Her husband spent a week on the coast with an “acquaintance,” and when he returned, he was stunned by what he saw.

…The lights were on.

Andrei’s heart pounded as he climbed the stairs, suitcase in hand. Each step echoed in the silence of the building, amplifying his unease. When he finally reached the door, he paused. The familiar brass handle gleamed under the dim light, yet it seemed strangely foreign. He inserted the key, turned it, and pushed the door open.

The living room was immaculate. On the table stood a vase of fresh lilies—Marina’s favorites. The faint aroma filled the air, but instead of soothing him, it made his chest tighten. He called softly:

“Marina?”

No answer.

He wheeled his suitcase inside and closed the door. On the couch lay a neatly folded blanket, beside it a glass of half-finished wine. Marina had been there recently. He moved toward the bedroom, his palms clammy.

When he opened the door, she was waiting. Marina sat at the edge of the bed, her back straight, her eyes fixed on him with unsettling calm. On her lap rested a folder.

“You’re back,” she said evenly, as if she had been expecting him at that very moment.

Andrei tried to smile, but his lips betrayed him with a nervous twitch.

“Yes. The flight was delayed.”

Marina didn’t respond. She lifted the folder slightly and let it drop onto the bedspread. A cascade of photographs spilled out.

Andrei froze.

Each picture was sharper than the last—him and Vica, laughing on the beach, holding hands at the boardwalk, kissing outside the hotel. His chest constricted as if the air had been sucked from the room.

“Who took these?” he croaked.

“Does it matter?” Marina’s voice trembled, but her gaze was steady. “You swore to me, Andrei. Again and again. And yet here we are.”

Andrei staggered back, searching for words. “Marina, please, let me explain. It’s not—”

“Not what?” she snapped, rising to her feet. “Not real? Not betrayal? I was a fool, Andrei. I wanted proof, and I got it.”

She moved past him into the living room, her footsteps deliberate. Andrei followed, desperate.

“Marina, I… things between us haven’t been right for a long time. You know that.”

“And your solution was her?” She whirled around, her eyes glistening with tears. “Instead of talking to me, you chose lies and secrecy.”

He reached out, but she recoiled as if his touch burned.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I felt alive again. With you, everything has become routine—cold, distant. I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Marina’s tears finally broke free, streaking her cheeks. Yet her voice remained sharp.

“You could have tried. You could have fought for us. Instead, you gave up.”

Silence settled, heavy and suffocating. Andrei stood helpless, his excuses crumbling into dust.

Marina drew a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “I already spoke with a lawyer. The papers will arrive tomorrow.”

Andrei’s knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch. “Marina, no… please. We can work this out. Don’t throw everything away.”

She shook her head slowly. “You threw it away the moment you boarded that plane.”

Her words struck like a blade, final and irrevocable. She turned toward the hallway, grabbed a packed bag he hadn’t noticed, and headed for the door.

“Marina, wait!”

She paused, her hand on the handle. For a brief second, Andrei hoped. But she looked back with eyes that no longer carried love, only resolve.

“Goodbye, Andrei.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

The apartment felt cavernous, emptied not of furniture but of something far greater—the trust, the warmth, the life they had built together. Andrei buried his face in his hands, realizing too late that some promises, once broken, can never be repaired.

Outside, the city hummed with its usual indifference. Inside, one man sat surrounded by silence, haunted by the choices that had finally caught up with him.

And for the first time in years, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.