It was late when Liza finally slipped into the quiet kitchen. After tucking the children into bed, she boiled the kettle, poured tea into her favorite mug, and sat at the table to breathe for a moment. Roma still hadn’t come home. Lately, work had swallowed him whole; late nights were becoming routine. She felt sorry for him and did her best to keep his world soft—shielding him from chores, wrapping him in care and tenderness. He was the family’s only earner, after all.

From the very beginning, they’d agreed: he would provide; she would run the home and raise the children. And so it happened. Three little ones arrived, Roma kept the money coming, and Liza kept the house standing. Roma had rejoiced at each birth and talked about wanting more. Liza, though, was spent—every day was one long sprint between diapers stacked like snowdrifts in the bathroom and nighttime bottles when her milk ran short. She’d already decided: three was enough; it was time to stop.

He came in close to midnight, the faint sweet-sour scent of alcohol trailing him. When Liza asked, he said the team had blown off steam at a bar after another exhausting day.

“My poor dear,” she murmured, smoothing his sleeve. “Come eat.”

“I’m stuffed. We had plenty of snacks.” He yawned. “I’m going straight to sleep.”

International Women’s Day was almost here. Liza asked her mother to watch the kids so she could shop in peace. She wanted to buy groceries and set up a romantic evening—leave the children with Grandma, cook something wonderful. And after the food and gifts, she hoped to find herself a fresh outfit; her clothes were tired, and she had nothing festive to wear.

She checked her bags in the cloakroom and stepped into a popular boutique. She picked out a few dresses and went to the fitting rooms. As she shrugged off her thin nylon jacket, a man’s voice came through the partition—Roma’s, unmistakably close.

“I want to undress you right now.”

A laugh followed, light and syrupy. “Be patient. Why don’t you go buy something for your wife instead?”

“She doesn’t need anything. All she cares about are the kids. I’ll pick up some kitchen gadgets—she loves living in that room.”

For a moment Liza couldn’t breathe. It felt like a heavy object had struck the back of her head. Mechanically, she stepped into the dress, then stared at herself without seeing anything at all. She didn’t want it anymore. On the other side of the wall, they kept talking.

“What if your wife asks what you’ve spent so much on?”

“I don’t report to her. I give her money for the house. She has no idea what I actually make.”

Footsteps. The curtain rings rattled. Liza peered through a sliver of fabric and saw Roma at the register. A slim, pretty blonde stood beside him, his hand resting casually on her waist.

“Are you all right?”

Liza flinched. She’d been sitting on the little bench for too long. The saleswoman’s face showed worry, so whatever Liza felt must have been written plainly on her own. Liza bought every dress she’d chosen, walked out, and went home. She sent her mother off, put the children down for their nap, then lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe it was her fault. She had let herself go—no time for clothes, hair, makeup. But betrayal was betrayal, no matter how you cut it. She would never have imagined Roma cheating. And the way he’d spoken about her—as if she were furniture, or worse, hired help. Even his gift ideas were appliances, tools for a woman chained to a stove.

She wanted to divorce him—badly. But that would make things easy for them, wouldn’t it? He’d go to his mistress, and she’d be stuck scraping by on the smallest alimony he could get away with. Liza decided to say nothing for now. She would watch and plan.

He came home late again, blaming work. Liza looked at him with a cool, distant calm and let it pass. She felt as though a stranger had moved into her husband’s body. Whatever love she’d felt chilled in an instant.

The next morning she wrote a résumé and sent it everywhere she could think of. Days of silence followed. Every morning began with her checking her email. Most never answered; a few declined. Then one afternoon, an invitation arrived—an interview at a company. Roma’s company.

She hesitated, then went.

She made a strong impression. They liked her, and they offered a decent position. The starting pay was modest, but it would feed the children. Liza left the office buoyant, almost lightheaded with relief. At home, her mother met her at the door, firing questions.

“Roma has a mistress!” Liza announced, oddly triumphant.

Her mother blinked, convinced the girl was in shock. She sat Liza down, poured tea, and tried to calm her. “Sweetheart, what are you saying? He stays late for you and the kids, and you accuse him of—who knows what.”

“He’s with a young woman,” Liza said, half-laughing, then told her everything.

“Do you want a divorce?”

“Of course. But first I need to reorganize my life. I found a good job with flexible hours. I’ll get the kids into kindergarten, and then I can work full time.”

“Well, it’s your choice,” her mother said softly. “I won’t talk you out of it. A person who betrays once will do it again. Do what you think is right. I’m disappointed—I didn’t expect this—and to talk about the mother of his children like that with a stranger… I’ll help with the kids.”

“Mom, what would I do without you?” Liza hugged her hard and didn’t let go for a long time.

On the night before the holiday, Roma staggered in long after midnight. Liza didn’t question him. Her expression was pure indifference. He launched into his usual story about too much work and then a quick stop at the bar with friends. Liza cut him off and told him to sleep.

Morning. While she fed the children, he produced a shiny kitchen food processor.

“Look at your present,” he said, angling for a kiss. “To make the housework a little easier.”

She turned her cheek away and didn’t touch the box. Instead, she said she had a gift for him as well and asked him to come to the hallway. Two suitcases sat there, packed tight.

“These are your things,” she said. “I’m divorcing you. Now you won’t have to invent stories about late nights with friends and how you ‘poor thing’ need to unwind. Go unwind. Don’t keep your blonde waiting.”

“Who told you?” He looked genuinely stunned by the turn.

“I saw you. I watched you buy her a gift. And you can give her the processor, too—maybe she enjoys standing over a stove.”

Cornered, Roma lashed out. “Have you looked at yourself? She’s gorgeous—and in bed—” He smirked. “You don’t even dress properly anymore. You’ve let yourself go. You’re clumsy. And the best part? You live off my money. Or is it that you count it and don’t want me spending it on someone else? You have no right.”

“Your money, your money,” Liza snapped. “Is that your great life’s purpose—to wave a crust of bread in my face? You didn’t give me anything; you gave to the household. You ate it too.” Tired of the noise, she pushed him and his suitcases out the door. “Don’t you dare come back.”

To her surprise, she slept deeply that night. In the morning she woke feeling like a new person. That very day she filed for divorce and child support. A few days later, the bell rang and her mother-in-law swept in, voice already sharp.

“What are you doing? You threw my son out and now you want to bleed him for money? He doesn’t owe you a kopeck. Withdraw the alimony!”

“How interesting,” Liza said evenly. “Why do some men think they’re paying their ex-wives and not their children? Or is he worried there won’t be enough left for his mistress? Either way, not my problem anymore.”

“Oh, look at you—so businesslike now! You haven’t worked a day since the wedding. You lived off him and got comfortable. Don’t think you’ll get rich on alimony. He’ll have his boss pay him under the table and you’ll see pennies.”

“Get out,” Liza said, holding the door open. “Like mother, like son. I’m only sorry it took me this long to see it.” The woman spluttered, and Liza added, “One more word, and I’m calling the police.”

The door slammed. Silence. Liza let out a long breath she felt like she’d been holding for years.

Soon the children got spots in kindergarten, and they started going regularly. Liza moved to full-time at work. Roma already knew they were now colleagues. One afternoon they turned a corner at the same moment and nearly collided.

“Hello,” he said, trying for a smile. “Can we talk?”

“Don’t be offended,” she replied, eyes on her phone, “but I have work to do.”

“Then lunch? Together?”

“The word ‘together’ doesn’t apply to us anymore,” Liza said, and walked on.

She glanced back once. He looked thinner, older. Word had it the blonde left when she found out half his income would be going to his children.