Darling, maybe we could skip going to the dacha this weekend?» I suggested, hoping for a positive answer.
«I can’t, dear,» he replied without even looking up from his laptop. «You know how much work I have.»
And so I went alone. I got on the commuter train and settled by the window. I don’t like going to the dacha by myself – there are always so many tasks that I can’t manage. But what can I do?
—
The train started moving, and I stared out the window, trying not to think about how I would cope on my own. And suddenly… he entered my carriage. My husband. Georgiy. Next to him was a young woman. My heart pounded as if it were trying to burst out of my chest. The favorite jacket I had chosen with such excitement suddenly felt unbearably tight, as if it were squeezing me in a vise.
He didn’t notice me. Or he pretended not to notice. She… the woman… was holding his hand, chattering away, laughing. Her voice sounded so light, as if her life were free of worries or troubles.
Where are they going? Why isn’t he at work? Questions buzzed in my head like a swarm of wasps, preventing me from concentrating. Should I get off? Hide? Or approach and ask him straight in the face: “What does this mean?”
I froze, as if I had turned into a statue. It seemed as though the entire carriage was watching me, seeing my confusion, my pain. But no one was watching; everyone was busy with their own matters.
They sat a few meters away from me, with their backs turned. I saw her lay her head on his shoulder and saw him smile at her with that smile which used to belong only to me. The tenderness in his eyes, the softness in his movements – all of it was directed at her. Not at me.
How could he? Why wasn’t he afraid to take this route? Oh, right… I hadn’t told him I was going to the dacha. Usually, when he works, I stay in the city.
I got up and moved to another carriage. It was stuffy there, smelling of dust and something stale. I stared out the window, trying to figure out how to go on living. The fields, the forests, the houses – everything passed by as if in a fog.
The dacha could wait, I decided. Now I needed to find out where they were heading.
—
They got off at the “Sosnovaya” station. She took his arm and they walked along a path leading into the forest. I got off behind them, trying to keep my distance. My heart was pounding furiously; anger and hurt mingled with a cold, sticky fear.
The path led to a small house with blue shutters. Georgiy pulled out a key, opened the door, and they disappeared inside. I stood behind a tree, unsure of what to do. Call out? Leave?
In the end, I turned back. I needed to be alone now. To think everything over. Otherwise, I might do something I’d later regret.
My steps felt heavy, as if I were carrying an unbearable weight. There were hardly any people on the platform. I sat on a bench; the cold metal sent shivers through my body. I closed my eyes, trying to block out reality. Inhale—exhale. I needed to calm down. I needed to collect myself.
I didn’t want to go home. Everything there reminded me of him, of our life. A life that turned out to be a lie. I needed time. Time to figure out what to do next.
And then… then I’d make a decision. But not today. Today I just needed to survive.
“I’ll go to a friend’s place,” I whispered to myself. Dina lived not far away, on the same branch. —
I dialed her number and, with a trembling voice, told her I’d be there in an hour. Dina immediately understood and didn’t ask any questions.
“Come over, I’m waiting,” she simply replied.
On the train, I once again stared out the window. The trees, the houses, the people – all living their own lives. And my life seemed to have come to a halt. Shattered into thousands of fragments. I wasn’t ready to gather them yet. Maybe I never would.
At Dina’s house, it smelled of cinnamon and fresh pastries. She hugged me without saying a word. And that was exactly what I needed. Just warmth. Just silence.
Tea with buns turned out to be a salvation. Dina sat next to me, stroking my hand. And I looked out the window, and for the first time that day it seemed as if the sun might eventually shine through. Someday.
«Where have you been?» Georgiy snapped at me as soon as I crossed the threshold. «Do you have any idea how many morgues I’ve called?»
I returned home only by Sunday evening. Dina – my guardian angel, even without a psychology degree – practically “filled me up” with advice, support, and the confidence that I could survive even a divorce. It was she who urged me not to delay the conversation. “By his reaction you’ll immediately understand what’s going on,” she said. “Maybe it’s not as serious as you think.” But I disagreed with her. Even if it were just an affair, does that change anything? To forgive and carry on as if nothing happened? No, that wasn’t for me.
«I was with Dina,» I replied calmly.
«And why was your phone off?» he persisted.
«Turned it off.»
«What happened?» His voice grew sharper.
«What happened?» I repeated, as if in an echo. «I saw you with another woman on the train. You got off at the ‘Sosnovaya’ station and went into that little blue house behind the forest.»
Georgiy slumped as if knocked off his feet.
«Were you following me?» he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and irritation.
«Yes.»
There was a long pause. He remained silent, and I waited, feeling as if everything inside me was tightening.
«Alright,» he finally said, glancing at his watch. «Let’s go!»
«Where?» I asked, surprised.
«To that little blue house. Rita has some very tasty raspberry jam—she wanted to give some to me, but I refused. Thought you didn’t know anything. Let’s go, pick up the jam! We’ll make it back before dark.» —
At first, I categorically refused. Then Georgiy began to explain, and I didn’t believe him. But to get to the bottom of it, we still went to the “Sosnovaya” station.
It turned out that Rita was his sister—from his father’s second marriage. Georgiy’s mother had always been against him communicating with his father, and he did it in secret. But it turned out that he didn’t trust me either, since he hadn’t told me anything. I knew he sometimes called his father, but I had no idea about a sister.
Rita’s husband was ill, and Georgiy was helping them. Sometimes he went to their place in “Sosnovaya,” sometimes they met in the city and traveled there together…
“Sosnovaya”… That name now cut like a knife. So, behind every “I’m at work” were meetings with his sister and her ailing husband? Behind every sigh about “not having enough money” – were acts of helping people he hadn’t mentioned to me?
Rita needed his help because her husband was confined to a wheelchair. And me? Don’t I need his support?
The jealousy faded, but the hurt remained. Deep, sticky, all-consuming. He had built our life on lies. Why did he decide that I wouldn’t understand if he told the truth?
The pain suffocated me. Pain at his mother, who forbade him from communicating with his father. Pain at his father, who apparently was far from ideal, judging by his mother’s harsh reaction. But most of all, I was angry at Georgiy. He was my husband, my support. And that support turned out to be shaky, unreliable.
Now I need time. Time to come to terms with all of this. Getting divorced over a hidden sister seems foolish. But living on as before, with complete trust—I simply can’t…
