Maybe It Just Seemed That Way
— Do you have someone on the side or something? I haven’t had any affection from my husband for three months! Forget that… I barely even see you anymore.
Vladimir looked up from his smartphone screen and paused for a second, as if translating his wife’s words into a language he could understand. He hesitated, exhaled loudly, and only then replied:
— Sveta… Are you starting this again? You know I’ve got work, stress… I just wanted to eat in peace.
— Then eat. Who’s stopping you? I’m not taking the spoon out of your hand. I’m just tired of living with you like you’re my brother.
Sveta sat down at the other end of the table, took a tangerine from the fruit bowl, and began peeling it. She felt uneasy. How could she not, when her husband had stopped paying attention to her?
Vladimir silently finished his pasta and cutlet without looking up, then stood and carried his plate to the sink.
The evening passed in oppressive silence.
— When was the last time we even watched something together? — Sveta continued. — I’ve already forgotten what your voice sounds like. I’ve forgotten what you look like without a phone in your hand. And I’m sick of that garage of yours.
He shrugged.
— What are we supposed to watch? Your “Magnificent Century”? I come home and you’re tired. Or you’re on your phone yourself. Or Kristina won’t sleep. I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood.
— You haven’t been in the mood for five years!
There was more than anger in her shout. There was hope too. Maybe this time he would finally hear her. But Vladimir leaned against the sink without turning around.
— Sveta, we haven’t been married for just one year. Did you think we’d be on our honeymoon forever?
— Well, somehow my parents manage it! They’ve been together for more than thirty years. They still love each other, still hug, still spend time together!
— Maybe I’m just tired of having my brain picked apart every single day! Ever thought about that?
Sveta wanted to argue, but he suddenly turned around, grabbed his keys, and left. The door slammed so hard that the jacket hanging on a hook in the hallway swayed.
Of course.
The garage again.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Once, they could lie together under a blanket and laugh until they cried at stupid comedies. Vladimir would stroke her hair, call her “my little star,” and make her tea with lemon even when he was exhausted after work.
Then the pregnancy happened.
Sveta gained almost seventeen kilograms. She wore shapeless clothes, tied her hair into a bun, and forgot what a manicure even was. All her energy went to Kristina: sleepless nights, feeding, diapers.
Back then, she kept telling herself that she only needed to endure it for a little while.
But “a little while” could stretch for a very long time.
Vladimir started staying late at work more often, and then began spending his evenings in the garage.
That was his world: tools, the car, different parts and mechanisms.
At first, Sveta thought it was normal. He was tired too. He wasn’t sleeping enough either. He needed his own space.
Then she began blaming herself.
She wasn’t the woman she used to be. She wasn’t trying hard enough.
So she started dressing up before he came home, putting on music, and preparing restaurant-style dinners like she had during the first year of their marriage.
But he still didn’t look at her with the same adoration he once had.
Then she began noticing something else.
At first, they were tiny details.
One day, she came home and discovered that the bathroom mat was damp, even though she had arrived home first.
The napkins in the kitchen were almost gone, although the holder had been full that morning.
The cups weren’t standing where they usually did.
A pillow was lying differently.
Small things that could have been blamed on forgetfulness—if there hadn’t been so many of them.
Still, it wasn’t enough to accuse anyone of anything.
Maybe she was imagining it?
But then a new piece of evidence made things worse.
One day, while making the bed, Sveta found a long white hair.
It wasn’t hers.
Her hair was chestnut brown.
Kristina’s was short and golden.
Sveta herself hadn’t had hair that long in at least five years.
And the hair was lying on the pillow.
Everything seemed obvious.
Sveta didn’t cause a scene.
She carefully picked up the hair, wrapped it in a tissue, and threw it away. Then she washed her hands as though she had touched something filthy and stood there thinking.
Eventually, she bought a camera.
She hid it high up in an inconspicuous place—above the bookshelf, beside an artificial flower no one had touched in years.
It was almost impossible to notice, especially during the morning rush.
Sveta hated the idea of playing spy.
But she justified it by telling herself that she wasn’t trying to invade anyone’s soul.
She simply wanted to know what was happening in her own home and in her own family.
She wanted certainty so she could make a decision calmly instead of torturing herself with doubts.
For the first five days, nothing happened.
Every evening, she watched the recordings on fast-forward, studying every movement.
Nothing.
Only an empty room and sunlight slowly crawling across the wall.
Sveta began to think she had been wrong.
And she was even happy about it.
Then one day, during her lunch break, she decided to check the camera for no particular reason.
The coffee cup slipped from her hand.
Sitting on the bed she had neatly made that morning was her mother.
That alone wasn’t strange. Her mother had keys for emergencies.
But next to her…
Next to her sat a man in his late fifties or around sixty, wearing a dark shirt.
At first, the angle hid his face.
Then, a second later, he turned.
It wasn’t her father.
Definitely not her father.
Sveta stopped breathing.
She stared at the screen.
Some part of her brain still seemed to hope that it was a mistake, a mirage, some kind of nonsense, actors—anything except reality.
But her mother wasn’t simply sitting there.
She was laughing.
She kissed the man on the cheek.
And then something happened that removed every last doubt.
Sveta didn’t continue watching.
She had seen enough to understand that this wasn’t staged.
Her lips trembled and her entire body went weak.
It felt as if she had fallen through ice and couldn’t reach the shore.
Her parents had always been her island of stability, the place she could reach no matter how severe the storm became.
Her father called her mother “my girl,” even though she was well over fifty, and gentlemanly kissed her hands.
They had many traditions.
