As usual, I was on my way home from work, picking up my daughters from kindergarten on the way.
I was carrying bags of groceries that I had bought during my lunch break.
When I opened the front door and entered the apartment with the children, I immediately heard male voices.
Colleagues came to Sergei’s house, they were talking animatedly about something, so engrossed that my husband didn’t even notice that we had come home.
I took off my shoes and was about to head towards the living room to say hello, but I unintentionally overheard a snippet of their conversation.
“Do it like me, my friends!” Sergei declared smugly.
“I have everything figured out.”
I have a wife — she’s not pretty, but she takes care of the house and the kids, and I take the pretty girls with me on vacation.
I know how to live!
I froze, not even reaching the room, and continued to watch tensely.
— Natalka doesn’t even know.
She thinks I’m a caring and loving husband, while I get everything I could ever dream of: a clean house, well-groomed children, a car that her parents paid for, and much more.
“I’ve been living in such comfort for six years,” he continued to boast.
What I heard made my legs shake and a lump form in my throat.
As quietly as I could, I led the children to the nursery, and I returned closer to the living room.
My husband, to whom I had entrusted my life, was now bragging to his friends about how skillfully he was deceiving me.
I leaned against the wall, trying not to fall.
“Well, Seryozha,” one of his colleagues laughed nervously, “you’ve settled in well.”
I wish everyone could live like this!
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Sergei replied with a smug smile.
“You just have to marry a rich, ugly woman so that she finds you ideal and doesn’t want to leave.”
And then, under the pretext of business trips, go to relax with beauties at the sea.
The word “ugly” cuts painfully into my heart.
I would have loved to burst into the room and throw everything that had built up inside me at his head.
But I restrained myself.
Instead, I quietly went to the kitchen and deliberately clanked the dishes loudly so that my husband would understand — I was already home.
Soon the guests left.
That evening, Sergei acted as if nothing had happened.
He went into the kitchen and helped prepare the salmon with a side dish of vegetables — the family’s favorite dish.
He even gave me a kiss on the cheek, asked how my day was, and then helped put the kids to bed.
For a moment I even had to laugh at this feigned concern—it seemed so fake.
The next morning, when I was feeding the kids breakfast, Sergei asked if I was okay.
He must have noticed that I had become more withdrawn and barely spoke.
“I’m just really tired this week.”
“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” I replied calmly, with a forced smile.
“Then don’t cook anything today, we’ll order something from the restaurant,” he ordered, patting me on the shoulder condescendingly.
I could barely keep myself from yanking his hand away in disgust.
Sergei went to work, as always, kissing me goodbye.
I, as always, smiled in response.
But as soon as the door closed behind him, I immediately called my work and took the day off.
That day my thoughts were far from work.
I took the kids to kindergarten and started implementing my plan.
By noon, I found the women Sergey had met on social media, and even found photos of them together on their pages.
This wasn’t difficult — my husband never logged out of his accounts, and anyone who had access to his laptop could read his correspondence.
I saved screenshots of his conversations and obtained a bank statement that clearly proved his double life.
That day, my mother picked up the children from kindergarten.
Of course, I didn’t cook dinner or order anything.
When Sergei came home from work, he had no idea what awaited him.
I was determined.
“Hello, my dear,” he said, smiling.
“How was your day?”
“Excellent,” I replied indifferently.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I’ve been working on this all day.
Sergei raised his eyebrows in interest.
— Surprise? On what occasion?
“I just wanted to thank you for our ‘happy’ family life,” I said with a slight smile.
“Let’s go to the living room.”
He followed and settled comfortably in the armchair in front of the television.
I pulled the table over to him, put a bowl of chips and a pint of beer on it.
“What is this care?” he asked suspiciously.
“You’ll see,” I replied, and turned on the TV.
Half an hour before he arrived, I made a slideshow, recorded it on a flash drive, and connected it to the television.
At first he didn’t understand what was happening.
The first pictures seemed innocent — they were photos from “business trips.”
But then other recordings appeared.
In one, he hugs a woman from his friends list.
He laughs at another with another, drinks in hand.
“My dear… I’ll explain everything,” Sergei began nervously.
“Silence,” I interrupted.
“Respect my work.”
Look further.
The images followed one another, each one worse than the last.
“You didn’t think I’d ever find out, did you?” I asked coldly.
“Where did all this come from?” he whispered in horror.
— From your own social media pages.
“You should have at least set a password,” I replied.
“These were just adventures… I really only love you!” he cried.
“Really? And out of this “love” you called me ugly in front of your colleagues?” I asked sharply.
“But that’s not the point.”
You cheated on me for six years and even bragged about it.
“Natasha, let’s talk…” he begged.
I just smiled coldly.
“We have nothing to talk about.”
I will not live with a traitor and a hypocrite.
Pack your things and get out of my apartment.
Sergei silently took out the bags and began to gather his belongings.
He tried to apologize several times, but I didn’t listen to him.
A few days later, she filed for divorce.
Then came the court hearings and the division of property.
I kept the apartment — my parents gave it to me before we got married.
He only got part of the car payment and child support.
His financial situation suddenly deteriorated.
He blamed me for all his troubles.
And this especially hurt — because I was betrayed, humiliated, and deceived.
Well, to him I am “ugly”.
But that’s just his opinion.
And honestly, after everything I’ve been through, it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.
