Is it possible to survive marital infidelity and save a family?
There comes to mind a story of a married couple who, after enduring betrayal, found faith—and through it, the strength to rebuild their marriage and rediscover happiness.
In the mid-1980s, high school students used to have their home-economics classes held at factories. Some worked on the shop floor, others helped draftsmen, while I was assigned to the typing pool. The group consisted entirely of women. On the first day of our practice, I got to know all my coworkers. One of them, a nineteen-year-old named Irina, was typing as she wiped away tears. Between sobs, she confessed:
“Igor, my sister’s husband, pushed me away this morning the moment he woke up. He shouted at me, clutching his head, saying he’d rather die if his wife left him and never forgave him. You can’t imagine how awful it feels to be called a ‘poisonous snake.’ That’s what he called me.
I thought he’d leave her and come live with me—finally realize how much I love him, that I’m younger and better than my sister, Shurka. I’d been waiting for this moment for so long! Igor’s just a simple village guy, but he adored her. He even wrote poems for her—an auto mechanic, yet a real ‘Pushkin.’ He used to call her by this silly nickname, Shurupchik.1 He should’ve called her a ‘ball bearing’ instead—that would’ve been more fitting!
On New Year’s Eve, I asked him for a slow dance, but the whole time he kept looking at Shurka, couldn’t take his eyes off her. I did everything to please him—ever since school I’d been crazy about him—but it was all useless.
“Am I any worse than my sister? Sure, she graduated from the teachers’ college, she’s neat and polite, she teaches math, her husband doesn’t drink or smoke, and they have a beautiful daughter.
“And me? I’m like a spare wheel in life—not even a secretary, just a typist, pounding out reports and tables all day…”
Irina’s coworkers turned on her, scandalized:
“You’ve lost all shame! How could you do that to your own sister? You can’t build happiness on someone else’s grief. Don’t you dare tell Shura about this—it would kill her!”
The most senior woman in the office tried to talk sense into her:
“And what’s so wrong about working here, eh? The typing pool’s clean, warm, quiet—no heavy lifting, no endless standing. You had your chance with your correspondence studies, but you flunked your first year because you were too busy disco-dancing instead of studying.
So how is that your sister’s fault? There are plenty of single men out there, but you went after another woman’s husband—your sister’s! Don’t you remember how she helped you with your studies, lied to your parents so you wouldn’t get in trouble, pulled you out of bad company—and this is how you repay her? You jump into bed with her husband and then sit here sulking, as if you’ve been wronged. You ought to be flogged, that’s what you need…”
But Irina stood her ground:
“I’ve waited for this for so long! They never argued or quarreled—just like in the movies. It hurt to see how Shurka tied him to herself. When their daughter was born, Igor stayed up all night with her so she could rest. He’d push the stroller for hours while she studied for her exams, wouldn’t let her carry heavy bags, did everything to make life easy for her.
“And then one weekend they suddenly had a fight. I don’t even know why—and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they did fight.
“So Shurka—moody as always—took their daughter and went to the village, to Igor’s parents. And I—well, I went straight to their flat. Someone had to comfort the poor man, right? To show him that his wife just bosses him around, while I don’t need anything, I can make him happy, keep him smiling.
“Everyone would see it—that Shurka can’t do anything without help, while I’m carefree, easygoing, light as a bird. All he had to do was stay with me. So, I poured him vodka, cooked supper, poured some more, told him how unfair Shurka was, that she should value a husband like him, and that if I were his wife, I’d never fight with him. We kept drinking. And then—oh
A week later (we had our practice sessions every Thursday) I found out that Irina, realizing that Igor would never leave his wife for her, had told her sister the truth about the affair.
Shura took it hard. She packed her things, took her little daughter, moved back in with her parents, and filed for a divorce. Igor wasn’t even given the chance to say a word in his defense. But that was not the end—not yet. In despair, Igor tried to take his own life, though thankfully he was found in time and saved.
Again, Irina sat crying bitterly:
“As if it weren’t enough that he nearly hung himself in the kitchen—now he’s threatening me too. Said he’d strangle me with his bare hands if his wife doesn’t forgive him,” she told us, sobbing.
One of our coworkers interrupted her sharply:
“And he’d be right to! Instead of sitting here whining for pity, you should go to your sister, fall at her feet, and tell her the whole truth—how you got him drunk first and then, shameless as you are, seduced him. He will never marry you, never love you. You’ve done something vile—now find the courage to fix it. Help your sister make peace with her husband.”
