You’re talentless,» he threw the words in front of everyone. It was then that I realized for the first time: talent is not only a gift but also a courage—a courage to remain oneself when others try to break you.
Anna cautiously ran a rag over the surface of the old grand piano, recently moved from the dacha. The dark wood bore the fingerprints of three generations, and the cracks in the lacquer resembled the wrinkles of a wise old man. This family relic looked out of place in her modern studio, but she couldn’t bear to discard the instrument—it was the last thread connecting her to her parents.
Her fingers moved on their own toward the keys. The downtrodden instrument answered with a familiar melody from her childhood. Chopin. Outside, the rain echoed the notes, and memories flooded in suddenly, as if a dam she had been building in her soul for twenty-three years had burst.
«Is this your new home?» Sergey looked disdainfully at the tiny room on the outskirts. «There isn’t even a proper wardrobe here.»
Anna swallowed. She had just turned twenty-two, graduated with honors from the conservatory, and had moved to the capital three months earlier. By day, she taught at a music school, and in the evenings she worked at a restaurant. Rent consumed half of her modest earnings.
«At least the subway is nearby,» she tried to smile, adjusting the cushion that had replaced the festive tablecloth. On the makeshift table lay a bottle of cheap wine, some snacks, cheese, and even a candle. It was all she could afford for Sergey’s first visit—the son of wealthy parents, whom she had met at a party.
«Stop with this mousey nonsense,» he pulled her close. «Move in with me. Forget about your musical ramblings and start living a normal life.»
«What’s wrong with my music?» Anna broke free from his embrace.
«Anya,» his voice dripped with condescension, «who needs this classical stuff these days? A relic of a bygone era. Come work for me at my company; you’ll be an assistant. The salary is three times more than those pathetic lessons you give.»
The offer hovered enticingly in the air. Sergey was a promising suitor with an apartment in the center and a fancy car. “Real luck,” his mother would say at every phone call. And indeed, she adored him—his confidence, the scent of his expensive cologne, and his tender “my Anya.”
«But what if I don’t want to abandon music?»
His silence spoke louder than words.
Their romance developed rapidly. Six months later, they registered their marriage—quietly, without the extravagant wedding that his parents had been insisting on. “You already hit the jackpot,” whispered his mother, kissing her on the cheek at a family dinner.
She moved in, quit her teaching job, but continued her evening performances at the restaurant—the few hours behind the piano allowed her to feel that she hadn’t completely betrayed herself.
The first year of marriage resembled a fairytale. Sergey swiftly climbed the career ladder while Anna mastered the role of the wife of a successful man. She learned the rules of table setting, became versed in wines, and patiently listened to business talk while holding back her “unprofessional” comments. At corporate events, she was introduced as “the wife of our promising employee,” and she played that role with an impeccable smile.
The restaurant gigs were abandoned—Sergey categorically opposed the idea of his wife “entertaining a drunken crowd.”
«You’re no longer a poor student,» he would say while removing his tie after work. «I provide for you completely.»
And she began to believe in his care.
In the second year, cracks began to appear in the perfect picture. After a promotion, Sergey started coming home late, returning with the smell of alcohol and barely perceptible hints of someone else’s perfume. Anna remained silent—afraid to hear the truth.
On their third anniversary, he presented a diamond necklace and asked her to host a dinner for important guests.
«A few colleagues with their wives will be coming. And my boss—he has long wanted to meet my beautiful wife.»
For a week, Anna prepared for the reception—planning the menu, ordering flowers, choosing background music. She wanted to prove to her husband that she was worthy of his status.
The evening started beautifully. The guests—a trio of married couples and Sergey’s boss, a fifty-year-old bachelor with a discerning gaze—arrived promptly. Anna greeted them in a new evening dress, with impeccable makeup and a well-rehearsed smile.
After the aperitif, once the guests had taken their seats, the conversation turned to art. The wife of a colleague, a plump lady with a loud voice, remarked that their daughter was learning to play the piano.
«And do you play, Anna?» she inquired. «You have such a magnificent instrument in your living room.»
Anna blushed:
«I used to play. I graduated from the conservatory, but…»
«My wife is a professional pianist,» Sergey interrupted, and in his voice Anna surprisingly heard notes of pride. «Anya, play something for our guests.»
All eyes turned to her. Her heart beat faster—she had not touched the instrument for almost a year. But refusal was not an option.
