Lera turned off her phone and leaned back in the armchair in her friend’s living room. Outside, the July sun blazed, but inside something was slowly tearing apart. I don’t know how else to explain this feeling… It was as if she had been living with a stranger all these months.
Artyom changed so gradually that at first she didn’t even notice. At first, he stopped hugging her in the mornings, then started staying late at the office. And in the past few weeks, he became distant, as if thinking about something completely different while Lera talked about work or weekend plans.
“Are you listening to me?” the wife asked, but her husband nodded while staring at his phone.
“Of course I’m listening,” Artyom replied, but his eyes gave him away completely.
To be honest, Lera didn’t expect things to come to this. When she found a long blonde hair on the passenger headrest in her husband’s car, she tried to convince herself it was an accident. Maybe he gave a colleague a ride. Her own hair was dark and short — definitely not hers.
Then she noticed that Artyom stopped leaving his phone unattended. Before, she could calmly ask him to call someone if her own phone ran out of charge, but now her husband gripped his phone tightly even in his sleep. The password she knew by heart suddenly stopped working.
“Why did you change the code?” Lera asked once.
“Why do you need my phone?” Artyom snapped. “You have your own.”
That was the first time she thought maybe something serious was going on. But people don’t ruin a seven-year marriage just like that, right? There has to be a reason, an explanation.
The wife tried to be better. She cooked Artyom’s favorite dishes, suggested going to the theater or the movies, even bought new lingerie hoping to restore intimacy. But her husband only got annoyed by her attempts.
“Why are you clinging to me?” he snapped one evening when Lera tried to hug him from behind while he was watching TV. “It’s been a hard day, I want to rest.”
Rest. From her. From his own wife.
The last straw came last Friday. Lera was cooking dinner and talking about how a colleague brought photos from her vacation in Turkey, and how she and Artyom hadn’t been anywhere for a long time. Maybe they should go somewhere too? Even just for a weekend by the sea, since it was so hot.
“Listen,” her husband interrupted without looking up from the screen, “maybe you should go stay with your friend Katya? Let me finally breathe.”
Let me breathe. As if Lera was suffocating him just by being in his own apartment.
“All right,” the wife said quietly and turned off the stove. “I’ll go.”
Artyom didn’t even look up.
She packed for a few days and really went to Katya’s. Her friend greeted her with hugs and cold lemonade, without asking unnecessary questions. Only by evening, when they turned on the air conditioner and the daytime heat eased a bit, did Katya cautiously ask what had happened.
“I don’t know,” Lera admitted. “I feel like I’m losing my husband, but I don’t know how to stop it.”
Katya hugged her silently. And in the morning, over breakfast, she suddenly said:
“You know, I have his social media accounts. I looked yesterday… Artyom likes photos of some Nastya every day. Not just photos, but like… well, you understand.”
Lera nodded. She understood. In the heat, girls post lots of photos in swimsuits, light dresses. But there’s a difference between random likes and consistency.
“Can you show me?” Lera asked.
Katya took out her phone and opened the profile. Nastya turned out to be a blonde about twenty-five, with bright makeup and lots of selfies. And in the comments under her photos…
“Look,” Katya pointed to the screen. “Here your husband wrote: ‘Beautiful,’ and here — ‘Simply fire.’ Three days ago.”
Her heart pounded in her throat. Lera scrolled further through Nastya’s feed. Photos from the beach, cafes, selfies in the car. And everywhere likes from Artyom. Not just likes — comments.
“That doesn’t mean they’re involved,” Katya tried to calm her, though her voice sounded uncertain.
“It does,” Lera said quietly. “He’s not stupid. He knows I could see this.”
Or maybe he doesn’t know. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Lera spent three days at her friend’s, trying to sort out her feelings. Artyom didn’t call or text once. It was as if his wife’s disappearance didn’t bother him at all. Meanwhile, new likes kept appearing on Nastya’s photos in his social media.
“Listen,” Katya said on the evening of the third day, as they sat on the balcony trying to escape the heat, “he’s got some weird photos in his stories. Doesn’t really look like he’s suffering over you.”
Lera took her friend’s phone and looked. In Artyom’s story was a photo of a dinner for two. A beautifully set table, candles, wine. And a woman’s hand with bright manicure reaching for a glass.
“That’s it,” Lera said, handing the phone back. “Enough.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll go home. Without warning.”
Katya nodded.
“Need support?”
“No. I’ll handle it myself.”
The next day, closer to evening when the heat had eased, Lera got into her car and drove home. On the way, she thought about what she would say to her husband, how she would act if her suspicions were confirmed. But her head was a mess — too many emotions, too many questions.
She parked in the yard and went up to her floor. She stopped at the door, listening. Music and laughter came from the apartment. Female laughter.
Lera took out her keys and quietly opened the door. In the hallway, unfamiliar high-heeled shoes caught her eye. Red, expensive. Nearby — Artyom’s men’s boots.
The wife took off her sandals and went further. The kitchen smelled of expensive perfume and some unfamiliar cream. Voices came from the living room.
“Artyom, come on, one more glass,” a woman’s voice said. “This wine will go to waste.”
“Nastya, you’ve had enough,” Artyom laughed. “You’ve got work tomorrow.”
Nastya. The very blonde from social media.
Lera took a deep breath and headed to the living room. She froze in the doorway. Her husband sat on the couch in just shorts, and next to him was a girl in Lera’s housecoat. The very silk one Artyom gave her for her last birthday.
Nastya noticed Lera first. She put down her glass, looked Lera up and down, and arrogantly asked:
“And who are you anyway?”
