From now on, I’m going to tell you everything in detail! Nastya whispered with keen interest, wiping the dust and cobwebs off her face. True chaos ruled her temporary hideaway.
Sitting in that uncomfortable position was almost impossible: she felt a sneeze coming, and her legs had long since gone numb. But she was willing to endure it all to discover the truth about her husband’s intentions.
Boris was on the phone, speaking loudly and unaware she was home. He had just entered the apartment—though he should have been at work. His voice was so distinct that Nastya, who happened to be home during the day, could hear every word. He seemed oblivious to her presence as she crouched hidden inside the wardrobe.
She had returned to retrieve the folder containing important documents that Polina, the six-year-old rascal, had thrown upstairs a week ago while playing hide-and-seek. Probably Polina’s way of grabbing attention from parents she rarely saw. “They’ll look together and end up praising me,” the little girl had assured.
The papers had slipped down between the wardrobe and the wall. To reach them, she had to move the heavy furniture. She’d repeatedly asked Boris for help, but he always had an excuse: busy at work, too tired, promising “tomorrow.”
“I’ll call my brother on my day off—there’s no way I can do this alone,” Boris had said yet again, revealing his childish approach to life.
Nastya, however, was made of different stuff: active, resolute. So when her boss asked for the contracts for recent deals, she made the only logical decision: go home right then and fix things herself.
“I’ll bring them right away!” she told her boss confidently, and headed home.
“I’ve had enough of your promises! We’ve got a week with no results!” her boss barked in surprise.
To her own surprise, Nastya managed to shift the wardrobe. Maybe anger gave her strength. Behind it, she found not only the folder but also items lost long ago—and a thick layer of dust.
I’ll vacuum before heading back to work, she thought. Let Boris clean up the whiteboard tomorrow.
Her plans shattered when she heard a sudden noise: Boris had returned, still talking on the phone, completely absorbed in conversation.
What is he doing here? she wondered, holding the folder.
Curiosity spiked when she caught snippets of his talk. She realized he had deliberately taken time off. His goal: no interruptions during his “delicate conversation.”
Delicate conversation? she thought, straining to listen.
Leaving her hideout now would be reckless. She decided to stay hidden, to learn who exactly her husband was talking to.
“Go ahead, tell me the number, I’ll write it down,” Boris continued. “Sure, I’ll call you later. Of course I’ll tell you everything.”
After a brief pause, he switched to formal tone: “Hello! May I schedule a paternity test at your facility?”
At those words, Nastya froze, stunned to her core.
“What?! What is he doing?” she whispered, unable to believe her ears. Explain in detail! What kind of test is this? Who is he testing? Could he doubt that Polina is his daughter? Does he have another child?
Meanwhile, her husband continued: “Understood. And the cost? How fast are results? So expensive? Is this a rip-off? I’m not a kid—you don’t have to explain everything! Okay, how long does it take? Yes. And what materials are required? Hold on, I’ll write it all down…”
Nastya remained silent, holding her breath, recording every word. Her mind raced: Should she burst out, reprimand him, demand answers? Or stay hidden and gather full proof? His intentions were starting to take shape—but the critical question hung in the air: Who else is involved?
Immediately after hanging up with the clinic, Boris dialed his mother’s number. Now everything was clear: his first call was clearly to her. His voice softened; he spoke with the familiar tone he used when talking to his strict mother—a vestige of his childhood conditioning.
The documents were stuck between the wall and the closet, and now heavy furniture had to be moved to get them out. Nastya repeatedly asked her husband for help, but he kept making up new excuses: sometimes he was busy, sometimes he was tired, sometimes he promised to do it the next day.
“I’ll call my brother on his day off; I can’t do it alone anyway,” Boris said again, demonstrating his immature approach to managing things.
Nastya, however, was of a completely different nature: active and decisive. So when her boss asked her for the contracts for the latest deals, she made the only logical decision: to go home personally and solve the problem.
“I’ll bring them right away!” she said confidently to her boss before going home.
“It’s about time! “You’ve only been promising us for a week!” the disgruntled boss grumbled.
To Nastya’s surprise, she managed to move the cabinet. Perhaps anger at her husband had given her more strength. In addition to the folder, she found several long-lost items and a whole layer of dust.
“I’ll vacuum right away and then go to work,” she thought. “Let Boris put the cabinet back in order in the morning.”
However, her plans were abruptly interrupted by a sudden noise: Boris had entered the apartment, still on the phone. He was completely absorbed in the conversation.
“What is he doing here?” Nastya wondered, crouching with the folder in her hand.
Her curiosity increased when she caught a few passages of the conversation. It turned out that Boris had deliberately asked for time off from work so that no one would disturb him during his “delicate conversation.”
“What conversation?” Nastya pondered, listening carefully.
Now, coming out of hiding would be reckless. Nastya decided to stay hidden to find out who exactly her husband was having such “delicate” conversations with.
“Go ahead, dictate the number, I’ll write it down,” Boris continued. “Of course, I’ll call you later! How could I not tell you? Yes, I’ll tell you everything!”
After a short pause, he began again, this time in a more formal tone:
“Good morning! Please tell me, is it possible to do a paternity test with you?”
At these words, Nastya froze, overcome by shock…
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