On Fridays, they watched television together.
On Sundays, they walked to the river.
They even held hands at the market while choosing potatoes.
They smiled.
They laughed.
They seemed inseparable.
Whenever Sveta argued with Vladimir or had a difficult day, she thought of her parents.
They were her example.
No—not merely an example.
They were a plan.
That was what she wanted her own marriage to become.
Now everything had collapsed like a house of cards.
Only one question remained.
What was she supposed to do with what she now knew?
Tell her husband?
Ridiculous.
Then she would have to confess everything else: the camera, her suspicions, the spying.
Besides, Vladimir had nothing to do with it.
In fact, now Sveta thought she might have overreacted about him.
Yes, he was tired.
Yes, the initial passion had faded.
But they were still together.
Should she tell her mother?
God, how?
How could she even begin?
“Mom, how long have you been doing this in my bed?”
Sveta couldn’t imagine how she was supposed to live after discovering this.
But the worst part was her father.
Trusting, sincerely loving, with laughing eyes and a warm smile.
On the very day Sveta learned the truth, he stopped by her house on his way home carrying a small branch of lilac.
— Look, Sveta, isn’t it beautiful? I’m going to bring it to Lyusya. She loves lilacs.
He smiled innocently, excited to surprise the person closest to him.
Sveta smiled too.
Even though her world had broken apart that day.
Her friends were the only option left.
Sveta hesitated for a long time.
She wanted to write something vague, without giving any details, but even that felt impossible.
It seemed that the moment she turned what she had seen into words, it would become real.
And Sveta wasn’t ready to accept that reality.
— Girls, maybe we could meet for coffee on Friday? I miss you, — she finally wrote in their group chat.
They met at the café that served the best éclairs.
Their café.
The air smelled of milk and caramel, but now even those familiar scents felt foreign.
Like pieces of another life.
Sveta sat between Inna and Larisa.
They chatted about their own things, moved on to school, and eventually started talking about their children.
— Listen… if someone cheated on you, would you want to know? — Sveta asked casually. — I mean… theoretically.
There was a brief silence.
Inna put down her cup.
Larisa straightened in her chair.
The question had sounded casual, but it immediately pulled everyone out of their ordinary conversation.
— I don’t know, — Larisa answered first. — My sister got divorced because of an affair. Someone told her. She later told me she wished she’d never known. She ended up alone with her daughter. She regrets it now. But she says that once Pandora’s box is opened, you don’t really have a choice anymore.
Inna bit her lip.
She needed longer to think.
— I’d want to know, — she finally said. — It’s better to know. Better to hurt once than keep living in an illusion. At least then I’d know that I couldn’t rely on that person.
Sveta nodded.
She didn’t answer.
She simply sat there watching Larisa stir sugar into her coffee while Inna ate her croissant.
They had both answered sincerely.
And strangely enough, each of them was right in her own way.
That evening, while her daughter watched cartoons and Vladimir sat with his smartphone, Sveta left the house and walked to her parents’ home.
The cool May air brushed against her skin.
Warm streetlights illuminated the road.
Her father was sitting on the porch beside a lawn mower he had been trying to repair for the past two weeks.
When he saw his daughter, he put his screwdriver aside and smiled.
— Ugh, I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. It seems to work, but it doesn’t cut properly. Is everything okay with you? Your mother isn’t home yet, but I can make you tea too.
Sveta sat beside him.
For a while, she remained silent, crushing the bottom edge of her tunic between her fingers.
Then she exhaled.
— Dad… I need to tell you something. I don’t know how. But I know you deserve to know. Because you don’t deserve what’s happening. And because I love you.
Her father frowned slightly but didn’t interrupt.
Sveta explained carefully, leaving out the unnecessary details.
She said she had discovered it accidentally but couldn’t remain silent anymore.
She told him that her mother had another man.
And that it had happened in Sveta’s own home.
He listened for a long time.
At first attentively.
Then he closed his eyes.
He nodded several times.
He didn’t ask a single question.
Only at the end did he quietly say:
— Thank you for telling me. But you… how are you doing?
That evening, Sveta could barely hold back her tears.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to be the one looking for a shoulder to cry on right now.
A week later, her mother called.
Her voice was hoarse and strained, as though she had been screaming or crying for hours.
— Your father filed for divorce… He said he doesn’t love me anymore, — she sobbed into the phone.
Sveta couldn’t comfort her.
She couldn’t do anything at all.
She didn’t even know what she was supposed to feel.
There was no guilt.
No anger either.
Only quiet sadness and perhaps a little resentment.
Falling out of love wasn’t a crime.
But cheating behind someone’s back…
That was something Sveta couldn’t accept.
She removed the camera.
There was no longer any need for it.
Only one unresolved issue remained.
— Volodya… — she began one evening. — I wanted to say… forgive me. Sometimes I let the crazy thoughts in my head take me too far. I just really miss you. That’s the truth. And then I get upset, and eventually I start shouting…
At first, Vladimir tensed when she began speaking, but with every passing second the tension in his shoulders eased.
For another ten seconds, he continued looking at his screen, but it was obvious that his eyes were no longer focused on it.
The smartphone had stopped being the center of his attention.
— You know… I’m wrong sometimes too. I’m just tired. Maybe we could watch something together? Or just have some tea and talk…
There was no magical fresh start.
They didn’t need one.
They simply spent the rest of the evening watching old Soviet movies in each other’s arms, and later went to bed together.
They were back-to-back, but pressed close against one another.
And that night, to Sveta, it felt like closeness rather than distance.
∂ƒ