“Did your husband buy that ticket for you? Return it and come back home. Fate’s got a gift waiting for you!”

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans at the exact moment I was hauling my suitcase across the slick tiles of Domodedovo Airport. Rain drummed on the terminal’s glass roof, building a noisy symphony that mixed with announcements in three languages and the constant hum of the crowd.

Katya lit up on the screen. My sister-in-law.

Weird. We almost never called each other, even though our relationship had always been smooth—almost friendly. Not intimate, but undeniably warm. She was the kind of person you could sit with in silence and not feel uncomfortable.

“Hello,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear, trying to catch her words over the chaos.

“Lena, where are you?”

“At the airport. Why?” There was a tightness in Katya’s voice I’d never noticed before, like she’d summoned courage for a conversation she’d been avoiding.

“Are you really that stupid?”

The words hit me like a slap.

I froze in the middle of the passenger flow, and people immediately had to weave around me, shooting irritated looks. Someone even muttered something about idiots who block the aisle.

“What?” I didn’t believe my own ears.

Katya had never—never—spoken to me like that.

“Your husband bought your ticket, right? Return it and come home. Fate has a gift waiting for you…”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, feeling everything inside me squeeze into a hard knot.

The airport kept moving around me: mothers with children dragging overstuffed bags, businessmen with briefcases, tourists in bright jackets. A normal Monday morning scene.

But something had changed completely.

“Are you really that stupid?”

The phrase spun in my head like a scratched record.

In seven years of knowing Katya, she’d never allowed herself anything like this. Even when I complained—again—about Igor, her brother and my husband, about his habit of leaving dishes in the sink or forgetting birthdays, she’d only nodded sympathetically and said, “Men are all the same.”

I tried calling her back. No answer. Second time, third… silence.

My heart was pounding like I’d just run a marathon.

They announced boarding for Sochi.

I’d decided on this getaway a month ago, when I realized that if I didn’t escape for a couple of days, I would lose my mind to routine. Work, home, work, home.

Igor had reacted with complete indifference.

“Go if you want. Just pay for it yourself—I’m tight on money right now,” he’d said then.

Then, out of nowhere, two days before the flight, he offered to buy the tickets.

“I’ve been stingy lately, sorry. Let me pay for your trip—you’ve earned a break.”

At the time, the gesture seemed unexpectedly sweet. Igor could be attentive when he wanted to be—he just didn’t want to be very often.

But now, standing at the airport with my phone in my hand, I suddenly knew something was off.

Katya’s tone. The strange certainty. The words “a gift from fate”… Like she knew something I didn’t.

The stream of passengers began moving toward the gate.

A flight attendant with a strained smile checked passports and boarding passes. I stood off to the side, gripping the suitcase handle until my fingers hurt.

Come back home.

But why? And why was Katya so sure I had to do it right now?

I dropped into a plastic chair in the waiting area and tried to collect my thoughts. The plane left without me. I never forced myself to go to the gate. Instead, I sat there staring out the window at planes lifting into the gray sky, feeling like a complete idiot.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Igor.

“Len? Are you on the plane already?”

“No, I…” I hesitated. How do you explain you canceled a trip because your husband’s sister called and said something insane? “The flight got delayed.”

“Okay. No big deal—you’ll rest later and it’ll be great. By the way, I’m going to be late tonight. We’ve got a presentation for a new project.”

“Igor… did Katya call you?”

“Katya? No, why? Did something happen?”

There was no trace of deception in his voice. Just the usual tired tone of a man thinking about work and expecting life to be predictable.

“No, nothing. Just asking.”

“Alright. Have a good flight. See you Sunday.”

After he hung up, I stayed at the airport for another half hour, trying to understand what to do next. Logic told me to fly to Sochi like I’d planned. A week by the sea, massages, a break from everything.

But something inside me fought that plan.

In the end I took a taxi home, and within an hour I was back in our apartment in Lyubertsy.

In the kitchen sink sat two mugs and a plate with leftover scrambled eggs. Strange. Igor usually just had coffee and cookies—he didn’t even like eggs.

Maybe he’d decided to change things up.

I washed the dishes, switched on the kettle, and tried calling Katya again. This time she answered right away.

“I figured you wouldn’t fly,” she said instead of hello.

“Katya, can you explain what’s happening? Why did you talk to me like that?”

“Lena, I’m truly sorry. But I can’t watch this anymore.”

“Watch what?”

“My brother lying to you. And you pretending you don’t notice.”

My stomach dropped. I sank onto a kitchen stool, my legs suddenly weak.

“What are you talking about?”

“Lena, Igor has been seeing Vika from his department for six months. You think I don’t know? They’re even renting an apartment together near Sokolniki.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I were. He begged me to stay quiet—said he’d tell you himself when he was ready. Six months have passed and he’s only gone further. Do you know why he sent you to Sochi? So he could move his things over there without you around. In a couple days he was going to tell you he was leaving.”

I couldn’t speak. In my head, one thought kept throbbing:

This isn’t true. This isn’t true. This isn’t true.

