It felt like only yesterday that I believed Andrei and I were the perfect couple. Thirty years together, two children, a house, a life built from the ground up. We had everything—a seaside home, an apartment in the city, a comfortable car. There was nothing I thought we lacked. And I trusted him. He was my husband, the father of my children. Why would I ever doubt him? Whenever an uneasy feeling crept in, I pushed it aside.
Then, one evening, everything shattered.
Andrei was working late. I didn’t think much of it—it wasn’t unusual. But that night, he forgot his second phone at home. Andrei, the man who wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without it, left it sitting right on the bedside table.
I told myself it was nothing. Then the screen lit up. A message. Then another.
I wasn’t the type to snoop. But fate had other plans.
I glanced at the screen. The name “Marina” appeared.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled as I picked up the phone.
“I miss you… When can we meet? I’m waiting…”
The words hit me like a slap. I sat in silence, staring, my heart hammering against my ribs.
An hour later, Andrei walked through the door, smiling as if nothing had changed. I had already made my decision. I wouldn’t scream or throw a fit. Hysterics were pointless. I had spent my life building something solid, brick by brick. And now, I was going to make him regret every single moment of his betrayal.
I kept my face neutral, my voice steady. He had no idea I knew.
The next day, I started watching him more closely. He left for work, came home late, his phone never leaving his hand. But I was patient. I needed proof.
I found Marina soon enough. They met in a small café, sitting in the farthest corner, talking in hushed voices. She was young, thin, delicate in a way I had never been. He held her hand, smiling in a way he hadn’t smiled at me in years.
How long had this been going on?
I needed to know more.
I reached out to an old friend, Galina, who had been my accountant for years. Casually, I asked her how one might track financial transactions. We sat in her kitchen, drinking coffee as she listened carefully.
“You didn’t ask this question for nothing,” she finally said. “Did Andrei do something?”
I told her everything.
An hour later, we were digging through bank statements. Andrei had been transferring large sums of money to an unknown account for months.
I didn’t need to guess. It was Marina.
He had bought her an apartment, paid for her expenses, and was sending her money regularly.
The realization sent a sharp pain through my chest, but I buried it deep. There was no room for weakness.
I gathered documents, found a lawyer, and together we pieced together every financial detail. Now, I had a clear picture of just how much he had taken from our family.
“You’re going to take everything you deserve,” the lawyer assured me.
But I wasn’t ready to strike just yet.
I made copies of all the evidence, hid them safely, and began setting my plan in motion. Andrei continued to walk through the door every evening with the same smug confidence, completely unaware that the walls were closing in around him.
I slowly moved money into separate accounts, shifting assets into my name. I agreed when Andrei suggested selling property, making sure every document left him at a disadvantage.
He never read the fine print. He never even suspected.
One evening, he sat at the dinner table, relaxed, pouring himself a glass of wine.
“Olya, we should consider selling the summer house,” he said casually.
“Of course, dear,” I answered sweetly.
Everything was already arranged. He just had to sign.
Months passed. He kept living his double life, oblivious to the fact that I had stripped him of everything.
Then, the moment arrived.
That evening, as he prepared to leave for his usual “meeting with friends,” I stopped him at the door.
“Andrei, wait. We need to talk.”
He sighed, already irritated. “What is it?”
“Don’t you want to tell me something?”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
I let the silence stretch, watching his growing discomfort. Then, I smiled coldly.
“What about Marina?”
His face drained of color. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling for words.
“Olya… I don’t know what you’re thinking, but—”
I walked past him, retrieved a thick envelope from the dresser, and tossed it onto the table.
Bank statements. Photos. Copies of transfers.
Andrei looked at them, his hands shaking.
“Olya, this… this isn’t what it looks like,” he stammered.
I folded my arms. “You spent our money on her. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
He tried to approach me, but I stepped back.
“We’re getting a divorce,” I said calmly. “The house, the apartment, half of everything—you signed it all over to me. It’s done.”
He looked down at the documents, finally realizing the extent of his downfall.
“Olya… let’s talk about this,” he pleaded.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Talk? Like you did with Marina?”
He called her that night, desperate. But Marina, now that he was penniless, had disappeared.
By the time the divorce was finalized, he had nothing left.
I woke up to an empty, quiet house. I poured myself a cup of coffee, feeling lighter than I had in years. The past was gone.
One evening, there was a knock at my door.
Andrei stood there.
His suit hung loosely on him, his face worn, his eyes dull.
“Olya… may I come in?”
I didn’t answer right away. For years, I had imagined this moment—what I would say, how I would throw his betrayal back at him. But now, seeing him like this, I felt nothing. No anger. No satisfaction. Just an empty space where my love for him had once been.
“Come in,” I said finally.
He sat in the living room, hands clasped together.
“I came to ask for forgiveness,” he said quietly. “I know it’s too late. I lost everything. You, the kids, our life. I was selfish, and I ruined it all.”
I studied him carefully. “Did you come for forgiveness? Or because you have nowhere else to go?”
His silence was answer enough.
“I’m not angry anymore, Andrei,” I said honestly. “But there’s nothing left between us. You made your choice. Now you have to live with it.”
He nodded, defeated. “Thank you for listening.”
I watched him leave, and with that, the final tie to my past was severed.
A few months later, I ran into an old friend, Nikolai. We had known each other years ago but had lost touch.
We talked over coffee, laughing about old memories.
“You know, Olya,” he said after a while, “you look even more beautiful than I remember.”
I smiled.
“Maybe that’s because I finally stopped looking backward.”
He looked at me with genuine warmth. “Something’s changed in you.”
Maybe it had.
As we sat there, talking about anything and everything, I realized that life had given me something I never expected. A second chance.