Irina carefully laid out the dinner table—forks, knives, spoons—all precisely where they should be. It looked like something out of a magazine, the kind of table a restaurant would be proud of. She allowed herself a small smirk. Gennady wouldn’t notice. He used to care about those things, the details, the effort. Now, it seemed nothing mattered to him anymore.
But she noticed. And that was enough.
The door slammed. Gennady walked in, still wearing his coat, as if the idea of settling in had become too much of a formality. His eyes slid over her like she was part of the furniture. Not a word. Not a glance.
“You’re late again,” Irina said evenly. She was holding a spoon so tightly that it seemed it might snap in her hand.
“Work,” he mumbled, tossing his coat on a random chair. She half expected him to hang his tie on the radiator next.
“Work at eight, on a Friday?” Her voice carried a tired sarcasm. “Whatever. Sit. The goulash is ready.”
He sat but didn’t touch his food. Something in his stillness sent a chill through her.
“Ira, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice was steady, but inside, something cracked.
“I’ve met someone.”
Silence. She didn’t drop the spoon. That alone felt like a small miracle.
“Wonderful,” she said, her voice catching. “How long?”
“Three months.”
“Three months,” she repeated, not really speaking to him. “And here I thought the gray hairs were stress. Turns out it was bliss.”
He winced.
“Don’t make this worse. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Oh, of course not. You just wanted to live two lives while I made goulash and played the fool.”
He stood suddenly, the chair toppling behind him.
“I’m done with this.”
“Done?” she was on her feet now too. “You were done the moment you started lying. Every day. For three months.”
She raised the spoon instinctively and struck the crystal glass. It shattered. A small, bright sound of finality.
“I’ve had enough!” he shouted.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But this is only the beginning.”
The restaurant was all dim lights and polished surfaces, too expensive for comfort. Irina sat across from Gennady and the woman he’d chosen. Milena looked like a catalog model assembled for the occasion—youthful face, predictable makeup, cheap jewelry, and a practiced air of confidence.
“So this is who you left me for,” Irina said, sipping her wine.
Milena hesitated but tried to maintain her composure. “I didn’t expect us to meet like this.”
“Oh, I did.” Irina leaned back, eyes locked on her. “You’re pretty. But that’s where the list ends.”
Gennady tried to intervene. “Irina, stop.”
“Why?” She turned to Milena. “Did he tell you we have a joint bank account? That in a divorce, he walks away with nothing?”
Milena paled.
“What?”
“He didn’t mention that?” Irina asked sweetly. “Strange. But I guess details don’t matter when you’re in love.”
Gennady leapt up, red with fury.
“You’re making this up!”
“Shall we call my lawyer?” Irina asked, phone already in hand.
Milena stood so quickly her chair screeched.
“I need to go.”
“Already?” Irina feigned surprise. “I was about to order dessert.”
Milena clutched her purse and left without another word.
Gennady glared at Irina.
“You ruined everything.”
“No,” she said calmly. “You did.”
The documents were spread across the table like the pieces of a broken deal. Gennady flipped through them with growing panic, his face darkening.
“You planned this? From the beginning?”
Irina sat still, unbothered.
“No. I was just ready.”
“This contract—this was signed a year ago!”
“Exactly. The night you came home late. Again.”
He hurled the papers aside.
“I won’t sign.”
“Then it goes to court. And you’ll lose more than you think.”
He grabbed her hand.
“You loved me.”
“I did.” She pulled away. “Now sign and go.”
A week passed. He returned uninvited.
“Ira…”
She opened the door but blocked the way.
“Forget something?”
“I made a mistake.”
“Too late.”
“Can we start over?”
She laughed—not cruelly, just honestly.
“Start over? With what? Your love or your bankruptcy?”
“I still love you.”
“No. You loved Milena until your money ran out. Now you’re here.”
She closed the door. Rain began to fall.
Irina sat by the window, sorting through papers—contracts, emails, quiet weapons. Everything that remained of Gennady’s once-polished career. She savored the neatness, the clarity. There was something satisfying in knowing that justice didn’t have to be loud to be effective.
She made a call.
“Hello, Sergey Petrovich? Yes, this is Irina. Just a tip—run the audit at Gennady’s company unannounced. I’ve heard there are… irregularities.”
She brushed a hand through her hair and smiled faintly. Two weeks later, Gennady stood outside the closed office doors. Fired. No compensation. Whispers of a case building. The empire he’d built crumbled with every step he took.
He tried calling Milena.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. I need help.”
“I’m busy,” she said, her voice ice-cold.
“You said you loved me.”
“I did. When you had something worth loving.”
He stared at his phone like it might offer answers. But it didn’t.
Irina knew it all. Friends, social media, word of mouth. He was staying in a cheap hotel. The watch was pawned. Milena had moved on. The story had changed hands—it belonged to her now.
She found him on a park bench, drenched and hollow.
“Well?” she asked, standing in front of him.
He looked up, pleading.
“Are you happy now?”
“No,” she said softly. “I didn’t do this to gloat. I did it so you’d understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That I could have ruined you. But I didn’t.”
She tossed an envelope in his lap.
“A letter of recommendation. And a ticket to Sochi. There’s a job there. Not glamorous, but honest.”
He opened it slowly, disbelief in his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not like you.”
He stood and reached for her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say nothing.” She pulled her hand away. “Just remember—I could have left you with nothing. But I didn’t. Not because I still care. Because I’m better.”
She turned and walked away, head high, shoulders steady. The rain poured down. Behind her, he stood, holding onto an envelope like it could save him from drowning. But it couldn’t. And she wasn’t coming back.