When my husband walked through the door accompanied by another woman and calmly declared his intention to make her his second wife, I burst out laughing, assuming it was some twisted joke. However, the seriousness in his eyes soon shattered that belief, leaving me utterly shocked. I responded that I agreed—but only on one condition, a stipulation he never expected.
Never did I imagine finding myself in such a situation. Yet, a week later, I’m ready to reveal the story that turned my world upside down.
After eight years of marriage, I believed I knew my husband, Kirill, inside and out. Like any couple, we had our highs and lows, but overall, I trusted our relationship was solid, and life was straightforward and honest.
Then Kirill’s behavior took an unusual turn.
It began subtly. During dinner, he started talking about “modern relationships” and “alternative ways to share responsibilities.” At first, I dismissed it as just another of his transient fascinations like urban gardening or his brief enthusiasm for cryptocurrency.
But this time, something in his tone felt different.
“You know,” he said one evening while endlessly scrolling through his phone, “in some cultures, they’ve found ways to make relationships more… efficient.”
I looked at him puzzled. “Efficient?”
He smirked. “Yeah, like lifestyles where everyone shares the load, and no one feels overwhelmed by work.”
I shrugged. “Like having a robot maid?”
He chuckled but didn’t reply.
Soon, he began making odd comments when I was busy around the house.
- “Wouldn’t it be easier if someone helped you with this?” he asked as I vacuumed.
- “Of course,” I answered. “That’s why housekeepers exist, but sadly, we can’t afford one.”
Each time, he responded with a vague smile and a low murmur.
I tried to ignore his growing phone obsession—he carried it everywhere, giggling at odd hours—which kept me uneasy. When questioned, he dismissed it as “silly videos.”
I didn’t like it.
One evening, after he had been in the bathroom with his phone for over half an hour, I confronted him.
“Kirill, is something going on?”
He appeared startled. “What? No. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been acting strange. Are you hiding something?”
“No, no,” he laughed nervously. “I’m just trying to figure out how to make our life better. That’s all.”
Those words, “make life better,” echoed in my mind for days.
But I had no idea what plans he was secretly making.
The bombshell exploded a week ago.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I heard the door open. Usually, Kirill would murmur a distracted “hello” when coming home, so I wasn’t expecting guests. That evening, though, he came into the kitchen accompanied by a stranger.
“Rita,” he said cheerfully, “this is Lydia.”
I turned, knife in one hand, halfway through slicing a carrot.
“Hello, Lydia,” I said slowly. “Can I assist you with something?”
She smiled politely but remained silent, only looking at Kirill.
He took a deep breath. “Rita, Lydia will be my second wife.”
I blinked. “Your what?”
He nodded as if he’d just announced a new Netflix subscription.
“You’re joking,” I said with a dry laugh. “Please tell me this is some prank.”
He shook his head seriously. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. You’re always tired. You work, raise our daughter, cook, clean—it’s too much. I thought, why not bring someone into our lives who can help… and love us both?”
“You want a second wife in our family?” I asked in a flat tone.
“She’s not just anyone,” he hastened to add. “She’s caring, intelligent. She understands what I am trying to build.”
I stared as if he had sprouted a third eye.
“And you didn’t think to consult me before making such a life-changing decision?”
“I wanted to be honest,” he said proudly. “It’s better than lying or sneaking around.”
I looked at Lydia again; she seemed silently regretful about her choices.
I should have yelled. I should have thrown him and his absurd plan out of the house. Instead, something inside me clicked—a cold, cunning calmness settled.
“Fine,” I said, setting the knife aside. “You can have a second wife.”
Kirill’s eyes lit up with surprise and relief. “Really? Are you serious?”
“Yes. But on one condition.”
He nodded impatiently. “Anything.”
“She must never approach my second husband.”
An icy silence filled the room.
Kirill’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly like a stunned fish. “W-what?”
“You heard me,” I said sweetly. “If you can bring a second partner into this marriage, then so can I.”
“That’s… that’s not how it works!” he stammered.
“It absolutely does. Equality, Kirill. Balance. After all, if we’re talking about sharing the load, wouldn’t an extra man be ideal? Someone to give me foot rubs, cook dinner, make me feel like a queen while you’re busy with your phone.”
“That’s disgusting!” he exploded.
“Disgusting?” I raised an eyebrow. “You came home with a stranger expecting my gratitude, but if I have the same right, suddenly it’s immoral?”
“It’s not the same,” he mumbled. “Men don’t do that.”
“No, you don’t,” I cut him off. “But I do.”
Lydia looked like she wished to sink through the floor.
Kirill blushed and paced the room before finally muttering, “Lydia, you should go. We need to talk.”
She left without a word.
That evening, Kirill tried to backtrack in every way.
“You were only trying to prove your point, right? You don’t really want another man,” he said.
“You never asked if I wanted another man,” I answered coldly. “You decided you had the right to another woman. Now you see what that’s like.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Rita… I messed up.”
“Did you?”
“I just thought…”
“No, you didn’t think, Kirill. You imagined. You wanted the benefits of an open marriage without facing its reality.”
By morning, his tone had completely shifted.
“I was an idiot,” he said softly over coffee. “Forget it. The whole second wife idea was foolish.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I even made a dating profile last night.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“Yeah. Apparently, many men don’t mind being the second husband. And they can cook, too.”
“You can’t be serious,” he muttered.
“I am. But you’re right: this marriage is over.”
Later that day, I packed my bag and moved in with my best friend Natasha, who welcomed me with open arms and a bottle of wine.
Kirill’s calls kept coming nonstop.
- Messages.
- Apologies.
- Promises.
- Pleading.
But for me, it was over.
Within a week, I filed for divorce. That night, Natasha and I celebrated with champagne.
The best part? I heard Lydia completely ignored him. I suppose the “shared family happiness” he promised wasn’t as enticing as he portrayed.
He tried to return later, claiming we could see a family therapist, that he had changed and realized his mistakes.
But I saw him for who he really was — a person craving control disguised as generosity, believing fairness only when it suited him.
I refused.
A few months later, I moved into a small apartment with just me and my daughter. It wasn’t large, but it was ours: quiet, safe, and drama-free.
One evening, as I helped my daughter with her homework and listened to her laughter, I realized something important:
Sometimes, revealing the truth requires setting an impossible condition.
The truth was Kirill never wanted an equal partner; he wanted someone who silently accepted less.
As for me? I was no longer willing to compromise.
Now, I live life on my own terms—in a world of clarity, freedom, and absolutely no extra wives.
And you know what? Freedom suits me perfectly.