«I haven’t practiced in a long time,» she warned, rising to her feet.
«Don’t be modest,» Sergey murmured in her ear while embracing her by the waist. «It’s important to me.»
She sat down at the piano, purchased at her request during the early months of their marriage. Her fingers found familiar positions on their own. Muscle memory—what a marvelous thing.
Choosing Chopin’s nocturne in B-flat major, she began hesitantly, but with every measure, that forgotten sense of flight returned to her. She saw no guests, heard no whispers—they all faded away, leaving only the music that emerged from under her fingers.
When the last notes faded, applause filled the room. Anna turned around, both embarrassed and happy. The guests looked at her with genuine admiration.
«Bravo!» Sergey’s boss stood up, applauding. «That was magnificent!»
«Magnificent?» Sergey’s voice shattered the harmony that had just taken hold. He stood by the wall with a glass in hand. «That was the most mediocre performance I’ve ever heard.»
A deathly silence fell. Anna froze, unable to believe her ears.
«Serezha…» she began.
«No, seriously,» he moved closer, and she realized that during her playing he had managed to get quite drunk. «Why spend years learning only to bang at the keys so incompetently? Do you know how much her education cost? And what was the point?» he addressed the guests. «It’s like with painters—one becomes a Picasso, while the rest end up painting fences.»
«Your wife plays beautifully,» his boss tried to soften the situation.
«You just don’t understand music,» Sergey waved it off. Then he turned to Anna: «You’re a pauper,» he declared loudly for the entire hall to hear. «A pauper of talent who has leech onto me.»
Hot tears welled in her eyes, but instead of bursting into tears, Anna slowly straightened up and sat down at the piano again.
This time, she chose Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto—a piece that had once been her diploma work. The music, filled with pain and passion, filled the room. Anna played not for the guests and not for her husband—but for herself, for the girl who once dreamed of the stage.
Her fingers danced over the keys, eliciting sounds that took one’s breath away. In that music, she poured all her pain, disappointment, and the passion buried under daily life.
When the final chord sounded, a resonant silence hung in the room. Then…
The guests erupted in standing applause. Sergey’s boss was the first to approach:
«That was stunning. I’m not a classical expert, but your playing touched me deeply.»
The other guests surrounded her, each expressing their admiration. Only Sergey remained aside—devastated and confused.
That evening proved to be a turning point. The next day, Anna packed her things and returned to her modest rented apartment. A month later, she filed for divorce. Six months after that, she received an offer from the restaurant where she used to work—to host classical music evenings.
The sound of rain tapping against the window brought Anna back to the present. Twenty-three years later, she had her own music school, students who were winners of international competitions, and a spacious apartment with a view of the park.
She stepped away from the piano and walked to the window. Down below, in the rain, stood a man staring intently at her windows. Even through the veil of rain and the passing years, she recognized him—Sergey, aged but still carrying himself with the same haughty posture.
An unexpected ring of the doorbell made her startle. Yet Anna didn’t even think to ask who it was at the door—she already knew.
«Hello,» he said as he extended a modest bouquet of wildflowers, reminiscent of their first meeting.
After a brief greeting, he stepped inside, surveying the room adorned with photos of her students and concert posters.
«I heard your latest performance,» he observed. «You’re still the same.»
«And have you changed?» she asked, arranging the flowers in a vase.
«I’ve rethought many things,» he admitted with a sad smile. «All these years, I followed your successes. I even cut out your reviews…»
Old grievances no longer burned in her—they had become barely noticeable scars.
«Why are you here, Sergey?»
«I want to apologize. For that evening. For every moment when I failed to appreciate you.»
She turned toward the window.
«You were right about one thing—I truly was poor. Not in talent, but in self-confidence. Your pain helped me find myself.»
He stepped closer but restrained from touching her.
«I’m happy for you. And… may I ask something?»
«Yes?»
«Play for me once more. Now I will truly be able to listen.»
After a pause, she agreed. She sat at the piano and began Chopin’s nocturne—the very melody that had bound them twenty-three years ago.
He listened, eyes closed, unashamedly letting tears fall.
When the music finally died away, he softly said:
«Now I see. I was impoverished. Thank you.»
She simply smiled—genuinely and without bitterness for the first time in many years.
Outside, the rain was stopping, washing the world anew.
