Abandoned in the Cold

“Here are clothes and food for a week. I’m flying off on vacation with my mistress, and I’m taking the children with me.”

With that, my husband tossed a bag onto the snow-covered porch of the old dacha. He never imagined what awaited him at the airport

The temperature had dropped to minus fifteen. Snow crunched underfoot. The air burned my lungs. This house sat fifty kilometers from the city—no neighbors, no transport, no signal. The perfect place to erase a wife.

A Calculated Goodbye

I stood in an old jacket, gripping a folder of documents. I watched as he unloaded damp firewood and a sack of grain from the trunk. He moved fast. Too fast. As if staying near me for even a minute terrified him.

“I changed the locks!” he shouted from the car. “You’re not coming back!”

The children sat silently in the back seat. They didn’t look at me. He had already told them his version of the story.

Then the SUV lurched forward. Tires spun in loose snow. Within seconds, the car vanished between the pines, leaving only tracks and exhaust behind.

I watched him go.

And I smiled.

What He Never Noticed

My husband missed one crucial detail.

That night, while he slept, I opened his travel bag. I rearranged everything carefully. I slipped an empty folder inside—and took the rest with me.

His passport. His money. His cards.

Everything.

Waiting for the Call

Hours passed. Snowfall thickened. I lit the stove. I made tea. I waited.

The phone rang late that evening.

“Where are you?!” he shouted. His voice shook with panic. “Where are my documents?!”

Behind him, I heard airport announcements. I heard the frantic whisper of his mistress.

“What documents?” I asked calmly.

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

He was almost screaming.

Airport Reality Sets In

I pictured the scene clearly. The check-in counter. His confusion. The mistress holding her ticket, expression cold and distant.

She gets through.

He doesn’t.

“Has your mistress already passed security?” I asked.

Silence followed.

That silence was perfect.

“She’s flying alone,” he finally hissed. “And you—where are you?!”

The Final Answer

I looked at the dark window. Snow fell quietly outside.

“That’s none of your business,” I replied. “The documents are right where you left me.”

Then I paused.

“If you want them, come and get them. Otherwise, they’re probably soaking in the snow by now.”

I hung up.

Justice doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes, it waits—patiently—in the cold.