The booking confirmation arrived at their shared email address because the app had remembered an old account. Boris opened it while looking for the internet bill. Two nights, a room for two, his wife's name and the surname of a man he knew from business dinners. In the calendar, that weekend was marked as Anita's seminar.
He did not search her phone. He saved the confirmation and waited for her to come home. For years, he had worked nights in a laboratory while Anita ran an events agency. He was accustomed to schedules that rarely touched. That explanation now resembled furniture that had suddenly become too large for the room.
Anita did not deny it for long. She said she had fallen in love, was confused, and did not want to hurt anyone. Boris asked what she intended to do. She replied that she needed time, but saw no reason for sudden decisions. The apartment was theirs, their expenses were shared, and separating would only complicate everyone's life.
What hurt most was the way she spoke, as though they were negotiating a lease renewal. When he said he would not agree to live in that uncertainty, she accused him of being cold. When she cried, he wanted to take back everything he had said. He knew how to comfort her. He no longer knew whether he had the right to remain hurt himself first.
The next morning, she called asking him to pay her annual business-club membership. She had forgotten their conversation about the end of their marriage, or expected practical matters to continue unchanged. Boris said they would sit down to agree on shared obligations, but each would take responsibility for new personal expenses.
They did not separate in a single conversation. They listed the bills, arranged a valuation of their belongings, and settled the separation with professional help. Some days, he missed her so much that he almost called just to hear her voice. Instead, he contacted the friend with whom he had regularly played chess before his marriage.
When Anita took away the last boxes, she left a flowering plant on the kitchen table. Boris did not throw it out. He repotted it because the pot was too small. He looked for no symbolism in the task. Soil spilled, he had to vacuum, and he needed to buy another saucer.
That evening, he opened their shared calendar and removed the old reminders. The new entry was simple: Saturday, chess at Jasmin's. For the first time in many months, he did not have to check who had told him the truth about that date.