Rita stood at the stove, stirring the soup. The children were drawing at the kitchen table, and the youngest, Sonya, was moving her marker across the paper with such concentration that it looked as though she were mapping out a brand-new world. The older one, Timur, was building a fence out of colored pencils around his picture.
Rustam came into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and sat down on a stool. He was silent for a moment. Then he spoke as casually as if he were dropping a coin into a vending machine — ordinary, weightless.
“I’ve been thinking. I need to get away for a couple of weeks. I’m so tired my head isn’t working anymore.”
Rita turned around and looked at him calmly.
“Get away where?”
“To the sea. Maybe Turkey. Maybe Egypt. I haven’t decided yet. You stay home with the kids, and I’ll go rest. Alone. I mean, by myself.”
He corrected himself quickly. But not quickly enough for it to sound natural. Rita turned back to the stove. The spoon froze above the pot for half a second.
“By yourself?”
“Yeah. I just need silence. No offense.”
“No offense,” Rita repeated evenly.
Rustam finished his water, put the glass down, and left the kitchen. Sonya lifted her head.
“Where is Daddy going?”
“To rest,” Rita answered. “Keep drawing, sweetheart.”
She stirred the soup and covered the pot with a lid. Then she took out her phone, opened her notes, and typed one line: “Alone. I mean, by myself.” She added the date and slipped the phone back into the pocket of her apron.
That evening, after the children had fallen asleep, Rita sat down in the armchair in the living room. Rustam was already lying on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. She did not ask him anything. She simply watched as he mechanically moved his finger across the screen.
“Have you looked at tickets yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll check tomorrow.”
“When are you planning to fly?”
“In about ten days. If it works out.”
“Alright.”
Rustam was surprised. He had expected questions, accusations, maybe even tears. But Rita simply nodded and went to the bathroom. He smirked and thought, Well, that went fine.
The next morning, Rustam left early. Rita fed the children, took Timur to kindergarten, and returned home with Sonya. Only when the little girl fell asleep after their walk did Rita take out the laptop.
She knew the password to his email. He had not changed it since they got married. There was nothing important there. Then she checked the browser history on the home computer. Two tickets. Two seats side by side. Antalya. In nine days.
The second ticket was issued in the name of “Alina Sergeyevna Topoleva.”
Rita closed the laptop. She stood up, went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and drank it. Then she sat at the table and simply stared at the wall for two minutes.
After that, she opened the laptop again.
Zinaida Pavlovna, her mother-in-law, returned from the store closer to lunchtime. She lived with them in that two-room apartment. It was a little cramped, but somehow they all fit — they had gotten used to it. Zinaida Pavlovna put the shopping bags on the floor and called out to Rita.
“Rita, I bought kefir and cottage cheese. Did you need anything?”
“No, thank you, Zinaida Pavlovna. We have everything.”
Her mother-in-law went to her room. Rita could hear her talking on the phone — quietly, briefly. Probably with one of her friends. Half an hour later, Zinaida Pavlovna came out and sat across from Rita at the kitchen table. Her face looked strange — not angry, but closed off somehow, like a door leading down into a basement.
“Rustam told me he’s flying away to rest.”
“Yes,” Rita nodded.
“Alone?”
“That’s what he said.”
Zinaida Pavlovna was silent for a moment. She drummed her fingers on the table.
“Fine. Let him rest.”
Rita looked at her carefully. She already knew the name — Alina Topoleva. But she needed more.
“Zinaida Pavlovna, do you know something I don’t?”
“I know that my son is tired. That’s all.”
Rita nodded and asked no more. She understood: Zinaida Pavlovna already knew. And she was keeping quiet.
The next day, Rita called her friend Lena. They had not seen each other for two weeks, but they spoke on the phone often.
“Lena, I need to see you. Without the kids. Can you do tomorrow at noon?”
“I can. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet.”
They met at a café near the park. Lena arrived in her usual way — quickly, smiling, wearing some bright scarf. But when she saw Rita’s face, the smile slipped away.
“You look like you haven’t slept.”
“I slept. I just thought a lot.”
“Tell me.”
“Rustam is flying to Turkey. Not alone. With a woman. I found two tickets. One in his name, the other for Alina Topoleva.”
Lena froze with her cup in her hands.
“Are you sure?”
“Two tickets, two seats together. Same flight, same date. I’m sure.”
“What did he say?”
“He doesn’t know that I know. And I’m not going to tell him.”
