“Mister, come home early,” said the little beggar girl. He listened and caught his wife in… an interesting situation.
Igor sat in his office, engulfed in heavy, almost tangible silence. Even the wall clock 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 soft knock at the door. Hesitant, as if afraid to intrude on his solitude. Olga, his deputyand, he felt, the only reason he hadnt lost his mindappeared in the doorway. She entered, and the room brightened slightly. But her usual warm smile was gone. She approached his desk and silently placed a folded sheet of paper in front of him. A resignation letter.
“Olya, what is this?” His voice cracked into a hoarse whisper. Something inside him snapped.
“This is for the best, Igor. For everyone,” she murmured without looking up. “Ive already found a job. In another city.”
Pain, dull and sharp at once, pierced him. He stood abruptly, circled the desk, and grabbed her hands. They were cold, like winter wind seeping through old windows.
“Dont go. Please,” he begged, the words half prayer.
“I cant stay. She needs you,” her voice trembled with unshed tears. “You have to be with her.”
“Its my fault!” he nearly shouted, voice raw. “Shes sick because of me! My sin, my affair with youits killing her!”
“Stop,” Olga finally met his eyes, and he saw the same pain in them. “Youre not to blame. Not for anything. Let yourself go.”
But he couldnt. Memories flooded his mind, sharp and unforgiving. His marriage to Kristina had been arranged by parents who valued tradition and status. He remembered her indifference, her disgust at his attempts at closeness, her endless complaints. She rejected children, calling them “burdens” and “ruin to a womans figure.” Her world revolved around society parties, expensive clothes, and outshining others with borrowed diamonds. To her, he was just a wallet and a status symbol.
Then Olga entered his life. With her, he discovered warmth, care, love. She asked for nothing. She was simply theresupporting, listening, holding him as if she knew his every thought. The last memory was the cruelest. He had gone to Kristina, resolved to be honestto ask for a divorce, confess his love for Olga. What followed wasnt just hysterics. It was a performance. She screamed, shattered dishes, clutched her chest, and collapsed. From that day on, she was “bedridden” with an illness no doctor could diagnose.
Returning home became torture. The air was thick with gloom. Kristina lay in her room, propped on pillows, greeting him with a weak, accusing voice:
“Youre late again You dont care if I die tonight.”
Igor swallowed the lump in his throat and sat by her bed, consumed by guilt. He would do anything to keep her alive, to atone. So when she claimed to have found a “medical genius” who could treat her, he agreed without question. The expensive professor with manicured hands and a smug smile visited twice daily, administering mysterious injections and presenting exorbitant bills. Igor paid, never doubting.
That evening, he parked outside his wrought-iron gates and sat in silence. Five more minutesjust five more before stepping back into that hell of accusations and medicine.
A tap on the window. A thin girl, about ten, in a ragged jacket, stood holding a bucket of murky water and a rag. Hed seen her before, offering to wash headlights for spare change.
“Mister, want your lights cleaned?” she chirped.
He nodded, handed her far more than the service was worth. She wiped the headlights, snatched the money, then turned before running off.
“You come home too late,” she blurted. “Try coming early.”
And she vanished into the dark. Igor sat bewildered. What a strange thing to say.
Morning unfolded as usual. Kristina met him with groans and fresh reproach:
“Dont touch me,” she snapped when he adjusted her pillow. “The nurse will handle it. Go to your precious work, since it matters more than your dying wife.”
He fled the house. Work was no refuge. Glancing out his office window, he saw his worst fear realizedOlga walking to her car, carrying a box of her belongings. She drove away. Forever.
Despair and rage crashed over him. Hed lost her, sacrificed her for guilt toward a woman he never loved. He buried his face in his hands. It was over.
Thenlike a flashthe girls words echoed: *Try coming early.* Why? A wild, irrational thought, but the only lifeline in his despair. Without hesitation, he grabbed his coat, raced past his stunned secretary, and sped home.
Approaching the house, he spotted the professors black Mercedes. Why was he here midday? Visits were strictly morning and evening. Igor stormed insideand froze. Music and laughter, loud and carefree, spilled from Kristinas room.
Numb, he pushed the door open.
On their marital bed sat the naked “doctor.” Before him, Kristinafar from dyingtwirled in a sheer negligee, champagne in hand, radiant with health.
They froze. The doctor paled. Kristina shrieked:
“Igor! This isnt what it looks like! It was *his* idea! A therapy!”
“What?!” The doctor scrambled up, clutching a sheet. “You lying witch! It was *your* scam! You took half the money!”
Igor tremblednot with weakness, but ice-cold fury. Silently, he left, returned with his hunting rifle, and fired into the floor at the doctors feet.
“Five seconds,” he said calmly. “Get out of my house. Five four”
They fled, half-dressed. Tires screeched.
Alone in the perfume-stained room, shock gave way to clarity: *Olga. Find Olga.*
He raced to her apartment. No luckshed just left for the train station.
A mad chase through the city, sirens wailing behind him. Cutting through alleys, crashing a flimsy barrier, he skidded onto the platform. No sign of her in the crowd. Despair rose againuntil he spotted a promo girl with a mic.
He shoved money at her, seized the mic, and his amplified voice boomed:
“Olga! If you can hear meplease dont leave! Its not what you think! I love you! I cant live without you!”
He turned, scanning faces. Cops closed inuntil the crowd, moved by the scene, shouted them down.
Thena whisper beside him:
“What about sick Kristina?”
Olga stood there, tears streaming, ticket in hand. He dropped to his knees.
“She was never sick! It was all a lie! Forgive meI was blind!”
The cops hesitated, sighed, and walked away.
Later, in his now-empty house, as he bagged Kristinas belongings, Olga whispered her secret:
“I was scared Scared to tell you and trap you further.”
“What could be worse?”
She took a shaky breath.
“Tell you Im pregnant.”
Time stopped. Thenjoy. He lifted her, spinning, laughing:
“I love you! And our baby! Ill never let you go!”
A year later, they stood on their terrace, watching their three-month-old daughter sleep. All traces of Kristinalawsuits, scandalswere behind them.
And the little girl with the bucket? Igor found her that same night. Her father now worked for him; her mother received proper treatment. Sometimes she visited for tea and cake.
Holding Olga close, watching their child, Igor knew: hed walked through hell to find his heaven.
