It was -15 degrees. The snow crunched beneath my boots, and the cold air sliced through my lungs. This dacha, fifty kilometers from the city—isolated, with no neighbors, no transport, no communication—was the perfect place to get rid of me.

I stood there in an old jacket, holding a folder of documents, silently watching as he rushed to unload a bundle of damp firewood and a sack of grain from the trunk. He moved quickly, nervously—as if afraid to be near me a second longer than necessary.

“I changed the locks on the apartment! You won’t be able to come home,” he shouted from the car.

The children sat quietly in the backseat. They didn’t look at me. They had already been told—at least, in their own way.

The black SUV drove off, its tires spinning in the soft snow. The vehicle slowly disappeared around the bend, leaving behind only tire tracks and the lingering scent of exhaust.

I watched it vanish into the distance—and smiled. He had no idea what surprise awaited him at the airport. 😲🤔

What my husband didn’t realize was that, while he slept soundly the night before, I opened his duffel bag. I rearranged its contents with careful precision, replacing them with an empty folder. I took everything—his passport, his money, his cards—and left him with nothing.

Hours passed. The snow fell harder. I lit the stove, made myself tea, and waited. Calmly.

The phone rang late in the evening.

“Where are you?!” My husband’s voice trembled with rage. “Where are my documents?!”

In the background, I could hear the faint noise of the airport—flight announcements and his mistress’ hysterical whispers.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, keeping my tone even.

“There’s NOTHING in the folder! Passport, money, cards—everything’s gone!”

His voice was practically shrieking now. “What have you done?”

I imagined the scene: the confused man at the check-in counter, his lover standing beside him, clutching her ticket with a cold stare. They let her through. Not him.

“Has your lover already cleared security?” I asked, my voice laced with calm satisfaction.

There was silence on the other end. Sweet silence.

“She’s leaving alone,” he hissed. “And you… you’ll regret this. Where are you, anyway?”

I glanced out the window at the snow, falling softly, a serene contrast to the chaos he was enduring.

“It’s none of your business where I am.” I said, letting the words hang in the air. “The documents are where you left me. Come and pick them up. They’re already soaked in the snow.”

And with that, I hung up the phone.