The Plan That Fell Apart

Vika had been waiting for that evening for an entire month.
She’d circled the concert date in red on her calendar, bought two tickets — good ones, center balcony — and had spent the whole week getting ready as if it were a holiday.

A new dress, bought specially for the occasion.
New shoes that matched it perfectly.
A new handbag — modest, elegant, “just right.”
She even went to the salon that morning. The stylist had spent two hours fixing her hair into soft, shimmering waves.

Everything was perfect.

That morning, as she looked at herself in the mirror, Vika thought that even time had taken a step back — she looked ten years younger, happier, lighter. “We’ll finally go out somewhere together,” she thought. “Not just grocery runs and his office calls. A real evening.”

But two hours before the concert, the phone rang.

— “Hello, Matvei Fyodorovich,” her husband Gennady answered, his voice suddenly changing from relaxed to respectful. He looked at Vika with that apologetic expression she already hated. “Really? No kidding! Of course, I’ll come right away. In an hour.”

He hung up and sighed.
— “Alas,” he said with that tone of doomed martyrdom men often reserve for such moments.

“What alas?” Vika thought, her stomach tightening. “You’re not going to tell me we’re canceling, are you?”

Gennady gave her a look that was half-guilt, half-resignation — the look of a man about to make himself seem irreplaceable.

— “Don’t tell me you’ve been called in urgently again,” Vika said, already hearing the answer before it came.

He spread his hands helplessly.
— “You heard it yourself, didn’t you? Matvei Fyodorovich! Personally!” He tapped the phone screen. “He said there’s a problem at the site. Asked me to go fix it.”

— “First of all,” Vika said icily, “I didn’t hear anything. And second, I don’t know if it was him. Maybe it was his young wife, Alla, calling you. Using his phone. Why not?”

— “Vika! What are you saying?” Gennady’s eyes widened in righteous indignation. “What’s she got to do with this? It was him! I swear! There’s a crack in the foundation — at Sector Seven. He needs me there personally.”

“Sector Seven,” Vika thought. “Really? Now we’re naming sectors. He’s adding details. Overexplaining. Suspicious.”

— “And even if that’s true,” she said aloud, “what gives him the right to call you in on a Sunday evening?”

— “I told you, it’s serious. The foundation is cracked. Around the entire perimeter.”

“Perimeter,” she repeated inwardly. “More technical talk. He’s piling it on. The more he explains, the less I believe him.”

— “And they can’t handle it without you?” she asked.

— “I’m the chief engineer,” Gennady replied, puffing up a little. “It’s my responsibility.”

Vika looked at him, her expression turning to stone.
It was always the same: something “urgent,” something “responsible.” And she’d be left alone — in her best dress, with nowhere to go.

— “If you have to, then go,” she said finally, forcing a smile.

— “Are you upset?”

— “Not at all.”

But the words came out brittle, like glass.

He hesitated, knowing she was upset but also knowing there was nothing he could do — or rather, nothing he wanted to do.

— “You have to understand me,” he said, trying to sound important. “It’s the foundation. It’s serious. Without me, everything could collapse.”

“Everything already has,” Vika thought, but she only nodded.

The Brilliant Idea

For a few minutes after he left the room to get ready, she stood by the window, staring out at the dimming city, her mind blank. Then suddenly, something clicked inside her — a small, almost mischievous thought.

“All right,” she said to herself, “go save your foundation. And I’ll go to the concert. Alone.”

That was it. Problem solved.

The dress, the shoes, the hair — none of it would be wasted.

Her mood instantly lifted.
“Life is wonderful,” she thought with a smile. “You can always find a way out.”

When Gennady came back, briefcase in hand, he froze.
— “You’re going to the concert?”

— “Of course,” she said lightly. “Why let the tickets go to waste?”

His expression changed instantly.
— “They won’t go to waste. I’ll give them to my friends.”

— “What friends?”

— “I’m sure someone will want them.”

— “No need,” Vika said calmly. “I’m going.”

— “Without me? Absolutely not.”

