Tanya waved to the cashier and stepped away from the supermarket checkout. The day off had been an unexpected gift—her boss had released the entire department early after a successful quarterly report. Tatyana smiled. The surprise for Seryozha would be perfect!
Sergey had been disappearing to the dacha for the third week in a row. “I’m redoing the roof, fixing the fence,” he explained over the phone every evening. Tanya, of course, believed him—after thirty-five years of marriage, there’d never been a reason to doubt. But oh, how she missed him!
She loaded the groceries into the trunk of her old Toyota: strawberries, champagne, cheese—everything her husband loved. “We’ll have a romantic evening, like in our youth,” Tanya thought as she started the engine.
The drive to the summer village took almost two hours. Tanya turned up the radio; some host was talking about celebrity infidelities.
“Oh, turn it off already!” Tanya snapped, pressing the button. “Like there’s nothing else to talk about.”
Sergey wasn’t answering his phone—probably buried in work again and couldn’t hear it. She imagined how surprised he’d be when she appeared on the porch with bags of food.
Tatyana turned onto their familiar street. Their plot was second to last in the row, with a blue fence and an apple tree by the gate. She slowed down before reaching the house. She wanted to sneak in quietly, catch him off guard.
The gate creaked. Tanya winced—really needed to oil those hinges. She walked through the garden to the veranda and froze. On the veranda sat two people—Sergey and some young woman. About thirty, with long light-brown hair. They were laughing and drinking tea. Sergey was telling a story, gesturing with his hands.
Tanya returned to the car. Her hands were trembling. “Calm down,” she told herself. “Maybe she’s… some niece? Or the neighbors’ daughter?”
She sat in the car for about ten minutes, gathering herself. Then she got out and slowly walked back to the house. Through the veranda window she could see clearly: Sergey placed his hand on the young woman’s shoulders; she leaned into him. They were sitting so close…
“No, no, no,” pounded in Tanya’s head.
She yanked open the veranda door. Sergey and the girl jumped apart.
“Tanya?!” Sergey leapt to his feet. “What are you… you’re supposed to be in the city…”
“I see that,” Tanya tried to speak calmly, but her voice betrayed a tremor. “You have company.”
“This is Alyona,” Sergey said quickly. “Mikhailych’s daughter from the neighboring plot. Remember? She helped paint the fence last summer.”
The girl smiled awkwardly. “Hello.”
“And where’s your father?” Tanya asked, looking straight at the girl.
“He… went to the store,” Alyona looked away.
“And how long have you two been… painting fences here?” Tanya turned her gaze to her husband.
“We’re just having tea!” Sergey laughed nervously. “Alyona, thanks for the help. Let’s finish another time, okay?”
The girl nodded, grabbed her bag, and quickly left. Tanya watched her go.
“And what was that?” she asked when the gate closed behind the girl.
“Nothing! She helps me here with small stuff. Young, active, picks things up quickly.”
“I see,” Tanya said through her teeth. “Especially how she picks up your hugs.”
“What hugs? Tanya, come on!”
“I’m not blind, Seryozha.” Tanya sank into a chair. “I saw everything through the window. How you hugged her.”
“You imagined it.”
“No, I didn’t imagine anything,” Tanya felt a lump of resentment grow inside. “I got here twenty minutes ago. I was standing by the car and saw everything.”
Sergey sat across from her and rubbed his forehead with his hand.
“Tanya, you’re winding yourself up. Alyona’s just helping with repairs. She’s got a design degree; she gives me advice.”
“On the phone you said you were alone at the dacha.”
“And what should I have said? ‘Tanya, there’s a young woman helping me here’? You’d have thought…”
“Exactly what I thought!” Tanya slammed her palm on the table. The cups jumped. “Seryozha, we’re almost sixty. We’ve been together our whole lives. Should I be afraid to let you go to the dacha now?”
“There’s nothing between us.”
“Oh, really?” Tanya felt tears welling up. “And those glances? The laughter? I saw how she looked at you.”
“Good grief, Tanya! Can’t a person even talk anymore?”
Tatyana stood and walked to the window. Outside, the apple tree branches swayed. She and Sergey planted it twenty years ago when they bought the plot.
“I’m going home,” she said quietly.
“Then why did you come?” irritation sounded in Sergey’s voice.
“I wanted to surprise you. A romantic dinner. Foolish old woman.”
Sergey sighed and tried to take her hand.
“Tanya, come on, enough. Stay. Let’s talk calmly.”
