They talked, laughed, and then began to dance. Later, he said, “I’ll walk her home.”
He only returned in the morning. Without a single word of apology.
Katya sat in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring the cooled oatmeal in her bowl with a spoon. Her face was frozen, like a mask. Fifteen years of marriage, two children—and just like that, he left with another woman.
With Alla, whom Katya hadn’t seen since school until last night. The digital clock above the microwave read six in the morning. The children would wake soon, and she’d have to explain something. But what would she say if she herself couldn’t understand what had happened?
The two-room apartment, inherited from the childless aunt, had always seemed to her a reliable refuge. Now the walls felt as if they were closing in, and the air was heavy and stuffy.
When she and Artyom got married, the housing issue wasn’t even discussed—it was clear they would live there. The apartment in the city center was a gift from fate. Artyom sometimes tossed around phrases about “male pride” and “one’s own corner,” but the possibility of avoiding a mortgage outweighed those small blows to his ego.
The quiet creak of the front door made Katya start. Cautious footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Artyom appeared in the doorway—rumpled, with red eyes, wearing the same shirt in which he had left the previous day to meet up with old classmates. He reeked of another woman’s perfume.
“Is there any coffee?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Katya silently pointed to the coffeemaker. Inside, everything was bubbling away, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter a word. She was afraid that if she spoke, she might either scream or break into tears. And she couldn’t allow herself that, especially now when the children could wake up at any moment.
“Listen,” Artyom began, sitting down opposite her and cradling the cup in his hands, “you’ve got it all wrong.”
“What exactly did I misunderstand?” Katya asked quietly. “That you left with another woman and returned only at dawn?”
Artyom looked away.
“Katya, you’re exaggerating. Nothing happened.”
“Don’t lie to me,” her voice was even, though inside everything was falling apart. “You smell of her perfume.”
“We just hugged goodbye.”
“ENOUGH!” Katya slammed her hand on the table so hard that the cup jumped and spilled coffee. “Don’t make a fool out of me!”
Sleepy Arseniy appeared in the doorway. At thirteen, he already understood everything.
“What’s going on?” the boy asked, shifting his gaze from his father to his mother.
“Nothing,” Katya said quickly, changing her tone. “Dad returned from a class reunion. Go get ready for school.”
Arseniy looked at his parents with suspicion but didn’t argue. When his footsteps faded into the distance within the apartment, Katya turned to her husband:
“We need to talk. But not now. Tonight, when the children are in bed.”
The day dragged on endlessly. On autopilot, Katya took eight-year-old Bella to school, drove to the office where she worked as an accountant, and mechanically went about her habitual tasks. The numbers on her computer screen blurred before her eyes.
How could he? Fifteen years together. Could it really mean nothing?
Colleagues glanced at her in surprise but didn’t ask questions. Katya had always been friendly, smiling and engaging in office chatter. Today she seemed like a ghost of her former self.
Her phone vibrated.
At six in the evening, when she was leaving the building, Artyom was waiting at the entrance. He looked fresh and rested, as if he hadn’t spent a sleepless night. For some reason, that hurt Katya most of all.
“I’ll take Bella,” he said instead of greeting her.
“No,” Katya replied firmly. “We’ll go together.”
They drove in silence. Only when they parked by the school did Artyom turn to her:
“I have to explain.”
“Not here,” Katya cut him off. “At home.”
Bella ran out of the school doors, saw both her parents, and waved happily. Today she had two braids instead of one, as usual, Katya noted automatically. Perhaps the teacher had plaited them.
“Dad!” Bella flew into the backseat. “You promised that on Sunday we’d go to the amusement park! You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Of course not, princess,” Artyom smiled, but his voice sounded counterfeit, and Katya noticed.
Had he planned everything from the start? The class reunion, Alla?
At home, Arseniy was waiting; he had already heated his dinner by himself and was now absorbed over his homework. He only glanced briefly at his father before diving back into his textbooks.
“How was school?” Artyom tried to start a conversation.
“Fine,” the son muttered without looking up.
Katya busied herself with preparing dinner, trying to avoid her husband’s gaze. Her hands worked mechanically: peeling potatoes, slicing vegetables, putting a pot on the stove. Ordinary actions she had repeated countless times.
Maybe this was just a dream? Maybe I’ll wake up and yesterday night will have never happened?
Dinner passed in tense silence. The children clearly sensed that something was wrong but didn’t ask questions. Afterwards, Katya sent them off to do their homework and get ready for bed. When the door closed after Bella, she turned to her husband:
“Now, talk.”
