Each morning, Yulia awoke to the rhythmic sound of raindrops on the windowpane, greeted by a sky filled with gray clouds. The dreary weather mirrored her internal state—uneasy, uncertain, and clouded with vague worries.
For three consecutive weeks, her husband Igor had filled a sports bag and promptly declared, “My parents are unwell. I’ll visit them for a couple of days.”
The first time he said this, Yulia accepted it without question. Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Pavlovna, had just undergone gallbladder surgery. Meanwhile, her father-in-law, Viktor Semyonovich, had been struggling with elevated blood pressure. At sixty-five, health problems can indeed arise.
“Of course, go,” she encouraged him. “Please give my regards—let them know I’m worried too.”
Igor departed on Friday night and returned Monday morning, looking drained and distant as though he had just finished a taxing work shift. When Yulia inquired about his parents’ well-being, he responded curtly, “They’re better. Though still weak.”
“What specifically is wrong with your mom?” Yulia would probe.
“Everything aches. You know, age,” he would dismissively wave it off.
The second instance unfolded in a week’s time.
“Something wrong again?” she asked, taken aback.
“Mom fell and hurt herself. Dad’s anxious. I need to go,” Igor explained, shoving clean shirts into his bag.
“Should I come along? I could assist.”
“No need. It’s already cramped there. It’s better if you stay home.”
Yulia complied. Throughout her relationship with Igor’s parents, she had always maintained a respectful distance. She refrained from imposing or giving unsolicited advice. Lyudmila Pavlovna was a reserved individual, lacking warmth. Their interactions were polite but not intimate.
The third trip occurred the following weekend.
“What’s the matter now?” Yulia inquired, observing Igor pack jeans and a sweater.
“Dad’s really unwell. His blood pressure is erratic. Mom can’t handle this alone.”
“Did you consult a doctor?”
“We did. But you know how it is with local clinics. He prescribed some medications and left.”
Despite Igor’s convincing demeanor, an unsettling feeling stirred within Yulia. His tone felt rehearsed, lacking the authenticity one would expect from someone truly concerned for their sick parents.
“Igor, shouldn’t they be admitted to the hospital? If it’s that serious?”
“They don’t want that. They’re fearful of hospitals. They claim it’s more peaceful at home.”
He finished packing and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“Don’t miss me. I’ll resolve this quickly.”
Once Igor left, Yulia found herself alone with a mounting sense of discomfort. She struggled to recall the last time she had talked to her mother-in-law over the phone—about a month ago. Lyudmila Pavlovna had called to extend birthday wishes to a friend.
During that conversation, her mother-in-law had sounded vibrant, inquiring about Yulia’s work, and discussing the dacha. There were no mentions of health issues; instead, she had boasted about her tomato harvest and plans for the upcoming winter.
“Odd,” Yulia murmured, glancing out at the autumn rain. “If she’s feeling this bad, why hasn’t she called? She used to inform me whenever she was under the weather.”
On Monday, Igor returned looking even more somber.
“How are your parents doing?” his wife asked.
“Dad’s improving. Mom’s still weak.”
“And what did the doctor say?”
“What doctor?” He looked confused.
“The local one. You mentioned you called him.”
“Oh, right. He said to keep a close watch. If things worsen, a hospital visit.”
Igor changed clothes swiftly and sat at the computer, clearly uninterested in further discussion.
That evening, while her husband showered, Yulia seized the opportunity to check his phone. She had never done this before, but an instinct propelled her to do it now.
There were no calls to his parents—none outgoing or incoming. No communication whatsoever with either Lyudmila Pavlovna or Viktor Semyonovich for the last two weeks.
“How is this possible?” Yulia questioned softly. “If Igor is with them, why hasn’t he called?”
Typically, when her husband traveled, his parents would call her at least once, checking in on her, and inquiring if she needed him to bring anything. But this time—silence greeted her.
The fourth trip was scheduled for the next Friday.
“Your parents again?” Yulia confirmed.
“Yes. Mom has developed a fever. I suspect she caught a chill.”
“Igor, perhaps I should accompany you? I can help take care of them.”
“Why would you want that additional hassle?” he snapped. “You already have enough work.”
“It’s no hassle at all. They are your parents, which makes them mine too.”
“Yulia, don’t. It’s already tight there. You might catch whatever they have.”
Igor spoke convincingly, yet he deliberately avoided making eye contact. He hurried through packing, almost as if he were late for a train.
“What train are you taking?” Yulia queried.
“The usual one. Seven this evening.”
“Do you want me to accompany you to the station?”
“No need. I can manage.”
