“Lena, there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lydia, a fellow assistant teacher and the closest Lena had to a friend in Moscow, called out from the faculty room.

Lena walked in and exchanged a cheek kiss with her. “What’s the urgency?”

“This afternoon’s classes are cancelled. Something to do with urgent electricity work or pest extermination.”

“Ugh. What kind of pest?” Lena asked.

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you and I are as free as butterflies on this beautiful day. So, we can either go to the library and finish our conference papers or head to the movies. Your call.”

“What’s playing this week?”

“No idea. But I’m sure we can find something watchable.” Lydia’s eyes brimmed with excitement. It looked like she did have a preference, after all.

“I’d rather go to the library,” Lena started, but seeing how Lydia’s face fell, she aborted her teasing. “Just kidding! Let’s go to the movies. I’d love to see a dumb comedy.”

It would do her good, she thought, take her mind off yesterday’s talk with Rob. And that kiss . . .

Lydia grinned. “How about lunch first? I’m starving.”

They went to a nearby eatery and ordered their food. As usual, the conversation turned to conference papers, teaching assignments, and evil Professors.

“Some days I’m convinced Professor Semyonov is the devil himself,” Lydia said, biting into her hamburger. She continued with a deep-seated albeit hamburger-tempered ire. “He’sh sho shnobbish and mean!”

Lena tried not to smile. Lydia’s expressive face kept switching between anger and gastronomic bliss. The latter prevailed, and halfway through her meal, Lydia wiped her mouth with a napkin, sat back and let out a satisfied sigh.

“I hear yours is nice—lucky you,” she said.

“She’s super busy and forgetful, and she regularly stands me up. But when I do see her, she’s terribly helpful,” Lena said.

“Oh, by the way, did you hear the latest?”

Lena smiled. “Probably not. Tell me.”

“The institute received a large donation. Apparently anonymous.” Lydia gave her a funny look.

“Oh,” was all Lena managed to say.

Lydia leaned in. “I hope you realize that . . . there are people—like me, for example—who’ve been assistants for ages, slaving for thankless professors, and waiting for the title. You’re a rookie by comparison.”

When Lena didn’t reply, Lydia drove her point home. “We both know that our dean and the board can be swayed with other arguments than merit and length of “servitude.” And we both know that your dad is in a position to sway them. I just hope you wouldn’t let him do that.”

“It couldn’t be him,” Lena finally said. “He gave me his word. I’ll ask him, of course, but I’m sure it’s someone else.”

“But you have applied for the title, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t want any special treatment. No way. I’d rather drop out of the race than let my dad “buy” me the title.”

Lena squirmed, her discomfort growing by the second. Her rapport with Lydia had until now been one of easy camaraderie promising to grow into a friendship.

But this conversation changed it, poisoned it somehow.

She dug her nails into her palms as she felt the familiar urge to leave, get away, spare herself the unpleasantness of a broken relationship.

But she wouldn’t, she decided. Not this time.

* * *

The following morning Lena woke up early, even though it was Saturday and she didn’t have to rush anywhere. Dmitry was still asleep. She was feeling pleased with herself, and deservedly so. Last night after the movie, she had talked to Anton and managed to convince him to keep supporting Anastasia. He had initially balked, but thanks to Anna’s deft intervention, he ended up agreeing to a compromise: He would keep on paying but he’d slash the amount by half. She also asked him about the donation, and he vehemently denied having had anything to do with it.

The other reason for Lena’s good mood was the way she had handled the situation with Lydia. Lena replayed the previous night’s outing in her mind and gave herself a mental pat on the back for not having bailed. After the film, they parted on good terms, in spite of some residual tension. She was hoping that with time she could get her relationship with Lydia back on track. It wasn’t like she had tons of other buddies. Come to think of it, Jeanne was her only friend, not counting Anna who was halfway between a parent and a sister.

Even though Lena didn’t see Jeanne very often, their friendship survived and thrived. They e-mailed, texted, and phoned each other regularly. They saw each other when Lena and Dmitry traveled to France, Switzerland, or Italy. Their latest meeting dated back only a couple of months when Jeanne had visited Lena in Moscow. During that visit Jeanne had demanded that Lena stop boycotting Paris.

“What’s the deal with you and Paris? You travel all over Europe with your husband. When you fly to France, you go straight to Bordeaux or Cannes or Lyon. Now you’re suggesting we meet in Brussels this summer. You’re circling Paris but won’t set foot there. Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I fell out of love with Paris. In spite of what Parisians think of their city, it isn’t the center of the world.”

“Fair enough, but I’m not buying it. I know why you won’t come to Paris, and I’m telling you to get over it. It’s all in the past now. Water under the Pont Neuf. It’s been almost three years since you last graced our capital!”

“Shocking.”

