– 8 –
The silence between us lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like it contains all three years of our lack of communication, all the unspoken accusations, and all the nights spent in tears. It’s not just silence; it’s the echo of our collapse.
Gordey stands in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, completely blocking the sunlight.
He’s a solid mass of black coat and tensed muscles. His piercing, stern gaze bores into me, trying to burn a hole through me, or maybe he’s trying to read my thoughts?
A couple of seconds later, my heart finally starts beating again. It’s an anxious, erratic rhythm, more like a drum roll before an execution.
My temples are pounding. I can’t allow myself to be weak. I can’t show him my emotions, I can’t tell him how much pain I feel, how hurt I am. It would be too much for him.
It takes a titanic, inhuman effort for me to straighten up, square my shoulders, and force out an even, official tone. My face must be a mask of indifference and professionalism.
“Varvara Sergeevna,” I correct him coldly, nodding my head slightly, as if a stranger was standing in front of him.
This “Sergeevna” is like a wall I instantly erect between us. I tell him, as if bluntly, that we are now complete strangers, connected only by chance by our work.
He frowns. A deep, sharp line runs between his brows. Displeased. Well, well. He’s clearly trying to figure out what I’m up to.
However, the surprise on his face quickly gives way to a harsh, instant anger, the same one that was always hidden by his military bearing, but never disappeared.
– Varya, you… What are you doing here?
Gordey seems to be deliberately ignoring my official tone, spitting on my boundaries, as always.
He takes a step forward, ignoring the girl, focusing only on me.
– Why did you come back?
“What? Do I need to ask your permission for that?” I ask calmly, though a fire is raging inside me. I fold my arms across my chest to hide how much his presence shakes me. “I was born here. My parents live here. It’s only logical that one day I decided to come back.”
I look down at the small hand he’s still clutching.
The girl, completely confused by what’s happening, presses herself against his leg, frightened by our tense dialogue. She looks at me warily with her huge eyes.
Her gaze is full of pure, innocent curiosity that pierces me right through. It’s incredibly painful to see his daughter so close.
“What’s the girl’s name?” I ask in a businesslike tone, and to my surprise, my voice doesn’t tremble. It sounds dry, cold, and demanding.
Gordey looks at me, and then turns his confused, almost helpless gaze to the girl.
There’s no pride in him, no paternal pathos. Only sudden, profound embarrassment. He didn’t expect this part of his life to confront his “unresolved gestalt” so publicly and awkwardly.
He seems embarrassed in front of me. His usual, polished confidence is cracking.
“It’s… Anya,” he says, his voice a little muffled. As if the sound is stuck in his throat.
“Okay, Anya,” I squat down to be on the same level with her, ignoring the wild pain in my heart. The girl is still hiding behind her father. “Hello. I’m Varvara Sergeyevna. Your new teacher.”
And then I return to a vertical position and look Gordey straight in the eyes.
Those who were once the most beloved and dear now seem alien. I feel nothing but an icy, protective emptiness that protects me from falling.
“Allergies? Health problems?” I list dryly, as if I’m facing not three years of betrayal but simply a piece of paper.
Gordey doesn’t answer right away. His disgruntled, piercing gaze scans my face carefully, meticulously, as if trying to discern beneath this armor the very weak, loving woman I once was.
– Varya, I don’t understand what you…
He tries to steer the conversation into a personal direction, into our usual game, where he is king and god, and I just nod obediently and agree with him in everything.
“Varvara Sergeyevna. I’m sorry, I don’t have time to chat about anything other than work. The childcare appointments end in fifteen minutes. I need to see the next child and find out about nutrition. Your presence is disrupting the workflow. If that’s all you have to do, please don’t waste either your time or mine.”
He takes a deep, sharp breath, the skin on his cheekbones tightening. The same gesture that always preceded his harsh orders. His jaw clenches.
“She has no allergies. She’s healthy. And now we…”
He makes a move to grab my hand, but I instinctively step back.
“You can go, Gordey Vladimirovich. We’ll handle the rest.”
