— That’s all.
He was lying. Marina could feel it, but she didn’t press. She decided to wait. She didn’t have to wait long.
A week later, Oleg came home later than usual. He looked strange: disheveled, nervous, with red patches on his cheeks.
— Where were you? — Marina asked.
— At work, got held up.
— At ten in the evening?
— It was a madhouse.
He walked past her into the bedroom without a kiss, without a hug. Like a stranger. Marina stood in the hallway for a moment, then followed him.
— Oleg, we need to talk.
— Let’s do it tomorrow, I’m tired.
— No, now.
He sat on the bed, taking off his shoes, without looking up.
— About what?
— About us. About what’s happening.
— Nothing’s happening.
— Something is. You’re lying to me. You lie every day.
Oleg froze with a shoe in his hand.
— Marina…
— You weren’t at work. I called the office. You haven’t been there since six.
He looked up. Fear in his eyes, and something else. Guilt?
— I was at my mom’s.
Marina felt everything inside her collapse. Not from surprise—she had suspected. But suspecting is one thing, hearing confirmation is another.
— At your mom’s, — she repeated. — After everything she did. After all the promises.
— She called, crying. Said she was dying of loneliness. That I’m her only son. That she can’t live while I’m ignoring her.
— And you believed her.
— She’s my mother, Marina. I can’t just…
— “Just” what? Keep your word? Protect your family? Be a man?
Oleg jumped up.
— Don’t start.
— I’m not starting. I’m finishing.
— What does that mean?
Marina looked at him, at the man she once loved. Handsome, successful. And so weak. So pathetic.
— It means I’m tired, Oleg. Tired of fighting for what you should be fighting for. Tired of being second place to your mommy.
— You’re not in second place.
— I am. I always have been. And I always will be, until you cut the umbilical cord.
— Marina, that’s unfair.
— Unfair? — she laughed. — Unfair is when your mother slips a laxative into my juice. Unfair is when my husband knows and says nothing. Unfair is eight years of humiliation and trying to save a family that no one but me needs.
— I need it. I love you.
— Love isn’t words, Oleg. It’s actions. And your actions say something completely different.
She turned and walked out of the bedroom.
— Marina, wait. — He caught up with her in the hallway and grabbed her arm. — Please, let’s talk.
— We talked. A month ago. You promised. And you broke your promise.
— I’ll fix it.
— No, Oleg. You won’t. Because you don’t want to fix it. You want everything to be like it was before. Mom happy, and wife in her place. But it doesn’t work that way.
— What do you want from me?
— Nothing. Nothing anymore.
She pulled her arm free and went to the kitchen. She took a suitcase from the closet. The same one she had taken to her parents’.
— What are you doing? — Oleg’s voice trembled.
— Packing my things.
— Where are you going?
— To my parents’. For a while.
— Marina, don’t.
— I have to, Oleg. I should have done this a long time ago.
He stood in the doorway, watching her pack her things into the suitcase. Pale, lost.
— Are you… are you leaving?
— Yes.
— For good?
— I don’t know. For now, yes.
— But what about… us?
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