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.