He kissed her and rushed out of the door. Yulia was left behind in their apartment, filled with unfinished conversations and peculiar coincidences.
Saturday morning found her lost in thought, her mind superfluously racing. On one hand, it seemed unjust to accuse her husband of dishonesty without proof. Yet, too many peculiar incidents had occurred over the past month.
“Am I truly just a suspicious wife?” Yulia chided herself. “Perhaps his parents are genuinely ill, and I’m conjuring issues out of nothing?”
By lunchtime, Yulia had reached a decision. If her in-laws were indeed sick, they would surely appreciate their daughter-in-law’s assistance. She would bake a homemade pie, buy some fruits, prepare other treats, and personally visit her husband’s parents.
“I’ll surprise them,” she resolved. “And I’ll surprise Igor as well.”
The kitchen transformed into a delightful chaos. Yulia prepared dough for a pie—her mother’s classic recipe. As the pie baked in the oven, she dashed to the store to fetch fruits and juice.
By three o’clock, everything was set. The fragrant pie cooled on the table, while bags of oranges and bananas rested by the door. Yulia changed into a lovely dress, donned some makeup, and made her way to the station.
On the train, she smiled, picturing the joy on her husband’s face upon her unexpected visit. Igor would open the door, gaze at his wife carrying bags of goodies, blink in astonishment, and then erupt into a delighted grin.
“Yulia? Where did you come from?” he would exclaim.
“I decided to drop by,” she would reply. “Just checking on the ‘patients.’”
The journey to her in-laws’ home took an hour and a half. Lyudmila Pavlovna and Viktor Semyonovich resided in a quaint town outside of Moscow, in a two-story house with a garden. Igor had grown up there, familiar with every corner.
Yulia approached the well-known gate and rang the bell. A moment later, her mother-in-law stood at the threshold.
“Yulia?” Lyudmila Pavlovna asked in astonishment. “What brings you here?”
She appeared radiant. Rosy cheeks, bright eyes, and not a trace of sickness. Clad in a tracksuit, her hair neatly tied in a ponytail.
“Hello, Lyudmila Pavlovna,” Yulia replied, astonished. “I came to visit. Igor mentioned you were unwell.”
“Unwell?” her mother-in-law chuckled. “What illness? We feel robust as can be! Where did you hear such talk?”
Blood rushed to Yulia’s cheeks. Her heart raced, and the bags of treats felt overwhelmingly heavy.
“But Igor… He said he was caring for you, that you were not well.”
“Caring for us?” Lyudmila shook her head. “Yulenka, we haven’t seen our son in over a week! Maybe even more!”
A voice emerged from deeper in the house:
“Lyuda, who is there?”
“Yulia has come to see us!” she called back.
Viktor Semyonovich appeared in the hallway, a sturdy, gray-haired seventy-year-old dressed in work pants and a plaid shirt, as if he had just emerged from his workshop.
“Oh, our daughter-in-law!” he exclaimed. “What brings you here? You don’t come by often!”
“Viktor Semyonovich, where is Igor?” Yulia asked straightforwardly.
“How should I know?” he shrugged. “Maybe he’s at work? Or home with you?”
“He came to see you. He claimed you were ill and needed care.”
The two exchanged perplexed looks.
“Yulia, we are perfectly well. And we haven’t seen Igor in ages. When was that, Lyuda?”
“On Peter’s Day,” Lyudmila recalled. “In July, for his father’s birthday.”
“Right. He hasn’t even called since then,” Viktor affirmed.
Something within Yulia shattered. Each of her husband’s justifications, every journey to his “ailing parents,” turned out to be a deception—clear and undisguised.
“Yulenka, what’s wrong?” Lyudmila asked with concern. “You look pale. Come in for tea.”
“Thank you, but I must leave,” the daughter-in-law mumbled.
“How can you leave? You just arrived! And you brought a pie—I can see it!” her mother-in-law protested.
“Not today.” Yulia handed them the bags. “These are for you. Please enjoy.”
“And where is Igor?” her father-in-law asked, bemused. “Why isn’t he here with you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied candidly.
They accompanied her to the gate, exchanging bewildered expressions. Yulia walked toward the bus stop, hardly feeling her legs.
Thoughts swirled in her mind: where was Igor spending his weekends? With whom? Why use his parents as a cover? Most importantly, how long had this charade been occurring?
The bus ride to the station took thirty minutes. Yulia gazed out the window at the dull September scenery, attempting to piece together her thoughts. Each journey her husband made to his “sick parents” now felt trivial, every explanation replaced by manipulation.
“So, while I fretted over his parents, he…” Yulia couldn’t complete her thought.
