“Come home early, uncle,” said the little beggar girl. He listened and caught his wife in… an interesting situation.
Igor sat in his office, engulfed in a heavy, almost tangible silence. Even the clock on the wall seemed afraid to tickits hands frozen as if unwilling to disturb the grief hanging in the air. He stared blankly at the corner of his expensive dark-wood desk, seeing nothing. His gaze was turned inward, where his soul ached, tormented by guilt and thoughts of home, of the bedroom where his wife, Kristina, seemed to be slowly fading away.
A cautious knock sounded at the doorsoft, not insistent, as if the visitor feared interrupting his solitude. Olga, his deputy and the only reason he hadnt gone mad, appeared. She stepped in, and the office seemed to brighten. But there was no warm smile on her face. She approached his desk and silently placed a folded sheet of paper before him. A resignation letter.
“Olya, what is this?” Igors voice cracked into a hoarse whisper. Something inside him snapped.
“Its for the best, Igor. For everyone,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “I already found a job. In another city.”
Paindull yet sharppierced him. He stood abruptly, circled the desk, and took her hands. They were cold, like winter wind slipping through old window cracks.
“Dont go. Please,” he begged, his words like a prayer.
“I cant stay. She needs you,” her voice trembled with unshed tears. “You have to be with her.”
“This is my fault!” he nearly shouted, voice breaking. “Shes sick because of me! My sin, my affair with youits killing her!”
“Stop,” Olga finally met his eyes, and he saw matching pain in them. “Its not your fault. None of it. Let yourself go.”
But he couldnt. Memories flashedhis arranged marriage to Kristina, their parents’ doing, their cold union. Shed called children a “burden,” cared only for societys glitter. Then came Olgawarmth, care, love. The last memory stung the most: confessing his love for Olga to Kristina, her theatrical collapse, her sudden “mystery illness.”
Returning home was torture. Kristina lay surrounded by pillows, greeting him weakly:
“Youre late again You dont care if I die tonight.”
Swallowing guilt, he sat by her bed, willing her to live. When she claimed a “brilliant doctor” could save her, he agreed. The smug professor came twice daily, administering costly injections. Igor paid without question.
That evening, he parked outside their iron gates, dreading the house. A small girl, the one who washed headlights for change, tapped his window.
“Uncle, want them cleaned?”
He handed her extra money. As she ran off, she suddenly called back:
“You come home too late. Try earlier.”
Her words nagged at him.
The next morning, Kristina moaned, “Dont touch me. The nurse will help. Go to work, since it matters more than your dying wife.”
At the office, he glimpsed Olga leaving with a boxgone forever. Despair and rage consumed him. Then, the girls words echoed: *Come home early.*
Acting on impulse, he rushed homeand found Kristinas doctors Mercedes parked midday. Inside, laughter and music spilled from the bedroom. He pushed the door open.
Kristina, *healthy*, swayed in a sheer negligee, champagne in hand. The naked “doctor” gaped.
“Igor! This isntits therapy!” she shrieked.
“Liar!” the man spat. “This was *your* scamyou took half the money!”
Trembling with fury, Igor fetched his hunting rifle. A shot rang into the floor.
“Five seconds,” he said icily. “Get out.”
They fled.
Alone amid the betrayal, one thought remained: *Olga.* He raced to her apartmentshed just left for the train.
Ignoring traffic laws, pursued by police, he barreled onto the platform, seized a promo girls microphone, and bellowed:
“Olga! Dont leave! I love you! Its all a lieKristinas fine!”
A quiet voice behind him: “And Kristina?”
Olga stood there, tears streaming, ticket clutched. He dropped to his knees.
“She was faking! Forgive me!”
Police grabbed him, but the crowd protested. Olga embraced him.
Later, home, he dumped Kristinas belongings. Olga hesitated, then whispered:
“I was scared to tell you Im pregnant.”
Time stopped. Thenjoy. He spun her, laughing: “I love you! And our baby!”
A year later, they stood on their terrace, watching their three-month-old daughter sleep. The mess with Kristinalawsuits, slanderwas over.
The little girl from the street? Igor hired her father and treated her sick mother. Now, she visits for tea and cake.
Holding Olga, gazing at their child, Igor knew: hed walked through hell to find his heaven.
