Tired of her husband’s infidelities, the wife of a wealthy man replaced his suitcase before his “business trip” to the sea. The mistress would long remember searching for her gift among the clothes.

The bus was unbearably hot; even with hatches and windows open, they did not save the weary passengers from the stifling heat, annoyed by a massive traffic jam. Olga was returning from work, lazily pondering what to cook for dinner. Naturally, her imagination painted exclusive dishes like marbled beef or truffle ravioli. With a sigh, she settled on buckwheat with meat patties, deciding that this choice was no worse.

Sitting by the window, the girl looked at the evening city: it was still light outside, some people hurried on their errands, others strolled in the shade of the alleys, hiding from the heat. A man was walking his dog. “Basset,” Olga noted mechanically. Having worked as a veterinarian for eight years, she could identify the breed of any dog, even by its bark.

A young couple with a stroller passed by. Their baby, not wanting to sit still, stood holding onto the canopy of his transport and grinned toothlessly. Olga sighed sadly—she had been unable to come to terms with her inability to become a mother for five years. She and her husband had visited numerous medical centers, but the cause of the infertility remained undetermined. Pushing away heavy thoughts, the girl noticed a loving couple—a tall, slim man and a plump blonde, unabashedly merged in a passionate kiss.

“So sweet,” Olga thought, enviously in a good way. Being in her eighth year of marriage, she barely remembered what it was like to lose her head in love and, forgetting about decency, give in to her feelings.

Finally, the man pulled away from his beloved, who, tilting her head with a snub nose, burst out laughing, not letting him go. He turned his head towards the road, and Olga almost screamed in surprise—it was her husband Anton.

Confused, the woman looked around and realized that she could not get off the overcrowded bus stuck in traffic. Looking out the window again, she saw her husband, hugging the blonde around the waist, helping her into a taxi. Olga took out her phone and could not decide what to do with it—call her husband or take a photo as proof of infidelity. The taxi left, leaving her deep in thought.

Anton and she had met during her sophomore year at university—her best friend Svetka had invited him to her birthday party because he was friends with her older brother. Toha, as his friends called him, was four years older than Olga and at that time worked at a construction company. He instantly fell head over heels for her—a beautiful, long-legged brunette with tanned skin and big brown eyes.

Anton seemed like a very reliable man—he worked a lot, owned an apartment in the city center, and drove a nice car. He wasn’t a romantic and didn’t give Olga bouquets of roses, believing it better to spend money on boots or a warm jacket, and the girl agreed, seeing this as a sign of maturity.

When Olga graduated, they got married. They lived quite well—her husband started his own business, and she got a job at a veterinary clinic. Their life was only marred by the absence of children and Anton’s constant pursuit of money. He tried to earn even more, investing in his business, while his wife supported him, trying to manage all household expenses with her salary. Of course, she wanted to travel, or at least go to the sea once a year, but Anton always persuaded her to wait a bit and went on business trips and negotiations, leaving his wife alone at home.

A couple of months ago, Svetka said she saw Anton in an expensive restaurant with some woman. Olga didn’t believe her friend then, knowing that luring her husband to a restaurant, especially an expensive one, was unrealistic. So, she brushed off this information, attributing it to Svetka’s nearsightedness.

Finally past the traffic jam, Olga began to feverishly figure out what to do next. Her imagination painted various pictures—from a proud silent divorce to a cruel murder. Realizing that neither option was suitable, as she definitely couldn’t keep silent, and she didn’t want to wash blood off the walls, she decided that she needed to devise such a revenge plan that her husband would wake up in a cold sweat for a long time, seeing her in his dreams.

Olga couldn’t describe her feelings—jealousy, coupled with anger and incomprehension of what was happening, prevented her from thinking clearly. She got off at her stop, went into a grocery store, and for some reason bought a cake.

Entering the apartment, the girl stood in the hallway for a long time, looking at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t understand why her husband had cheated on her—Olga always caught admiring glances from men and listened to numerous compliments about her appearance daily. She took out her phone and called Svetka.

“I saw him with another woman,” she said, unexpectedly bursting into tears.

“Oh, Ol, don’t cry. I told you. And why do you need him? Toha has been a terrible miser and a self-absorbed peacock since childhood, you just didn’t want to notice. I’ve seen him a couple of times with that skinny scarecrow,” Svetlana tried to calm her friend.

