Irina

Irina once dreamed of a peaceful family happiness. Alexander was the embodiment of her hopes — sensitive, reliable, loyal. Everything changed with the arrival of her younger sister, Katerina, who was bold and bright, and extremely free for her twenties. The house was filled with life and a light breeze of carelessness. Katerina often stayed up late: wearing headphones, with a glass of wine, barefoot on the cold floor. Alexander smiled at her antics, Irina didn't pay attention.

"Aren't you cold?" Irina asked once when Katerina walked past her in the hallway barefoot.
"On the contrary, this is how life feels," Katerina grinned, shaking her long hair.
Alexander gave his wife's sister a warm look:
"With Katya, it's always spring in the house," he said.

One night Irina woke up laughing. Walking into the kitchen, I heard the splash of water. She saw them through the half-open bathroom door. The white tiles were thick with air, the light hurt my eyes. Katerina hugged Alexander, her fingers glistening in the soap suds. Their gazes intertwined— he was scared, she was defiantly calm.

— Irina... Alexander mouthed it.
Katerina did not look away, but let out a light, convulsive breath:
—I'm sorry.
Irina's stomach dropped. She stood in silence for a long time, then quietly closed the door. Not a single unnecessary scene.

In the morning, while packing, Irina met Alexander on the doorstep.

"Are you leaving?" His voice was muffled and strained.
—Yes,— she replied simply.
He tried to find the right words, but couldn't find any.

Katerina was caught off guard at the door.

— Irisha... My sister whispered softly, her eyes were red.
Irina looked straight at him, calmly:
— Honesty also sometimes looks like betrayal.

Outside the door, Irina was greeted by a burgeoning world, smelling of betrayal and freedom. She had neither a sister nor a husband left—only the freedom to be herself for the first time, and a strange relief.