Divorce from an Oligarch

The door opens, and I see Tim’s hotel room key card on the threshold. The top buttons on his shirt are undone, his hair is disheveled—as if someone has run a hand through it. And in his car-green gaze at the sight of me, surprise flares up, then confusion, and finally resignation.

So it’s true? He has someone else…

— Polina…

— You’re such a bastard, Shakhov!

I’d like to say much more, but suddenly I have no strength left. And from behind his back there’s something soft and tender:

— Tim, who’s there?

I stand, look into the eyes I love, and just quietly die. And a moment later the girl is right there too. A pretty blonde in a simple dress that doesn’t hide the bump of her growing belly. And she looks at me so utterly cluelessly that tears still run down my eyes.

Five years of marriage. I thought we were happy—but it turns out my husband has a mistress. Who, in the near future, is supposed to give him a child.