Lena put down her cup and looked Rita in the eyes.
“Rita, I had a story like that. You know that. My Maksim once had an affair. But he came to me and told me himself. He sat across from me, put his hands on the table, and said, ‘I’m guilty. I’m an idiot. If you leave, I’ll understand. If you stay, I’ll earn it every single day.’ And he did earn it. He’s been earning it for two years now. But the main thing was that he confessed on his own. By himself. Without me having to hunt for evidence.”
“Rustam won’t confess,” Rita said.
“Then this isn’t the same kind of story.”
“I know.”
Lena was silent for a while. Then she took Rita’s hand.
“What do you need?”
“I need to find out who she is. Not just her name. I need to understand whether this has been going on for a long time or whether it’s something random.”
“And what will you do after that?”
“I’ll decide.”
Rita said it in such a voice that Lena did not ask anything else.
Denis called her himself. Or rather, Rita had found him through mutual acquaintances. She knew Rustam had a friend named Denis, someone he went fishing with and sometimes saw at birthday parties. She also knew Denis had once had a girlfriend he spoke about warmly. And then, all of a sudden, he had stopped mentioning her.
Rita wrote to him briefly: “Denis, I need to ask you something. It concerns Rustam. And possibly Alina Topoleva.”
Denis called her back seven minutes later.
“Hello, Rita. I didn’t expect a message from you.”
“I didn’t expect to be writing something like that either. But I found two plane tickets. Rustam is flying to Turkey. The second ticket is for Alina.”
There was silence on the other end. Then Denis exhaled.
“Alina is my ex.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“We were together for a year and a half. Then she left. I didn’t understand why. One day she simply packed her things and said she had found someone else. I thought it was a stranger, someone from a different circle. But a month later, I saw her with Rustam. In the parking lot at a shopping center. He was holding her hand, and she was laughing.”
“Did he know she was your girlfriend?”
“Of course he knew. He met her at my birthday party.”
Rita said nothing. Denis continued.
“I wanted to tell him everything I thought of him back then. But I didn’t. I decided to let them live with it. I thought I had simply lost. But now you’re calling.”
“Denis, how long ago was this?”
“About five months. Maybe a little more. I saw them together in April. It’s September now.”
“Five months,” Rita repeated.
“I’m sorry. I could have told you earlier. But I wasn’t sure it was my place.”
“It isn’t your fault. You answered me now. That’s enough.”
“If you need anything, call me. I won’t cover for him. He acted like a bastard.”
Rita hung up. She looked at the clock. Half past one. Sonya was sleeping. Timur was at kindergarten until five. She had time.
She called her grandfather, Fyodor Stepanovich. He answered after the second ring, as always.
“Ritochka?”
“Grandpa, I need to talk to you. Seriously.”
“Come over. Or by phone?”
“By phone. I can’t leave the children.”
And she told him. Briefly, without breaking down, only the facts. The tickets. The name. Five months. The slip — “alone, I mean, by myself.” Her mother-in-law’s silence.
Fyodor Stepanovich listened without interrupting. Then he asked only one thing.
“Have you decided to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
“Not yet. I’ll look for a rental. I have some savings for the beginning.”
“Don’t you dare rent anything.”
“Grandpa…”
“Rita, don’t argue. I have a three-room apartment. I rattle around in it alone like a pea in a bucket. I fixed up the dacha. It has heat, gas, water. I’ve wanted to move there for a long time, but I didn’t have a reason. Now I do. Tomorrow we’ll go to the notary. I’ll transfer the apartment to you.”
“Grandpa, that’s too much.”
“It is not too much. It is right. My grandchildren will not live in rented corners because one man decided he was special. You take the children and move in. Period.”
Fyodor Stepanovich’s voice was like an old oak door — heavy, reliable, and without a creak. Rita closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Grandpa.”
“Don’t thank me. Act. I’ll wait for you tomorrow with your passport.”
Rustam flew out on Tuesday. Rita took Timur to kindergarten, picked up Sonya, and went to the notary. Fyodor Stepanovich was already there — in an ironed shirt, holding a folder with documents. Everything took less than an hour.
When they came out, her grandfather hugged her. Firmly, with one arm, while holding his cane with the other.
“Live peacefully. And don’t even think about feeling sorry for him.”
“I won’t.”
On Thursday, Zinaida Pavlovna went to stay with a friend at the dacha. She said it would be for three days.
Rita called Lena.
