him, dressed in a short skirt and a thin jacket despite the chill. She laughed, holding onto his hand as they stopped by the vehicle, and he embraced her at the waist, pulling her close.
I stood frozen, witnessing this from my window, from my apartment where I had awaited him all night. He was right there—not even fifty meters away—with his mistress.
The woman was saying something, pointing toward our windows. Oleg followed her gesture and glanced upward. Instinctively, I recoiled into the shadows, even though I knew he couldn’t see me in the dark. He smirked, muttering a phrase that reached my ears:
“My wife has no idea where I’m spending the night!”
They both burst into laughter. She playfully nudged him, and he kissed her—a passionate kiss that made me feel physically ill. Soon after, they got into the car and drove away.
I sank to the floor near the window, trembling hands and a lump in my throat. I felt the urge to scream, but only a hoarse gasp escaped me. I lost track of time, coming to my senses only as dawn broke.
I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. Just the ordinary face of a forty-year-old woman. Fine lines around my eyes and a hint of gray in my hair. I’ve never considered myself beautiful, but Oleg always assured me he found me appealing. That he loved me just the way I am. It turns out, appearances mattered. The girl below looked at least twenty-five—long legs, a slim waist, and youthful skin.
I brewed some coffee and settled in the kitchen, cradling the cup in my hands. I needed to think, to figure out my next steps. Yet my mind felt blank—or perhaps it was overloaded with so many thoughts that none stuck.
As the morning unfolded, Oleg returned, just like any other day. The key turned in the lock, and his footsteps echoed in the hallway. He entered the kitchen, appearing refreshed and full of energy. His jeans and shirt seemed clean, as if he truly had spent the night working.
“Hey there, sunshine,” he pecked me on the crown of my head. “Is there coffee?”
“Yes,” I poured him a cup, my hands barely trembling. “How did it go at the site?”
“I’m exhausted,” he stretched, feigning fatigue. “We struggled with those documents until three in the morning. I decided to take a short nap in the car, didn’t want to risk dozing off behind the wheel.”
“In the car?” I gazed into his eyes. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“It was fine. I reclined the seat and covered myself with my jacket. At least I got a bit of rest.”
He was lying so effortlessly, so naturally. Looking me straight in the eye while fabricating stories. About the project, about the documents, about sleeping in his vehicle. Meanwhile, he had spent the night with that woman. In the apartment directly across from ours.
“Why didn’t you come home to rest properly?” I inquired. “If you’re that worn out.”
“No time for that,” he finished his coffee. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour. I’ll just take a quick shower and dash off.”
He vanished into the bathroom. I remained seated in the kitchen. His phone lay on the table—he had forgotten to take it with him. I had never snooped through his phone before. I trusted him, believed that monitoring would ruin our relationship. But my hand instinctively reached for his device.
I knew the code—our wedding date. Oleg had never hidden anything, claiming that there should be no secrets between us. The phone unlocked, and I opened the messages.
The first message showed the name Kristina, with a conversation from last evening.
- “When will you be here? I miss you.”
- “I’ll be there in half an hour. I told my wife that I got delayed at the site.”
- “You’re a genius. Does she really suspect nothing?”
- “Not a clue. Living in her own little world, cooking borscht and watching series.”
“Poor thing. Why not tell her the truth?”
“Why would I? Everything’s just fine. I have a quiet, sweet wife at home, and you’re for my amusements.”
I scrolled further through the chat. The messages were explicit and inappropriate. They discussed where to meet and what they’d do, planning weekends—turns out Oleg wasn’t going on business trips; he was booking hotel rooms with her out of town.
Those conversations had been going on for eight months, judging by the timestamps of the initial messages.
Eight months. Eight months of deception, of him leading me on, lying, being unfaithful. And I—like a fool—believed every word he said. I was happy when he returned home, cooking his favorite meals, worrying about his exhaustion from work.
The shower stopped running. I hastily put the phone back, returning to my coffee. When Oleg emerged from the bathroom, I remained in the same spot, wearing the same expression.
“Well, I’m off now,” he kissed my head again. “I’ll try to return early this evening.”
“Sounds good,” I nodded. “I’ll prepare something delicious.”
He left. The door closed behind him, and I was alone again. I settled on the couch, wrapping my arms around myself. Inside, I was burning with feelings of resentment, anger, and pain—all of which tangled into a knot that suffocated me.
I had to do something. But what? Create a scene? Pack my bags and leave? Forgive him and pretend I knew nothing?
I spent the entire day in a sort of haze. Cleaned the apartment mechanically, prepared dinner, did laundry. Thoughts tumbled through my mind, but none coalesced into a clear solution.
By evening, my friend Lena called. Hearing my voice, she immediately sounded concerned.
“What’s wrong? You sound unwell.”
I hadn’t planned to share. I wanted to fabricate a story, say everything was fine and merely a bit of a cold. But my voice betrayed me, and everything poured out—about the night at the window, their laughter, the messages I found on his phone. Lena listened silently, only gasping occasionally.
“What a jerk,” she finally exhaled when I finished. “Tanya, you must kick him out. Immediately.”
“Where would I send him? This is our shared apartment. We bought it together, we pay the mortgage together.”
“Then you leave. Demand a divorce and a division of the property,” Lena insisted.