She pulled her hand away.
“About what? How you cuddle girls while I slave at work? About her amazing design talent?”
“You misunderstood everything.”
“No, I understood perfectly.” Tanya grabbed her bag. “Don’t call me today.”
She left, slamming the door. In the car, Tatyana let the tears flow. Thirty-five years together. Children, grandchildren, illnesses, parents’ funerals—they’d been through it all hand in hand. And now…
Tatyana started the engine. The image of Sergey and that girl, their laughter, his hand on her shoulder, burned in her mind. How could he?
At home, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the couch. The apartment felt empty and foreign. Tanya turned on the TV—some soap opera was on. On the screen, a young couple kissed. Tanya nervously switched the channel.
The phone rang at eight in the evening. Sergey. Tanya declined the call. A minute later, a message arrived: “Can we talk?”
“Nothing to talk about,” she typed in response.
Sergey called again. Tanya reluctantly picked up.
“What do you want?”
“Tanya, let’s discuss this calmly.”
“Discuss what? I saw everything with my own eyes.”
“We were just talking.”
“You think I’ve lost my mind?” Tanya felt her anger rise again. “I saw you hugging her!”
“It was a friendly gesture.”
“And the way she snuggled up to you—also friendly?”
There was silence on the line.
“Seryozha,” Tatyana took a deep breath. “Tell me the truth. Is there something between you two?”
“Tanya…”
“Just tell the truth. I have the right to know.”
Sergey was silent for a few seconds.
“Yes,” he finally said. “But it’s not what you think.”
Something inside Tanya broke.
“How long?”
“A month. Maybe a month and a half.”
“And all this time you’ve been lying to me?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Didn’t want to hurt me?” Tanya gasped with indignation. “And now what? You think your confession makes it easier?”
“Tanya, listen…”
“No, you listen!” her voice cracked. “We’ve been together thirty-five years. I always trusted you. Always! Even when your business trips dragged on. Even when you started staying late at work. I trusted you! And you…”
“Tanya, she means nothing. Just an infatuation.”
“An infatuation?” Tanya laughed bitterly. “You’re fifty-eight years old! What kind of damn infatuation? She’s young enough to be your daughter!”
“I know,” Sergey’s voice was dull. “I’m ashamed myself.”
“Ashamed? Then at least you shouldn’t have dragged her to our dacha! That’s our place, Seryozha! We spent time there with the kids, with the grandkids! And you brought her there!”
“It just happened.”
“It just happened,” Tanya mimicked. “Everything by itself, huh? You had nothing to do with it? She just jumped into your bed on her own?”
Silence again. Tanya suddenly realized she didn’t need an answer.
“Don’t call me again. And don’t come over.”
She hung up. The phone rang immediately again. Tanya turned it off.
The night was sleepless. Tanya tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling, turned the TV on and off. Thoughts kept spinning in her head: “How could I not notice? When did it start? Why?”
The girl’s face appeared before her eyes. Young, with clear eyes and smooth skin. Of course, at thirty she looked better than Tanya. No wrinkles, no gray hair, a slim figure.
“And I, the fool, went on diets, bought creams,” Tanya thought. “Why did I bother? Couldn’t keep him anyway.”
By morning she dozed off, but by seven she was up. Turned on the phone—eight missed calls from Sergey and a dozen messages. She didn’t read them.
The day passed in a fog. Tanya mechanically did chores, feeling neither hunger nor fatigue. Inside there was emptiness.
In the evening her daughter called.
“Mom, why don’t you pick up? I’ve been calling all day.”
“I turned off the phone,” Tanya tried to sound even. “Wanted to rest.”
“Have you seen Dad? He’s not answering me either.”
“He’s… at the dacha,” Tanya swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Mom, your voice sounds weird. Did something happen?”
“No, everything’s fine. Just tired.”
“Are you sure? Should I come over?”
“No need, Yulya. Really, I’m fine.”
After the call, Tanya sat on the couch and stared at the wall. How to tell the kids? What to say? “Your father found a young lover”? Yulya and Dima adore their father. It would break their hearts.
The doorbell rang. Tanya flinched. Could it be Sergey? Through the peephole she saw her neighbor Marina.
“Tanya, I baked some pies,” Marina held out a plate. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“And where’s Sergey? At the dacha?”
“Yes,” Tanya forced a smile. “Fixing everything.”
“Hard worker,” Marina smiled. “My husband would just lie on the couch.”