It took nearly a year before that family found peace again. Irina later told us that her sister forgave Igor—and that, to everyone’s relief, he returned home.
Shura and Igor’s parents helped mend things between them. They did their best to reason with her, showing her old photographs—from their wedding, from the maternity ward where they welcomed their newborn daughter, and from the days when she first learned to walk. They reminded her how Igor had once refused a vacation voucher to Sochi because he didn’t want to relax under the southern sun while his wife and child stayed behind. How he’d done all the home repairs himself, just to make the place cozy for his Shura and their little girl.
The older generation tried to make her see that if he were the kind of man to fool around, would he really have turned down such a chance to go on holiday without her? They recalled how he had once carried their feverish daughter all the way to the village hospital, and how he’d spent hours standing under the windows of the infectious diseases ward, where Shura and the child were confined—anxious, helpless, unable to rest.
Her mother-in-law assured her: “Igor’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all one-woman men. They were faithful to their wives to the very end. And Igor, too, has always loved—and will always love—only one woman.”
But Shura remained unmoved. She tried not to cry in front of her daughter, turning away to hide her pale, sorrowful face. Yet the five-year-old sensed everything. The house no longer felt warm or safe. She often asked when her father would come home, when he’d read her a bedtime story again, and why no one smiled anymore.
And as misfortune rarely comes alone, more troubles followed. On top of her husband’s betrayal and her sister’s treachery, Shura’s wallet was stolen in a store. Then, at work, one of her troubled pupils was caught by the police for theft. The poor woman began to think her life was ruined—that there was no reason left to live if those she loved most had treated her so cruelly.
One evening, walking home from work, lost in heavy thoughts, she felt someone tug gently at her sleeve.
“Dear, are you alright?” asked an old woman. “I’ve been calling out to you, but you just kept walking, whispering to yourself. Listen, could you help me carry this bag to the church? I cooked some food for the memorial Saturday, but my hands aren’t what they used to be.”
Shura took the woman’s bag and walked her to the church. Inside, the service was already underway—quiet, reverent. Some people prayed, others approached the icons, a few whispered their confessions or handed in remembrance slips for the departed.
After that evening, Shura began to come to church whenever she could. There she found peace, and her dark thoughts slowly began to fade. One day, she finally gathered the courage to speak with a priest.
The elderly priest listened carefully and told her that, yes, she had every right to divorce. But, he said, divorce is the simplest path—the easiest outwardly, but one that leaves the soul untouched and unhealed.
He explained that her husband had truly repented—that he suffered deeply and did not wish to repeat his sin, that he loved his wife and daughter sincerely.
“Listen to your heart,” the priest said. “Should you destroy your home and your love for the sake of one mistake? A believer must forgive their offenders—though it is never easy. Forgiveness is a divine gift, not given to all.”
He advised her to speak with her husband honestly, to ask each other whether they still wished to build a life together, whether they still had love, whether they could live without endless reproach.
“If you choose to stay together,” he said, “let it be out of love and forgiveness—not because of an apartment, a bank account, or a country house. Only in a family ruled by love can a child grow in peace. And there, the parents themselves become living examples of faith, care, and mercy.
Shura’s Heart Was Still Heavy with Bitterness and the Desire for Revenge
Her journey was not an easy one. Even after her confession, Shura’s heart still harbored resentment and a longing for revenge. She prayed before the holy icons, asking the Mother of God to help her forgive—not in words only, but truly, from the depths of her soul, to feel pure and light of heart once more.
And the Lord showed mercy. Shura found the strength to forgive those who had wronged her—her husband and her sister. With that forgiveness came peace, and soon after she approached the Chalice, partaking of Holy Communion with joy.
Through faith and the boundless mercy of God, Shura and Igor learned once again to find joy in one another—to care, to listen, and to love. Their marriage was healed. Their daughter, who had cried in silence for so long, could once more fall asleep between her mother and father’s warm embrace.
Igor, too, repented. In confession, he begged God’s forgiveness and tearfully asked his wife to forgive him for the pain he had caused.
It wasn’t only Shura who found faith—her husband and their daughter also became children of God. Some time later, Shura and Igor had their marriage blessed in church. They stood together before the altar—radiant, grateful, and deeply happy.
Before I finished school, I learned that their family had grown—they had been blessed with a son.
This story reminded us all of the words of Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh:
“A Christian family must be happy.”
