Dinner with a Surprise, or How a Spoon Became a Weapon

Irina set the table with spoons, forks, knives, and checked once again that everything was in its proper place. Everything was perfect, just like in a restaurant. “But Gena wouldn’t even notice,” she thought with a self-amused smirk under her breath. He used to like it when everything was done with common sense. Now—it seems he doesn’t care anyway.

“But I will notice,” Irina thought, shifting her plate slightly to the left.

The door slammed. Gennady entered, still wearing his coat as if he had planned to dine in that very state. His gaze swept past her—he didn’t even notice her. Like a piece of furniture, out of habit, he no longer paid her any attention.

“You’re late again,” Irina stated. Her voice was even, but her fingers gripped the spoon so hard it looked like it might break at any moment.

“Work,” he grumbled as he removed his coat and hung it on some strange rack. It seemed that next time he might even hang his tie on the radiator.

“Work at eight in the evening. On a Friday,” she smirked, forcing herself to smile. “Okay, sit down. The goulash is ready.”

Gennady sat. Yet he did not reach for his plate. He took a deep breath, and Irina felt something twist inside her.

“Ira, we need to talk.”

About what?” she attempted to keep her voice as calm as possible, but something in those words trembled.

“I… I’ve met someone else.”

Silence. The spoon she was holding trembled in her hand. Yet it did not fall. Remarkable.

“Congratulations,” she managed to choke out. “And how long have you been seeing her?”

“Three months.”

“Three months,” she repeated, like an echo. “And here I thought that gray hair was from stress. Turns out—it was from happiness.”

Gennady frowned.

“Don’t be sarcastic. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, of course! You just wanted to live a double life, while I was here on Fridays preparing goulash, immersed in pure idiocy. Don’t even ask where you’re going.”

Gennady abruptly stood up, the chair clattering to the floor.

“Enough! I’m not going to put up with this!”

“Put up with it?” Irina jumped to her feet, coming right up to him. “You didn’t put up with it. You lied. For three months. Every single day.”

Before she realized it, having raised the spoon, she struck a crystal glass with it. The glass shattered, its fragments scattering like the remnants of their marriage.

“That’s it! Enough!” Gennady roared.

“Yes, enough,” Irina whispered. “But this is only the beginning.”

Restaurant Destruction, or Who Outplays Whom

The restaurant was pretentious, expensive, with dimmed lights and waiters pretending not to hear the loud conversations. Irina sat opposite Gennady and his new toy—Milena, studying her like an object of research.

Young, of course. Makeup like everyone’s, cheap watches on her wrist, and a gaze full of dignity. Clearly, she was now the main queen in his life.

“So that’s what you’re like,” Irina said, taking a swig of wine.

“I… didn’t expect us to meet like this,” Milena stammered in her chair, but quickly pulled herself together.

“And I expected it,” Irina sneered. “You’re even attractive. It’s just that all your virtues end at your face.”

Gennady choked.

“Irina! Enough!”

“Oh, so you’re defending her?” Irina leaned forward, as if only missing the shout of “war!”—“Milena, did he tell you that we have a joint bank account? That if anything happens, he’ll be left with empty pockets because, in case of a divorce, his entire family ends up without a penny?”

Milena turned pale, like a mobile screen after the rain.

“What?”

“Oh, he didn’t say?” Irina made an innocent face, though that familiar spark was already dancing in her eyes: “Of course, why go into such details. It doesn’t matter.”

Gennady sprang up, his anger spilling onto the table as if he were about to break more plates.

“You’re lying!”

“Shall we check?” Irina pulled out her phone as if summoning spirits for judgment. “How about I call my lawyer?”

Milena abruptly stood up.

“I… I need to go.”

“Now?” Irina pouted, pursing her lips playfully. “I thought we’d order dessert. Maybe I’m mistaken, and you’re in too much of a hurry.”

Milena grabbed her purse and practically ran out, as if someone had grabbed her by the tail.

Gennady remained silent, his eyes darting between Milena and Irina.

“You… you ruined everything!”

“No, dear. You did.”

Cold Calculation, or Who Laughs Last

Documents lay on the table, as is customary in the nastiest of scenes. Gennady was tossing them about with such rage that one could see his face darkening with anger.

“You… you set everything up from the very start?”

Irina sat across from him, calm, as though she were completely unfazed by what was happening.

“No. I was simply prepared.”

“This contract… you signed it a year ago on purpose!”

