Christina knocked on the familiar door on the third floor. The doorbell had long been out of order, but her mother-in-law, Anna Petrovna, was always sensitive to knocks—she said that in their old house, sounds carried especially loudly. Indeed, it wasn’t even a minute before shuffling footsteps were heard.
«Kristinushka! What brings you here?» Anna Petrovna smiled warmly, but a flicker of concern flashed in her eyes.
«I came for some salt, believe it or not? The worst timing—it ran out just as I was kneading the dough,» Christina stepped over the threshold, habitually taking off her shoes.
Christina and her husband Sergey lived a floor above. Anna Petrovna had once insisted that the young couple buy an apartment as close to her own as possible: the woman wanted to be as involved in the life of her son and daughter-in-law as she could.
«Come into the kitchen, I’ll find it,» the mother-in-law hurried ahead, while Christina, who had been here hundreds of times, automatically noted some minor changes in the apartment: a new vase on the dresser, a chair moved, a stack of fresh magazines.
In the kitchen, Anna Petrovna began rummaging through the cabinets, muttering about how she had just bought salt herself. Christina sat on a stool, examining the kitchen she knew so well, where they had drunk tea with pies so many times. Her gaze wandered absently across the shelves until it caught on something unusual.
In the corner, behind a jar of dried basil, a phone’s screen dimly glimmered. Christina blinked, looked more closely. The phone was the exact same model as her husband Sergey’s—an inexpensive but practical smartphone in a black case. Except Sergey always had his phone with him; she had never seen him leave it at his mother’s.
«There, found it!» Anna Petrovna exclaimed triumphantly, holding out a pack of salt but paused, noticing her daughter-in-law’s gaze.
Christina slowly stood up and walked over to the shelf. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the phone. There was no doubt—it was Sergey’s second phone, whose existence she hadn’t even suspected.
«Anna Petrovna,» Christina said quietly, «what is this?»
The mother-in-law turned pale and sat down on a chair. «Kristinochka, dear… I shouldn’t have… Sergey asked me not to tell…»
Christina unlocked the screen—the password was their wedding date. The first thing she saw was dozens of unread messages from someone named «Masha R.» The latest was sent that morning: «Honey, I miss you so much. When can we meet?»
Her ears rang. Christina stared at the screen, but the letters blurred before her eyes. Five years of marriage, a joint mortgage, plans to have a child next year—all suddenly seemed fragile, unreal.
«How long?» was all she could manage to say.
«Three months,» Anna Petrovna whispered. «I found out by accident. He would come by, leave his phone here… He said it was nothing serious, that it would soon end. I begged him to confess to you, but he…»
Christina raised her hand, stopping the flow of excuses. Something inside her snapped, but along with the pain came a strange clarity. She put the phone back on the shelf—just as she had found it. Mechanically, she took the salt.
«Thank you for the salt, Anna Petrovna,» her voice sounded surprisingly calm. «I must go, the dough is waiting.»
«Christina, wait!» the mother-in-law jumped up, trying to hold her daughter-in-law back. «Let’s talk… Maybe everything can be fixed?»
«We will talk,» Christina forced a smile. «But first, I’ll bake bread. You know, my mother always said: any decision should be made with a clear head and a full stomach.»
She left the apartment, carefully closing the door behind her. Descending the stairs, Christina thought about how today wouldn’t just be the end of kneading dough. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly adult—someone ready to make tough decisions and take responsibility for them.
As she climbed to her own fourth-floor apartment, Christina automatically counted the steps—a habit from childhood that helped her deal with the fear of the dark in the hallway. Now, the monotonous counting calmed her turbulent thoughts.
Inside her apartment, she was greeted by silence and the smell of rising dough. Christina approached the kitchen table where the dough mass waited under a towel. She touched it mechanically—the crust barely crunched under her fingers, the dough inside was soft and pliable. It was time to add the salt.
