Alina had been in the village for weeks now, caring for Pavel, her husband. He had been bedridden, pale and weak, and his feigned suffering had begun to gnaw at her patience. She had taken time off work, tending to his every need, though in her heart, a quiet doubt lingered.
Her thoughts wandered to their past, the days before Pavel’s illness when their love had been strong, or so she had believed. He had always been dramatic, even then, but she never imagined he would play the part of the victim so well. His illness seemed like another act—a ploy for sympathy, one Alina had been foolish enough to fall for.
The autumn leaves swirled around her as she stood by the river, contemplating Nina Petrovna’s words. Could Pavel really be faking it? Was there some hidden agenda she hadn’t seen? She remembered the days when he had begged her not to go to her grandfather’s funeral, claiming that her absence would be a sign of her neglect. But she had left, and when she returned, his complaints had grown louder, more persistent.
Alina walked back home, the weight of her suspicions heavier than before. When she entered their small cottage, Pavel was lying in bed, propped up on pillows, staring out the window.
“You’re back,” he said in a voice that lacked any trace of surprise, his eyes following her every movement.
“Yes, I’m back,” Alina replied quietly, setting her bag down on the table. “How are you feeling?”
“Not well,” he sighed dramatically, his face twisting in a semblance of pain. “But then again, you’ve left me all alone.”
Alina paused, her hands resting on the back of a chair. She wanted to argue, to confront him about Nina’s words, but something held her back. Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it was the fear of losing him completely, even if she had already lost him emotionally.
“I spoke to Nina Petrovna,” Alina said carefully, watching him closely. “She seems to think you’re playing a role.”
Pavel’s expression hardened, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe? But then it was gone, replaced by a cold indifference.
“That woman doesn’t know anything about our life,” he muttered. “She’s just an old busybody.”
Alina nodded slowly, feeling the distance between them widen. She had sacrificed so much for him, but now, more than ever, she began to question if he truly valued her care, or if her love had been nothing more than a convenient tool for him to manipulate. The love she had once felt for Pavel, the man she had married, was now clouded with uncertainty, and she didn’t know if she could trust him anymore.
“Maybe I need to take a break from all this,” she whispered to herself, more to the room than to him.
“Take a break? From me?” Pavel’s voice rose, the familiar theatrics returning. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
Alina didn’t respond. She simply turned and walked out of the room, leaving Pavel to stew in his self-pity. The sound of his voice echoed in the house, but she didn’t let it sway her. Deep down, she knew the truth. She had been taking care of him, yes—but perhaps it was time for her to take care of herself.