Artyom took a deep breath:
“I’m confused, Katya. Alla… It was just a momentary impulse. Nostalgia for youth.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Katya asked bluntly, looking him in the eyes.
Artyom looked away, and that was enough to answer.
“How could you?” her voice trembled. “Fifteen years together. Two children.”
“It means nothing,” he said hastily. “It was just a moment of weakness. I love you and the children. You know that.”
“I know nothing anymore,” Katya replied quietly. “One act, and you destroyed everything.”
“Don’t dramatize,” irritation seeped into his tone. “It was just once…”
She looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Where was the Artyom who had vowed to stand by her in both sorrow and joy?
“I want you to leave,” she said.
“What?”
“Go. I need time to think.”
“This is my family!” Artyom raised his voice. “My children! Where am I supposed to go?”
“Oh, now this is your family?” Katya bitterly scoffed. “And when you left with Alla, did you even think about us?”
“This is my home!” he almost shouted.
“No, it’s my home,” Katya retorted firmly. “The apartment was inherited from Grandma, remember? You used to emphasize that yourself.”
Anger flashed in his eyes.
“So, is that it? Fifteen years I’ve supported you, poured money into renovating this apartment, and now you’re kicking me out?”
“I work too,” Katya reminded him. “And I never demanded that you support me.”
“Your salary is pathetic!”
“But it’s enough to live without you. I’m asking you to leave for a few days. I need to think. And so do the kids.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Stay with Alla,” Katya suggested bitterly. “Since she’s so important to you.”
Artyom shook his head:
“You’ve got it all wrong. It was just an affair. She means nothing to me.”
Worse, thought Katya. He destroyed our family over a fleeting romance.
“I don’t care where you go—to a friend’s, to a hotel. But today I don’t want to see you.”
Artyom looked at her in disbelief:
“You can’t just kick me out of our home.”
“I can,” Katya replied quietly. “If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll call a taxi and take the kids to my mother’s. And then the conversation will be entirely different.”
He stared at her for a long moment, as if seeing her for the first time. Then he slowly nodded:
“Fine. I’ll leave. For a couple of days. But we need to talk everything out.”
“Certainly,” Katya promised.
When he left, carrying his gym bag with him, Katya sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Only then, in the silence, did she allow herself to cry.
Artyom returned three days later. He rang the doorbell, though he had keys.
Katya opened the door and stepped back, letting him in. He looked haggard, with shadows under his eyes.
“Are the children home?” he asked.
“No. Arseniy is at a friend’s, and Bella has been taken by her mom for the weekend.”
“Alright,” Artyom nodded. “We need to talk.”
They went to the kitchen—a neutral territory. Not the bedroom, where the betrayal would feel too raw. Not the living room, where the happy family evenings now seemed false.
“I’ve thought it over,” Artyom began as they sat at the table. “What happened was a terrible mistake. I’m remorseful and I’m asking for your forgiveness.”
Katya looked at him silently. Was he sincere? Or was he just afraid of losing comfort—home, family, stability?
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
Artyom sighed:
“I don’t even know. Nostalgia. A moment of weakness. Alla always appealed to me in school, but back then she didn’t pay me any attention.”
“And now, having become a successful manager rather than a pimply teenager, you decided to take your revenge?” Katya bitterly asked.
“No, not that. It’s just… everything piled up. Work, problems, routine. And then she appeared—cheerful, carefree, admiring me.”
How simple it all was, thought Katya. A tired wife, children needing attention, and then—a light flirtation without obligations.
“She knew you were married to me!”
“Of course,” Artyom ran his hand through his hair.
“And she didn’t care?”
“She… Listen, what difference does it make? It was a mistake. I’ll never see her again.”
Katya shook her head:
“It’s not about her. It’s about you. About us. Something broke, if you could do such a thing.”
“Nothing’s broken!” Artyom replied heatedly. “We have a wonderful family. Yes, I made a mistake. But can’t you at least give me a chance to make it right?”
Katya was silent for a long while, gathering her thoughts.
Artyom met her gaze:
“Are you going to file for divorce?”
There it was—the question that had tormented her all these days. Divorce meant shattering the accustomed world for the children, financial difficulties, solitude. Yet staying with someone who betrayed her—was that any better?
“I’m not sure,” Katya admitted honestly. “But if you truly want to save our family, you’re going to have to make a lot of effort.”
“What exactly must I do?” hope laced his voice.
“First, move out of here,” she declared firmly. “I’m not ready to live with you as before.”
“Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have another apartment.”
