Someone else’s skirt was carelessly draped over the back of a kitchen chair—a light beige one decorated with a row of small buttons and reaching almost to mid-calf.
Yulia froze in the kitchen doorway. She had not even taken off her traveling jacket, and her bag was still hanging from her shoulder. She stared at the garment as though refusing to believe her own eyes.
An important business meeting had unexpectedly been canceled that day, so she had returned home almost half a day early. It had never even occurred to her to call Tolik and warn him. Why should she announce that she was coming back to her own home?
The door had opened easily. The moment she stepped into the hallway, Yulia noticed the heavy, sweet scent of an unfamiliar perfume. She had never worn anything like it.
The house greeted her with an unusual silence. There was no one on the ground floor. That meant her husband and his guest were upstairs.
Everything became clear almost immediately.
It was not just the skirt. A pair of women’s sandals stood beside her husband’s shoes. The unfamiliar fragrance, the muffled silence, and the sense that someone upstairs was resting peacefully, certain that no one would return home ahead of schedule—it was enough.
Yulia mechanically took a small tube of hand cream from her pocket. She always did this when she became nervous—before important negotiations, serious conversations, or difficult meetings. She squeezed a little cream onto her palms and carefully rubbed it between her fingers.
Lavender usually helped calm her down.
But today, even its scent could not overpower the stranger’s perfume.
Yulia slowly walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
She prepared breakfast for three.
She sliced fresh bread, set out butter, and took a jar of homemade apricot jam from the cupboard—the jam she had made the previous summer especially because Tolik loved it so much.
She placed three plates and three sets of cutlery on the table. Then she brewed coffee in a cezve, exactly the way her husband liked it—strong, fragrant, and topped with thick foam.
After pouring herself a cup, Yulia sat down calmly and waited.
Tolik was the first to come downstairs.
He was wearing casual clothes and yawning lazily—until he saw his wife.
The next second, he froze in place.
His mouth remained half-open as though he had suddenly been struck by something heavy.
“Yulia… You’re already back? You weren’t supposed to arrive until this evening…”
“Sit down,” she said calmly. “The coffee will get cold.”
Tolik sat down without another word.
He did not seem to know what to do with his hands. One moment he placed them on the table; the next, he pulled them back into his lap.
Yulia leisurely took a sip of coffee and applied a little more cream, first to one palm and then the other.
She remained silent.
A minute later, another woman appeared on the stairs.
She was short and heavyset, with wavy, shoulder-length hair. From her sleepy expression, it was obvious that she had been awakened unexpectedly. Yulia immediately noticed that she was not some very young girl. She appeared to be well into her thirties.
She was wearing Tolik’s plaid shirt—the same shirt Yulia herself had carefully ironed only the day before.
“This is… Tamara,” Tolik said uncertainly. “We work together…”
His voice sounded hoarse, as though he had suddenly caught a cold.
“Come in, Tamara,” Yulia said politely. “Sit down. I made scrambled eggs. There’s bread, butter, and jam. What would you like to drink—tea or coffee?”
The woman did not move.
She gripped the doorframe tightly, clearly having no idea what she was supposed to do next.
“I… I should probably leave… I’m sorry… I didn’t know…”
“Tea or coffee?” Yulia repeated calmly.
After a brief pause, Tamara finally sat down.
Yulia placed a cup of coffee and a plate in front of her.
A heavy silence settled over the table.
Tolik absentmindedly crumbled his bread, smeared jam across his plate, and barely chewed.
Tamara mechanically lifted her fork to her mouth without raising her eyes.
Both of them were afraid even to glance unnecessarily at the lady of the house.
Yulia calmly finished her coffee, rinsed the cezve, and dried her hands on a towel.
Only then did she speak.
“Tamara, your skirt is still hanging over the kitchen chair. Your sandals are in the hallway. I think it’s time for you to get ready and leave.”
The woman disappeared within a minute.
She left so quietly that it seemed as though she were trying not to leave behind a single sound.
Yulia stood by the sink and carefully washed the cezve.
Her movements remained astonishingly calm.
Even she did not understand where such self-control had come from.
“Yulia… Listen… It isn’t quite what you think…” Tolik finally began.
He was gradually recovering from the shock and, apparently, trying to invent a suitable excuse.
Without turning around, Yulia said:
“You have until Sunday evening to take all your belongings. Anything left behind will be taken out to the garbage bins.”
Tolik smirked.