She poured the salt into a measuring spoon, and her hand suddenly froze over the dough. Her mother-in-law’s words echoed in her mind: «Three months…» Three months ago, Sergey had first stayed late at work. That night he brought her favorite peonies and apologized profusely for his delay. Now Christina understood that the flowers were bought out of guilt… but not just for being late at work.
Having added the salt, she began kneading the dough. The action, so familiar and soothing, helped structure her thoughts. With each movement, things became clearer in her mind.
The front door slammed exactly when Christina placed the bread form in the oven. Sergey always came home at this time.
«Are you cooking already?» his voice from the hallway sounded normal. «I thought we might order something today.»
Christina wiped her hands on a towel and turned toward the door. In the doorway stood her husband—so familiar and yet so foreign. He was smiling, but his gaze darted to her face for a moment, as if trying to read if everything was alright.
«I was at your mom’s today,» Christina said calmly. «Came for some salt.»
Sergey froze mid-sentence, his smile slowly fading. A heavy silence hung in the kitchen, only broken by the quiet humming of the oven.
«I think we need to talk,» Christina continued, looking him straight in the eye. «About Masha R., about the second phone, and about what happens next.»
Sergey slowly sat down, seeming to age several years in that moment. His shoulders sagged, and his look was a mix of shame and relief—as if he had long awaited this conversation but had never found the strength to start it himself.
«I was going to tell you,» he began quietly, but Christina shook her head.
«When? In a month? In a year?» her voice remained remarkably even. «Or when I found out everything on my own, like today?»
The scent of fresh bread began to fill the oven. This homey, cozy smell now seemed almost mocking against the backdrop of a crumbling family happiness.
«Masha… she’s a colleague from a new project,» Sergey said, looking down. «It all started so stupidly—a corporate party, then joint lunches… I didn’t plan it, really. It just kind of happened…»
«Just happened?» Christina scoffed. «Did the phone buy itself too? And hide itself at your mom’s place?»
She walked to the window, looking down at the familiar courtyard below. There, on the playground, some children played. She and Sergey often talked about how their future children would play right there.
«You know what the most painful part is?» she turned to her husband. «Not the affair itself, though that hurts. What’s really painful is that you involved your mom. Made her lie, keep your secrets, betray me… She loves us both. How could you do that to her?»
Sergey flinched as if slapped. Tears glistened in his eyes.
«Kristin, I’ll fix everything. I’ll end it with Masha today, delete her number…»
«No,» Christina interrupted firmly. «You won’t be ending anything. At least, not for me. You made your choice three months ago, when you bought that second phone. Now it’s my turn.»
She walked to the oven, put on oven gloves, and took out the bread form. The golden crust was perfectly baked, steam rising from the loaf.
«I’m moving to a friend’s place. Tomorrow. I need some time to think, and it seems, so do you,» she set the bread to cool. «Now, please leave. I want to be alone.»
Sergey stood, swaying as if drunk. At the door, he turned around:
«Forgive me. I really love you.»
«You know,» Christina responded without turning around, «I loved you too. And I still do. But sometimes love isn’t enough.»
As the door closed behind him, Christina slowly sank to the floor. Tears she had held back all this time finally broke free. She cried, sitting on the floor of her kitchen, where she had been so happy, where she baked bread for their small family, where she had built plans for the future.
Outside, the evening was falling, and she sat there, hugging her knees, thinking about how strangely life is arranged: sometimes you need to lose something important to find the strength to move forward.
That night, Christina didn’t go to bed. After her tears dried, she methodically went through the entire apartment, gathering the essentials. Documents, a few sets of clothes, a laptop for work. Each item resonated with a memory—here was the dress from their first date, here a wedding photo album, here a mug with a chipped handle that Sergey always promised to fix…
The phone was silent. No calls, no messages—as if Sergey also understood that now any words would be superfluous.
In the morning, Anna Petrovna called. Her voice trembled:
«Kristinochka, are you awake? I haven’t slept all night… Sergey came by, took that… phone. Said you know everything. Darling, maybe you’ll come to me? Let’s talk?»
