Iryna stood by the window, watching the thick Kyiv snow blanket the city. A phone call with her husband was winding down just another routine conversation among the countless theyd had in their fifteenyear marriage. As usual, Yura reported on his business trip to Lviv: everything was fine, meetings were on schedule, hed be back in three days.
Okay, dear, talk soon, Iryna said, pulling the phone from her ear to press the red hangup button. But something stopped her. On the other end she heard a clear, melodic, youthful female voice:
Yurko, are you coming? Ive already filled the bathtub
Irynas hand froze in the air. Her heart missed a beat, then pounded as if trying to burst out of her chest. She slammed the phone back to her ear, but only a brief buzz was heard Yura had already ended the call.
She sank slowly into her armchair, feeling her legs go numb. Thoughts whirled wildly: Yurko bathtub what bathtub on a business trip? Her mind dredged up odd memories from recent months: frequent trips, latenight calls Yura always took from the balcony, a new perfume that suddenly appeared in his car.
With trembling fingers she opened her laptop. Accessing his email was easy she still knew the password from the days when trust and honesty reigned between them. Tickets, a hotel reservation Newlyweds suite at a fivestar hotel in central Lviv, for two.
Scrolling through his mail, she also found a correspondence. Christina. Twentysix, a fitness trainer. Honey, I cant keep this up. You promised youd end things three months ago. How much longer must I wait?
A wave of nausea hit Iryna. A vivid flash of their first date with Yura appeared back then he was a simple manager, she a novice accountant. They were saving for a wedding while renting a tiny flat, celebrating small victories, supporting each other through setbacks. Now he was a successful commercial director, she the chief accountant of the same company, and a fifteenyear gap yawned between them, widened by a twentysixyearold Christina.
In the Lviv hotel room Yura paced nervously from corner to corner.
Why did you do this? his voice trembled with anger.
Christina lay on the bed, loosely wrapped in a silk robe, her long blond hair spilling onto the pillow.
Whats wrong with that? she stretched like a contented cat. You told me yourself you were going to leave her.
Ill decide when and how to do it! Do you understand what youve caused? Iryna isnt stupid; she sees everything!
Fine! Christina snapped up. Im tired of being the secret lover you hide in hotels. I want to go to restaurants with you, meet your friends, be your wife, finally!
Youre acting like a child, Yura growled through clenched teeth.
And youre a coward! she sprang toward him. Look at me Im young, beautiful, I can bear your children. What can she do? Just count your money?
Yura grabbed her shoulders. Dont you dare speak of Iryna! You know nothing about her or us!
I know enough, Christina retorted. I know youre miserable with her, that shes buried herself in work and routine. When was the last time you two made love? When did you travel together?
Yura turned to the window. Somewhere in snowcovered Kyiv, in the apartment he shared with Iryna, everything was falling apart. Fifteen years of life together crumbled like a house of cards after a single capricious remark.
Iryna sat in the dark kitchen, clutching a cold cup of tea. Her phone lit up with dozens of missed calls from her husband. She didnt answer. What could she say? Dear, I heard your lover calling you to the bath?
Memory flooded her with scenes of their shared life: Yura proposing with a ring, kneeling in a restaurant; moving into their first tiny tworoom flat in a residential district; him comforting her after her mothers death; celebrating his promotion Then the endless work crises, loans, renovations
When was the last time they spoke honestly? Watched a movie together on the couch? Made future plans?
The phone buzzed again, this time with a message: Ira, lets talk. Ill explain everything.
What was there to explain? That she had aged, that she was mired in daily chores, that a young fitness coach seemed to understand his needs better?
Iryna walked to the mirror. Fortytwo, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, a streak of gray she carefully dyes each month. When had this fatigue set in, this scheduledriven life, this endless chase for stability?
Yurko, where are you going? Christina met him with a dissatisfied stare when he returned to the room after another failed attempt to call his wife.
Not now, he slumped into a chair, loosening his tie.
No, now! she stood before him, hands on hips. I want to know what comes next. You understand everything now has to be decided.
Yura looked at her beautiful, confident, full of energy. Thats how Iryna had been fifteen years ago. How could he have acted so cruelly toward her?
Christina, he said, rubbing his face wearily, youre right. Its time to make a decision.
She beamed, lunging at him. My love! I knew youd make the right choice!
Yes, he gently pushed her away. We need to stop this.
What?! she shrieked, as if struck.
It was a mistake, he rose. I love my wife. Yes, we have problems. Yes, weve drifted apart. But I cant I dont want to erase everything weve built.
You youre just a coward! tears streamed down her face.
No, Christina. I was a coward when I started this affair, when I lied to the woman whos shared fifteen years of joys, sorrows, victories, defeats with me. Youre right Im unhappy. But happiness must be built, not found elsewhere.
A doorbell rang around midnight. Iryna knew it was him hed arrived on the first flight.
Ira, please open, his voice sounded muffled through the door.
She opened it. Yura stood on the threshold unshaven, in a rumpled suit, eyes full of guilt.
May I come in?
She stepped aside silently. They moved to the kitchen the place where they once dreamed of the future and made important decisions.
Ira
No need, she raised her hand. I know everything. Christina, twentysix, fitness trainer. I read your emails.
He nodded, speechless.
Why, Yurko?
He stayed quiet, staring out at the nightlit city.
Because Im weak. Because I was afraid wed become strangers. Because she reminded me of you the former, energetic, full of plans you once had.
What now?
Now he turned to her. Now I want to fix everything, if youll let me.
And her?
Its over. I realized I cant lose you. I dont want to lose you. Ira, I know I dont deserve forgiveness, but lets try to start over. Go to a therapist, spend more time together, become who we once were
Iryna looked at the man older, grayer, painfully familiar. Fifteen years arent just a number. Theyre shared memories, habits, jokes understood only by the two of them. The ability to sit in silence together. The capacity to forgive.
I dont know, Yurko, she finally sobbed, the first tears of the night. I just dont know
He hugged her gently, and she didnt pull away. Outside, snow continued to fall, covering Kyiv in a white blanket.
Somewhere in Lviv, in that hotel room, a girl wept, confronting a harsh truth: true love isnt passion or romance. Its a choice made every day.
And here, in the kitchen, two middleaged people tried to piece together the fragments of their lives. Ahead lay a long road through hurt and mistrust, therapy sessions and painful conversations, attempts to rediscover each other. Yet both understood that sometimes you must lose something to truly value it.
Friends, if youd like to read more of our stories, leave a comment and dont forget to like. It inspires us to keep writing! Friends, if youd like to read more of our stories, leave a comment and dont forget to like. It inspires us to keep writing!