On the train, she reached for her phone, intending to call Igor. Then she hesitated. What would she ask him? Where are you? Who are you with? Why lie?
It was preferable to wait until at home, to see him face to face while he conjured up another fabrication.
Yulia returned home at eight that evening. The apartment echoed with silence and emptiness. She settled onto the couch, awaiting Igor’s arrival.
“Hi,” Igor grunted, heading for the bedroom. “How did your weekend go?”
“Fine,” Yulia responded evenly. “And yours?”
“Tough. My parents are not doing well.”
“Oh?” She rose from the couch. “What is specifically wrong with them?”
“Mom has a fever, Dad monitored his blood pressure all night. We’re exhausted.”
He spoke without meeting her gaze, tossing dirty clothes into the hamper while extracting medication from his bag.
“Igor,” Yulia said gently. “Look at me.”
He raised his head; anxiety flickered in his eyes.
“Where were you all this time?” Yulia demanded.
“Where else? At my parents’ house. You know.”
“Your parents are fine. They haven’t seen you in a week.”
Igor froze, gripping a shirt.
“What are you talking about?”
“I visited them yesterday. I wanted to check on the ‘patients.’ Lyudmila Pavlovna laughed when I questioned about their ‘illness.’”
His color drained away.
“You went to see my parents? Why?”
“Because I trusted you. I thought they were genuinely ill.”
“Yulia, you don’t get it…”
“What don’t I get?” she interjected. “That you’ve been deceiving me for a month? Hiding behind ill parents for the sake of an affair?”
“It’s not a lie…”
“Then what is it?” Yulia edged closer. “Igor, where have you been spending your weekends? Who are you with?”
He turned toward the window, avoiding her gaze.
“I can’t explain right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Yulia, please trust me. It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” she pressed coldly.
“Well… that I’m with someone. Another woman.”
“And isn’t that true?”
Igor fell silent. A minute passed, then another. Finally, he sighed deeply.
“Yes, that’s true,” he admitted quietly.
Yulia nodded. Strangely, she felt no anger, only a sense of emptiness and clarity.
“I understand.”
“Yulia, it’s not serious! It’s just… it just happened…”
“A month ago it just ‘happened’?”
“No, earlier. But I wasn’t sure how to break it to you.”
“So you lied about your sick parents?”
“I wanted to sort my feelings out. Understand what I need.”
“And did you?”
He fell silent again.
“Igor, I need you to answer: did you figure out what you need?”
“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully.
“I do,” Yulia stated firmly. “I need someone honest. Someone who doesn’t fabricate stories about sick parents to justify an affair.”
“It’s not an affair…”
“Label it however you wish. The outcome is still the same—you’ve been lying to me for an entire month.”
She walked to the bedroom and retrieved a small suitcase from the closet.
“What are you doing?” Igor asked, alarmed.
“Packing,” Yulia replied, placing essential items inside. “I’m staying with a friend. Until we clarify things.”
“What do you mean, clarify?”
“You with your feelings. Me with divorce papers.”
“Yulia, don’t rush! We can discuss this calmly!”
“Discuss what?” she retorted. “About how you deceived me for a month? How I worried over your perfectly healthy parents?”
“I didn’t intend to hurt you…”
“Yet you’ve caused me even greater pain.”
Yulia grabbed the documents from the safe, adding her phone and charger into the bag.
“If you wish to explain, contact me. But I doubt you’ll find a justifiable reason to account for a month of lies.”
“What about our home? Our family?”
“Family is founded on trust,” she replied. “The house can be divided through attorneys.”
Yulia made her way to the door.
“Wait,” Igor pleaded. “Perhaps we can still try? I’ll end it, and we can start fresh…”
“Begin with what? With you lying about your sick parents again?”
“I won’t lie. I promise.”
“Igor,” she said at the threshold, “you pledged to be a faithful husband. You can see how well that promise turned out.”
Stepping out, she closed the door behind her. The stairwell was quiet, and music drifted from upstairs.
A fine mist of rain fell outside, mirroring the weather from a month prior when it all began. Yulia raised her collar and headed towards the metro.
As she descended into the underpass, her phone rang. Her husband’s name lit up the screen. Yulia silenced the call and placed the phone back in her bag.
The decision was firmly made. She could no longer live with a man who had spent a month hiding behind the guise of sick parents to pursue an affair. The trust was shattered, and so was the family they once had.
What lay ahead were discussions with attorneys, dividing their possessions, and building a new life. But at least this new life would be rooted in honesty. No more lies about sick parents or secret escapades with another woman.
The subway train whisked Yulia away from her past, steering her towards an unknown yet honest future.