Galina pulled her keys out of her purse and froze on the threshold. Her heart was pounding with anticipation. For three days she’d suffered through those professional development courses, thinking only about home. About Sasha. When the last lecture was canceled, she didn’t call anyone. Let it be a surprise!
“I wonder what he’s doing right now?” she whispered, and quietly turned the key.
The apartment greeted her with silence. Sasha was probably still at work. Perfect! She had time for everything.
Galina kicked off her heels and dashed through the rooms. Honestly—how had he been living here without her? Dishes in the sink, crumbs on the table, newspapers scattered everywhere. Men… Well, nothing—she’d fix it all now.
She turned the music down low and got to work. Vacuum, rag, glass cleaner. The apartment gleamed. Galina sighed with satisfaction and looked at the clock. Half past four. She still had plenty of time!
“Alright, now dinner,” she said out loud. “What should I make?”
In the fridge she found chicken, vegetables, sour cream. Galina rolled up her sleeves. Sasha adored her chicken in sour-cream sauce. He always said, “Gal, you’re a magician!” And then he’d kiss the top of her head, like he used to when they were young.
Lately, though, he’d almost stopped praising her. And kissing her, too. Probably exhausted from work. They had some important project going on. Sasha came home late, ate dinner in silence, went straight to the TV. In the morning he rushed off early.
“It’s fine,” Galina told the onion she was chopping. “Tonight we’ll fix everything.”
She turned on the oven and started on the sauce. The onion sizzled in the pan, and a mouthwatering smell drifted through the kitchen. Galina smiled. How she loved cooking—especially for Sasha.
While the chicken was baking, she decided to deal with the flowers. Last month she’d bought a bouquet of chrysanthemums and dried the petals. Now they’d come in handy!
Galina took out a pretty vase, arranged the stems, and sprinkled petals on the table. Then she lit candles. It looked romantic—almost like a restaurant.
“Beautiful!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Now she needed to put herself in order. Galina rushed to the bathroom. A quick shower, washed her hair, put it in rollers. While it dried, she did light makeup: eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick. In the mirror, a pleasant-looking woman with shining eyes stared back.
“Not bad for fifty-nine!” she winked at her reflection.
From the wardrobe she took out her favorite dress. Blue, fitted. Sasha used to say it made her look younger. True, that was a long time ago. Two years back. Or maybe three?
Galina twirled in front of the mirror. The dress fit well. She hadn’t gained weight—she took care of herself. She did gymnastics, went to the pool. Other men still looked at her with interest. But Sasha…
“Enough!” Galina scolded herself. “Tonight will be special.”
She walked through the apartment, checking that everything was ready. The table was set, the candles were burning, the music played softly. In the oven the chicken bubbled away. The smell was incredible.
The clock showed seven. Sasha usually came home at seven-thirty. Galina sat in an armchair and picked up a magazine. But she couldn’t read—the letters blurred. She kept listening, waiting for the lock to click.
“God, I’m so nervous!” she laughed. “Like I’m going on a first date.”
And it really did feel like it. When they’d first met, she’d prepared for every date the same way—choosing an outfit for hours, doing her hair. Back then Sasha had been so attentive! He brought flowers, took her to the theater, talked about his work.
Now they’d lived together for thirty years. The kids had grown up and moved out. It was just the two of them. And somehow they’d become strangers.
“But it can be fixed,” Galina said firmly. “You just have to want it.”
At half past seven the lock clicked. Galina sprang up, her heart pounding.
“Sash!” she called. “You won’t believe it, I—”
No answer. Strange. Galina peeked into the entryway. Empty. But the lock had definitely clicked—she’d heard it!
“Sasha?” she repeated louder.
Silence. Only the music played softly and the candles crackled. Galina frowned. Maybe she’d imagined it. Nerves, probably.
She went back to the kitchen and checked the chicken. Done—golden brown. She turned off the oven and pulled out the tray. Perfect! Sasha would appreciate it.
Another click. This time it was definitely the lock. Galina smiled and adjusted her hair.
“Sash, where are you?” she called. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”
Again—silence. What was going on? Galina wiped her hands on a towel and went into the entryway. Sasha’s shoes were by the door. So he was home.
“Sasha!” she called. “What, have you gone deaf?”
From the bedroom came some sound—like someone hissing. Galina went on alert. Was Sasha sick? She hurried down the hallway.
“Sash, are you okay?” she asked at the bedroom door.
“Wait!” a man’s voice snapped. “Don’t come in!”
Galina froze. It was Sasha’s voice, but… strange. Frightened, maybe. And why shouldn’t she come in? This was their bedroom!
“What happened?” she asked, reaching for the handle.
“I said, wait!” Sasha shouted again.
But Galina had already opened the door. And her world collapsed.
On their bed—on her favorite bedspread that she’d washed the day before yesterday—sat Sasha. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair tousled. And beside him, clutching a sheet to her chest, was a woman. Young—around thirty—with long blond hair.
“Oh God…” Galina breathed.
Sasha jumped up, fumbling to button his shirt. His face was red, his eyes darting.
