Katya shoved a bill at him and slipped out of the car. Hiding behind the decorative thuja trees planted near the entrance, she saw Zhanna and her companion get out of the car. The streetlight fell directly on the man’s face. Katya gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth.
It was Konstantin Vitalievich Voronov, her husband’s attending physician. The medical prodigy who had told her with a sad face about a rare autoimmune disease and wrote out bills with five zeros.
— It can’t be, — Katerina whispered. — How could this be? You took a doctor’s oath…
She went around the side of the restaurant and found the window where the pair was sitting. Through the glass, in the warm light of the lamp, Zhanna was laughing, throwing back her luxurious black hair. Voronov, however, kept adjusting his glasses and looking around.
— Are you sure the dosage is right? — Katya couldn’t hear the words, but she could guess from their lips and expressions.
Voronov explained something nervously, tracing a finger on the tablecloth. Zhanna reached into her purse. She took out a thick, bulky paper envelope. Its contents clearly warmed the doctor’s soul. Zhanna helpfully pushed the envelope across the table. Voronov covered it with his palm, closed his eyes for a second as if wrestling with his conscience, and then with a quick, furtive movement, slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Zhanna raised her wine glass. Her face was radiant with triumph.
Katya staggered back. The puzzle pieces clicked into place in her mind. The diagnoses, the prescriptions, Igor’s deteriorating condition—it was all one big show, directed by her best friend and paid for with Katya’s own money.
— You are such scoundrels, — she breathed into the darkness.
She returned home as if in a fog. She didn’t remember paying for the taxi again or climbing the stairs. She took out her keys. The lock clicked almost silently. Katya opened the door and froze.
Upbeat music was playing in the apartment. Not the funereal silence that usually reigned here, but a rhythmic pop hit. Katya took a step into the hallway. The living room door was wide open. In the middle of the room, with his back to her, stood Igor—the husband who, according to the doctor, was in excruciating pain with any movement. Right now, Igor was doing squats, deep and rhythmic, with dumbbells in his hands.
— One, two, three, — her husband counted aloud, admiring his reflection in the mirrored wardrobe. — Gotta work the glutes and biceps, I’ve been lying around too long. I’ll get bedsores from this dying swan role soon.
Katya’s vision went dark. She dropped her bag. The music stopped.
Igor froze at the bottom of a squat, spun around, and went pale when he saw her. In a split second, he opened his fingers, and the dumbbells crashed to the floor, leaving dents in the parquet. Igor himself clutched his lower back, contorted his face in a grimace of inhuman agony, and with a long moan, collapsed onto the carpet.
— Ah! Oh! Katya! You’re home already? — he groaned. — Oh God, the spasm! I was just trying to get up… Oh, my back! A doctor! Katya! I need painkillers!
She watched this circus, and something inside her seemed to snap. \”Do you think I’m a complete idiot? You think I didn’t see you working out a minute ago?\” she thought, but said something else aloud.
Katya rushed to her husband, feigning panic.
— Igorek, honey! My God, what happened? Did you fall? How could you be so careless?
— I thought I was getting better, — Igor groaned, grabbing her hand. — I wanted to meet you, surprise you, but my legs… My legs gave out!
— Shh, shh, don’t say anything!
Katya struggled to help him up and limp to the sofa. Every one of his feigned moans sent a wave of revulsion through her.
— I’ll get you some water now.
— Yes, please hurry, — Igor wheezed, settling onto the pillows and closing his eyes. — And a massage, massage my lower back, I’m begging you!
Katya went to the kitchen. She turned on the water so the noise would drown out her sobs.
— A massage for you… — she whispered, pouring water into a glass. — I’ll give you a massage you’ll never forget.
The evening passed with the usual chores. Katya bustled around her husband, adjusting his blanket, listening to his whining, but now she noticed every detail. She saw how her husband greedily ate meatballs when she wasn’t looking, or how he vigorously typed something on his phone the moment she left the room.
— Katya, you seem a bit on edge today, — Igor remarked towards midnight, putting his phone aside. — Did something happen?
— I’m tired, — she answered curtly. — Swamped at work. Zhanna was helping me sort things out.
At the mention of her friend, the corner of Igor’s mouth twitched up almost imperceptibly.
— She’s a saint. You’re lucky to have her, you should appreciate her.
— I do appreciate her, — Katya replied quietly, turning off the light. — Very much.
It was late at night. Igor snored, sprawled on the sofa in his sleep. Katya lay awake, staring at the ceiling where shadows from the streetlights danced. She knew what she had to do. Katerina got up silently and approached the sofa. Her husband’s smartphone was on the nightstand. The screen blinked with a notification. She picked up the phone.
\”I feel like a criminal.\”
\”Enter password.\” It used to be four ones. She entered it—incorrect password.
\”Of course,\” Katya smirked to herself. \”You’re a conspirator now.\”
She thought for a moment. Igor was selfish but sentimental. He only loved himself and his mother. Katya entered her mother-in-law’s birthday. Without the year. Fifteen oh eight. The screen unlocked.
— Well, I’ll be! — Katya whispered with just her lips.
She opened the messaging app. The top chat was pinned. The contact was named \”Bunny.\” The profile picture was a photo of Zhanna in a swimsuit. Katya’s breath caught in her throat. She tapped on the chat. A message from \”Bunny\” read:
\”So, is your little hen asleep?\”
Igor had replied:
\”Looks like it. She was acting strange today. Maybe the dose is working?\”
\”Bunny, of course it’s working. Voronov said the cumulative effect has started. Another week, and she’ll start forgetting words. And then it’s not far to the psych ward. Or a heart attack. Whichever comes first.\”
\”The sooner, the better. I’m tired of this charade. My back is really getting stiff from lying around all day. Almost got caught today. I was doing squats, and she walked in. You need to be more careful, you athlete. We can’t take any risks. A vacation abroad is on the line. And freedom.\”
\”Listen, are you sure about her parents’ house?\”
\”The apartment is good, but the doctor is asking for a fortune for the operation. Plus tickets. The money from the apartment might not be enough for everything we want.\”
Katya went cold and quickly scrolled down the chat. \”Bunny\” was writing again:
\”Don’t worry. I checked the databases. The house in the village of Sosnovka, where her parents live, is worth about twenty million now, at least. The land there is gold. And your operation is the perfect excuse. The old folks will sell their last possession for their daughter and beloved son-in-law.\”…
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