“Don’t start throwing a fit, Arina. You should have known this day would come when you married a promising surgeon. Just look in the mirror—if you’ve even bothered to in the last few years. You’re old now, and I need a younger wife. I’m a respected doctor, people talk about me, they wait months to get an appointment with me. I need someone stunning by my side, someone I won’t be ashamed to introduce. Be grateful I put up with you for twenty-five years—that’s a long time. I only stayed for our son, but now that he’s grown, I can finally leave with a clear conscience.”
Arina stared at her husband, absorbing every word, yet her face remained unreadable. Inside, though, she was on fire. Twenty-five years. She had thought they were happy years, full of love and devotion. But now, Sergey stood before her, speaking like a stranger—cold, indifferent, and cruel.
“The apartment your parents left you is still empty. Since you haven’t rented it out yet, it’s the perfect place for you to move to. And let’s not get any ideas about dividing the property—you didn’t contribute a single cent to buying this house.”
Sergey’s eyes bore into her as if daring her to challenge him.
Arina suddenly understood. Roman—their son—had just gotten married a week ago. Sergey had given him a lovely two-bedroom apartment and paid for their honeymoon. And now this. Had he been waiting for their son to be settled before breaking free? Why endure a woman he no longer loved?
Arina had spent decades dedicating herself to their family, to him. She had once fallen in love with a brilliant young surgeon, full of passion and ambition. She remembered it vividly—the way they met during a hiking trip. She had slipped on a rock, twisting her ankle. Sergey had rushed to her aid, his blue eyes full of concern. “Don’t worry, I’m a surgeon. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he had assured her. And just like that, her heart belonged to him.
They married quickly. Sergey had adored her—or so she believed. He insisted she stay home, convinced she was too beautiful to work and that he would provide for her. Arina hadn’t argued; she embraced her role as a devoted wife and mother. For twenty-five years, she put his needs first.
And now, at forty-five, she was being discarded like an old coat.
She inhaled sharply, pushing back the lump in her throat. There was no saving this. No point in fighting for a marriage that only she wanted. She couldn’t forgive the words he had spoken, nor could she forget them.
“You should have told me sooner,” she said with a calmness that startled even her. “I’m sure our son would have understood.”
A faint smile crossed her lips. “I’ll start packing.”
Sergey blinked, caught off guard. “That’s it? No yelling? No name-calling?”
“Why?” Arina asked simply, leaving him standing there, stunned.
She closed the bedroom door behind her and let out a shaky breath. Something inside her had shattered. She had barely been breathing during that conversation, clinging to every cruel word, trying to comprehend them.
He doesn’t love me.
How long had he felt this way?
She moved to the wardrobe, assessing how many suitcases she would need. Then, suddenly, pain seared through her chest. Her vision blurred. A sharp, suffocating pressure gripped her ribs, as if molten iron was pouring into her lungs. She staggered, a weak moan escaping her lips, before the world faded into darkness.
A crash echoed through the house. Sergey, alarmed, rushed to the bedroom. A horrible feeling washed over him. The moment he saw Arina lying on the floor, pale and motionless, his stomach twisted in dread.
Frantic, he performed first aid and called an ambulance.
As he sat outside the intensive care unit, his mind replayed their conversation on a loop. What have I done? He had wanted to be free, but this? This was something else entirely. He had meant to confess about the mistress, about the baby she claimed to be carrying—but perhaps, he should have kept it all to himself.
If Roman ever found out what had driven his mother to a heart attack, he’d never forgive him. Sergey already knew his son wouldn’t approve of the divorce, but this… this was something he could never justify.
He clenched his fists, whispering prayers to a God he had long forgotten. He hadn’t stopped loving Arina. But he had betrayed her. He had destroyed their life together for what? A momentary infatuation? His young assistant had been thrilling, yes. But love? No. He didn’t love her. And now he was trapped. If she truly was pregnant, he had another child to raise. He couldn’t just walk away.
But did she love him? Or was she drawn to his success, just as he had been drawn to her youth?
When the doctor finally emerged, Sergey’s heart pounded.
“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She’ll recover.”
Sergey exhaled, relief crashing over him.
But what now? Divorce? Forgiveness? Could he undo what had been done?
When Arina was moved to a regular room, Sergey couldn’t bring himself to visit her right away. How do you apologize for breaking someone’s heart? When he finally gathered the courage, his voice was stiff and unnatural.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Arina answered curtly.
He could see the wall between them. He had built it himself.
Sergey needed advice, but he had no close friends—he had only ever had Arina. And Roman? His son would never forgive him.
Meanwhile, Sergey’s mistress revealed the truth—the baby wasn’t his. The revelation hit like a brick, but along with the humiliation came relief.
I chose wrong.
Rushing home, he found Arina quietly folding clothes into a suitcase.
“Arina, please. Don’t go. I was wrong. I made a mistake. I never stopped loving you.”
She glanced at him, unfazed.
“You had no problem throwing me away when you thought you had something better,” she said evenly. “And now that she’s gone, you remember you love me?”
Sergey swallowed. “I was blind, Arina. I—”
“You were selfish,” she interrupted. “I devoted myself to you, and you resented me for it. You thought I was disposable. You were wrong. I won’t beg for your love, Sergey. I don’t need it anymore.”
His stomach twisted.
“I want a divorce,” she finished.
Sergey froze. “No, you don’t mean that. You just need time—”
“I mean it,” she said firmly. “I won’t be anyone’s second choice.”
Roman returned a week later and helped his mother move out. He never asked why. He didn’t need to. The look he gave his father said everything.
Arina took a job at a small bakery. Her cakes became so popular that people lined up to order them. She spent money on herself—something she had never done before. She lived. She took yoga, swam at the fitness center, laughed.
Sergey? He never understood how she could just walk away.
He convinced himself that she had never loved him. It was easier than admitting he had lost the best thing he ever had.
But some betrayals can never be undone. And some mistakes cost everything.