The familiar door on the third floor creaked as Kristina knocked. The doorbell had been broken for years, but Anna Petrovna, her mother-in-law, was particularly attuned to any sound in their old building. True to form, footsteps shuffled quickly toward the door.

“Kristinushka! What brings you here, dear?” Anna Petrovna greeted her warmly, though a flicker of unease passed through her eyes.

“I just need some salt,” Kristina explained, stepping inside and slipping off her shoes. “Ran out right in the middle of kneading dough. Can you believe my luck?”

Kristina and her husband, Sergey, lived just one floor up. Anna Petrovna had insisted they purchase an apartment in the same building, eager to stay close to her son and his growing family.

“Of course, let me grab some for you,” Anna Petrovna said, shuffling toward the kitchen.

Kristina followed her, her eyes wandering over the familiar living room. A new vase adorned the side table, and the chairs had been rearranged slightly. These small changes felt insignificant, yet they registered in Kristina’s mind as she waited.

In the kitchen, Anna Petrovna rummaged through the cabinets, muttering about where the salt had gone. Kristina sat at the worn stool by the counter, her gaze absentmindedly scanning the shelves. Her attention was caught by a faint glow—a phone tucked behind a jar of dried basil.

Her chest tightened. It looked exactly like Sergey’s phone. But Sergey always kept his phone with him, never leaving it behind—not even for a moment.

“Found it!” Anna Petrovna exclaimed, holding up a bag of salt. She hesitated when she saw Kristina’s fixed stare.

Slowly, Kristina stood and reached for the phone. Her hands trembled as she picked it up, her instincts screaming what her heart was reluctant to believe. The lock screen lit up with Sergey’s familiar wedding-date password, and her worst fears materialized.

Dozens of messages from a contact named “Masha R.” filled the screen. The most recent one, sent that morning, read: “Honey, I miss you so much. When can we meet?”

The room seemed to spin as Kristina stared at the screen. Five years of marriage, shared dreams, and a future they had been building together suddenly felt like fragile illusions.

“Anna Petrovna,” Kristina finally spoke, her voice shaking. “What is this?”

Her mother-in-law paled, sinking into a chair. “Kristinushka, I’m so sorry… Sergey made me promise not to tell you. He said it was just temporary. I begged him to come clean—”

“Three months,” Anna Petrovna admitted reluctantly. “It started three months ago. He would leave the phone here, say it wasn’t serious… I’m so sorry.”

The apology barely registered. Kristina placed the phone back where she found it and picked up the salt.

“Thank you for the salt,” she said calmly, her voice betraying none of the storm inside. “I should get back to my dough.”

“Kristina, wait!” Anna Petrovna pleaded. “We can fix this! Let’s talk—”

Kristina forced a small, polite smile. “We’ll talk. But later. Right now, I need to think. My mother always said that big decisions are best made with a clear head and a full stomach.”

She left before Anna Petrovna could respond, her footsteps echoing as she climbed the stairs to her own apartment. Each step felt heavier than the last, but the familiar rhythm calmed her scattered thoughts.

Inside, the smell of rising dough greeted her. Mechanically, she poured salt into the mixture and began kneading. The soothing, repetitive motion gave her clarity.

The front door opened just as she slid the bread into the oven. Sergey walked in, his voice casual and warm.

“Hey, cooking already? I thought we’d order in tonight,” he said.

Kristina turned to face him, her expression calm but unreadable. “I went to your mom’s today,” she began, her voice steady. “Needed salt.”

The smile faded from Sergey’s face. He froze, as though bracing himself for what was coming.

“I think we need to talk,” Kristina continued, holding his gaze. “About Masha R. About the second phone. And about us.”

Sergey sank into a chair, the weight of his guilt written all over him. “I wanted to tell you,” he began weakly.

“When?” Kristina shot back, her voice still calm but sharp. “Before or after I found out on my own?”

The oven hummed softly as the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air—a smell that once symbolized comfort now seemed painfully ironic.

Sergey tried to explain, but Kristina cut him off. “You didn’t just betray me. You dragged your mother into this, made her complicit in your lies. Do you even understand what you’ve done to her?”

Tears welled in Sergey’s eyes. “I’ll fix this, Kristina. I’ll end it with her tonight. Please—”

“No,” she interrupted firmly. “This isn’t something you can fix overnight. I need space. I’m staying with a friend for now.”

Sergey looked as though he wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Instead, he whispered, “I love you.”

Kristina turned back to the oven, removing the perfectly baked bread. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

After Sergey left, Kristina packed her essentials. Each item she touched felt heavy with memories—reminders of a life she thought was solid.

The next morning, her friend Lena welcomed her with open arms and warm coffee. “You’ll figure it out,” Lena reassured her. “Take the time you need. You deserve it.”

Days turned into weeks. Kristina began keeping a journal, recording recipes and reflections. On the first page, she wrote: “Sometimes, you have to let go of what’s broken to make room for something new.”

One evening, she found the loaf of bread she’d packed from her apartment. It had gone stale, but instead of discarding it, she called her grandmother for advice.

“Turn it into croutons,” her grandmother suggested. “Life is like dough, my dear. Sometimes, it needs time to rise. Don’t rush, but don’t be afraid to start fresh.”

As the croutons baked, filling Lena’s kitchen with their aroma, Kristina smiled for the first time in days. It was a small step, but it felt like the beginning of something new.