“Saša, why is there a suitcase in the hallway? Don’t tell me they’re sending you off on another weekend business trip! We were supposed to go to the dacha. Well? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Tell your boss to send Gorbunov instead!” I shouted from the corridor, trying to get some kind of answer. But all I heard back was silence. I raised my voice.
“Saša, what are you doing in there, asleep? Why won’t you answer me?”
I had already taken off my shoes and was about to go into the room when he suddenly stepped out into the hallway himself.
“Hi, Marina,” he said gloomily, lowering his head.
“‘Hi’? What do you mean, ‘hi’? We saw each other this morning. I’m asking you—are you going away on a business trip?” I nodded automatically toward the suitcase.
“I’m leaving,” he said dully and tried to walk toward the door without looking at me.
“Leaving?” I repeated, giving a confused little smile.
“Yes. I’m leaving you. I have another woman, understand?” Alexander added sharply.
“Oh, another woman! Well, yes, of course, I understand! How could I not? Wanted someone younger? Following your boss’s example, are you? Fine then—go ahead! I wish you happiness!” I shouted, struggling to hold back my tears.
“Marina, I don’t want a fight right now. I’m simply telling you the fact, that’s all,” he replied coldly.
“You’re telling me a fact? Then take your ‘facts’ and leave! No one’s going to cry over you!” I snapped bitterly.
I could no longer hold back my tears, but I still turned toward the wall, lowered my head, and silently waited for him to put on his shoes, take the suitcase, and go.
A minute later, the door slammed.
I lifted my head, wiped my face automatically—and the hallway was empty. He was gone, and so was the suitcase.
I walked over to the door and locked it. His keys were lying on the little table. I grabbed them, clenched them in my fist, and almost ran to the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and angrily threw the key ring into the trash.
Then I went to the window. Outside, autumn had fully taken over: the wind was howling, and rain was tapping against the glass and the metal ledge.
And then it hit me: I would spend this autumn, and the winter too, alone. The children had long since built lives of their own, and now my husband had left as well—for someone young and beautiful…
And yet not so long ago, everything had been different. The previous autumn, we had gone to a health resort together—even if only for a week, it had still been good. And then we had celebrated New Year’s as a whole family.
I smiled despite myself, remembering how Saša, our son Denis, and our son-in-law Volodya had gone to get the tree. They brought back one so huge it almost touched the ceiling—we had to trim it down.
The grandchildren had been so happy, and all of us had shared in the joy. And that dinosaur keychain—I had given it to Saša myself the previous New Year…
I stood by the window a little longer, then went back to the trash, took out the keys, and placed them on the windowsill.
Then the phone in my bag, which I had left in the hallway, started ringing. I was sure it was him. For a moment, I even thought maybe all of this was some ridiculous joke.
I hurried over and picked up the phone. But on the screen was my daughter Natasha’s name. I wiped away my tears and tried to sound calm.
“Yes, sweetheart…”
“Hi, Mom! Are you home already?” she asked brightly.
“Yes… what happened?”
“Volodya and I wanted to ask if you could watch Alyosha and Lena this weekend. We’re both working—it just turned out that way. I got scheduled for a shift, and he had already agreed to a side job.”
“Of course I can,” I answered, letting out an involuntary sob.
“Mom, are you okay? Are you crying?”
“No, I’m just cutting onions, making dinner,” I lied.
We said goodbye. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell her anything, though I knew the truth would come out sooner or later. Even if I managed to make something up tomorrow—say Saša was at work or away somewhere—I would still have to explain eventually.
But I didn’t want to say the truth out loud. I even felt embarrassed in front of the children about what had happened, even though I had done nothing wrong.
We had lived together for thirty-seven years. In all that time, there had been all kinds of things, but Saša had never once been caught cheating. He had always seemed dependable and caring, he supported me, and I supported him. And then—this…
Just as I expected, within a few days the children found out everything. I hadn’t told them anything—he had called both our son and daughter himself.
Natasha and Denis immediately took my side. They said they would never speak to him again and wouldn’t even let him see the grandchildren.
But I was against that. No matter what had happened, he was still their father. He had raised them all his life, and he loved the grandchildren too, always spoiled them.
So I was left alone.
Over time, the pain dulled a little, and life returned to its familiar rhythm: work, home, chores, grandchildren. But I still missed Saša, even though I was angry at him.
New Year’s came.
The children invited me to celebrate with them, but I refused. I didn’t invite anyone over either.
I simply wished everyone well in advance, bought myself a small artificial Christmas tree, decorated it, and placed it on the table.
It was the first New Year’s I spent completely alone. No matter how hard I tried to stay composed, I still burst into tears when the clock struck midnight.
I stared at that little tree—it felt somehow fake, чужой, not mine. Nothing like the big, real one we used to decorate before.
The holidays passed quickly. I went back to work.
And then one day, while walking home, I saw Saša sitting on a bench near the entrance to the building.
“Hi, Marina,” he said, standing up as soon as he noticed me.
“Well, hello. Have you come for the divorce? You don’t need to persuade me—I’m not planning to stand in the way of your happiness,” I replied with irony.
“Marina, I didn’t come to fight. I… well, let’s make peace. Take me back. I’ve realized I can’t live without you. I don’t need anyone else. And the children and grandchildren—they’re the most precious thing I have.”
“Oh, listen to you now,” I scoffed. “Not long ago, you were packing your suitcase with that important look on your face and presenting me with your ‘facts.’ So what happened? Did the young one fail to appreciate you, or did you fail to suit her?”
“Go find yourself another one—there are plenty around!” I added, catching myself speaking too loudly right there in the yard.
“Marina, I came here peacefully,” he said quietly.
“If it’s peacefully, then peacefully leave,” I replied and headed toward the entrance.
From the window, I watched him sit on that bench for another half hour, head lowered. Then he got up and slowly walked away.
Inside me, two feelings were battling each other: hurt and anger on one side, and an attachment that was still very much alive on the other.
A few days later, while I was sitting at work, I received a message from him:
“Marina, I’m in intensive care. Please come. I was injured at work.”
Everything inside me dropped.
I rushed to my boss, asked for leave, and ran to the bus stop.
Barely aware of the road, I made it to the hospital, thinking only one thing—let him be alive.
I burst inside and went straight to reception.
“Please… Koshelev Alexander… he was brought in a few hours ago with an injury. How is he?”
“All right… Koshelev… yes, he was admitted…” the nurse began.
“Is he in intensive care? Can I see him?” I interrupted, unable to contain my panic.
“He’s in a regular ward. You may go in. Take off your coat—here are shoe covers and a gown,” she answered calmly.
I could barely hear her. I was thinking only of how quickly I could get to him.
“Straight down the corridor, room seven,” the nurse added.
I ran there, threw open the door—and froze.
My husband was sitting there with a bandaged head, across from some man in hospital pajamas, and the two of them were calmly playing cards.
“Marina?” he said, startled.
“Saša! You told me you were in intensive care with a serious injury! Did you lie to me?!” I burst out.
Silence fell over the room.
“I raced here like a madwoman, nearly lost my mind, and you’re sitting here playing cards!”
“It wasn’t me… it was Petrovich’s idea,” he said awkwardly. “We both got hit on the head, and he decided this was a chance to make peace…”
“But I really do have a concussion!” he added quickly.
I let out a sob and threw my arms around him.
“You see, Sashka, I told you it would work,” his coworker smirked. “Women are soft-hearted…”
Would you be able to forgive betrayal?