When the neighbor left, Tanya put the pies on the table and burst into tears again. Everyone else lived normal lives. And her world collapsed in a single day.
The next morning Sergey came. Tanya didn’t open the door.
“Tanya, I know you’re home!” he shouted through the door. “Let’s talk!”
“Go away,” she replied. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Tanya, it’s a mistake! I’ve realized everything!”
“Yesterday you said you were having an affair.”
“It’s not an affair! It’s stupidity, a lapse!”
“Go away, Seryozha. Just go.”
Sergey came three more days in a row. Left flowers at the door, sent messages, called. Tanya didn’t answer. She looked at the bouquets through the peephole and didn’t open. She didn’t want to see him.
On the fourth day, Yulya called.
“Mom, what’s going on with you and Dad? He called me, he’s all jittery.”
“We… had a fight,” Tanya didn’t know how to explain.
“About what? You two never had serious fights.”
“Yulya, it’s between me and your father.”
“Mom!” her daughter’s voice sounded indignant. “I’m thirty-two. I’m not a child. Tell me what happened?”
Tanya sighed.
“Dad met another woman.”
“What?!” Yulya gasped. “That can’t be!”
“I caught them together at the dacha.”
“Oh God…” Yulya was silent. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” Tanya admitted honestly. “I really don’t know.”
After talking to her daughter, something changed. Tanya no longer cried. Inside it was like someone had turned off the faucet with tears. She sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and thought.
In the evening the doorbell rang. Tanya opened—it was her son on the threshold.
“Mom,” Dima hugged her. “Yulya told me everything.”
“Come in,” Tanya gave a weak smile. “Want some tea?”
They sat in the kitchen. Dima nervously twisted his cup.
“I talked to Dad.”
“And what did he say?”
“That he realized everything. That it was a mistake. That he only loves you.”
Tanya gave a bitter smile.
“You know, Dima, for thirty-five years I believed there was no one more important to him than me. And now…” she spread her hands. “How can I trust again?”
“People make mistakes, Mom.”
“I know. But some mistakes can’t be fixed.”
Dima stayed overnight. In the morning they had breakfast together. Tanya suddenly caught herself feeling good. Calm. For the first time in many years, she wasn’t thinking about what to cook for Sergey or which shirt to iron.
“How are you?” Dima asked, finishing his coffee.
“I’m okay,” Tanya smiled. “Really okay.”
A week later she signed up for a gardening club. She met women her age, started going to meetings. They discussed rose varieties, shared fertilizer recipes, and just chatted over tea.
Sergey kept calling and writing. Tanya replied briefly, without emotion. There was no talk of getting back together.
“Tanya, you’ve changed so much,” Marina said once when she met her at the entrance. “You look fresher.”
“Really?” Tanya smiled. “Maybe it’s spring.”
“And where’s Sergey?”
“Living at the dacha.”
“Haven’t seen him in a while,” Marina shook her head. “Are you two okay?”
“I’m okay,” Tanya replied firmly. “As for Sergey… that’s his business.”
In May Tanya decided to go to the dacha. She didn’t warn Sergey—just arrived one morning on a weekday when she was sure he wasn’t there.
The plot looked neglected. The grass overgrown, flowerbeds full of weeds. Tanya walked around the house, peeked into the shed. Took the tools and got to work.
By evening she had weeded the flowerbeds, trimmed the bushes, and even mowed part of the lawn. She was tired, but her soul felt light.
At home she found a message from Sergey: “I was at the dacha. Saw that you worked there. Thank you.”
Tanya didn’t reply. But the next weekend she went back to the dacha. And the week after that too.
In June she signed up for computer literacy courses and started going to the pool. Spent evenings with friends or grandkids. Her days gained new meaning.
Sergey asked to meet at the end of summer. They sat in a café, and Tanya was surprised to notice how much older he looked over these months.
“I ruined everything, didn’t I?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” Tanya answered honestly. “You ruined it.”
“I miss you.”
“You know, I’m doing well,” she smiled. “For the first time in many years, I’m living for myself. And I like it.”
Sergey lowered his head.
“So that’s it? We won’t be together?”
Tanya looked at him for a long moment.
“You know, Seryozha, I’m not angry with you anymore. Truly. But I also can’t go back. I found myself. And I don’t want to lose that again.”
She stood and left the café. Outside, the sun was shining, and Tanya suddenly felt light throughout her body. Ahead lay autumn—her new, very own autumn. And she knew for sure she would be okay.