“I mean it, and I demand that you cease this self-banishment immediately. You can stay with me if you come by yourself. If you come with Dmitry, well, you should be able to find a hotel or two in our shabby old town.”

Lena had promised to think about it, but after her encounter with Rob, she doubted she’d be going to Paris anytime soon. She knew she was being irrational. Paris was a big city, and the risk of running into Rob there was negligible. But she didn’t want to take that risk.

She got up and began to cook breakfast like she did every morning. Today it would be pancakes with maple syrup—Canadian style. She was beating eggs by the stove when Dmitry walked into the kitchen. They exchanged greetings, and he sat at the kitchen table. Lena was a little surprised he didn’t kiss her on the cheek as usual. She glanced at him over her shoulder and immediately sensed that something was off. He looked tired and determined at the same time, his gaze fixed on his mug.

“I hope you’re in the mood for pancakes,” she said brightly.

“Are you seeing someone, Lena?” he asked, his voice even, as if he were inquiring about her afternoon plans.

She put the batter aside and turned to face him. Judging by the cold and expectant look on his face, she hadn’t misheard him.

“No, I’m not,” she said and then asked in her turn, “Are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately—he just sat there staring at his mug. As the seconds passed, she began to feel nausea rising in her stomach. She had asked her question without thinking, almost as a joke—a kind of childish retaliation for his asking her. Dmitry would never cheat on her. But then why wasn’t he just saying no, like she had done? Why wasn’t he saying anything at all?

After a few long seconds, he took a hearty sip from his mug, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Yes I am. I’ve been seeing someone . . . for four months now.”

The kitchen began to spin around her. She grabbed the back of a chair, then sat down.

He rubbed his chin. “It started out of frustration with our sex life . . . desperation, you could say.”

Lena closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Her doting husband, her rock couldn’t be saying these things to her. Maybe this man wasn’t Dmitry but a stranger who looked exactly like him.

He spoke again. “Then it grew into something more serious. I couldn’t help going back to her because she wanted me so much . . . because of how happy I made her.”

He exhaled loudly and continued. “But you didn’t seem to notice any of it—my longer hours at work, my new fishing hobby, not even when I stopped begging you for sex. I thought maybe you knew what was going on, but chose to keep appearances to save our marriage. Only that theory had a major flaw—you’re too candid to pull off an act like that. And that’s when I began to wonder if you too had a lover.”

There was an edge to Dmitry’s voice that Lena had never heard before. He had paused his confession, and stared at her, but she just stared back. She needed more time to collect her thoughts and to quell her nausea.

“Lena, we haven’t made love in six months, and it’s not like we’d been at it like bunnies before. I’ve lost count of your excuses. We live like two flatmates or eighty-year-olds. And it’s not just the sex. You’re aloof. You don’t share much with me. I’m not sure you even like being around me.”

“Wait a second,” she said, recovering a little. “You’ve been seeing another woman for months, and you were just . . . waiting and wondering why I didn’t notice? Why didn’t you just tell me that you didn’t love me anymore?”

“Because I didn’t not love you anymore!” His voice was no longer calm. “I was confused. I was unhappy. But I still loved you.”

He paused, searching her eyes. “You do all these things for me. You make me breakfast, cook dinner, buy me little presents, but you do all that out of duty, out of some notion of perfect wifeliness that you have. And also out of guilt, I think. You’re telling me, ‘You can’t have my heart, but here, have these delicious pancakes instead—I made them specially for you!’ ”

Dmitry fell silent and looked at her expectantly. But Lena couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge the bitter truth of his words. Not even with a nod.

“Who is she?” she asked instead.

“You don’t know her. I met her through work. She’s my age, a single mom with a five-year-old. He’s a great kid. She’d love to have a second one. Can you imagine how I feel every time Aliona asks me to make her a baby? When my own wife has only been finding excuses not to? Can’t you see what it does to a man who craves for a child to know that his wife doesn’t want the same thing? At least not with him.”

Lena began to choke. Her heart beat so wildly she had to cough to help her breathing. She needed more air. More space.

“I can’t stay here,” she wheezed, and rushed for the door.

* * *

Lena checked her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath, and her cheeks were hollow. Well, that’s what three days of crying and neglecting to eat did to you. She put her eyeglasses on and headed down the corridor toward the dean’s office. It was no small feat to have found the energy to haul herself to the institute this morning, after the dean’s secretary called her.

“The dean will receive you now,” the secretary said. She bared her teeth in lieu of a smile, stood up from behind her desk, and sashayed to the door leading to the adjacent office.

As Lena stepped into the pompous office, she couldn’t help admiring the secretary for her ability to walk in shoes that were higher than they were long.

The dean looked up from his paperwork and nodded to Lena. “Please, come in and take a seat. I asked you to stop by because I have good news for you. The board reviewed your application and okayed it. They were impressed by the number of your publications, by the way. And so was I.”