“Gal, it’s not what you think!” he babbled. “We just—”
“Just what?” Galina asked quietly.
The woman stayed silent, staring at the floor. The sheet slipped, exposing a shoulder. A young, beautiful shoulder.
“She…” Sasha stammered. “Lena, this is my wife.”
Lena. Galina knew that Lena. She worked with Sasha, sometimes called the house about work. Always so polite, so proper: “Is Alexander Mikhailovich there?” “Could you please pass on…”
“Hi,” Lena muttered without looking up.
“Hi,” Galina replied automatically.
How absurd. They were saying hello while a romantic dinner was cooling in the living room. Candles burning, music playing. Chicken in sour-cream sauce going cold.
“Gal, sit down,” Sasha said. “Let’s talk.”
“Sit down?” Galina echoed. “Where should I sit, Sash? On the bed?”
He grimaced.
“Don’t do that…”
“Do what?” Her voice grew louder. “Don’t do what, Sash? I spent three days coming home, thinking about you! I cooked dinner, arranged flowers!”
Lena stood up, pulling on Sasha’s shirt.
“I’ll go,” she murmured.
“Stop,” Galina said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Lena froze.
“How long has this been going on?” Galina asked.
Sasha was silent. Lena, too.
“I’m asking—how long?” Galina repeated.
“Six months,” Sasha said quietly.
Six months. While she made him breakfasts, ironed his shirts, waited for him every evening. While she worried he was coming home late because he was exhausted, or sick, or had problems.
“And I was the fool worrying,” Galina said. “I thought you were ill. Or something was wrong.”
“Gal…”
“Shut up,” she said calmly. “Just shut up.”
Sasha closed his mouth.
Galina looked at both of them: her husband of thirty years, and a woman younger than their daughter. On the bed where they’d slept, made up after fights, planned their future.
“You know what,” Galina said. “Have dinner yourselves. I’m leaving.”
She turned and went toward the door. Her knees were trembling, but she walked. In the entryway she grabbed her purse and put on her shoes.
“Gal, where are you going?” Sasha shouted. “Come back!”
But the door had already slammed shut.
Outside it was cold. Galina stopped by the entrance and pulled out her phone. Her hands were shaking. Who could she call? The kids? But how could she explain? “Hi, honey—your father is sleeping with his young coworker”?
“God, what do I do?” she whispered.
Her phone vibrated. Sasha. Galina declined the call. Then another. And another. She turned the sound off.
She had to go somewhere. But where? A café? Ridiculous. To Anya’s? But Anya lived far away, with a small child—she’d only get upset.
But she could go to Olesya. Galina dialed her friend.
“Gal?” Olesya sounded surprised. “Aren’t you at the courses?”
“Oles, can I come to you?”
“Of course! What happened? Your voice is weird.”
“I’ll tell you later. I’m on my way.”
“I’m waiting!”
Galina caught a taxi. The driver tried to make conversation, but she stayed silent, staring out the window, one thought looping in her mind: six months. Six months he’d lied to her face.
Olesya met her in a robe, holding a mug of tea.
“Sit down, quick!” she chattered. “What’s going on? You’re white as a sheet!”
Galina sat on the couch and suddenly burst into tears. She sobbed, like a little girl. Olesya hugged her and stroked her head.
“Gal, sweetheart, what happened?”
“Sasha…” Galina sobbed. “Sasha is cheating.”
“What?!” Olesya pulled back. “Are you sure?”
“I saw it with my own eyes,” Galina wiped her nose with a tissue. “In our bed. With a coworker.”
“Bastard!” Olesya blurted. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing special. I just left.”
“Good!” her friend nodded. “Otherwise you would’ve said too much. Come on—tea, calm down.”
They drank tea with cookies. Galina told the details; Olesya gasped and clucked.
“He lied for six months, can you imagine?” Galina said. “And I, like an idiot, cooked, washed, waited for him every evening!”
“All men are the same,” Olesya sighed. “Mine looks to the side too. Thinks I don’t notice.”
“What do I do now?” Galina asked.
“You divorce him!” Olesya said flatly. “What is there to think about?”
“Just like that?”
“What’s so hard? You file, split the property, and that’s it.”
Galina shook her head.
“Thirty years together, Oles. Shared kids, grandkids soon…”
“So what? Was he thinking about that when he was sleeping with some girl?”
Galina was silent. Olesya was right. But how could it be like this? A whole life collapsing in one moment.
“Can I stay the night at your place?” she asked.
“Of course! Make yourself at home. The couch folds out.”
They made up a bed for her. Olesya gave her pajamas and a towel. Like a hotel. Only unbearably sad.
“Sleep,” Olesya said. “In the morning it’ll be clearer.”
But sleep wouldn’t come. Galina lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about Sasha—about how they’d met. Back then he was an engineer and she was a secretary. Handsome, smart. He courted her for six months, brought flowers.
And now? Lena was young and pretty. Probably admired him, listened attentively. Didn’t nag him about socks on the floor or empty jars in the fridge.
Her phone vibrated. A text from Sasha: “Gal, come home. Let’s talk like adults.”
