Irina stood by the window, mindlessly watching the falling snow in St. Petersburg. The phone conversation with her husband was coming to an end—a typical, unremarkable call like the many they had over fifteen years of marriage. Yura was reporting on his «business trip» in Moscow: all was well, meetings were successful, he would return in three days.
«Alright, dear, then talk to you later,» Irina was about to press the red button to hang up, but something stopped her. A female voice, melodious and young, distinctly said on the other end:
«Yurochka, are you coming? I’ve already filled the bath…»
Irina’s hand froze. Her heart skipped a beat, then pounded furiously. She pressed the phone back to her ear, but only heard the short beeps—her husband had hung up.
Slowly sinking into the chair, Irina felt her legs weaken. Thoughts swirled in her head: «Yurochka… A bath… What bath on a business trip?» Her memory helpfully threw up the oddities of recent months: frequent trips, late calls Yura took on the balcony, new perfume that appeared in his car.
Her hands trembled as she opened her laptop. Accessing his email was no trouble—the password was long known to her from the times when there were trust and honesty between them. Tickets, hotel booking… «Honeymoon suite» at a five-star hotel in the center of Moscow. For two.
In the email, she also found correspondence. Kristina. Twenty-six years old, fitness trainer. «Darling, I can’t take this anymore. You promised you’d divorce her three months ago. How much longer must I wait?»
Irina felt nauseous. Images of their first date surfaced—back then, he was a simple manager, she a budding accountant. They saved for their wedding for over a year, living in a rented apartment. They celebrated their first successes together, supported each other in failures. And now, he—a successful commercial director, she—the chief accountant at the same company, and between them, a chasm fifteen years deep and twenty-six years wide because of some Kristina.
In the hotel room, Yuri nervously paced back and forth.
«Why did you do this?» his voice trembled with rage.
Kristina lay on the bed, casually draped in a silk robe. Her long blonde hair sprawled across the pillow.
«What’s the big deal? – she stretched like a satiated cat. – You said yourself you were going to divorce her.»
«I’ll decide when and how to do that! Do you realize what you’ve done? Irina is not a fool, she’s figured it all out!»
«Good! – Kristina sat up abruptly on the bed. – I’m tired of being a mistress hidden away in hotels. I want to go out to restaurants with you, meet your friends, be your wife, finally!»
«You’re acting like a child,» Yuri hissed.
«And you’re a coward! – she jumped up, approached him. – Look at me! I’m young, beautiful, I can have your children. What can she do? Count your money?»
Yuri grabbed her by the shoulders: «Don’t you dare talk about Irina like that! You know nothing about her, about us!»
«I know enough, – Kristina broke free. – I know you’re unhappy with her. That she’s bogged down in work and chores. When was the last time you made love? Or went on vacation together?»
Yuri turned away to the window. Somewhere there, in snow-covered St. Petersburg, in their apartment, everything was falling apart. Fifteen years of life crumbling like a house of cards at the whim of a flighty girl.
Irina sat in the dark kitchen, clutching a cold cup of tea. Her phone displayed dozens of missed calls from her husband. She didn’t pick up. What was there to say? «Dear, I heard how your mistress is calling you to the bath?»
Memories kept throwing up images of their life together. Here Yura is proposing to her on one knee right in the middle of a restaurant. Here they are moving into their first apartment—a small two-bedroom in a residential area. Here he supports her when her mother passes away. Here they celebrate his promotion…
Then came the endless work emergencies, loans, renovations… When was the last time they just talked? Watched movies cuddled up on the sofa? Made plans for the future?
The phone vibrated again. This time it was a message: «Ira, let’s talk. I’ll explain everything.»
What’s there to explain? That she’s aged? That she’s bogged down in everyday life? That a young fitness trainer better understands his needs?
Irina walked to the mirror. Forty-two years old. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, gray hair that she diligently colored every month. When did it start—this tiredness in her eyes, this habit of living by a schedule, this endless chase for stability?
Yura, where have you been?» Kristina met him with a displeased look when he returned to the room after another attempt to call his wife.
«Not now,» he collapsed into the chair, loosening his tie.
«No, right now! I want to know what happens next. You realize we have to resolve everything now?»
Yuri looked at her—beautiful, confident, full of energy. Irina was like that fifteen years ago. God, how could he have done this to her?
«Kristina,» he tiredly rubbed his face with his hands, «you’re right. We need to resolve this.»
She beamed, rushing to him: «Darling! I knew you’d make the right decision!»
«Yes,» he gently pushed her away. «We need to end this.»
«What?!» she staggered back as if struck.
«This is a mistake,» he stood up. «I love my wife. Yes, we have problems. Yes, we’ve grown apart. But I can’t… I don’t want to erase everything we had.»
«You… you’re just a coward!» tears rolled down her face.
«No, Kristina. I was a coward when I started this affair. When I lied to a woman who shared everything with me for fifteen years: joys, sorrows, victories, defeats. You’re right—I’m unhappy. But happiness needs to be built, not found elsewhere.»
The doorbell rang around midnight. Irina knew it was him—he flew back on the first available flight.
«Ira, please open,» his voice sounded muffled through the door.
She opened it. Yuri stood on the threshold—unshaven, in a crumpled suit, with guilty eyes.
«May I come in?»
She stepped aside silently. They went to the kitchen—where they once dreamed of the future, where they made important decisions.
«Ira…»
«No need,» she raised her hand. «I know everything. Kristina, twenty-six years old, fitness trainer. I read your emails.»
He nodded, struggling for words.
«Why, Yura?»
He was silent for a long time, looking out at the nighttime city.
«Because I’m a coward. Because I was scared that we’d become strangers. Because she reminded me of you—the old you, full of energy and plans.»
«And what now?»
«Now…» he turned to face her. «Now I want to fix everything. If you’ll let me.»
«And her?»
«It’s over. I realized I can’t lose you. I don’t want to. Ira, I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But let’s try to start over? See a counselor, spend more time together, become who we were before…»
Irina looked at her husband—aged, graying, painfully familiar. Fifteen years isn’t just a number. It’s shared memories, habits, jokes, understood only by them. It’s knowing how to be silent together. It’s the ability to forgive.
«I don’t know, Yura,» she cried for the first time that evening. «I just don’t know…»
He cautiously embraced her, and she didn’t pull away. Outside, snow fell, covering St. Petersburg with a white blanket.
Somewhere in Moscow, in a hotel room, a girl cried for the first time faced with harsh truth: true love isn’t just passion and romance. It’s a choice that needs to be made every day.
Here in the kitchen, two not-so-young people were trying to gather the fragments of their lives. Ahead of them lay a long journey—through resentments and distrust, through sessions with a psychologist and painful conversations, through attempts to re-discover each other. But they both knew: sometimes you need to lose something to understand its value.
