Larisa stood by the window in her spacious living room, gazing at the city as the evening set in. Fifteen years of marriage had passed, and a new life lay ahead. The four-bedroom apartment in the city center had been purchased with joint funds, but she had contributed the majority of the money. Two and a half million from her mother’s inheritance had been the foundation for the purchase, while Konstantin had added only eight hundred thousand.
Larisa ran a successful design studio with twenty employees. Orders flooded in non-stop, and clients were booked months in advance. Her work was published in prestigious magazines, and she was often invited to speak at conferences. Konstantin worked as the director of a branch of a large retail chain, earning a decent salary and holding a prestigious position. They had once been happy together. Once.
But over the past three years, Larisa had noticed troubling changes in her husband’s behavior. Konstantin began staying late at work, returning home after eleven, citing urgent meetings and inventory checks. At first, Larisa believed him, understanding the demands of the retail business. But then other signs appeared.
He became strangely distant, avoiding intimacy with excuses like fatigue, headaches, or stress. He was always glued to his phone, hiding the screen whenever she came near. At night, he would go to the bathroom and spend a long time texting someone. His phone was always locked with a password—something that had never been the case before.
Larisa sensed something was wrong, but she didn’t want to believe it was infidelity. Fifteen years of shared life, a home, future plans… She pushed aside her suspicions, convincing herself they were unfounded worries.
In early March, Konstantin entered the kitchen while Larisa was making dinner and dropped a bombshell.
— “I’ve been sent on a long business trip to Ekaterinburg,” he said in a businesslike tone, glancing at his phone. — “The company is opening a new branch there, and they need my presence on-site.”
— “How long?” Larisa asked, stirring the sauce.
— “About a month, maybe a little longer if there are any issues. We have to set everything up from scratch—find a place, hire staff, sort out logistics.”
— “A month is a long time,” she sighed.
— “It’s work,” he replied. “But this could lead to a promotion. Maybe they’ll transfer me to the headquarters.”
Konstantin spoke confidently about the opportunities and growth. Larisa listened half-heartedly, sensing unease inside her. Something about it felt wrong, but she attributed it to typical anxiety before a separation.
Larisa saw him off at the airport on a cold March morning. Konstantin was in a good mood, joking and kissing her on the cheek.
— “I’ll call every day, promise,” he assured her, hugging her. “If anything urgent comes up, message me.”
— “Good luck,” she said, watching him leave.
The first week, Konstantin did indeed call every evening, just as he promised. He gave detailed, albeit boring, accounts of his work—how they were looking for a location for the branch, the problems with documents, the interviews with candidates. Larisa listened, asking polite questions and wishing him success.
She kept busy with her own work. The studio required constant attention, with new projects for luxury restaurants, private homes, and corporate offices. There was plenty to keep her occupied.
Ten days later, Larisa received a call from her friend Irina. Her voice was shaken.
— “Lar, are you home? Can you talk?”
— “Yes, I’m home. What’s going on?”
— “I was at the shopping center on Tverskaya… and I saw Konstantin. But he wasn’t alone.”
Larisa’s heart sank. She sat down on the couch.
— “What do you mean, ‘not alone’?”
— “With a woman. She was young. They were holding hands, kissing by the fountain. At first, I thought I was mistaken, but it was definitely him. I took a photo discreetly. I’ll send it to you now.”
A minute later, Larisa received the photo. Konstantin was wearing the jacket she had bought him for his birthday, standing next to a twenty-something-year-old woman with bright makeup. They were holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes, and kissing passionately.
Larisa stared at the screen, feeling an icy cold inside. No Ekaterinburg. No business trip. A lie.
She didn’t call her husband with accusations or hysteria. Instead, she took a deep breath and decided to act coldly. The next day, she hired a private investigator, recommended by a lawyer she knew. Igor Valeryevich, a seasoned professional, took the case immediately.
Three days later, he sent her a detailed report. Konstantin had rented a one-bedroom apartment in a residential area on the outskirts of town, which was officially registered in his lover’s name. They had been living there for three weeks while he continued to pretend he was on a business trip. Every morning, he left for work at his branch, and in the evening, he returned to her.
The detective also provided the address, photographs of the building, and their schedules. Konstantin had been buying his lover flowers, taking her to restaurants, and buying her expensive gifts. The photos showed them as a couple in the “honeymoon phase,” spending time together like a couple in love.
Larisa carefully read the report. There were no tears, no hysterics—just cold rage and a firm decision. Konstantin had crossed the line. Now, it was her turn.
The detective continued his investigation, and a week later, he provided a complete dossier on the lover. Her name was Veronika, she was 26, and she worked as an assistant in one of the stores where Konstantin was the director. They had met at a company party six months ago.
Konstantin had spent large sums of money on Veronika, buying her expensive clothes, bags, and jewelry. The detective had found receipts totaling more than three hundred thousand rubles from high-end stores over the past few months. The payments had been made using their joint credit card.
Larisa had gathered all the necessary documents for the future court case. Everything was meticulously documented and ready for legal action. Igor Valeryevich had done his job thoroughly.
— “If you need more materials for the court case, feel free to contact me,” he said as they parted ways. “I’ve kept everything archived.”
Larisa didn’t create a scandal or shed any tears, as Konstantin might have expected from an “abandoned wife.” Instead, she calmly analyzed the situation and made a well-thought-out decision. Fifteen years of marriage were over. She was not going to forgive the betrayal.
