Your phone keeps ringing.
He moved suddenly, grabbed the phone, and looked at the screen. Marina watched in the wardrobe mirror as his expression changed. A moment of panic. A quick glance at her. A relaxed smile.
— Ah, it’s… the office alarm again. Violeta was on duty.
Violeta. His friend of fifteen years. Their son’s godmother. The one who yesterday mixed up the details of the anniversary, even though they had discussed them a hundred times.
— I understand, — Marina turned towards the window. — Should I make you a coffee?
— Please.
In the kitchen, the coffee machine started, and she watched the thin stream of espresso. She had one thought: it can’t be. Not Violeta. Not Andrei. Just a coincidence. The alarm. Of course, the alarm.
The phone vibrated. SMS from Violeta: “Hi! How’s the mood before the big day? I’ll pick up the flowers at 12, as we agreed.”
Marina typed her reply: “Thanks! What was up with the alarm last night?”
Three minutes. Violeta types. Deletes. Types again.
“What alarm?”
The coffee overflowed from the cup.
The anniversary of her own company — it’s like a wedding, only worse. At a wedding, you worry only about yourself. Here — for two hundred people, including investors from Germany.
Marina checked the list in her notebook. A checkmark next to each item, except for one. “The company video — Andrei is editing it.”
— Marina, I spoke with the florists, — Violeta entered the office without knocking. As usual. — The white roses are being replaced with cream ones; they didn’t have enough. Is that okay?
— It’s okay.
Marina looked at her friend. New lipstick. Too bright for the office. And the blouse… Marina remembered that blouse perfectly. Violeta had bought it last year and said: “He will like it.” Only Violeta didn’t have a husband.
— What’s wrong? — Violeta sat on the edge of the desk. So close that Marina could smell her perfume. A new, expensive scent.
— I’m just tired. Three days left.
— Come on, don’t be like that! You have everything under control. You’re a genius at organizing. — Violeta lightly patted her shoulder. — By the way, is Andrei almost done with the video?
— Almost.
— You have a wonderful husband. I could use one like him.
A cold shiver passed through her stomach. Marina smiled:
— Violeta, can you stop by the bank? To withdraw money for the waiters’ tips.
— Sure! How much?
— Thirty thousand. You know the PIN.
Violeta nodded and left smiling. Marina waited five minutes and dialed a number.
— Bank security? I’d like to temporarily block my card. Yes, suspected fraud.
The detective wasn’t like in the movies. No trench coat or hat. A regular guy in jeans, looking more like an IT guy.
— Two days for everything, — he said, looking at the photos on her phone. — The fee — fifty thousand. Half now.
— And what if you don’t succeed?
— I will succeed. I have a team building on Saturday; I don’t have time to waste.
Marina handed him the money. The new bills rustled, just like her future plans.
— And one more thing, — the detective said, putting the money in his backpack. — Are you sure you want to know?
— Yes.
— Sometimes people think they want to know. Then they regret it.
— I’m not one of them.
He nodded:
— Good. I’ll send the first part tomorrow evening.
Marina left the café. In the parking lot was Violeta’s car. Empty. Marina walked past it and saw a man’s jacket on the back seat. Gray with stripes. Andrei had one exactly like it.
Or maybe it was actually Andrei’s.
— Mom, you’re kind of weird, — Costel said while pushing his food with a fork. — It’s bad again.
— Eat what you’re given.
— Dad, tell her something!
Andrei looked up from his phone:
— Marina, you really put too much salt.
— Sorry. I was lost in thought.
— For the anniversary? — he set the phone aside. Face down. Like in the morning. — Look, I’ll stay late tomorrow. I’ll finish the video; I want it to be wow.
— Are you finishing it with Violeta?
Silence. Costel stopped chewing. Andrei blinked:
— What does Violeta have to do with it?
— She helps you with the organization. Maybe she can help with the video too.
— Oh, no. I can manage on my own. — He picked up the phone again. — Costel, finish eating and get to your homework.
Marina was washing the dishes. Plate. Another plate. Fork. Knife. Can you cut not only meat with a knife but also fate? Silly thoughts.
The phone buzzed. SMS from the detective: “Tomorrow at 3 PM, the café on Sădovei Street.”
From Costel’s room, she could hear him whispering — he was learning a poem. About autumn. About how everything dies. Marina wiped her hands and went to help him. A normal mother, on a normal evening.
— The bank said someone tried to withdraw money from the blocked card, — Marina stirred sugar into her coffee. Slowly. Calmly.
Violeta tensed:
— Oh, I… I think I typed the wrong code. You know I have trouble with numbers.
— I know. That’s why I was surprised. You know that code by heart.
— I stressed out about the anniversary.
— I understand.
Marina sipped her coffee. Violeta fidgeted nervously in her chair. Then she suddenly stood up:
— I have to run. The flowers!
— Sure. Go.
After the door closed, Marina took the phone. She opened Violeta’s Instagram. The last photo — two hours ago. A selfie from the car. Description: “Getting ready for an important day.” In the rearview mirror, a man’s hand was on the steering wheel. A watch on his wrist. A Swiss watch that Marina had given to Andrei last New Year.
The café on Sădovei Street was almost empty. The detective was drinking an Americano and browsing a tablet.
— Take a seat. Should we start with the good news or the bad news?
— Let’s start with the bad news, — Marina said, sitting down. — I want to know everything.
The detective nodded, slid a few images on the tablet, and showed her one. It was a photo taken last night in an underground parking lot. Andrei. Violeta. They were kissing. Not hurriedly. Not by accident. Long, deep, with their hands entwined like two wires of electric current melting together.
Marina felt her stomach contract. But she didn’t cry. She just blinked.
— Next, — she said shortly.
— This is from this morning, — the detective continued. — They entered together into a rented apartment behind the industrial hall on Calea Fabricii. He had a backpack with your company’s label. She was holding a bag of food.
— Did they stay long?
— Two hours. They came out laughing. Got into the same car. His.
— And he told me he was working on the video…
— Now for the good part, — the detective said, pulling out a USB stick. — Here’s everything. Photos, videos, even an audio recording. If you want to destroy him, you have everything you need.
Marina took it. The stick was small, black, cold. Like the truth.
— I want to destroy it, but not like that, — she said, calm. — I’ll do it at the party. In front of everyone.
The detective smiled briefly:
— Ma’am, it’s going to be a show.
Three days later.
The party was in full swing. Lights, applause, toasts. Marina walked on stage, to applause, with a cold elegance. Her hair perfectly styled, a white dress like a declaration of war.
— Dear colleagues, — she said, — before we start the anniversary film, I would like to show you something special. A surprise video edited by my husband. With the help of my best friend.
Silence fell.
She pressed play.
On the screen appeared Andrei and Violeta. First laughing. Then kissing. Then entering the apartment. A recording of Violeta whispering: “I can’t wait for him to leave for Germany, so it’s just us.”
The next minutes were silent. The guests’ faces spoke instead of the sound.
When the screen went dark, Marina raised the microphone:
— Now, let’s raise a glass. For courage. And for a new beginning.
Then she turned, took her son by the hand, and left the room. Under the gaze of everyone. Including Andrei, who had nothing left to say.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