Like adults! Galina snorted. Adults don’t sleep with coworkers in the marital bed.
She replied, “We’ll talk tomorrow,” and turned off her phone.
Toward morning she finally fell asleep. She dreamed of their wedding—young, happy. Sasha in a suit, she in a white dress. They danced a waltz and he whispered in her ear, “We’ll be together forever.”
She woke up to the smell of coffee. Olesya was already fussing in the kitchen.
“How’d you sleep?” her friend asked.
“Bad,” Galina admitted. “I kept thinking.”
“And what did you decide?”
“I need to talk to him. Honestly, without hysterics. Find out what he wants.”
Olesya shook her head.
“Why find out? It’s obvious—he wants the young one.”
“Maybe,” Galina agreed. “But I have to hear it from him.”
She got dressed and put herself in order.
“Let’s go,” Olesya said. “I’ll drive you.”
“No. I’ll get there myself.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thank you for everything.”
They hugged. Olesya walked her to the elevator.
“Call me as soon as you talk!” she shouted.
Galina nodded and pressed the button.
At home it was quiet. Sasha was sitting in the kitchen with a mug of coffee. He looked awful—wrinkled shirt, unshaven, hair sticking up. When he saw her, he jumped up.
“Gal! Finally! I didn’t sleep all night!”
“And where’s your Lena?” Galina asked calmly.
“She left. Right after you did.”
Galina sat across from him at the table. Yesterday’s candles had hardened; the stubs were blackened. The flowers had wilted.
“Talk,” she said.
“Talk about what?”
“Everything. How it started, why, what you feel.”
Sasha rubbed his face with his hands.
“It happened by accident. At the office party in December. We drank, talked…”
“Go on.”
“She’s young, you know? She listens to me, takes an interest in my work. It’s easy with her.”
“And with me it’s hard?”
“That’s not it,” Sasha avoided her eyes. “You and I… we’ve been living like neighbors for a long time. You know it yourself.”
Galina nodded. She did know. The last few years they really had just existed side by side. Morning coffee, evening TV. What was there to talk about after thirty years?
“So what now?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Sasha answered honestly. “I didn’t think you’d find out.”
“So you planned to keep lying?”
“I planned…” he hesitated. “I thought it would somehow blow over on its own.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Sasha said nothing. And suddenly Galina understood. He didn’t want to decide anything. He wanted a wife at home and a mistress on the side. Convenient—youth and admiration there, routine and stability here.
“Do you love her?” Galina asked.
“It’s complicated…”
“Try.”
“She’s different. Young, cheerful. With her I feel younger.”
“Got it,” Galina said. “And do you love me?”
Sasha looked up at her. In his eyes were confusion and something like pity.
“Gal, we’re used to each other. That’s love too, probably.”
“Probably,” she agreed.
They fell silent. Galina looked at her husband and thought she was seeing him for the first time—wrinkles around his eyes, gray at his temples, a tired gaze. When had he grown old? Or had she just stopped noticing?
“So what do we do?” Sasha asked.
“We’ll get divorced,” Galina said simply.
“What?!” he sprang up. “Since when?”
“What’s unclear? You said it yourself—we’re neighbors. Why do neighbors need a stamp in their passport?”
“But the kids, the apartment, the dacha…”
“We’ll split everything. Civilly, no scandals.”
“Gal, maybe don’t rush? Think about it…”
“I’ve thought it through,” Galina stood up. “I’m going to pack.”
She went to the bedroom. Sasha followed.
“Gal, come on! Over one stupid mistake!”
“Six months of lies—that’s a stupid mistake?” She opened the closet and pulled out a suitcase.
“I explained how it happened!”
“It happened,” Galina nodded, folding clothes. “And now it’s going to happen differently.”
“Where will you go?”
“To Anya’s for now. Then I’ll decide.”
Sasha stood watching her pack dresses, underwear, cosmetics. He was silent. Probably understood—it was useless.
“And how will we tell the kids?” he asked.
“We’ll tell the truth. They’re adults.”
Galina closed the suitcase and picked up her bag.
“Tomorrow I’ll come for the rest of my things. When you’re not home.”
“Gal…” he stepped toward her.
“What?”
“Forgive me.”
She looked at him carefully. Pathetic, lost. He’d wanted everything at once—and ended up with nothing.
“I forgive you,” she said. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
At the door she turned back.
“By the way, the chicken’s in the oven. Just reheat it.”
And she left the apartment where she’d lived for thirty years.
Outside, the sun was shining. Galina took out her phone and called her daughter.
“Anya, it’s Mom. Can I come stay with you for a week? We need to talk…”
A month later the divorce was finalized. They sold the apartment and split the money. Sasha moved in with Lena. Galina bought a small studio near her daughter.
She got a job at a charity foundation, helping lonely elderly people. She signed up for English classes. She’s planning a trip to Europe.
Sometimes she runs into Sasha at the store. They greet each other politely, ask about health. He has aged, grown gaunt. People say Lena has already left him—for someone younger.
And Galina lives. Simply lives—and rejoices in every day