“Lena, I’m forty. I’ve spent twenty years with him. My entire life has revolved around him. Work, home, it’s all been about him. Where would I go now?”
“You can go to your own place,” her voice turned firm. “Tanya, wake up. He doesn’t value you. He humiliates you. He’s laughing at you with his mistress under your very windows. That’s rock bottom. You deserve better.”
I remained silent. Deep down, I knew Lena was right. But it was terrifying. Starting anew at forty. Looking for work, housing, building another life. Alone.
“Just think it over,” she continued more gently. “Don’t make a rash decision. But you shouldn’t tolerate this. You’re not obligated to.”
We hung up. I placed the phone down and returned to my swirling thoughts. Lena was right, I knew that. But knowing and doing were two different beasts.
Oleg returned late in the night. He explained that the meeting had dragged on, followed by negotiations with the client. He sat down for dinner, rambling about work. I sat across from him, nodding and pouring him tea. His perfect wife, in his eyes, a foolish one.
After dinner, he lounged on the couch with a beer while I cleared the table and suddenly caught myself feeling irritated. His habit of sprawling on the couch while I bustlingly worked in the kitchen, the socks he tossed haphazardly around, the unwavering expectation that I’d always be there to cook, wash, and clean.
“Oleg, we need to talk,” I stated, wiping my hands on a towel.
“Uh-huh,” he never diverted his gaze from the screen. “Go ahead.”
“Put down the remote. This is important.”
He glanced at me, surprised, but acquiesced and set the remote aside.
“What’s going on?”
“I know about Kristina.”
His face drained of color. He went silent for a few moments, then attempted to smile.
“Which Kristina?”
“The one you spent last night with. In the apartment across from ours. While I waited for you at home.”
“Tanya, what are you talking about?” He got up and went closer. “I told you I was at the job site…”
“Stop lying, I saw you. I was at the window and watched you two exit the building. How you hugged her. How you laughed while looking at our windows. I heard what you said. Your wife has no idea where you’re spending the night.”
Oleg froze, realizing denial was futile. He ran a hand over his face, slumping back onto the couch.
“Tanya, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
“How did you intend for me to find out? Or did you never plan on telling me?”
He fell quiet once again, staring at the floor with clenched fists.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Eight months. I read your messages.” My voice was surprisingly steady. “For eight months, you’ve lied to me every day.”
“Tanya, it means nothing,” he looked up. “It’s merely… entertainment. She means nothing to me.”
“And I mean something to you. The convenient, quiet wife at home who cooks borscht and lives in her own bubble. That’s what you wrote to her.”
Oleg’s jaw tightened. He realized I had indeed read everything.
“I was wrong. I’m sorry. But, please, let’s not destroy what we have. We’ve been together for so long. I’ll end it with her. I promise.”
“You promise?” I smirked. “Just like you promised to be faithful when we got married? Your promises are worthless, Oleg.”
“Tanya, give me a chance,” he stepped closer, trying to take my hands, but I pulled away. “I love you. I truly love you. Life sometimes has slip-ups…”
“Slip-ups? Eight months is not a slip-up. That’s a choice. You chose her. Or rather, you chose to have both me and her simultaneously. And it worked until I found out.”
“I choose you,” he grabbed my shoulders. “Do you hear me? I choose you. Kristina was a mistake. Foolishness. I’ll cut things off with her this very moment.”
“Don’t do that,” I broke free. “Don’t sever it. Live with her. I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving here. Tomorrow I’ll pick up my things and move out. You can keep the apartment. I want nothing that’s connected to you.”
“Tanya, don’t say silly things,” he tried to embrace me, but I stepped back. “Where will you go? You have no one besides me.”
This statement snapped me into reality. I had no one but him. He truly believed that I was nobody without him—that I’d have no escape.
“I’ll go to a friend,” I said calmly. “I’ll figure something out. But I will not stay here anymore.”
I walked to the bedroom and retrieved a suitcase. Oleg was standing by the door, watching me pack my belongings.
“You’ll regret this,” he suddenly said. “Out there, no one is waiting for you. You’ve grown accustomed to this life, this home. You’ll be back on your knees in a week.”
I stood upright, looking at him—the person I’d shared two decades with. The one I regarded as family, support, and love. Yet, he turned out to be merely a coward who lies, cheats, and still had the audacity to blame me.
“You know what, Oleg? Maybe you’re right. Perhaps it will be tough for me. But at least I’ll live honestly. Without lies, without humiliation. And that, in itself, is more than enough.”
I closed the suitcase and grabbed my bag of documents. I walked past him towards the exit, pausing one last time at the door.
“Goodbye.”
The door closed quietly behind me. I descended the stairs and stepped out into the yard. The same one where he had stood with his mistress laughing at me just the previous night. Now, it was eerily quiet and empty.
As I made my way to the bus stop, I felt lighter with each step. Was it frightening? Yes. Was it painful? Unbearably so. But I had made a choice. I left. And it was the first honest thing I had done in months.
Lena welcomed me with open arms and tea, setting me up in her guest room without pestering me with questions. I spent the entire night by the window, gazing at a foreign yard while contemplating my future. But now, I at least knew one thing—my life ahead. Not the one built on lies and convenience. A real one. Though complicated and daunting, it would be mine—and mine alone.