For a long time, I pretended everything in my life was normal.
I refused to believe that Sergey, my husband, was truly having an affair. And not just a fleeting one — he was in a serious relationship with another woman.
The worst part? She had become his assistant at work. They saw each other every day, right under my nose.
The signs had been there all along: him coming home late, unfamiliar perfume lingering on his clothes, hushed phone calls behind closed doors, frequent business trips.
But I brushed them off, convincing myself that it was paranoia, that my fears were baseless.
Eventually, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and asked him outright:
“Is it true? Are you seeing her?”
He didn’t deny it. His response was cold, emotionless:
“You already know. I’m glad we finally talked. I want a divorce.”
Just like that. No apology, no regret. As if all the years we shared meant nothing.
Afterward came the usual words of comfort from those around me.
“He’s not worth it, Olga,” my best friend Marina told me. “This could be the best thing to happen to you.”
My mother was outraged:
“I never liked him. You’ll meet someone better.”
But none of their words truly comforted me. Deep down, I still hoped Sergey would realize his mistake and come back.
I kept calling him, hoping he’d pick up, hoping for some sign that he missed me, too. But he didn’t. He vanished completely, as if I’d never existed.
To distract myself, I started spending more time with Marina and her brother, Kirill.
We had known each other for years, but always as acquaintances. When we were younger, I’d had a small crush on him, though I never acted on it.
Now, he was recently divorced and, like me, carrying his own sadness.
Unlike everyone else, Kirill didn’t offer clichés or try to cheer me up with hollow words. He simply spent time with me.
We took walks, went to the movies, or just sat on a park bench sharing ice cream. Around him, my wounds slowly began to heal.
When the divorce was finalized, and Kirill asked if we could take our bond further, I said yes.
It wasn’t something I had planned, but it felt right. Marina was thrilled.
“Finally!” she said, hugging me. “I always knew you two would end up together.”
I was surprised.
“You knew?”
“Of course. Who else could be better for my brother than you? That divorce was a blessing.”
A few months ago, I might have been hurt by such a statement. Now, I understood she was right.
With Kirill, I felt loved in ways I never had before. He was gentle, attentive, and thoughtful — everything Sergey wasn’t. For the first time in years, I felt cherished.
Then one day, unexpectedly, Sergey called. His name on my phone made my stomach twist. Kirill encouraged me to answer.
On the other end, Sergey’s voice was brisk, even cold:
“We need to meet. It’s urgent.”
The next day, I waited at the designated spot. When Sergey finally arrived, he got straight to the point.
“I want the wedding ring back,” he said. “Karina and I are getting married. We need rings. I paid for yours, so it’s only fair.”
His request stunned me. I couldn’t help it — I burst out laughing. Not out of pain, but at the sheer absurdity of it all.
“I actually have it with me,” I said, pulling the ring from my pocket — a keepsake I hadn’t yet parted with.
Then, with a flick of my hand, I tossed it into the pond. It vanished beneath the water’s surface without a trace.
I didn’t wait for his reaction. I just walked away, leaving him — and the past — behind.
Later, I told Kirill everything. We laughed together, not out of spite, but from a shared understanding that some things — and people — are better let go.
We’re not rushing into marriage. But I can sense that Kirill is thinking about it, and maybe, soon, he’ll ask.
After all we’ve been through, we both deserve happiness. My mother is already dreaming of grandchildren, and for once, I don’t mind the idea.
As for me? I’m at peace. I’ve found someone who truly sees me, loves me, and wants to build a life with me. And I’m finally ready for that.
