This has to be temporary. Matvey is just upset over the mess I made in the apartment. He’ll cool down, realize he overreacted, and come home. That’s how it’s always been. We’re a family. And soon, we’ll have a child. Divorce? What divorce? That’s ridiculous.
I refuse to drown in self-pity. Instead, I force myself to clean up. I won’t dwell on the fight or on Matvey’s divorce filing. There’s no point in stressing over something that will sort itself out. Worrying will only harm the baby.
I throw myself into housework, clearing away the wreckage of my own rage. Shredded clothes, broken frames, torn papers—I gather everything into trash bags until the apartment looks almost normal again. Then, I sit at my laptop, go to Matvey’s favorite clothing store, and order replacements for everything I destroyed. Suits, ties, jeans, t-shirts. The courier will deliver them in a few days. It will be as if nothing happened.
By the time I finish, it’s past midnight. Still, I head to the kitchen and cook his favorite meal—oven-roasted meat with grilled vegetables. I check the clock. It’s half past one. He’s not home. Fine. I won’t call. Let him stay in a hotel tonight. He’ll come back tomorrow.
But the next day, Matvey doesn’t come back. I push the creeping panic aside and keep myself busy. I dig out our wedding album and flip through the pages, reliving our happiest moments. Our wedding was perfect, exactly how I had imagined it. Then our honeymoon—two weeks in a tropical paradise where we were inseparable. I was convinced our love was unbreakable.
When another evening passes and Matvey is still gone, I struggle to suppress my anxiety. The thought of divorce tightens around me like a noose. I can’t process it. My mind refuses to accept it. No. This can’t be happening.
By Monday, I realize that if I don’t keep myself occupied, I’ll lose my mind. I cook more of Matvey’s favorite meals, expecting him to walk through the door at any moment. Borscht. His preferred salads. I keep checking my phone for messages. Normally, he texts me throughout the day. Now, silence.
To stop myself from spiraling, I go to the beauty salon, indulging in every treatment they offer. Afterwards, I go on a shopping spree—anything to keep my thoughts away from Matvey’s absence. But the phone remains empty. No messages. No missed calls.
The fear in my chest grows heavier. Desperate for a distraction, I call my friends and invite them for coffee. They all have busy careers and free evenings, while I was the only one who got married young. At twenty, I chose love over ambition, something they never quite understood.
A few of them agree to meet—Polina, Rita, and Masha. They arrive at the café, tired from work but still full of energy. Polina is glowing from a promotion, Rita just got back from a vacation in Argentina, and Masha recently bought her own apartment.
“So, what’s new with you, Yulia?” Rita asks. “Don’t tell me you’re still playing the perfect housewife.”
“I guess I am,” I say with a forced smile.
They’ve always teased me about dedicating myself entirely to Matvey. “Why did you go to university if you were just going to serve a man?” they’d joke. But they don’t understand what it means to love someone completely. None of them have been in serious relationships. Masha lived with a guy for six months before it fell apart. Rita had countless flings, but nothing lasting. And Polina—well, she has a list of impossible standards that no man could ever meet.
I don’t tell them about my pregnancy. Or about the divorce. I don’t want their pity, their questions, their unsolicited advice. And besides, Matvey won’t actually go through with it. He won’t leave me—not now, not when I’m carrying his child.
“Okay, girls, I should go home,” I say after a while.
“It’s only eleven!” Polina protests.
“That’s late for a married woman,” I joke.
“Oh, come on. You really think Matvey can’t sleep without you?” Rita teases.
“I hope he isn’t sleeping,” I reply, forcing a smirk.
They roll their eyes.
“You dragged us out and now you’re the first to leave?” Masha sighs.
“Because I have a husband to go home to.”
“We have work in the morning, but here we are,” Rita adds.
“I really need to go,” I insist, placing money on the table for my drink. “Thanks for meeting up.”
“Fine,” Rita pouts. “We’ll stay a little longer.”
“Yeah, you girls enjoy.”
I don’t wait for more protests. I leave the café quickly, stepping out into the cold night air. I call for a taxi and wait. My hands tremble. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to walk into an empty apartment.
As the taxi drives through the dark streets, a poisonous thought slithers into my mind. *What if he’s not in a hotel? What if he’s with another woman?*
No. That’s impossible. Matvey wouldn’t do that. He told me himself—he’s never cheated. And I believe him.
But when I unlock the apartment door, silence greets me. Cold. Empty. My heart pounds. My fingers tremble as I step inside. He’s still not back.
Tears well up in my eyes. My breath hitches. I lean against the wall, struggling to hold myself together. But the weight of reality crashes over me like a tidal wave.
Matvey is gone.
I slide to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. I clutch my stomach, whispering to the child inside me. *What are we going to do now?*
Eventually, I force myself to my feet. With shaking hands, I sit at my computer and log into the government website. A notification blinks at me.
My heart stops.
A sharp, unbearable pain rips through me. My body goes cold. Sweat beads along my spine. My temples pulse, pounding with the same horrifying truth:
Matvey is gone. Forever.
A strangled sob escapes my lips. I clap a hand over my mouth to silence my cry. But it’s useless. The pain is too raw, too overwhelming.
I stare at the screen, my vision blurred with tears. My fingers hover over the mouse.
And then, as if possessed by some unseen force, I click **Confirm.**
At that moment, something inside me shatters. The love I held onto so desperately—the love that kept me blind, kept me hoping—vanishes in an instant.
I don’t feel sorrow anymore. I don’t feel grief.
Only one emotion remains.
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