I came home early, and Grisha greeted me with an unusual smile and an offer to give me a foot massage – something he had never done before. I wanted to believe it was an act of kindness, but a quiet click from the bathroom told me the truth: my husband was hiding a terrible secret.
It all started six years ago. I was 29, fresh out of a long relationship, and felt like I’d never find anyone else.
And then one night Grisha came into my life. I was sitting at the bar, sipping a glass of wine after work, when he approached me with his confident, easy smile.
‘Mind if I sit down?’ – He asked, pointing to the chair next to me.
He was tall, handsome, and had a sparkle dancing in his eyes. He was the kind of guy who seemed to understand everything about this world. I smiled shyly and nodded.
He sat down and immediately started a conversation. “I see you’ve had a long day. Let me guess – accountant?”
I laughed. “Pretty much. A marketer.”
“Ah, I knew it. You have such a creative, problem-solving aura,” he said, grinning.
From that moment on, I was conquered. Grisha had a knack for making me feel noticed, like I was the most interesting person in the room. We started dating, and a year later we were married.
Everything was perfect at first. He was funny, charming, and affectionate. He made me feel like I could do anything. I thought he brought out the best in me.
But as time went on, little things began to bother me. Grisha did not want children. He said that now was not the time, but deep down I knew that he would never change his mind. It broke my heart, because I always dreamed of a big family.
And then there was his habit of putting everyone else above me. His brother needed help moving? Grisha was right there. His friends wanted to go out? He cancelled our plans without a second thought. I told myself that he is just such a man, but it hurt.
Over the years, our marriage turned into something… quiet. Too quiet. The spark that was once there faded. We became more like roommates than a couple.
That night I got home from work early for the first time in weeks. I was exhausted after endless meetings and just wanted to kick off my shoes and relax.
When I walked in, Grisha was waiting for me at the door. He had this huge grin on his face that made dimples appear.
‘Rough day?’ – He asked, leaning over to kiss my cheek.
‘Yeah,’ I said, dropping my bag on the table. – ‘Tiring.’
‘Great,’ he said, clapping his hands together. – “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll give you a foot massage.”
I blinked. Grisha? Offering a foot massage? He usually groaned when I asked him to hand me the remote.
‘Are you serious?’ – I asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Of course,’ he said, leading me to the couch. – ‘You deserve to be pampered.’
Too tired to argue, I let him take off my shoes. His hands were surprisingly gentle as they massaged my aching feet.
‘That…feels…nice,’ I said hesitantly, closing my eyes.
He laughed, a little louder than he should have. ‘Can’t a guy pamper his wife without suspicion?’
I forced a smile out of myself, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was not Grisha. At least, not that Grisha, with whom I lived the last few years.
And then I heard a quiet click from the corridor.
I straightened up. “Did you hear that? It sounds like the bathroom door…”
Grisha laughed nervously. “Probably the pipes. You know how old our house is.”
I all squeezed inside. ‘Grisha, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing!’ – he said, his voice higher than usual. – “You’re just tired. Sit down, relax…”
Ignoring him, I stood up and walked towards the bathroom.
‘Wait!’ – he shouted after me, panic sounding in his voice. – ‘Where are you going?’
The corridor seemed longer than usual as I walked towards the bathroom. My pulse pounded in my ears, and with each step my anxiety grew.
When I swung the bathroom door open, the first thing that hit me was the air. It was warm and humid, like someone had just stepped out of the shower. The mirror was slightly fogged up.
My heart was pounding as I looked around the room. And then I saw it: a tube of scarlet lipstick on the countertop.
I picked it up and held it out to him as he hesitantly approached. ‘Whose is this?’
Grisha’s face went pale. ‘Er… yours?’
‘Don’t insult me,’ I retorted. – ‘You know I don’t use that colour.’
Before he could answer, a muffled sneeze came from the bedroom.
My breath caught. I looked at Grisha, who was now visibly sweating.
‘Do you want to explain that?’ – I asked in an icy voice.