“Lena, I need help. I have to pack and move things.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there at nine in the morning. Maksim will lend us the car. He offered himself, I told him.”
“Thank you.”
“Rita, you’re doing great.”
“I’m not doing great. I’m simply not going to wait for him to come back tanned and pleased with himself and explain to me how tired he was.”
On Friday at nine in the morning, Lena was already outside the building. Rita had packed everything: the children’s clothes, her own clothes, documents, toys, books. It all fit into six boxes and four bags. Lena helped silently. Only when they loaded the last box did she say:
“It all fit easily. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t take any of his things.”
“I don’t need anything of his.”
They drove to Fyodor Stepanovich’s apartment. It was a three-room place, bright, in a good building. Her grandfather had gone to the dacha the day before, leaving the keys, a full refrigerator, and a note on the kitchen table: “Live here. Kisses. Grandpa.”
Rita put the boxes in the large room. Timur ran through the apartment shouting, “There’s a big room here! And another one! And what’s here? And this is the kitchen! It’s huge!” Sonya followed him, holding onto the edge of his T-shirt.
Lena made tea. They sat down in the kitchen.
“Have you filed for divorce?”
“I’ll file on Monday. The documents are already ready.”
“And your mother-in-law?”
“Zinaida Pavlovna will come back and see an empty room. She isn’t stupid — she’ll understand. But she won’t call me. She’ll call her son. And he’ll call me.”
“And what will you say to him?”
“The truth. Briefly. Without shouting.”
Lena nodded.
“You’ve become a different person this week.”
“No. I was always this person. There just wasn’t a reason before.”
On Sunday, Zinaida Pavlovna returned from the dacha. She opened the door. Silence. She walked through the apartment. The room where Rita and the children had lived was empty. The wardrobe was open. The shelves were clean. The keys lay on the table.
Zinaida Pavlovna stood in the doorway for a while. Then she took out her phone and called her son.
“Rustam, Rita has moved out. With the children. She took her things.”
“What?! Where?”
“I don’t know. I came home and they were already gone. She left the keys on the table.”
“She didn’t say anything to you?”
“Nothing. We didn’t talk before I left.”
“I’ll call her.”
“Call her. This is your business. I’m not getting involved.”
Rustam hung up and called Rita. She answered after the fourth ring. Her voice was calm and even. He could hear the children laughing in the background.
“Rita, what the hell are you doing?”
“I filed for divorce, Rustam.”
“What divorce?! Have you lost your mind?”
“No. I’m completely sane. Think about why. You’ll have time — you’re on vacation, after all. How’s the weather, by the way? Say hello to Alina.”
And she ended the call.
Rustam stared at the dark phone screen. Alina was lying on the lounge chair beside him. She turned toward him.
“Who called?”
“No one.”
“Rustam, your face is white. Who called?”
“Rita. She filed for divorce.”
Alina sat up.
“She knows? How?”
“I have no idea.”
“You said she wouldn’t check anything! You said she was busy with the kids and wouldn’t have time for that!”
“Then I was wrong!”
Rustam’s voice snapped like a cable breaking. Alina moved away from him. She had seen him angry before — but not like this. His face had become unfamiliar. Hard. Ugly.
“Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling!”
“You are yelling. And it’s frightening.”
“What frightens me is that my wife took the kids and filed for divorce while I’m here sunbathing with you!”
Alina stood up. She gathered her towel and looked down at him.
“Maybe you should have thought about that earlier.”
“Are you seriously lecturing me now? You?”
“I’m not lecturing you. I’m leaving. I don’t like what I’m seeing.”
“Where are you going? We’re at a resort!”
“To the room. I’ll pack my things. I’ll move to another floor. Or maybe I’ll fly home early.”
“Alina!”
“Rustam, you just yelled at me because your wife turned out to be smarter than you thought. That isn’t my problem. It’s yours.”
She left. Rustam remained alone on the lounge chair, among strangers, under the bright southern sun that suddenly felt irritating.
Rustam returned four days later — earlier than planned. Alina had flown back even earlier, on a separate flight, without saying goodbye. He entered his mother’s apartment and dropped his suitcase in the hallway.
Zinaida Pavlovna was sitting in the kitchen. Silently. In front of her stood a plate of untouched porridge.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know, Rustam.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You live here! She moved things out right under your nose!”
“I was at the dacha. When I came back, no one was here. I called you right away.”
“Did you know she was going to leave?”
“No.”
“And did you know about Alina?”