“Lena, are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” I croaked.

“I know it’s awful. But I couldn’t keep pretending. You’re a good person. You don’t deserve this.”

“And why did you decide I’m ‘pretending’?” I shot back. “Maybe I genuinely didn’t see anything.”

Katya paused.

“Because you’re not stupid. And because the changes in Igor were too obvious. New clothes. New cologne. Constant ‘late nights at work.’ A phone he never lets out of his hands anymore… You saw it. You just didn’t want to believe it.”

She was right. Of course she was. All the small details I’d forced myself to ignore for months suddenly clicked into a clean, brutal picture.

“So what do I do now?” I asked, not even sure why I needed an answer.

“What you should have done a long time ago,” Katya said. “Take your life into your own hands.”

After that conversation, I drifted around the apartment like I was underwater. Everything looked different—like I’d put on new glasses and started noticing details I’d missed for years.

Then the phone rang again. I stared at the name on the screen for a long time before I finally answered.

It was my mother.

She had a near-supernatural ability to sense my problems from a distance—and immediately start giving advice I wasn’t ready to hear.

“Lena, sweetheart, how are you? You flew to Sochi today, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” I muttered, collapsing on the couch.

“Why not? Are you sick?”

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me this instead—do you remember Dad… before the divorce?”

A tense pause. My mother never liked speaking about that time in her life.

“Lena… why do you need to know?”

“Did you realize right away he was cheating?”

“No, not right away. First there were suspicions, then denial. You know, the brain is very good at protecting us from painful truth. You can explain away strange things for a long time, just so you don’t have to admit what’s obvious.”

“So when did you finally know for sure?”

“When I found another woman’s hair clip in his pocket. Silly, right? I held it in my hand and thought, ‘That’s it. Now I can’t pretend nothing is happening.’”

“And what did you feel in that moment?”

“Relief,” my mother said after a pause. “Can you imagine? Not pain, not anger—relief. Because I finally stopped going crazy from the doubt.”

After the call, I lay on the couch and just stared, trying to digest everything.

Oddly enough, my mother was right. I did feel something close to relief—like the puzzle I’d been assembling for six months without understanding the picture had finally snapped into place.

At six-thirty, a key turned in the lock. Igor walked in carrying a large gym bag.

“Hi,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “You’re home? Flight got canceled?”

“Yeah,” I lied, watching him head into the bedroom.

A few minutes later he came back. His bag was noticeably fuller.

“I’m going to Sergey’s place. He bought a new console. Might crash there if it gets late.”

“Okay,” I said calmly. “Have fun.”

He stopped, as if waiting for questions. But I stayed silent, and it clearly unsettled him.

“Well… see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodbye, Igor.”

The door clicked shut.

Alone, I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed my sister-in-law.

“Katya, I’ve got an idea—but I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“You said he’s planning to move his stuff today to that… what’s her name?”

“Vika. Viktoriya Somova. They’re in the same department.”

“Perfect. Do you know the address of their rental?”

“I do. Why?”

“I want to give them a present,” I said, feeling a smile spread across my face. “One they’ll remember for a long time.”

“Lena, don’t make a scene under their windows,” Katya warned. “It’s humiliating.”

“I’m not making a scene. But I am going to arrange something. Listen carefully…”

For the next half hour we worked out the details. Katya resisted at first, but then she got into it. Revenge, it turned out, was a creative process—one that required imagination and precise timing.

“Are you sure this will work?” Katya nervously twisted the strap of her purse while we rode in a taxi toward a building in Sokolniki.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I want to try.”

The plan was simple.

Katya worked as a pastry chef and made custom cakes. It was her hobby, and it brought in good money. She always had baked layers ready at home and could assemble almost anything in half an hour.

“By the way, I brought the prettiest one,” she said, patting the box on her lap. “Two tiers, white, with little roses. And I wrote the message in red frosting, just like you asked: ‘Happy Divorce Day! Finally Free!’”

“Aren’t you sorry to waste it?” I smirked. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Lena, he’s my brother—but what he’s doing is disgusting. You lived with him for seven years. You deserve honesty.”

The building was a new high-rise with a concierge. We took the elevator to the seventh floor. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Katya whispered at the door. “Maybe we should just talk to them like normal people.”

“No,” I said, pressing the buzzer. “He wanted to run off to his little ‘queen’ while I was away. Then he can get the full experience.”

The door opened. Igor stood there, his face twisted like he’d swallowed a lemon.

“Katya? Lena? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, big brother,” Katya said brightly, lifting the cake box. “We came to congratulate you on the new place!”

I stepped inside after her, taking it in.

The apartment was small—one room—but cozy. On the couch sat a pretty brunette in her early thirties wearing a house robe. She looked at us with open curiosity, clearly not understanding what was happening.

“Vika, meet…” Igor faltered, “…this is my sister Katya and—” he swallowed, “—my wife, Lena.”

Wife. It sounded strange coming from him, as if even he was surprised I still had that title.

“Nice to meet you,” Vika said, standing up.