Vika blinked. “He won’t let me?”

— “You heard me,” Gennady said, standing taller. “I won’t allow it.”

She stared at him — amused, disbelieving.
“Won’t allow me? In twenty years of marriage he’s never once said that.”

And then, slowly, she understood why.

He wasn’t worried about her going alone. He was worried about something else. Something he didn’t want her to see.

The Real Reason

The truth was simple: Gennady was going to that concert too.
Not to fix foundations — but with Alla, the young wife of his boss, Matvei Fyodorovich.

The whole story about the phone call had been Alla’s invention. She had called Gennady herself from her husband’s phone, lowering her voice to imitate the older man. They’d even rehearsed it. “Just in case,” she’d said with a laugh.

But now, everything was falling apart.
If Vika went, he’d be caught.

He scrambled for an excuse.
— “Because I’m jealous!” he declared suddenly.

Vika’s brows rose. “Jealous? After twenty years? That’s… new.”

— “Yes,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you alone at a concert. Late night, crowds, who knows who might hit on you!”

She folded her arms. “Then I’ll take a friend. Lyusya. She’ll go.”

— “Don’t you dare!” Gennady snapped. “You know what people are like at those events. Especially Lyusya. She just got divorced — she’s probably on the hunt already!”

He heard himself rambling but couldn’t stop. “And I’ll be working all night! Cracks! Problems! And you — at a concert? Maybe we should just get divorced right now!”

That slipped out accidentally.

“Divorced?” Vika thought. “For wanting to go to a concert? Definitely suspicious.”

— “So you’re working all night?” she asked evenly.

— “Yes, all night. Maybe until tomorrow evening. Until we fix everything.”

“Right,” she thought. “A cracked foundation that takes twenty-four hours to fix. Without sleep. Sure.”

But she didn’t argue. She only smiled.

— “Fine. Stay at work. I’ll stay home.”

— “Good girl!” he said, kissing her forehead. “Next weekend, I’ll take you to the circus. To make it up to you.”

She didn’t answer.

The Concert

After Gennady left, Vika sat for a few minutes in silence, trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing. Then the phone rang — it was Lyusya.

— “Vika! You won’t believe it! I got two tickets to the same concert you were talking about! Let’s go together!”

Fate itself had spoken.

Half an hour later, they were on their way.

And fate — being fond of irony — arranged it so that when the lights dimmed and the stage lit up, Vika’s eyes wandered across the rows… and froze.

There he was.
Gennady.

In their seats.
And beside him — Alla.

Young, radiant, in a shimmering dress, laughing at something he whispered in her ear.

Vika sat completely still, her pulse loud in her ears.
“Foundation, huh?” she thought bitterly. “I see the cracks now — not in the concrete.”

She leaned toward Lyusya and whispered, “I’ve just found out where my husband works tonight.”

Lyusya turned, saw them, and immediately understood everything.

The Reckoning

They waited until the concert ended. Then they followed Gennady and Alla out, careful not to be seen.
Lyusya, ever resourceful, suggested they first confirm the facts.

They called Matvei Fyodorovich.

He was at home, watching a TV show, completely unaware of any “foundation problem.”
His young wife, he said, had gone to her mother’s village. For two weeks.

And Gennady? He wasn’t at work at all — his vacation was starting tomorrow.

— “Now we follow them,” Lyusya said. “They’ve rented an apartment somewhere. We’ll find out where, then call Matvei Fyodorovich. But first,” she added, “you pack up your husband’s things.”

By midnight, they’d tracked the “lovebirds” to a rented flat. They waited outside, lights off, until it was clear the couple had gone to sleep. Then Lyusya smiled slyly.

— “Time to make the call.”

Minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Inside, Gennady stirred.
— “Someone’s at the door,” Alla whispered nervously.

— “Don’t worry,” Gennady said, getting up. “I’ll handle it.”

He looked through the peephole.
And froze.

Outside stood his boss — and behind him, his wife.

At that moment, Gennady understood everything.
The foundation hadn’t cracked.
But his life had — all around the perimeter.