Lera stood in the doorway and looked at the scene. Her husband went pale, the girl looked defiant. And inside, something clicked like a switch turning off.
“Sweetheart,” Lera said calmly, looking Nastya in the eyes, “did your husband forget to tell you? This is my pre-marital apartment — so take your slippers and get out.”
Nastya turned so pale that even bright makeup couldn’t hide her fear. The glass slipped from her hands and shattered on the parquet, splashing red wine on the light floor. Lera didn’t even blink, continuing to look at the uninvited guest.
“I… I didn’t know…” Nastya stammered, jumping up from the couch and grabbing the nearby purse. “Artyom said you kicked him out! That the apartment is his now!”
“Artyom says a lot of things,” Lera replied calmly. “But the documents for this place are mine.”
The girl dashed for the exit, but the robe slipped from her shoulders, almost falling off. Nastya frantically caught the fabric, trying to hold the bag and the last shred of dignity.
“Take off the robe,” Lera added. “It’s mine.”
“But I… I have nothing under it…” Nastya whispered.
“Your problem.”
At that moment footsteps came from the bathroom, and Artyom appeared, hurriedly wrapping a towel around his waist. His hair was wet, and his face showed utter shock.
“Lera, wait…” the husband began, but the wife raised her hand, stopping him.
“Let the lady get dressed first. There will be time for explanations later.”
Nastya threw the robe on the floor and, covering herself with the purse, dashed to the door. A second later the front door slammed and the sound of heels on the stairs echoed.
Artyom gulped nervously and stepped toward his wife.
“This isn’t what you think…”
“What do I think?” Lera asked calmly, bending down to pick up the robe.
“That… that something happened between us…”
“Nothing happened between you?” Lera carefully hung the robe over the back of a chair. “And what about the photos on your social media? Comments under her selfies? The romantic dinner you posted in your stories?”
Her husband turned even paler.
“Were you following me?”
“You asked me to let you breathe,” Lera smiled. “Now breathe deep. There will be plenty of oxygen.”
“Lera, please…” Artyom rushed to her, grabbing her hands. “I thought you were gone forever! When you packed and left, I decided it was over…”
“And immediately found comfort?” The wife freed her hands. “That same evening?”
“No! Not that same… I mean…” Artyom got tangled in his words. “We just met at a cafe, started talking…”
“Met?” Lera laughed, but it was a cold laugh. “Artyom, you liked her photos for more than a month. I saw it. You wrote comments while I was still here, cooking you dinners and trying to understand what was happening to us.”
Her husband stood in the middle of the living room in just a towel and said nothing. What could be said?
“Do you know what surprises me the most?” Lera continued, gathering the shards of a glass. “Not that you cheated. Not that you lied. But that you brought her into my apartment. Into my bed. Gave her my robe.”
“That was a mistake…”
“Did you even try to think?” Lera straightened and looked her husband in the eyes. “While you were bringing girls to MY apartment?”
“She was only here today! The first time!”
“And the likes on her photos every day — is that also the first time?”
Artyom lowered his head. The towel slipped, and he instinctively adjusted it.
“Lera, I didn’t want to… It just happened… I was lonely without you…”
“Lonely?” The wife raised an eyebrow. “You asked me to leave. With your own words. ‘Let me breathe,’ remember?”
“I didn’t think you would really leave…”
“And I didn’t think I had a husband like you.”
Suddenly Artyom fell to his knees right in the middle of the living room. The towel slipped completely, but he didn’t care.
“Forgive me,” the husband said, grabbing Lera’s hand. “It was a mistake, stupidity! I only love you!”
“Love me?” Lera carefully freed her hand. “Interesting. And when did you realize you love me? When you liked her bikini selfies or when you invited her to a romantic dinner?”
“Lera, please… We’ve been together seven years…”
“Exactly. Seven years. And in the three days I was gone, you already brought another woman to my home.”
Her husband tried to hug her legs, but Lera stepped back.
“Artyom, get up. And put some clothes on finally.”
“Don’t send me away… I’ll change…”
“Did you forget whose apartment you’re standing in?” Lera went to the front door and opened it wide. “Which means you’re standing at the exit.”
“What?”
“Get out,” the wife gestured toward the corridor.
“But… where will I go? My things are here…”
“You can get them tomorrow. With witnesses.”
“Lera!”
“Or should I call the precinct officer? Explain that there is an unauthorized man in my apartment?”
Artyom slowly got up from his knees and shuffled to the bedroom for clothes. A few minutes later he came out dressed, carrying a small sports bag.
“Will you change your mind?” the husband asked, stopping at the threshold.
“No.”
“And if I prove that I love you?”
“You already proved it,” Lera answered and slammed the door.
The first thing the wife did after her husband left was call a locksmith and arrange to change the locks tomorrow. The second was to call a lawyer Katya once recommended.
“I want to file for divorce,” Lera said into the phone. “Is there time tomorrow morning?”
Half an hour later, the apartment was cleaned, shards were picked up, wine stains washed off. Lera brewed herself some tea, sat on the couch and looked around. For the first time in many months, the house was quiet and peaceful. No one was snorting unhappily, frowning, or poking at their phone, ignoring conversations.
The phone vibrated. A message from Artyom: “Lera, please, think again. I’ll change.”
The wife deleted the message without replying. Then blocked her husband’s number on all social media. And on her phone too.
Outside, the July sun was still shining, children played somewhere, a dog barked. Normal summer life went on. And Lera realized — for the first time in a long while, she felt free.
Tomorrow the locksmith would come to change the locks. The day after tomorrow, a meeting with the lawyer. And in a month, the registry office would stamp the divorce papers.
Lera hadn’t lost. She had freed herself.
