"You're at your mother's on Thursdays anyway," the assistant said when Nadina proposed a new shift roster. The sentence wasn't strange by itself. What was strange was that Nadina had been going on Wednesdays, rather than Thursdays, for three months. She had mentioned the earlier schedule only to her husband, Mirza, while trying to fit her mother's appointments around work. The assistant immediately glanced toward the back room, where he was cutting paper for pastries.
Nadina and Mirza had opened the bakery twelve years earlier. She handled the money and morning shift; he managed production and evening closing. People called them a hardworking couple, which sometimes sounded like another term for people who no longer had time to talk. Their assistant, Sara, arrived the previous autumn. Nadina had trained her on the register and bought her more comfortable shoes from their shared budget.
When they were alone, she asked Mirza why Sara knew her old schedule. He said she probably remembered conversations in the shop.
"Then I'll ask her," Nadina replied.
He admitted the affair before she reached the door. It had lasted four months. Nadina sat on a flour sack because there was no other chair. She didn't ask where or how often. She asked whether he had spent bakery money on their meetings. Mirza said no, then corrected himself: twice he had taken cash from the till and replaced it later. She didn't know why that small correction, in particular, made her nauseous.
The next day, she met Sara with the bookkeeper present, separately from discussions about her marriage. She said she wouldn't reveal private details to customers or withhold earned wages. Sara decided to leave after an agreed notice period. Mirza wanted the bakery to continue as if nothing had changed. Nadina refused. With professional help, they valued his share; he accepted payment in installments and left their joint business.
For the first few weeks, Nadina closed early. The door displayed new opening hours without an explanation passersby could repeat. Customers complained; one even said a good marriage could be seen in a full display case. Nadina wrapped her bread and returned the exact change. At home, she cried over an electricity bill, exhausted by the fact that betrayal didn't postpone ordinary responsibilities.
In spring, she hired an experienced baker, a married man who immediately requested a clear schedule. Nadina drew it up with him and hung it on the wall. On Thursdays, she finally went for a walk instead of visiting her mother. The bakery stayed open. When someone asked where the owner was, the answer was simple: it was her day off.