“With a skinny one? She weighs about 150 kilograms!” Olga was surprised, once again confirming that her friend was indeed nearsighted.

“Well, a little dark-haired one, short,” Svetka cautiously asked.

“No, there’s a blonde elephant,” Olga replied angrily, “she was kissing him, I thought she would eat him.”

“Ah, so it’s not her then,” her friend seemed oddly relieved.

“Great, so there are several,” the deceived wife said distractedly, as if doused with ice water.

“I’ll call you after work,” Svetka quickly hung up, realizing she had said too much.

Olga unwrapped the cake, took a fork, and without cutting the treat, began to eat it directly from the box, grieving over her female fate. After about five minutes, she was nauseated by the sweetness and self-pity. Deciding that she would definitely come up with a sophisticated revenge plan, Olga even cheered up a bit.

The doorbell rang.

She flinched, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and opened the door—Anton stood there with his usual expression, a suitcase beside him.

“I’m heading out tomorrow. Conference in Gelendzhik,” he said casually, removing his shoes. “I’ll be back Wednesday.”

She stared at the suitcase.

Her brain clicked.

And that was the moment the idea came.

Revenge, poetic and precise.

That night, while Anton snored like a chainsaw, Olga replaced every single item in his suitcase. Clothes, chargers, documents, the works. She left the suitcase itself, but what was inside would make this “business trip” unforgettable.

Inside, she packed: one of her old nightgowns, a pink stuffed bunny from her childhood, a Bible, two packs of adult diapers, a “baby on board” car sticker, and the pièce de résistance—a printed stack of emails she had found on his laptop weeks ago. Love letters to not one, not two, but three different women. Some recent. Some dating back years. Annotated by her in red pen with things like: “Wow, this one’s a poet!” and “You told me she was your coworker’s wife?!”

She also included a short handwritten note:
“For your lady friend. Maybe she’ll enjoy seeing what a joke you really are.”

Anton left the next morning without a clue. Olga kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t forget sunscreen.”

He texted her from the airport—“You packed the wrong stuff!”

She replied, “Did I?”

Then she turned off her phone.

For two days, Olga basked in the bliss of silence. She went to work, treated a golden retriever with a broken paw, had coffee with Svetka, and finally took a long bath with candles. It was the first time in years she felt light.

But on the third day, something happened.

Anton came back early.

She found him sitting in the kitchen, not angry, but pale. Defeated.

“You could’ve just told me,” he said softly.

Olga laughed. “You could’ve just kept your pants on.”

He didn’t fight. He didn’t even apologize. Just sat there.

That’s when she noticed—his left eye was bruised. His lip slightly swollen.

“What happened?”

He hesitated. “One of them hit me.”

“Which one?”

“The blonde.”

Olga burst into laughter.

Apparently, Anton had panicked at the airport, opened the suitcase, and then scrambled to explain it away to the woman meeting him. She didn’t buy it. She left. But not before slapping him in front of a full terminal.

“I deserved it,” he admitted.

For the next few weeks, he tried to make amends. Flowers, gifts, even a surprise dinner. She ignored them all.

But here’s where the twist comes in.

About a month later, Olga went in for her routine medical exam. She almost canceled it, exhausted by everything. But she showed up anyway.

And that’s when she found out—she was pregnant.

Naturally. No treatments. No planning. Just… timing.

At first, she didn’t believe it. Then she cried for an hour straight.

She never told Anton. She moved in with Svetka for a while. Found a small rental. Took on extra shifts. But for the first time in years, she wasn’t lonely. Her belly grew. And so did her sense of self-worth.

By the time the baby arrived—a healthy girl with her same brown eyes—Olga felt whole. She named her Mila. It meant “gracious” in Slavic.

Anton tried to reconnect after hearing through a mutual friend. He wanted “to be there,” said he’d changed.

Olga let him visit. Once.

He held Mila. Cried. Apologized.

Then she showed him to the door.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, bewildered.

“For proving I could do this without you.”

Sometimes the best revenge isn’t loud or cruel—it’s living well after someone thought they broke you.

So to every woman reading this, wondering if she’s strong enough to leave, to rebuild, to choose herself—

You are.

And someone better is already on the way.

If you felt this one, share it. Someone else might need the reminder. ❤️