«No, Anna Petrovna,» Christina responded softly, yet firmly. «Not now. I need to be alone and think things through. And you probably do too.»
«I just wanted the best…» the mother-in-law sobbed.
«I know,» Christina closed her eyes. «But sometimes silence only makes things worse. Sorry, I need to get ready for work.»
At the office, she arrived earlier than usual. She sat at her desk, turned on the computer. Colleagues began to trickle in after an hour, greeting her as usual, unaware that her life had split into ‘before’ and ‘after.’
At lunch, her friend Lena, with whom Christina was going to stay, called:
«I made up the guest room. Come whenever you’re ready, I always have a spare key for you.»
«Thanks,» Christina swallowed the lump in her throat. «You know, I keep thinking—maybe I decided everything too hastily? Maybe we should try…»
«Or maybe, stop thinking about others more than about yourself?» Lena interrupted gently. «You said yourself—you need time. Take it. Not for him, not for your mother-in-law—for yourself.»
After work, Christina stopped by the apartment for her things, then called a taxi. The driver helped load her bags, and the car pulled away, taking her away from the home where she left a part of her life. In the rearview mirror, she noticed a familiar figure—Sergey stood by the entrance, watching the departing taxi.
Somewhere in the bag lay the bread she couldn’t leave behind. The last loaf mixed in their shared kitchen. Christina thought that perhaps it was time to learn to bake bread according to a new recipe. And to live—also anew.
Lena’s apartment greeted Christina with warmth and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Without asking unnecessary questions, her friend helped unpack, and then they sat in the kitchen for a long time, looking at the night city through the panoramic window.
«You know,» Lena broke the silence, «when I divorced Pasha, I thought life was over. But now I look back and realize—it was just the beginning.»
Christina absently traced the rim of her cup. «I don’t even know if I want a divorce. For now, I just want… not to feel this pain.»
«Pain is normal,» Lena placed her hand on her shoulder. «The main thing is not to let it control your decisions.»
The next morning brought the first message from Sergey: «I still hope we can talk. When you’re ready.» Christina read it several times but didn’t reply.
Days flowed by. Work, evening talks with Lena, rare calls to her mother, whom she hadn’t yet decided to tell the whole truth. Anna Petrovna wrote every day, but Christina responded briefly and restrainedly, as the wound in her soul was still too fresh.
One evening, while unpacking her bag completely, she stumbled upon that very loaf of bread. The bread, of course, had gone stale, but somehow she couldn’t throw it away. Instead, Christina pulled out her phone and dialed her grandmother’s number.
«Grandma, remember you once told me about the bread croutons you made in your youth?»
Her grandmother was delighted by the call, and they talked for the next hour about recipes, life, and how important it is not to lose oneself even in the toughest times. At the end of the conversation, her grandmother suddenly said:
«You know, Kristinushka, life is like dough—sometimes you need to give it time to rise. Don’t rush decisions, but also don’t be afraid to make them when the time comes.»
After that conversation, Christina felt a semblance of peace for the first time in many days. She cut that same bread into cubes, sprinkled them with spices, and sent them to the oven. The apartment filled with a familiar aroma, but now it didn’t cause pain—only a light sadness and a strange sense of hope.
On the windowsill stood a small pot of basil, which Lena had bought especially for her. The young leaves stretched toward the light, reminding her that life goes on, even when it seems like the world is falling apart.
«Maybe it’s time to start writing my own book of recipes?» Lena smiled, peering into the kitchen.
Christina nodded, looking at the russet croutons. Perhaps it was time not only for new recipes but also for a new chapter in her life.
From that day on, something changed in Christina. She began keeping a diary—a simple notebook where she recorded not only recipes but also her thoughts, feelings, plans for the future. The first page featured a new entry: «Sometimes you need to let go of the past to free your hands for the future.» Next to it—a small drawing: a basil sprout reaching for the sun.