“Of course. When you were late for work once again,” Irina added with irony.

He flung the documents. They scattered across the table like his last hope.

“I won’t sign this!”

“Then court. And you’ll end up not only penniless but also in debt.”

Gennady grabbed her hand.

“You loved me!”

“Yes. And you?” she tore her hand away. “Sign it and leave.”

The Finale, or A New Life for the Old Irina

A week later he came. Without a call, without any warning.

“Ira…”

She opened the door, but wouldn’t let him in.

“Did you forget something?”

“I… I was wrong.”

“Too late.”

“Let’s try again!”

Irina laughed, as if to show that laughter was her main response to it all.

“Again? Are you serious?”

“I love you!”

“No. You just realized that Milena loved only your money. And now, there isn’t any.”

She slammed the door shut. Outside, the rain began to fall.

Feminine Revenge, or When the Fall Becomes a Beginning

The rain drummed on the windowsill as Irina sat at the table, sorting through papers. Contracts, letters, memos—these were all that remained of Gennady’s once brilliant career. She savored the scent of fresh paper that carried a hint of something elusive—a taste of victory, of betrayal, and everything else she rightly considered hers. All that was left were the disruptive calls and responses asking, “When will you finally get what you deserve?” She had long since memorized them.

“Hello, Sergey Petrovich? Yes, this is Irina. No, I’m not bothering you… I just wanted to warn you: the audit you planned for Gennady’s company is better done unannounced. Yes, I heard there are… inconsistencies.” she said, fixing her hair. This was not just a consultation—it was a prophecy of ruin.

After hanging up, she looked out the window. A slight smile played on her lips, as if she had already won the battle without so much as lifting a finger.

Two weeks later, Gennady stood before the closed office doors. Dismissal. Without any severance pay. With a hint of a possible criminal case. Everything he had once dreamed of was slipping away like water through sand. He pulled out his phone and, despite his pride, decided to call Milena.

“Hello?” her voice was as cold as an iceberg on a polar night.

“Milena, it’s me… I need help,” he said, not believing his own words.

“Oh, Gena, you know I’m very busy right now…” she didn’t even try to hide her indifference.

“But you said you loved me!” His voice turned hollow, as if he had returned to the emptiness.

“You did love me. When you had money,” she replied, not disguising her mockery.

Gennady looked at the phone in dismay, feeling his heart break. Silence. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and, for the first time in many years, felt as though the ground was slipping away beneath him.

Irina observed this spectacle with cold detachment. Through acquaintances, social media, random leaks. She knew that Gennady was spending nights in a cheap hotel. That his expensive watch had gone under the hammer. And that Milena had long been with someone else. Only now, the story was hers, not his.

She stepped out into the rain, with droplets running down her cheeks. Irina walked confidently, with that look that left no doubt. She stopped beside him as he sat on a wet park bench, wearing an expression as if he were still waiting for someone to rise from his knees and say, “Don’t worry, everything will be alright.” But nothing came.

“So, hero?” Irina stood before him, looking down.

Gennady lifted his head, and his eyes held a desperate plea.

“Are you… satisfied?” his voice was hollow, mismatched with his state.

“No,” Irina replied almost indifferently, with a slight shrug. “I’m not satisfied. I’m not going to rejoice at seeing your fall. I did this so that you’d understand.” She paused, giving time for the words to sink into his mind.

“What?” Gennady could not understand.

“That I could have destroyed you. But I didn’t.”

She frowned and, without looking at his face, tossed an envelope onto his lap. “This is a letter of recommendation. And a ticket to Sochi. There, you will find work. Not as glamorous, but honest.”

Gennady, as if in slow motion, opened the envelope. Doubt flickered in his eyes; he could hardly believe that she had truly done this.

“Why?” he asked, still in disbelief at what was happening.

“Because I’m not you.” Irina looked at him with concealed pride and turned away to leave.

“Ira!” Gennady jumped up, catching her and grabbing her hand. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” Irina freed her hand as if he were nothing more than a petty nuisance. “Just remember: I could have left you with nothing. But I spared you. Not because I love you, but because I am better.” Without looking back, she left with the pride of a victor, while he remained standing, clutching the envelope that did nothing to save him from reality.

The rain grew heavier, just as his realization deepened that all this time he had been trapped. And she—Irina—was the only person who had truly seen him. But now it was too late.

She left. And he remained, burning his last hopes of redemption.