Zinaida Pavlovna raised her eyes to him.
“Yes. I knew.”
“And you kept quiet?”
“What was I supposed to do? Run to Rita? Tell her that my son was sleeping with another woman? You made this mess yourself — now clean it up yourself.”
“You could have warned me that she suspected something!”
“Rustam, I’m not your lookout. I wasn’t hired to keep watch over your wife. You are a grown man. You made a choice — now face the result.”
Rustam sat down on the stool. He took out his phone and called Rita. She did not answer. He called again. No answer. The third time, he received a message: “All questions through the divorce filing. I’ll send you the case number. Don’t call me again.”
He called Denis. Denis answered at once.
“Rustam, what do you want?”
“Denis, do you know where Rita is?”
“I do. But I’m not telling you.”
“Since when do you talk to her?”
“Since she called me and asked whether I knew Alina Topoleva. Whether I knew where my girlfriend had disappeared to. Whether I remembered who took her from me. I told her everything, Rustam. Everything.”
“You… are you my friend or what?”
“I was your friend. Until you stole my girlfriend. What kind of friend are you to me after that?”
“Denis, do you understand that you destroyed my family?”
“No, Rustam. I only answered a question. You destroyed your family yourself. With two tickets on the same plane.”
Rustam turned off his phone. Zinaida Pavlovna quietly stood up and carried away the plate of porridge.
A week passed. Rustam tried to find Rita through mutual acquaintances, but no one would tell him anything. He went to her friend Lena’s place. She opened the door and looked at him as if he were a stain on a white floor.
“Lena, where is Rita?”
“Rita is where she feels good. Without you.”
“I need to talk to her. I need to see the children.”
“You’ll see the children when she decides. And as for talking — you spent five months talking to your mistress. Now wait.”
“You can’t forbid me from seeing my children!”
“I’m not forbidding anything. But I’m not helping you either. You chose everything yourself.”
Lena closed the door. Quietly. That was worse than if she had shouted.
Rustam stood on the stairwell landing. His phone rang. An unknown number. He answered.
“Rustam, it’s Alina.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m calling to say this is all because of your wife. If she hadn’t stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, none of this would have happened. She ruined everything. You were normal before she—”
“Alina, shut up.”
“What?”
“Shut up. You knew I was married. You knew I had two children. You went with me knowing all of that. And now you’re blaming Rita? Rita, who was raising my children while you and I were flying to resorts? Are you serious?”
He himself did not understand where it came from. Maybe from that part of his mind that was still honest.
“Don’t call me again,” he said and ended the call.
Then he got into his car and sat there for a long time. After that, he called his mother.
“I lost everything.”
“You didn’t lose it, Rustam. You threw it away. There’s a difference.”
A month later, Rita received the divorce papers. The children had gotten used to the new apartment. Timur started going to a new kindergarten, and Sonya learned how to climb onto the windowsill and count the cars in the courtyard. Fyodor Stepanovich came on Saturdays, bringing jars of jam and teaching Timur how to play chess.
Rustam came to the grandfather’s old apartment — to the address he had found through a directory. He rang the doorbell. Rita opened the door. She looked calm. Almost gentle.
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see the children.”
“Fine. Saturday, from two to five. I’m not against it. But you don’t come inside the apartment.”
“This is your grandfather’s apartment, right?”
“This is my apartment. The documents are signed. It’s in my name.”
Rustam looked at her. At the door behind her. At the bright hallway where the children’s shoes stood neatly in a row. He remembered how he had once dreamed that Fyodor Stepanovich would one day leave the apartment to his granddaughter and that they would all move here together — spacious rooms, the city center, a good neighborhood. He had even mentioned it once at dinner, half-joking: “Wouldn’t it be nice if Grandpa finally became generous?”
Grandpa had become generous. Just not for him.
“Saturday,” Rita repeated. “From two to five. You can take them for a walk in the park.”
And she closed the door.
That same evening, Denis wrote to Rita: “How are you?” She answered, “Good. The children are happy. Thank you for not staying silent back then.” He replied with a short, “No problem,” and put a period at the end.
Two weeks later, Alina sent Rita a long message explaining why Rita was supposedly to blame for Rustam’s life “falling apart.” Rita read it, deleted it, and blocked the number. Then she made herself tea, sat down at the table, and helped Timur put together a puzzle.
On the table lay her grandfather’s note. Rita never put it away. She reread it every morning.
“Ritochka, live here. Kisses. Grandpa.”
