“She’s not picking up!” Igor couldn’t restrain himself, raised his voice. “Kostya, I’m asking you as a friend. One time. I’ll never ask again.”
Another pause. Then a heavy sigh.
“Fine. But only one time. And so no one finds out, understood?”
“Of course. Thanks, Kostya, I owe you.”
“Give me the data.”
Igor dictated Olga’s full name, date of birth, passport number — he remembered all this by heart. Kostya said he would check tomorrow, Monday, at work, and call back.
Igor spent the rest of the weekend in agonizing waiting. Couldn’t find a place for himself, constantly grabbing the phone, checking if Kostya had called. Finally, on Monday around noon, the phone rang.
“Igor? I ran it. There is a new address registered to your wife.”
Igor’s heart beat faster.
“Which one?”
“Yasnaya Polyana village, Sadovaya street, house 17.”
“That’s somewhere in the suburbs, fifty kilometers from the city.”
Igor wrote down the address, thanked Kostya, and hung up. A village? She moved to some village? Why? He opened maps on his phone, punched in the address. Indeed, in the suburbs, not that far. Can drive there in an hour.
Igor looked at his watch. Half past twelve. If he leaves now, he’ll be there by two. They’ll talk, clear everything up. Maybe she’s already ready to return, just waiting for him to make the first move himself.
He dressed, grabbed the car keys, ran out of the apartment. On the way, he rehearsed what he would say. Something like: “Olya, stop being silly. Come home, let’s forget everything.” Or: “Olya, I understand you’re offended, but we are adults, we can discuss everything.” Or even: “Olya, it’s hard for me without you, let’s try to fix the relationship.” Yes, the last option is not bad. Not exactly an apology, but not an order either. A compromise.
Igor started the car, drove onto the highway. Suburbs, fields, small forests flashed outside the window. The further he drove, the more nervous he became. His heart pounded somewhere in his throat, palms sweaty, he constantly wiped them on his jeans. What if she doesn’t accept him? What if she chases him away?
No, impossible. They lived together for ten years, that’s no trifle. Ten years is history, it’s a bond. She can’t just take and cross him out of her life.
The navigator announced he was approaching the destination. Igor turned onto a narrow road leading into the village. Houses on both sides were private, neat, with front gardens and fences. Quiet, calm, provincial. Sadovaya Street. Igor slowed down, peering at the numbers on the gates. Here’s 13, 15, 17.
He stopped the car, got out. And froze.
In front of him stood a beautiful country cottage with an attic. Not some communal apartment, not a wretched rented flat. But a real house. Well-kept plot, freshly painted fence, apple trees in the garden. Pots with flowers stood on the porch.
Igor slowly approached the gate, not believing his eyes. How? Where did Olga get such a house? Did she win the lottery? Or… Or did she find herself a rich lover?
This thought burned like boiling water. Igor clenched his fists, felt a chill of rage run down his spine. So that’s what it is. That’s why she left him so easily. She had a backup plan, some rich guy who promised her a house, money, a beautiful life.
He reached for the gate, intending to yank it open and burst into the yard, to start a confrontation, when the gate opened by itself.
Olga stood on the threshold. She was completely different. Not the hunted, tired woman he kicked out a week ago. Hair styled, light makeup, new jeans and sweater. But most importantly – the eyes. Calm, cold, confident…
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