That condescending little smile always meant the same thing: he did not take the problem seriously.
“Oh, come on. Once you’ve cooled down, we’ll talk calmly. There’s no reason to turn something so trivial into a tragedy.”
Yulia turned off the water, carefully hung up the towel, and only then turned to face him.
Before her stood the same attractive man with whom she had shared more than two decades of her life.
For one brief moment, she wanted to hurl the heavy cezve at him.
Instead, she merely repeated in a calm voice:
“By the end of the weekend, Tolik.”
Without saying another word, he went upstairs.
Yulia took out her phone and called her friend.
“Rita… Can I come over? Please, just don’t ask me any questions right now.”
She stayed at her friend’s house until evening.
During that time, they drank countless cups of tea, and Yulia shed enough tears to soak the sofa cushion completely. But no one at home witnessed her weakness.
Later, when she remembered that day, Yulia often told herself that she had done at least one thing right—she had not allowed either her husband or his mistress to see her despair.
Despite the condition she had set, Tolik did not pack his belongings over the weekend.
On Monday morning, he sat in the kitchen as though nothing had happened, drinking coffee and scrolling through the news on his phone.
Yulia stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, it almost seemed as though Friday’s events had been nothing more than a terrible dream.
“I expected us to discuss everything calmly,” Tolik said without looking away from his screen.
“There’s nothing left for us to discuss. I asked you to leave the house yesterday.”
“Don’t be so categorical. Where am I supposed to go? I can’t exactly move back in with my mother.”
Yulia did not answer.
For a moment, she was overcome by doubt.
So many years of marriage…
This house.
Their son, who had grown up here.
His childhood drawing was still hanging on the refrigerator.
Perhaps they really should talk first.
“We’ll continue this conversation tonight,” she said calmly.
In truth, she merely wanted to buy herself a little time to sort out her feelings once and for all.
But fate decided otherwise.
A long silence hung on the other end of the phone. It seemed to last at least ten seconds. Yulia mechanically counted her breaths, trying not to let her emotions take control.
“Are you serious?” Tolik finally said.
“Completely. I warned you in advance. The time I gave you has run out.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? This is illegal! The house belongs to both of us! You’ll regret this!”
“Do whatever you think is necessary,” Yulia replied calmly and stepped away from the door.
She went to the window and watched her former husband loading boxes into the trunk of his car. Judging by his appearance, he did not seem particularly upset. Most likely, he was convinced that everything would blow over within a few days, that his wife would change her mind and let him back into the house.
“Let him think that,” Yulia decided.
One week passed, followed by another.
Tolik finally settled in at his mother’s house.
Yulia threw herself into her work. She worked as a seamstress, and this turned out to be a peculiar kind of ordeal: her hands were constantly occupied, but her mind remained free. That was when the memories she wanted to avoid began creeping back in.
Again and again, she remembered her conversation with her mother-in-law, who had not hesitated to blame her, claiming that Tolik had not received enough attention.
More than twenty years of marriage resurfaced in her mind.
How she had ironed his shirts.
How she had made his favorite coffee in a cezve every morning.
How she planted tomatoes on the balcony every spring simply because Tolik loved salads made with homegrown vegetables.
Then her son called.
“Mom… Maybe you should at least try to talk? This is very hard for me. I don’t want to choose between you. You’re both my parents.”
Yulia did not tell him the details.
She only said that they were getting divorced.
His father had obviously told him a very different story, presenting himself as the injured party.
A few days later, Rita called.
She did not bother with small talk.
“Yulia, don’t get angry right away. But you need to know this. Tolik is telling everyone the same story.”
“What story?”
“That you threw him out for no reason. He’s telling everyone you had some kind of breakdown and that one morning he simply couldn’t get into the house because the locks had already been changed.”
Yulia was silent for a while.
“And who has he told this to?”
“Practically everyone we know. Our friends, his colleagues, the neighbors, people we’ve vacationed with… He even told your son. Denis called me yesterday and asked whether it was true that you were having mental problems.”
Yulia tightened her grip on the phone.
Anger slowly began to rise inside her.
She had intended to put an end to the story calmly and without unnecessary commotion.
But Tolik had chosen otherwise.
“Fine,” she thought. “Then we’ll do it differently.”
She opened her contact list.
She found Olya’s number.
“Olya, come to our house for dinner with Pasha the day after tomorrow.”
The reply arrived almost immediately.
“Of course! What are we celebrating?”
“I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
Yulia smiled and began inviting the others.
