“The cake has to be gorgeous, you know? None of that old-fashioned Soviet-style decoration. Absolutely no buttercream roses or tacky swans. My man deserves something special—it’s our anniversary! The flavor should be red velvet. And here’s the most important part: the top needs to have an edible photo. I’ll send you the picture—he looks absolutely amazing in it. My sweetheart. And next to it, a balloon with a surprise.”
The voice message in the messenger lasted forty seconds. Veronika listened to it, absentmindedly wiping the countertop with a damp sponge. A client named Alisa had been messaging her since last night, rejecting sketch after sketch. The color of the fondant seemed “too cheap” to her, the font for the inscription “not passionate enough.” Veronika put up with it. It was a lucrative order, and extra money was always good for her family. Especially now, when the kids needed tutors.
Her phone chimed. A photo had arrived.
Veronika put down the sponge, rinsed her hands under the tap, wiped them on a kitchen towel, and only then unlocked her screen.
She was used to seeing strangers’ faces in these sorts of photos: men grinning by fishing rods, stern bosses in suits, guys with guitars. But this time, looking back at her from the photo, squinting slightly in the sun, was her own husband. Pyotr.
He was wearing that dark blue polo shirt Veronika had bought him on sale last month. Behind him were the trees of some park. Pyotr was smiling in a way he hadn’t at home in a long time—relaxed, content, like a well-fed cat.
The world seemed to freeze. Inside, everything felt swept away and empty. The suffocating, heavy kitchen air, thick with the smell of food, was suddenly unbearable. She just needed air. Veronika walked over to the window. Struggling, she turned the handle and cracked it open. A blast of fresh, icy wind and city noise rushed in, pulling her back to reality.
Her fingers automatically typed a reply: “I’ve received the photo. The quality is good, it will work for printing. What inscription would you like under the picture?”
Alisa was typing for a long time. She clearly wanted to pour her heart out, to boast about her victory to a stranger pastry chef.
“Write this: To the Victor, from his Muse. You know, we met exactly a year ago. Back then, he was so lost. His wife is a typical frump. Just stays at home, bakes her pies, nags him over every penny. He’s bored to death with her. But I showed him what real life is. This Friday marks our year together, and he said he’s finally ready to file for divorce. That’s why this cake is a symbol of our triumph. Make it perfect!”
Veronika reread the text twice. Her chest tightened. Wife—a frump. Nagging about the money.
“I’ll make it as perfect as possible,” she typed. “Please confirm the address and delivery time for Friday.”
“Residential Complex ‘New Riga’, 14 Stroitely Street, apartment 84. Seven in the evening. He’ll be coming to me right after work.”
***
The lock clicked in the hallway. The front door slammed, followed by the dull thud of a backpack dropped on the floor. Pyotr was home from work.
Eleven-year-old Denis and eight-year-old Masha immediately dashed out from the kids’ room.
“Daddy’s home!” Masha flung herself onto Pyotr’s neck.
Veronika walked out of the kitchen. Her husband was taking off his sneakers by stepping on the heels, not using his hands at all. Just another evening. Just her usual husband: a bit tired, slightly unshaven, and carrying that familiar scent of the subway and cigarettes.
«I’m dog-tired,» Peter exhaled, giving Veronika a kiss on the cheek. His lips were dry and cool. «Work’s a nightmare, the boss is on a rampage again. What’s for dinner?»
«Navy-style pasta and salad,» Veronika replied in an even voice. «Go wash your hands.»
They sat at the table. Peter ate quickly and greedily, stuffing pasta into his mouth and chasing it down with bites of salad. Veronika just poked at her food with her fork, watching him chew. Watching the way his jaw moved, how he frowned while scrolling through something on his phone. How could he sleep with another woman for a whole year, and then come home, eat her dinner, kiss their children goodnight?
«Can you believe it, the guard didn’t let Masha into school today,» Veronika said, breaking the silence. «They installed some new turnstiles, and her pass card got demagnetized. I had to go see the principal to sort it out.»
«Uh-huh,» Peter mumbled with his mouth full. «What a madhouse. Listen, Nik, I forgot to tell you. On Friday, we’ve got a corporate trip. Team building, can you believe it? The boss said everyone has to go. So on Friday, I’ll head straight from work out to the resort. I’ll be back Saturday by lunchtime.»
He said it so lightly, so matter-of-fact, not even looking up from his phone. Not a single muscle twitched on his face.
«Team building?» Veronika repeated. «Alright. You packing your own stuff or should I get it together for you?»
«There’s nothing to pack,» he waved her off. «Just toss a clean shirt, underwear, and toiletries in my backpack. It’ll be mostly drinking anyway.»
Veronika silently got up and started clearing the dirty dishes. She turned on the water, and the sponge glided over the plates out of habit. Just another bit of daily routine. It used to annoy her, but now it gave her a strange feeling of stability. When her hands were busy, her mind could plan things coldly and clearly.