A week earlier, she would have been overjoyed to hear this. Now she felt sick to her stomach. “Does the board’s decision have anything to do with the recent donation?”

“The donation was anonymous, Ms. Malakhova.” He gave her a long look and pointed to the door. “My secretary will see you out.”

Lena nodded and headed for the door. There wasn’t much else to say, was there? She would probably never know the truth about the donation, but somehow it didn’t matter. If her dad had made it, in the hope that the board would connect the dots, it was out of a misguided attempt to help her. After all these years, she’d gotten used to his misguided gestures of love—almost expected them.

But even if it wasn’t him, her docent title would be marred by suspicion in everyone’s eyes. Including hers.

She dragged herself home and changed back into her pajamas. At two in the afternoon, she was still in bed, fully awake but unable to get up and face the day. Her phone rang. She didn’t answer it. It rang again and again. Whoever was calling clearly knew Lena was home. She tumbled out of the bed and picked up the phone.

“Finally. I knew you were there. What’s going on?” Anna asked.

“Nothing, I’m just feeling a little under the weather.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve known you for three years now, and I know that when you feel a little under the weather you don’t disappear for days and not return my calls. And where’s Dmitry, by the way?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? And why doesn’t anyone pick up when I call in the evening? I tried both your cellphones, but it’s like you and your husband suddenly went undercover. If you hadn’t left that voice mail two days ago, I would have broken into your apartment!”

Anna paused for breath. “Lena, what is going on?”

“Please, Anna, don’t worry. I’m fine. Really. I just need some time by myself.”

“Well, too bad. Because I’m on your doorstep so you have to let me in.”

The doorbell rang, making Lena jump. Crap. She’d no time to change out of her pajamas.

“Hang on a minute!” she yelled and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. After that, she pulled her hair into a bun, and let Anna, now pregnant with her second child, in.

Her stepmother quickly took in the neglected state of the apartment and of its occupant, and headed to the kitchen. “I’m going to make us some tea. Why don’t you take a shower in the meantime, sweetheart?”

“Oh God, do I smell?” Lena tugged at her pajama top to sniff it.

“No, not yet.”

Fifteen minutes later they sat at Lena’s kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of each and a plate with cookies Anna must have brought with her. This was one of the things Lena loved about Anna—her ability to create warmth and a safe haven around her.

“How’s Katia? How’s Dad? I texted him yesterday to tell him I was fine and not to worry.”

“I know. What I don’t know is if you really expected it to work. I can assure you that if he wasn’t at the other end of the country right now, he would have been here since Sunday night, camping outside your door,” Anna replied.

Lena smiled. The image of her dad in a sleeping bag on her landing was improbable, given his aversion to camping. But also likely, knowing how mulish he could be.

Anna pushed a cookie in front of Lena. “Eat. This is just to make sure you can walk home with me to get a proper meal. So, where’s Dmitry?”

“We broke up. I’ll be filing for a divorce.”

Anna’s squeezed Lena’s hand, her gaze full of sympathy. But she didn’t look shocked at the news. Not even surprised.

“Did you know about his mistress?” Lena asked, incredulous.

Now Anna looked surprised. “Dmitry had a mistress? I had no idea. To be honest, I always thought it would be you who’d end up leaving him . . . How long have you known?”

“I found out last Saturday. He’s been seeing her for four months now.”

Anna squeezed Lena’s hand again. “My poor darling!”

“Anna, I’m not heartbroken, believe me. I have been before—and this is not it.”

Lena took a long sip of her tea. It was fragrant and unexpectedly comforting. She focused on how it warmed her body. “I’m angry at my . . . arrogant blindness. I was so wrapped up in myself and so sure of his devotion, I missed all the telltale signs of an affair he wasn’t even trying to hide.”

Anna put her hand on Lena’s. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Dmitry was such an exemplary husband—it’s no surprise you didn’t see it coming!”

“I appreciate your solidarity. But here’s the truth—I lived in a house of cards for the past two years, and then it crumbled. It happens to houses of cards a lot . . . I wasn’t a good wife for him, a wife he deserved. My marriage was a lie, Anna, and it wasn’t Dmitry’s fault.”

Lena felt tears well up again and accepted the tissue Anna offered her.

“It’s nothing—just self-pity,” she said as she dried her eyes.

“I know what you need to do. You’re going to move in with us for a little while, so I can look after you properly. And once you’ve regained a healthy weight and complexion, you’ll dedicate all your time and attention to your career. Aren’t you the frontrunner for that docent title?”

Lena sighed. “It’s complicated.” She suddenly felt drained of the little energy she had left, too tired to recount her conversation with the dean to Anna. So she went for the bottom line. “The truth is I’m no longer interested in it. I’m quitting my job.”

