The New Wife
Larissa held the wedding invitation in her hands, struggling to believe what she was seeing. The gold lettering on the cream card announced the marriage of her father, Victor Petrovich, to a woman named Inna Valerievna. The date was set for the following week.
“A week,” she muttered, turning the card over. “Couldn’t even bother to give proper notice.”
Her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts. Her younger sister’s name flashed on the screen.
“Lara, did you get… the invitation?” Olya’s voice sounded lost.
“I did. Did you know anything about this?”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I thought Dad was just seeing someone casually. And now—suddenly a wedding?”
Larissa wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. A light drizzle pattered against the window, matching the dull weight in her chest.
“Ol, have you ever seen her? This… Inna?”
“Once, by chance. They were leaving a café, and I happened to be passing. Young—mid-thirties at most. Blonde, dyed, covered in gold and furs.”
Larissa grimaced. Their father was sixty-eight. A gap of over thirty years.
“Think it’s about money?” Olya ventured. “Remember Dad said he sold the dacha? And that two-bedroom flat in the city centre?”
“I don’t know,” Larissa sighed. “We need to go see him. Talk.”
“Let’s go together. I’ll leave work early tomorrow.”
The next day, the sisters met outside their father’s new flat. Victor Petrovich had moved there recently after selling the old three-bedroom where they’d grown up. At the time, he’d said it was to be closer to the city, but now Larissa suspected another reason.
“My girls!” Their father greeted them with open arms. “How wonderful you’ve come! I’ll introduce you to Innochka.”
He looked younger somehow—rejuvenated. A fresh haircut, a smart shirt, his stride more energetic.
“Dad, we need to talk,” Larissa said firmly.
“Of course, of course! Inna’s just making dinner. She’s a marvelous cook—you’ll see.”
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and a woman’s voice humming a tune. He led them to the sitting room and gestured to the sofa.
“My darlings, I’m so happy you’ll get to know Inna. She’s wonderful—kind, caring. I never thought at my age I’d fall in love again.”
Larissa and Olya exchanged a glance. The word “love” sounded unnatural coming from their sixty-eight-year-old father.
“Dad,” Olya began, “how long have you known her?”
“Four months. Met at the clinic, in the cardiologist’s queue. Inna’s mother was in hospital, and she was upset. I comforted her, walked her home…”
“Four months—and already a wedding?” Larissa couldn’t hold back. “Isn’t that too fast?”
“At our age, why wait?” He frowned slightly. “We’re not children. We know what we want.”
Just then, a woman walked in, and Larissa saw immediately that Olya had been right. Inna looked no older than thirty-five, if that. Tall, slim, with honey-blonde waves and heavy makeup. A tight dress, jewellery gleaming at her wrists and throat.
“Girls, meet her!” Their father sprang up. “This is my Innochka. And these are my daughters—Larissa and Olya.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Inna said, extending a hand with long, painted nails. “Vitya’s told me so much about you!”
Her voice was melodic, but Larissa instantly disliked its sugar-coated tone.
“Dinner’s ready,” Inna announced. “Come to the table.”
The kitchen was laid out like a holiday feast—expensive china Larissa didn’t recognise, candles, flowers. Beautiful, but somehow artificial.
“Innochka, tell the girls about yourself,” their father urged, pouring wine.
“Oh, what’s there to tell?” She laughed. “Just an ordinary woman. Work at a beauty salon as a manicurist. Live alone, no children. Married once, but my ex was… difficult.”
“How so?” Olya pressed.
“Drank, raised his hand. Had to divorce. Been wary of men since. Then I met your father…”
The way she gazed at Victor Petrovich, adoring, made Larissa’s skin crawl.
“Any family?” Olya continued.
“A mother. No father—long gone. Mum’s ill, I care for her. Vitya helps, even gives money for her medicine. So kind!”
Their father beamed.
“Dad—” Larissa cut in, “can we talk? Alone?”
They stepped into the hallway. Inna stayed behind, clearing dishes.
“What is it?” His guard went up immediately.
“Dad, do you realise how young she is? She’s my age.”
“So? Am I forcing her? She chose this.”
“Have you asked yourself why?” Olya interjected. “Dad, be honest. A beautiful young woman marrying a man who could be her father—”
“Enough!” His voice rose. “You’re just jealous I’ve found love while your own lives are a mess!”
Larissa’s cheeks burned. Her recent divorce was no secret.
“Jealous?” she shot back. “Dad, we’re worried!”
“Don’t be. I’m a grown man. I know what I’m doing.”
Victor Petrovich turned and marched back to the kitchen. The sisters exchanged a glance and reluctantly followed.
The rest of the evening was stiff. Inna chattered about wedding plans, showed photos of her dress. Their father nodded along, smitten.
“Where will you live after?” Larissa asked.
“Here,” Inna said. “Vitya cleared wardrobe space for me. So thoughtful!”
“What about your mum? You said you care for her.”
Inna hesitated.
“Mum… has a nurse. I visit, of course, but I don’t need to be there every day.”
On the way home, the sisters were silent. Finally, Olya snapped:
“She’s lying.”
“About what?”
“Not sure. But something’s off. First she’s caring for her mum, now suddenly there’s a nurse?”
“The whole thing’s strange,” Larissa agreed. “Four months, straight to marriage.”
“What do we do?”
“Dig deeper. You’ve got that friend who works in beauty—ask around.”
The next day, Olya called Zhenya, a beautician at a nearby salon.
“Inna Valerievna Smirnova? Oh, I know her. Works over on Central. Why, trouble?”
“Not sure. Just—what’s she like?”
“Good at her job, clients love her. But the girls say she likes wealthy men. Last fling was with some businessman twenty years older. Bought her designer gear, a new car. Then they split, and she was back on the bus.”
“Was she married?”
“Mentioned an ex, but who knows? She spins stories.”
“What about her mum?”
Zhenya paused.
“Mum… Not sure. Once said her mother died when she was twenty. Or was that someone else?”
Olya thanked her and called Larissa.
“Listen, some interesting details…”
Larissa listened, anger simmering.
“So she lied about her mum. Probably the husband too.”
“Looks that way. What now?”
“We talk to Dad. Properly.”
But when they arrived that evening, he wasn’t home. A neighbour said Victor Petrovich had gone shopping at the mall with his “new wife.”
“New wife?” Larissa echoed.
“Yep,” Aunt Klava nodded. “Introduced her yesterday. Said they’re signing papers Sunday but already a family.”
The sisters buzzed his flat—no answer. Larissa used the spare key he’d given her for emergencies.
The place was transformed. Women’s things everywhere, luxury creams in the bathroom. The kitchen sink held fancy dishes.
“She’s moved in,” Olya observed.
“And taken over.”
Larissa walked to the bedroom. The wardrobe overflowed with female clothes—their father’s shoved aside. On the dresser where their late mother’s photos once sat, perfume bottles and makeup now gleamed.
“Where are Mum’s pictures?” Olya whispered.
Larissa opened a drawer. They lay stacked in a box.
“Hidden,” she hissed. “Even Mum’s memory was in her way.”
The lock turned. Laughter in the hall. The sisters hurried out.
“Oh!” Their father brightened, laden with shopping bags. “Didn’t expect you.”
Behind him, Inna, draped in a new fur coat, clutched more bags.
“We got my wedding outfit,” she trilled. “Vitya’s so generous—let me pick anything!”
“Dad, we need to talk.” Larissa’s voice was steel. “Alone.”
The sisters watched as their father handed over his credit card once more, his tired eyes meeting theirs with silent resignation, and in that moment, they knew he had chosen this gilded cage willingly—and there was nothing left to say.