***
On Thursday morning, after sending the kids off to school, Veronika got to work on the order.
Red velvet. She was methodically sifting flour and mixing it with cocoa and baking powder. In the stand mixer, she whipped butter and sugar. The steady hum of the motor filled the kitchen, drowning out her thoughts. Veronika added eggs, then poured in kefir laced with bright red food coloring. The batter turned a deep, rich color—almost like fresh blood.
She poured the batter into pans and slid them into the oven. While the cakes baked, she moved on to the cream: cream cheese, heavy cream, powdered sugar. Every motion was practiced, shaped by years of work.
Working with fondant and batter in the rings was tricky—powdered sugar and flour would get stuck under the rim. With a familiar motion, Veronika slipped her gold wedding band off her right ring finger. She set it on the spice shelf and looked at her hand.
Twelve years of marriage. You’d think the ring would have left a permanent mark on her finger by now. But no. The skin on her knuckle was smooth, unblemished, the same color as the rest of her hand. No pale band, no trace of years spent wearing metal. As if the marriage, those twelve years, those vows at city hall had never happened. Just an ordinary finger.
Veronika smirked. There was something symbolic about it.
She printed a photograph on an edible printer. The sheet of sugar paper, with her husband’s face on it, landed on the table. Veronika carefully cut around it. Then she started working on the surprise.
Alisa, after reading lots of trendy blogs, insisted there be a big hollow dark chocolate sphere next to the cake. «I’ll smash it with a special wooden mallet, and inside there needs to be a surprise! Write this on parchment: Our new life starts today!» she demanded again in another voice message.
Veronika tempered the chocolate. She heated it, cooled it on a marble board, then warmed it slightly again. She poured the glossy mixture into a silicone half-sphere. The chocolate set in a perfectly even layer.
When both halves of the sphere had hardened, Veronika took a small sheet of sturdy paper. She didn’t write about a new life. She kept it short and to the point:
«The loan for his Ford is in his name; there are still three years left to pay, thirty thousand a month. He snores if he sleeps on his back. Occasionally, athlete’s foot flares up on his left foot. The housewife-wife passes the baton. You’ll find your stuff with the concierge downstairs.»
She rolled the note into a tight tube. She took her gold wedding ring from the spice shelf. Slipped both the note and the ring inside the chocolate half-sphere, and sealed the edges with melted chocolate. The surprise was ready.
***
On Friday evening, Pyotr was bustling around in the hallway. He put on fresh jeans, zipped up his jacket.
«Alright, I’m off. If I’m late, I’ll miss the company bus,» he said, pecking Veronika on the cheek. «Tell the kids dad’s out earning money. We’ll go to the park on Sunday.»
«Okay. Have a good teambuilding,» Veronika replied flatly.
She waited until his car disappeared from view outside. Then she pulled two giant, 120-liter black trash bags for construction waste out of the closet.
Veronika opened the wardrobe in the bedroom. She worked methodically, without anger—just like a big cleaning. Sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, socks, underwear—all went into the first bag. His sneakers and winter boots followed. The second bag got his shaving kit from the bathroom, his favorite chipped-handled mug, chargers, some papers off the desk and the old game console he used to play on weekends.
Veronika tied the bags shut.
She got dressed. No need to look fancy—she just pulled on some comfy jeans and a gray sweater. Her hair went up in a ponytail. No theatrics, no trying to look like a ‘glamorous abandoned wife’. Her only task was to make a delivery.
She carried the bags to the elevator. Then she went back for the cake. The pure white box, with a clear window and finished off with a red satin ribbon, looked absolutely perfect.
Veronika loaded black duffel bags into the trunk of her Kia, carefully placing the cake box on the front passenger seat.
The GPS showed a forty-eight minute drive. The neighborhood was on the other side of the city. Veronika pulled out of her courtyard and joined the heavy evening traffic.
Traffic was thick. A minor accident had caused a jam on the bridge. Veronika sat at the wheel, methodically pressing the gas and then the brake. The radio host droned on about real estate prices. Storefront lights and car brake lights flashed by outside the windows. She didn’t feel afraid or hurt. In her mind, a precise calculator was running: the apartment was officially hers, a gift from her parents, so he wouldn’t get anything from it. The business was unofficial, all the equipment she had bought herself. The child support for two kids, deducted from his official salary, would be a decent sum. She’d manage. She always had, while he spent the first five years of marriage ‘finding himself’ and switching jobs.
***
Fifty minutes later, she parked by the tall gates of a luxury housing complex.
«I’m a courier, a delivery for apartment eighty-four,» she announced into the intercom. The security guard opened the gate.
She pulled both heavy bags from the trunk, slung the handles over her shoulders, and picked up the cake box. She walked to the entrance. The concierge, an elderly man in uniform, glanced curiously at what she was carrying.