“What? But you love translating. You live for translating. You breathe translating.”

“That’s right. That’s exactly right. You see, I’m a translator, not a theoretician. Even the papers I published talk about concrete, practical translation problems. I guess my academic aspirations were as much of a lie as my marriage.”

“What will you do then?” Anna’s voice cracked, telling Lena her stepmother meant more than just career choices.

“That’s the thing,” Lena said, looking up from her now empty mug. “I wish I knew.”

* * *

As soon as Anton and Anna were out the door, Lena crawled back under the sheets. A month after the breakdown of her marriage and her career, she still spent way too much time in bed. In her more optimistic moments, she tried to look to the future, to pick herself up. But her life was scattered in so many pieces, the enormity of the task paralyzed her every time.

On top of that, she grew increasingly uneasy about her last conversation with Dmitry. She regretted the things she’d said and the things she hadn’t. When she returned home on that fateful Saturday, after having aimlessly wandered the streets for several hours, Dmitry was gone. He’d left her a note saying he was sorry about how things had ended between them.

She was sorry, too. It was a strange kind of sorry—the kind that blended grieving, remorse and relief. As for her anger about his affair, it was completely gone. After all, how could she blame him for having opened his heart to another woman, when she’d never opened hers to him?

On an impulse, she grabbed her phone and typed a text.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took a fortifying breath and pushed send.

He replied ten minutes later.

She could.

Dmitry showed up in jeans and a T-shirt. He had grown a neat beard that made him look different. More virile and older. It suited him.

“Where do you live now?” she asked after the maître d’ led them to their table.

“I’m renting a two-bedroom in Zamosvorechye,” he said before adding in reply to her unspoken question, “with Aliona.”

She smiled and wrung her hands. It wasn’t easy to find the right words.

He studied her face. “I found a job with a company that has nothing to do with IT services. So Anton shouldn’t worry I’d leak any insider info.”

“He isn’t worried. He’s convinced of your integrity.”

Dmitry nodded before adding, “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, he was never convinced of my suitability as your husband.”

It was hard to argue with that.

“Well, time proved him right,” Dmitry said with a smirk.

“I guess he knows me better than I do,” she said.

Dmitry gave her a long look. “So, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

She stared into his eyes. “That I’m sorry.”

“I was the one having an affair, as far as I recall . . .”

“And I was the one to practically push you into it. I had no right to walk out on you that morning, as if I was the only wronged side.”

He shifted slightly in his seat, then rubbed his face. His eyes remained trained on her.

Lena drew in a heavy breath. “I’m truly, profoundly sorry for having wasted two years of your life.”

“It was your life, too.”

“Yes, but the blame for our failed marriage is mine alone. I want you to know that I can see it now.”

Dmitry gave her a tired smile. “I don’t think the blame is only yours, Lena.”

She shook her head. “The truth is, I haven’t done much to make our marriage work. You tried so hard for so long, but I didn’t. I cared for you, and I wanted to love you, but I . . . wouldn’t let go of my past. I didn’t do what it took to empty my heart, so I could give it to you.”

“My dear, it’s a delusion to believe you can “empty” your heart at will. With hindsight, I don’t even understand why I accepted to live like that. Why I hid from this truth you’re talking about. I should have known better . . .” He shrugged. “Love, as they say, makes us stupid.”

“Blind,” she corrected automatically.

“Thank you.” He smiled before becoming serious again. “Had I not been in denial about your feelings for me when we married, or had I asked you a year later, we could’ve cut our losses.”

“Had you asked, I would have told you how much I cared for you, so I don’t see—”

“But you wouldn’t have told me you were in love with me.” He tilted his head and paused, giving her a chance to disagree.

She didn’t.

He exhaled slowly, looking tired. “You’ve never told me that. You’ve never told me you dreamed of me, or wanted sex with me, or wanted my baby.”

She turned her head away as her eyes began to well up with tears.

He spoke again. “I appreciate this . . . initiative, and the intention behind it. I do. But you’re definitely not the only one to blame.”

“Are you in love with Aliona?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I wish with all my heart you’ll be happy with her.”

“I am.” He suddenly grinned. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good it feels to be with a woman who’s mad about you.”

* * *

That night Lena went to her desk and logged in her Facebook account, for the first time since her meeting with Rob in April. She checked out his personal page. He hadn’t updated it in months. She went to his company page and learned that they’d successfully shipped their first big order, then a second one, and then a third. The company was flooded by new orders from all over the world. The page contained dozens of links to rave reviews in the French and international press. She opened and read every one of them.

Next, she went to Amanda’s page. After some scrolling she found what she was looking for—and dreading. It was an update posted in early May.

She stared at that post for over an hour, until her eyes hurt and her head began to pound.