By the appointed evening, the table looked truly festive. There were fresh salads, fragrant roast chicken, and a homemade cherry pie prepared according to her mother’s recipe.
She took a beautiful tablecloth from the cupboard—the one she had been saving for years for some special occasion.
That morning, she had gone to the market specifically to buy a bouquet of flowers, which she placed in the center of the table.
The guests gradually arrived.
Olya and Pasha came, as did Mr. and Mrs. Ivanov. Tolik’s supervisor, Natalia Sergeyevna, also attended. She was a stern woman who rarely allowed herself to smile. Rita arrived, along with several other mutual acquaintances.
Practically all of them had already heard Tolik’s version of the story.
Yulia calmly seated her guests and poured the wine.
At first, the conversation focused on ordinary subjects.
They discussed vacations, work at their country houses, the price of groceries, and someone’s recently completed home renovation.
When everyone had relaxed a little, Yulia rose from her chair.
“I’d like to say a few words.”
The room immediately fell silent.
She spoke calmly and confidently, in an almost formal tone.
“Many of you know that Tolik and I have separated. You have probably already heard his explanation. He has been telling people that I threw him out of the house for no reason and simply lost my mind.”
She looked at Natalia Sergeyevna.
“He told you that too, didn’t he?”
The woman slowly nodded.
“Now I want to tell you what actually happened.”
Yulia recounted the entire story in detail.
She told them how she had unexpectedly returned home early.
How she had seen another woman’s skirt hanging over the kitchen chair.
How she had made coffee for all three of them.
How she had calmly given her husband time to pack his belongings.
How he had chosen to ignore her words.
How her mother-in-law had later blamed Yulia for what had happened.
And how, after that, she had changed the locks.
No one at the table interrupted her.
Someone slowly lowered a fork.
Someone else looked away.
Pasha quietly cleared his throat.
Olya secretly wiped her eyes.
Natalia Sergeyevna sat completely still. Only her tightly clasped fingers betrayed her emotional state.
Yulia suddenly realized that Tolik’s supervisor had long suspected what kind of behavior he was capable of.
“I don’t need your pity,” Yulia continued calmly. “I only want you to know the truth. For twenty years, I took care of our family. I cooked, did the laundry, and raised our son. Then one day, my husband brought his mistress into our home. That is the whole story.”
She smiled.
“And now I suggest that you try the pie. I got up before dawn today to make it.”
Rita was the first to approach her.
Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms tightly around her friend.
Then Olya sniffled.
Pasha silently poured himself a shot of liquor.
Mr. and Mrs. Ivanov exchanged glances and turned their attention to their plates.
Natalia Sergeyevna approached Yulia, shook her hand firmly, and said quietly:
“Thank you for being honest.”
Only after some time did the conversation return to normal. Gradually, everyone went back to discussing ordinary, everyday subjects.
Yulia understood perfectly well that this was how people always behaved.
When someone was confronted with another person’s pain, it was easier to talk about everyday matters.
That was enough for her.
The important thing was that everyone now knew what had really happened.
The divorce was finalized fairly quickly.
Tolik filed the application himself.
Not because he was sorry.
And not out of any sense of dignity.
After that dinner, it became impossible for him to maintain his former story.
At work, Natalia Sergeyevna spoke to him only when strictly necessary and treated him very coldly.
The Ivanovs stopped inviting him to visit.
Even Pasha felt uncomfortable whenever they ran into each other and tried to end their conversations as quickly as possible.
Tolik settled permanently at his mother’s house.
Klavdia Petrovna complained to the neighbors that her son had been unfairly disgraced.
Tolik himself stopped calling both Yulia and their son.
Eventually, Denis learned the whole truth.
After speaking with his mother, he quietly said:
“Mom, I’m here for you. I’m completely on your side.”
Soon, Yulia learned something else.
Tamara had ended her relationship with Tolik almost immediately after Natalia Sergeyevna told her what she had heard.
It turned out that Tolik had assured Tamara that he had not lived with his wife for a long time and that the official divorce was only a matter of time.
She had believed him.
But the truth quickly came to light.
After that, Tamara ended the relationship, resigned from her job, and moved to another city.
Yulia later heard this from Rita.
But the news no longer stirred any feelings in her.
No satisfaction.
No regret.
No joy.
Tolik had become part of her past—a page she had turned one day and had no intention of ever opening again.
Ahead of her, an entirely different life was beginning.
And only time knew what it would bring.