«Good evening. This is for apartment eighty-four,» Veronika said, placing the black duffel bags right on the tiled floor near the counter. «The owner will be down to pick them up soon. Can you keep an eye on these for a couple of minutes?»
«No problem,» the concierge nodded.
With the cake box in her hands, Veronika stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. The elevator moved smoothly upward, quietly humming.
The door to apartment 84 was solid, well-insulated. Veronika pressed the doorbell.
She heard light footsteps. The lock clicked. The door swung open.
Alice stood on the threshold. In person, she looked a little older than her messaging app profile picture. She wore a fitted emerald green silk slip dress. Her hair was immaculately styled, her makeup bold. The air was filled with expensive perfume blended with the scent of roasted meat.
«Oh, finally!» Alice sang out when she saw the cake box. «I thought you got stuck in that traffic. Come on, let me have it.»
Veronika stepped over the threshold into a spacious hallway with a mirrored closet. Soft jazz music floated in from the living room.
«Honey, the cake is here!» Alice shouted as she took the box from Veronika. «Come here, you can break the surprise!»
Peter appeared in the hallway, holding a corkscrew in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.
He stepped into the foyer and looked up.
Time seemed to stop. Veronika saw the corkscrew slip from his fingers, but he managed to awkwardly catch it just before it hit the floor. All color drained from Peter’s face instantly. He looked gray-green, like old hospital linoleum. His mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. He simply stared at Veronika, and she calmly stared right back at him.
«Red Velvet cake,» Veronika announced. Her voice was steady, not a hint of hysteria. «A chocolate sphere with a surprise on the side. Just as you asked.»
Hearing the familiar voice, Peter backed away. He bumped his back against the living room doorway.
«Nika…» he croaked out. «You… how are you here…»
Alisa froze. Slowly, she shifted her gaze from the pale Peter to the calm Veronika. Her smile faded, leaving only her mouth agape in shock, crimson lipstick standing out.
«Petya?» she asked in confusion. «Do you two know each other? Who is this?»
«This is a delivery from the housewife-wife,» Veronika replied, looking Alisa straight in the eyes. «The very surprise that’s starting your new life. Inside the sphere is my wedding ring and a little instruction manual on how to handle this man.»
She shifted her gaze to Peter. He looked miserable. All his former confidence, the polished shine of a ‘well-fed cat,’ had vanished. Now he was just a cowardly man, caught red-handed, clutching a wine bottle for dear life.
«Petya, down with the concierge, there are two black bags,» Veronika continued in a matter-of-fact tone. «I packed your things. Winter boots are there too, cold weather’s coming. Leave the keys to our apartment on the nightstand when you pick up the rest of your stuff. I won’t be home tomorrow—I’m taking the kids to the park.»
«Nika, wait, let’s talk… It’s not what you think, I can explain everything!» Peter took a step forward, reaching out, but Veronika didn’t even flinch.
«Really? Company team-building?» Veronika raised an eyebrow. «Petya, don’t embarrass yourself. Eat the cake. It’s good, I worked hard on it.»
Alisa, finally realizing the scale of the disaster, set the box down on the ottoman. Anger and disappointment flickered in her eyes. The illusion of her grand triumph was shattered. Instead of a beautiful fairy tale about rescuing a poor man from the clutches of a shrew, she got public humiliation in her own hallway and a man who stammered lame excuses to his wife, not even trying to defend his «Muse.»
«So you…» Alisa glared at Peter furiously. «You didn’t tell her anything? You lied to me, said you haven’t shared a bed for a year!»
«Work it out yourselves,» Veronika snapped. She turned to the door and grabbed the cold metal handle. «Best wishes to you both.»
She stepped out onto the landing, closing the heavy door carefully but firmly behind her. The click of the lock sounded like the shot of a starting pistol.
Veronika entered the elevator. She pressed the button for the first floor.
As the elevator descended, she pulled out her phone, opened her banking app, and transferred all the money from their joint account to her own personal card, which Peter couldn’t access. Then she opened her contacts and blocked her husband’s number.
She stepped outside the building. The concierge nodded goodbye. The black bags stood forlornly by the wall, waiting for their owner.
Veronika got into her car and started the engine. Her GPS showed the traffic had cleared; the trip back would only take thirty-five minutes.
She drove through the city at night. The car was filled with the scent of her perfume and just a hint of vanilla. Turning up the music, she enjoyed the louder beat. The heaviness that had weighed on her chest for the past two days vanished. Breathing suddenly felt easy and free.
Tomorrow is Saturday. The kids will get to sleep in, and she’ll make them pancakes, just the way they love. Then they’ll all head to the park together. No Petr, no constant complaints about ticket prices, no one glued to their phone.
She glanced at her right hand on the steering wheel. Her ring finger was perfectly smooth. No marks. No scars. It felt right. Life goes on, and the most exciting part is only just beginning.