That’s when I noticed her rounded belly beneath the robe.

She was pregnant.

“Congratulations,” I said, feeling my insides flip. “When are you due?”

Vika looked at Igor, confused.

“I… we…”

“In March,” Igor said quietly. “Lena, I wanted to tell you—”

“Tomorrow. I know!” I cut in, taking the cake box from Katya. “But I decided not to wait for that special moment.”

I set the cake on the table and lifted the lid.

“‘Happy Divorce Day! Finally Free!’” Vika read aloud. “Is… is this for me?”

“Actually, it’s for me,” I said. “But I’m happy to share.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. Igor went pale. Vika clutched her stomach. Katya studied the ceiling like it had suddenly become fascinating.

“Lena—” Igor began.

“Don’t,” I said. “Better tell me this: when’s the wedding?”

“What wedding?” he blinked.

“Well, the baby should be born in a legal marriage, right?” I said coolly. “Do you think you and I can wrap things up in time for March?”

Vika suddenly started crying.

“I didn’t know he was married,” she whispered. “He told me he’d been getting divorced for six months… that he lived alone…”

I looked at Igor, genuinely surprised. His face was pure terror.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So you lied to her too?”

“Lena, it’s complicated…”

“What’s complicated?” I snapped. “Are you married or not? Are we divorced or not? Do we live together or not?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then what are we even discussing?”

Anger came in waves. One thing to cheat on your wife. Another to lie to your mistress that your wife doesn’t even exist.

And that’s when I lost my restraint.

“You know what,” I said, dropping into an armchair, “since we’re all here together, let me give you some wedding gifts. Three of them.”

“Lena, don’t—” Igor started, but I raised a hand.

“Gift number one: our apartment in Lyubertsy belongs entirely to me. Bought with my money. Registered in my name. You won’t get a single square meter in the divorce. Don’t even dream about it.”

Igor turned even paler.

“But we furnished it together. I helped with the renovation—”

“You helped physically. I paid for it,” I said. “Guess which one matters in court.”

Vika stopped crying and listened closely, as if she was finally understanding the scale of the disaster.

“Gift number two,” I continued. “Those two million we saved for a country house? Also mine. Every transfer into the savings account came from my card. And the cash you handed me doesn’t count. Do you have receipts? Written proof? Bank records? You won’t be able to prove anything. The savings are mine.”

“Lena, that’s not fair,” Igor rasped. “I gave you my whole salary—”

“In cash. Voluntarily,” I said, my voice still calm. “Legally speaking, those were gifts to your loving wife for personal expenses.”

Katya stared at me, stunned.

“And gift number three—the most valuable one,” I said, standing and moving toward the door. “That one comes from my former classmate, Svetlana Karpova. The same Svetlana who happens to be your director. Before we came here, I called her. I told her about your touching little office romance—on company time. Svetlana is very particular about corporate ethics.”

“What did you do?” Igor jolted to his feet.

“By Monday, you’ll both be fired—with cause,” I said. “Svetlana will make sure she finds enough reasons to destroy your careers.”

Vika let out a sharp sob.

“Lena, you can’t do this!” she cried. “We’re having a baby!”

“Your baby is your responsibility,” I shrugged. “You should’ve thought earlier.”

“Lena, please,” Igor begged. “Don’t burn everything down. For the baby’s sake. We can negotiate—”

“We can’t,” I said, backing toward the door. “I don’t forgive dirty games played against me. I don’t forgive betrayal. And I do know how to hurt people who decided I was stupid and blind.”

“But the two million… the apartment… our jobs…” Igor babbled. “You’re leaving us with nothing!”

“And what did you leave me with?” I asked quietly. “A broken heart—and the label of the clueless fool who ‘didn’t understand.’ No, darling. I prefer a different ending.”

Vika was sobbing openly now, clutching her belly. Igor stared at me like he couldn’t recognize me. And I felt something strange—calm, steady satisfaction.

“Lena,” Katya whispered, “maybe that’s enough?”

“Enough,” I agreed. “They’ve had more than enough.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Igor said weakly.

“You didn’t want to be a man,” I replied. “Those are two different things.”

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Katya followed.

“You know I’m on your side, right?” she asked as we rode down in the elevator.

“I know. Thank you,” I said. “And the cake really was beautiful. Shame it got wasted.”

“It wasn’t wasted,” Katya said. “It did exactly what it needed to.”

Outside, a fine rain fell—like it was washing away the old life to make room for a new one.

“So what will you do next?” Katya asked, calling a taxi.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe I’ll actually go to Sochi after all.”

“Good idea. Sea air. New impressions…”

“And nobody who thinks I’m some silly little idiot,” I added.

The taxi pulled up quickly. I got in and lowered the window.

“Katya… you won’t regret helping me?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Justice is a good thing—even when it’s cruel.”

The car started moving. In the rearview mirror I watched Katya wave, then turn and walk back toward the entrance—probably to deal with the aftermath of our visit.

And I drove home—back to my apartment, to my new life—one where I no longer had to pretend I didn’t see what was right in front of me.