Why did the husband turn pale when he heard his wife’s reaction to the news of him leaving for a younger woman?

An evening that was supposed to be a show of strength
Victor was certain he had just bought himself a ticket to a new life. He sat at the head of the table, basking in the admiration of his mother and sister, and felt like a man dealing the cards.

In his pocket was his phone, containing messages from his mistress, and across from him sat his wife, whom he had already mentally cut off from his life. He was convinced he was the one abandoning her. However, he hadn’t considered one thing: his wealth had long been a house of cards, and the glue holding it together was Marina.

The apartment smelled of roast duck with apples and the heavy, sweet perfume of Galina Petrovna. Her mother-in-law sat on the sofa like a dethroned empress, adjusting a massive necklace—a gift from her son.

Next to her, Wiktor’s sister, Żanna, sat with her nose buried in her phone. Every so often, she would take a selfie in front of the set table.

Marina stood at the window. She felt an invisible noose tightening around her.

The entire evening had been a sham. Victor, flushed from expensive whiskey, laughed loudly at his own joke, one Marina had heard for what felt like the hundredth time. She’d been setting the table since morning, but no one had even asked if she’d had time to eat. To them, she was a function. A piece of furniture. A shadow passing out napkins.

« Marisha! » Victor slammed his hand on the table. « Why are you standing there like a monument to mourning? Mother’s turning sixty. Pour the wine, be a human being. »

He winked at his mother.

Galina Petrovna sighed theatrically.

« Oh, Vitenka, don’t touch her. She’s probably having another migraine. Or maybe she’s just moody. Autumn depression, you know. Son, you deserve a monument to your patience. »

Marina slowly turned around. There was no usual submissiveness in her eyes. There was something else. Something cold and precise.

But Victor was too drunk on his own greatness to notice it.

Ten-year-old Tioma sat in his room. He hadn’t gone out to see the guests. He could hear everything through the thin wall and was clutching his controller tightly, even though the console was off. He hated these family dinners.

Announcement at the table
Victor stood up. He adjusted the lapel of his jacket, which was buttoning with difficulty across his stomach, and tapped his glass with his fork.

« My dears, » he began in a sweet voice, « Mom, Zhanna, and you, Marina. Today I’m being generous. I gave Mom gold. I paid for Zhanna’s courses… astrology, tarot, whatever. I pay for everything because I’m a man. I’m the breadwinner. »

He paused, enjoying the silence.

– But I’m tired. Tired of hauling ballast.

He looked at his wife. A cold, vengeful satisfaction appeared in his eyes.

« Marina, you’re a good woman. A thrifty one. You make delicious borscht. But you’re boring. Like yesterday’s newspaper. Everything familiar, everything gray. And I need fire. Air. »

Galina Petrovna froze with a piece of duck to her mouth. Zhanna lowered the phone.

« I’m filing for divorce, » Wiktor said, as if he’d just unloaded a bag of cement. « I have another woman. Her name is Alicja. She’s young, vibrant, and she inspires me. We’re flying to Bali in a week. »

The silence became so thick that the hum of the refrigerator could be heard.

« But I’m not a scoundrel, » he added quickly, seeing his mother’s expression. « I’m leaving you this apartment, Marina. Live here until you find something simpler. You understand, the apartment is in my name, but I’m letting you stay here. Consider this a severance payment. »

Marina approached the table. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She picked up the jug of water, poured herself a full glass, and drank it in one gulp.

« Severance pay? » she repeated calmly. « You’re leaving us in the apartment. Fine. Now, Vitya, let’s play a game. Take out your calculator. »

“What for?” Victor frowned.

– Because today is the fourteenth, and tomorrow the fifteenth. Judgment day for your wallet.

Little blue notebook
A heavy silence hung in the room. In the corner, an old wall clock, a housewarming gift from his mother-in-law, ticked. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. As if counting down the seconds to an explosion.

Victor leaned back in his chair. He looked at his wife with a drunken, condescending smile. He was convinced Marina was bluffing, that this was the final cry of despair from a forsaken woman.

« Calculator? » he repeated lazily. « Marina, seriously? Are you trying to ruin Mom’s holiday with your accounting? We’re celebrating, we’re having champagne, and you’re just popping in with change? »

Galina Petrovna pursed her lips.

« Oh, Vitenka, don’t pay attention. It’s hysteria. The poor girl can’t accept that such an eagle is leaving the nest. Let her count if it brings her relief. »

Marina didn’t answer. She set down the plate with the untouched duck and pulled a small notebook with a worn blue cover from the pocket of her homemade cardigan.

Victor had seen it hundreds of times. It lay on the hall cabinet, on the kitchen table, in his wife’s purse. He had never paid much attention to it. He thought Marina wrote down shopping lists there: milk, bread, laundry detergent.

He didn’t know that this little notebook contained the entire story of his financial downfall.

Marina opened the notebook. The pages rustled softly.

« You said you have money, Vitya. That you’re generous. That you let us live here out of kindness. Great. »

Victor slammed his hand on the table, making the forks jump.

« I’m a man. I made money. I got a quarterly bonus. One hundred and fifty thousand net. Plus a salary. I may be leaving, but I’m not poor enough to haggle over pennies. »

Marina looked at him. Without tears. Without trembling.

« Excellent. One hundred and fifty thousand plus the rest of your salary. Let’s say you now have one hundred and eighty thousand on your card. »

She wrote down in large numbers:

180 000

« This is your capital, Vitya. Your golden parachute. Now let’s see how quickly it burns up in the atmosphere of reality. Point one: the apartment. »

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