I extend my hand, gesturing decisively toward the door. I don’t give him a chance. Not a chance for dialogue, not an intrusion, not a false explanation.
My ex takes a step toward me, almost aggressively. His body is tense, like a spring about to snap. He’s used to being in control, and this situation completely throws him off balance.
“Stop. There’s no way I’m letting this go, Varya!” His tone drops to a low, dangerous whisper, almost a growl. “You ran away! Without explaining anything at all. You left a note on my pillow and didn’t even talk to me normally! I spent months trying to find you while you hid, accusing me of every mortal sin! And what did I learn when I was nearly going crazy from ignorance?!”
He doesn’t finish, choking with rage. I see him clenching his fists.
My mouth stretches into a sly, completely insincere smile. I need to finish him off with this lie so he’ll back off.
“Nothing of the sort. Many years have passed, Gordey. You came too late to sort things out. I’m happy. I have my own life. I’m happy with someone else,” the lie spills out of me easily and effortlessly. “I couldn’t care less what you had or who you have now. Your daughter is none of my concern. I’m the teacher here. I repeat: step aside.”
This lie about the “other man” hits him in the face like a slap, harder than the truth about his betrayal hits me. His eyes darken.
He apparently can’t believe his perfect wife could so easily abandon him and find someone else. Never mind, darling, I’m not the only one who’s disappointed in my husband.
“Happy? Are you happy?” Gordey laughs maliciously, feigning cheerfulness. “Okay. Great. Since you’re here, that means we’ll figure everything out. Fine. After all these years. I’ll come by the end of your workday. At seven. And we’ll talk.”
“I don’t have time, Gordey. Or the desire. My mother is in the hospital.”
“Time will come,” his tone becomes commanding again, harsh and brooking no argument. “I’m waiting for you. At the front door. If you don’t come out, I’ll go up to your group. And believe me, you won’t like it at all.”
I make one last, desperate move, exploiting his own vulnerability.
– What about your daughter? Are we going to talk to her in front of her?
I see him almost exploding. I can see in his eyes the desire to come up to me, grab me by the scruff of the neck, and shake me. But he holds back. With difficulty, he overcomes his emotions.
My reminder of another woman, of that same pink package, apparently hits him where it hurts.
“I’ll take her to her mother,” he snaps, and his cold, military logic is all there is to it. He’s ready to move the pieces on his board to settle the score, even if it disrupts his perfect routine.
At that moment, more children and parents appear in the doorway. Gordey casts one last, long, searching glance at me.
“See you in the evening, Varvara Sergeevna,” he says, emphasizing my patronymic, and abruptly turns around and leaves.
I lean my back against the doorframe, feeling the world floating.
Lucky as a drowned man… Of all the gardens in the city, I ended up in the one with his daughter. And okay, I could have survived the conversation with him. But where am I supposed to put Lev?!“Will you go to the ultrasound with me this Saturday, Gleb?” I ask my husband.
“I can’t guarantee it, baby. I might end up standing guard.
” “I’m due in a month, and you’ve never even been to an ultrasound.
” “Hey, you know how busy I am. Better yet, have you packed my bag?”
I curse, remembering that he’ll be gone for two days. His boss is sending him on a business trip. My husband hugs me, kisses the top of my head, and I, upset, go to pack his toothbrush.
I tug the zipper on his bag so hard that I tip it over, and something shiny falls out of the compartment. I’m about to stuff the crumpled box back in, but I freeze when I notice what it is.
A pack of XXL condoms.
We even use contraception during pregnancy, so there’s no reason to worry, but when I notice the package is open and two of the three are missing, I go cold.
First, I break out in a sweat, then I start to sweat, and I blink rapidly, trying to figure out if I’m imagining it. My vision is blurry, but I try to calm myself.
It doesn’t mean anything. So what if my husband and I haven’t had sex for two weeks? It’s probably our old pack; he just forgot to take it out and put it away in the dresser.
I nervously rummage through the compartment again, not even sure why, in case I find something else.
And then I do.
A receipt from the pharmacy.
Purchase date: two days ago.