He mumbled: “It’s nothing. It really is. I swear…”
I didn’t listen to the rest of it. With a pounding heart I headed for the bedroom.
Grisha hurried after me, his voice sounded desperate. ‘Wait, don’t!’
Paying no attention to him, I opened the wardrobe door.
There was a woman squatting there, clutching a pair of high-heeled shoes to her chest. She looked scared, like a deer caught off guard. Her hair was mussed and she was wearing a silk dressing gown that I instantly recognised – mine.
I stared at her, my mind refusing to believe. ‘Who are you?’ – I demanded, my voice sharper than I had ever heard it before.
She slowly stood up, her face flushed with colour. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said, adjusting her dressing gown as if that could fix everything.
Grisha entered the room with his hands up, as if trying to calm a wild animal. ‘Darling, please let me explain.’
I turned to him, and rage rose in my chest. “Explain? Explain what, Grisha? That there’s a strange woman hiding in our bedroom? In my dressing gown?” – I pointed at the woman who was now awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot.
‘Look, I didn’t want you to find out like this,’ the woman said weakly.
‘Found out about what?’ – I blurted out, my voice shaking. – “That my husband is a lying cheater? That he brings his girlfriend here while I’m at work? Don’t try to defend him!”
‘Honey, please don’t do that,’ Grisha pleaded, stepping closer.
‘Don’t you dare call me “sweetheart”,’ I hissed, backing away. – “You think you can get away with your sweet talk? Pack your things and leave. Now. Both of you.”
The woman looked at Grisha with wide eyes. ‘You said she wouldn’t be home.’
My stomach twisted at her words, but I didn’t let the tears flow. I turned to Grisha again. “Get her out of my house. And don’t you dare come back.”
Grisha raised his hands in surrender. ‘Just give me a chance to explain…’
‘Get out!’ – I shouted, and my voice echoed off the walls.
The woman grabbed her shoes and sprinted out of the room. Grisha hesitated for a moment, his mouth open as if he wanted to object. But, seeing the expression on my face, he seemed to change his mind.
He left without another word, following her.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom, the weight of what had happened weighing on me. For a moment, I felt numb. But then something changed.
This was my home. My life. And I would not let Grisha desecrate it again.
I pulled a box out of the garage and started packing up his things. His clothes, his toiletries, even the stupid coffee mug he loved – everything flew into the box. I worked quickly, methodically, not allowing myself to dwell on the memories associated with each item.
Finished, I called my brother. ‘Can you come over?’ – I asked, my voice steady but tired.
‘Sure,’ he said without hesitation. – ‘What happened?’
‘Grisha’s gone,’ I said simply.
My brother arrived half an hour later, and his presence was a welcome relief. He didn’t ask many questions, just hugged me and helped me carry Grisha’s things to the front door.
By the time Grisha returned the next evening, I was ready.
He walked in, looking guilty and hopeful. ‘Can we talk?’ – he asked quietly.
I pointed to the pile of his things by the door. “No, Grisha. It’s over with us.”
‘Please, just hear me out…’
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ I said firmly. – ‘Take your things and leave.’
He stood for a moment, as if he thought I might change my mind. When I didn’t, he sighed, grabbed his stuff, and walked out the door for the last time.
The next day, I filed for divorce. It was strange, almost surreal, but at the same time it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
Over the next few months, I began to get my life back together. I redecorated my house, filling it with things that made me happy. I spent time with friends and family, people who reminded me of who I was before I met Grisha.
It wasn’t easy. There were moments when I felt anger, hurt, and loneliness. But with each passing day, I felt a little lighter. A little freer.
One evening, sitting in my freshly renovated living room, I looked around and realised: I was happy. Really happy.
Grisha’s betrayal was painful, but it was also a wake-up call. I had spent so much time trying to save our marriage that I had forgotten my own worth. Now I was finally putting myself first.
As I closed the chapter on my marriage, I looked to the future with hope. Whatever lay ahead of me, I knew I was strong enough to handle it.
