Stepan was glowing with pride. Freshly back from what he called a «business trip,» he headed straight to the usual spot behind the garages, where old friends gathered to drink, smoke, and share stories that were never meant to leave those shadows.

Wearing a wide, smug smile, Stepan dove into his tale:

— Guys, you wouldn’t believe it. Lariska… she’s something else. Seven days of pure bliss. No nagging, no complaints, just laughter, tenderness, games, and passion all day and all night.

The men listened intently. Some laughed, others just nodded in silent envy. Trapped in their routines of work, mortgages, and family duties, Stepan seemed to them like a man who had cracked the code of life.

— And what if your wife finds out? — one of them dared to ask.

Stepan chuckled, waving the thought away:

— Svetlana? Come on. She’s used to me. Where would she go? Who would take her? She’ll forgive. She always does.

The group roared with laughter, clapping Stepan on the back as if he were some modern-day conqueror.

Feeling untouchable, Stepan eventually bid them goodbye and made his way home. His head was high, his heart light. He was convinced he had everything under control.

He rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.

There stood Svetlana. Calm. Too calm. Her expression was unreadable, her smile thin and unsettling.

— Hi, honey, — Stepan said, trying to sound casual.

She stepped aside silently to let him in. He kicked off his shoes and walked toward the living room — and stopped dead.

On the table, there were boxes. Neatly packed with his clothes, his shoes, his belongings. Each box bore a label: «To Go,» «Goodbye,» «No Return.»

Stepan’s stomach twisted. Slowly, he turned toward Svetlana. She stood motionless, holding a TV remote in her hand. Without a word, she pressed a button.

The TV flickered to life.

Stepan saw himself.

On a sunlit beach, arms wrapped around Lariska. In a cozy restaurant, leaning in close, whispering into her ear. Carrying her across the threshold of a seaside cottage.

The footage was clear, close, undeniable.

— It’s not what it looks like… — Stepan choked out.

Svetlana gave a small, cold smile.

— You’re right, — she said softly. — It’s worse.

Stepan noticed the suitcases lined up near the door. Among them was a small pink backpack — his daughter’s.

— Svetlana, please, let’s talk… — he tried, desperation creeping into his voice.

She shook her head.

— My lawyer will contact you tomorrow, — she said calmly, turning and walking away without looking back.

Stepan stood frozen. Around him were the ruins of what once had been his life.

Hours ago, he had been boasting about his adventure, savoring the thrill of his deceit. Now he was a man stripped bare, staring at the consequences of his own foolishness.

Outside, rain began to fall. The drops tapped against the windows rhythmically, as if marking the end of an era.

That night, Stepan realized a bitter truth:

Some mistakes can never be undone.

Some doors, once closed, are never opened again.

And sometimes, the loudest punishment is not a scream or a slap — but the silence left behind by those who walk away forever.