“Rent somewhere. Your salary allows for it.”
Artyom clenched his fists:
“And how long will this go on?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes for me to understand if I can ever trust you again.”
He shook his head:
“You just want to punish me.”
“No,” Katya retorted. “I’m protecting myself. They’re two different things.”
They gazed at each other across the table, as if an abyss had formed between them. Where was the man who once brought her flowers every week? Where was the girl who believed that love could overcome any difficulties?
“Alright, I agree,” Artyom finally said. “I’ll find a place to live. But will you at least allow me to see the children?”
“Of course,” Katya nodded. “They’re not to blame.”
“And what about us… Will we try to rebuild our relationship?”
“I don’t know, Artyom. Honestly, I’m not sure.”
He rose from the table:
“Fine. I’ll grab a few things and start looking for an apartment. Can I come by occasionally?”
Katya nodded:
“The children need their father.”
“And me? Do I need a husband who betrayed me?”
When Artyom left, carrying his gym bag, Katya opened the window, letting the fresh air in. It felt as though breathing had become easier. Not because he had left, but because clarity had finally emerged.
A week passed. Artyom rented a small apartment nearby to remain close to the children. He came every evening: played with Bella, helped Arseniy with his homework, and then left. With Katya, their communication was minimal—only about everyday matters.
One evening, when the children were asleep, he lingered in the hallway:
“Katya, can I have a minute?”
She nodded warily.
“I bought tickets to the theater,” he said, handing her an envelope. “For your favorite play. Maybe we could go? Just… as friends.”
Katya took the envelope, unsure of how to respond. Friends? They had never been merely friends. They had been lovers, then husband and wife, parents. But friends?
“I don’t know, Artyom…”
“Please,” his voice carried a sincere plea.
She looked at the tickets. Yes, it was indeed her favorite play. He remembered.
“Alright,” she agreed. “Saturday. Mom will stay with the kids.”
On Saturday evening, Artyom came to pick her up. Like a first date, Katya thought with bitter irony as she chose her dress. Only it was a date with her own husband—the man who had once betrayed her trust.
At the theater, they sat side by side, yet they did not touch. In the past, Artyom always held her hand during performances. Now an invisible wall stood between them.
After the show, they went into a café. Their conversation was about the children, work, the play—everything except their relationship.
“Do you miss our old life?” Katya suddenly asked, looking into his eyes.
Artyom flinched in surprise:
“A lot. Every minute.”
“Do you miss me? Or the comfort and the children?”
“Everything,” he answered honestly. “Your morning smile, our bedtime talks, the way you always understood me without words.”
Katya looked away:
“I’m not sure we can ever return to what was.”
“Should we?” Artyom asked quietly. “Maybe we should try to create something new.”
Something new. That thought had never occurred to her. She had always believed there were only two options: either return to the old life or part ways forever.
“I don’t know,” she repeated.
“I’m to blame,” he said, looking into her eyes. “And I’ll do everything to make this right. But I can’t live without you and the kids. You are my life.”
Beautiful words, thought Katya. But were they enough?
A month went by. Artyom came every day. He helped with the children, with chores, with household tasks. Sometimes he would stay for dinner. They started talking again—first about everyday trifles, and then about deeper things.
One evening, when the children were asleep, Katya said:
“You know, I’ve thought a lot about us.”
“And what did you come to?” Artyom asked cautiously.
“Not everything yet,” she replied, turning the cup in her hands thoughtfully, “but I’ve realized one important thing. I no longer want to be the victim. I don’t want to remind you of this story for the rest of my life.”
Artyom fell silent, waiting.
“If we decide to stay together,” Katya continued, “it will be a new beginning. Without old resentments.”
“Are you ready… to forgive me?” Artyom asked cautiously.
“I don’t know if you can call it forgiveness. More like acceptance. It happened. It’s part of our story now. And now we decide what to do next. We have a long way ahead.”
“I understand,” Artyom nodded. “I’ll wait as long as needed.”
Another month passed, and Katya suggested that Artyom come back home. For now, he slept in the guest room, but it was a step—a small step toward an uncertain future.
The children were happy. Especially Bella, who did not understand the complexity of the situation. Arseniy was more reserved, watching his parents closely.
One evening, as they were cooking dinner together, Artyom accidentally touched her shoulder, and Katya did not pull away. It was the beginning of something new. Not a return to their old relationship, but something different. Something they still had to build.
“I love you,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’ve always loved you. Even when I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“I know,” Katya replied softly. “And I… I love you too. Despite everything.
