Natalya opened her eyes and saw a white ceiling. The bright light hurt her pupils, and the first thing that crossed her mind was where she was and why it hurt so much to breathe. Her chest felt as if it were clamped in a vise; every breath came with difficulty.
“You’ve come to,” she heard someone’s voice. “Lie still, don’t move.”
A nurse leaned over the bed and checked the IV. Natalya tried to say something, but her throat was dry, and instead of words, a rasp came out.
“Don’t talk yet. You’re lucky. You had a heart attack, but the doctors were in time. Now the main thing is rest.”
Heart attack. That word sobered her more than any medicine. Natalya remembered how, yesterday evening, her chest had suddenly twisted with pain. The pain had been so sharp it took her breath away. Oleg was sitting on the couch watching football. Natalya called her husband, but her voice stuck in her throat. She grabbed the back of a chair and tried to make it to the phone. After that, everything blurred.
Now, lying in the hospital room, Natalya realized she could have died. Just like that, in the middle of an ordinary October evening, when it was drizzling outside the window and her husband was enthusiastically commenting on the match.
A few hours later the doctor came into the room. An elderly man with tired eyes sat down on the edge of the bed and looked closely at the patient.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Natalya croaked.
“Good. You were very lucky. A little more, and we wouldn’t have made it in time. Now the main thing is recovery. Minimal movement, no stress, a strict diet. Take your medicine on schedule. And no work for at least six months.”
Natalya nodded. The doctor wrote something in her chart and left. The woman was alone in the room again. It was getting dark outside, and the rain drummed monotonously, lulling, against the glass. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what would come next.
Oleg came the next day. He entered the room holding a bag of fruit. He set it on the bedside table and sat down on a chair by the bed.
“How are you?” her husband asked, without looking her in the eye.
“Alive.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“I need to recover. For a long time.”
Oleg nodded and took out his phone. He began scrolling through the news, occasionally lifting his eyes to his wife. Natalya looked at her husband and understood — he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable sitting here, in this hospital room that smelled of medicine and other people’s pain. Uncomfortable looking at his wife, who lay there pale, with an IV in her hand.
“You don’t have to stay,” Natalya said.
“What?”
“Go home. It’s obvious this is hard for you.”
Oleg sighed with relief.
“Well, if you don’t mind… I’ve got things to do. I’ll come by later.”
He got up and left without even turning around. Natalya followed his back with her eyes and smirked. Twenty years of marriage, and now, when she really needed support, there was no one by her side.
The next two weeks passed in the hospital. The doctors carefully monitored her condition, the nurses gave injections and changed the IVs. Oleg came rarely, usually for fifteen minutes. He brought yogurt or apples, put the bag on the bedside table and sat down in silence. Their conversations were short and strained.
“How are things at home?” Natalya would ask.
“Fine.”
“What about work?”
“Everything’s okay.”
“Did the dog eat?”
“She ate.”
There was nothing else to discuss. Oleg would sit for about ten minutes, then get up and leave. Natalya didn’t take offense. She had no strength left for resentment. All her strength went into simply breathing, getting out of bed, making it to the bathroom.
When the doctors finally allowed her to be discharged, Natalya was glad to come home. The apartment greeted her with silence. Oleg helped carry her things to the bedroom and immediately went to the living room. Natalya sat down on the bed and looked around. Everything was in its place, but the atmosphere had changed. It was as if the home had stopped being a home.
The first days of recovery were difficult. The doctor had warned her — no sudden movements, no strain. Natalya moved slowly around the apartment, holding onto the walls. Even getting out of bed required effort. Oleg didn’t help. In the morning he left for work, in the evening he came home late.
“Oleg, can you bring me some water?” Natalya asked one evening.
Her husband was in the living room watching TV. He turned, looked at her, and reluctantly got up. He poured water into a glass and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
“Mm-hm.”
Oleg went back to the TV. Natalya drank the water and put the glass on the nightstand. She didn’t feel like talking. And there was no point.
A week after she was discharged, Natalya noticed changes in her husband’s behavior. Oleg started staying late at work even more. He came home after midnight, smelling of cigarettes and someone else’s perfume. Natalya kept quiet. Asking questions was pointless. There would be no answer anyway.
One evening Oleg came home around nine. Natalya was sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea. Her husband walked past without greeting her and disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later he returned with his phone in his hand and started typing something. Natalya saw his lips stretch into a smile. Such a smile hadn’t appeared at home in a long time.
“Oleg, will you have dinner?” Natalya asked.
“No. I already ate.”
“Where?”
“At work.”
“They feed you at the office?”
“We had a corporate event. A small one.”
Natalya nodded. A corporate event. On a Wednesday. In the middle of the work week. Of course.
The days dragged by slowly. Natalya was gradually recovering — she could already walk without support and cook light meals. The doctor said the process was going well, but it was too early to relax. She needed to take care of herself and avoid stress.
Oleg avoided his wife. Their conversations were reduced to a minimum. Morning — silence. Evening — silence. They slept on different sides of the bed, not touching each other. Natalya didn’t try to mend the connection. She had no strength. All she could do was survive, day by day.
Late one night, Natalya woke up from noise. Oleg was standing in the bedroom packing his things into a suitcase. The light was bright and harsh. Natalya propped herself up on her elbow and looked at her husband.
“What are you doing?”
Oleg didn’t turn around. He went on folding shirts into the suitcase, carefully, methodically.
“I’m getting ready.”
“For what?”
“For vacation.”
Natalya sat up on the bed, leaning back on the pillow. Her heart began to beat faster, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“For how long?”
“Two weeks.”
Natalya was silent. Oleg zipped the suitcase and finally turned around. His face was calm, almost indifferent.
“I’m flying to the Maldives.”
“All right.”
“With another woman.”
Silence hung in the air, heavy and thick. Natalya looked at her husband and didn’t recognize the man with whom she had spent twenty years. Oleg stood there with a suitcase in his hand, waiting for a reaction. Tears, shouting, accusations. But Natalya said nothing.
“I need a break,” Oleg added, as if justifying himself. “I’m tired of all this.”
“Of what?” Natalya asked quietly.
“Of hospitals. Of medicine. Of your illness.”
“I see.”
Oleg waited a few more seconds, but his wife still didn’t say anything. She just sat on the bed, hugging her knees, and stared out the window.
“All right. I’m off,” he said and left the bedroom.
Natalya heard the front door slam. Silence descended on the apartment. The woman remained sitting motionless, looking out the window where November rain was drizzling against the glass. Inside, she felt empty. No pain, no offense. Just emptiness.
She slowly lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Her heart was beating steadily, without faltering. The doctor had said she should avoid stress. Natalya smirked. What stress? Her husband had gone to the Maldives with his lover, leaving his wife alone in the apartment after a heart attack. But there was no stress. There was relief.
The next morning Natalya woke up early. She sat up in bed and looked at the empty half beside her. Oleg was gone. The suitcase had disappeared. The only thing that reminded her of her husband was the smell of his cologne on the pillow.
The woman got up, went to the bathroom, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes tired, her hair disheveled. But inside something had changed. It was as if the weight she had been dragging around for the last few weeks had finally lifted.
Natalya washed her face, got dressed, and went to the kitchen. She brewed coffee and took cottage cheese from the fridge. She sat down at the table and began to eat slowly, savoring the silence. No reproaches, no disgruntled sighs. Just her and her morning coffee.
After breakfast Natalya called her friend.
“Hi, Svetlana. Can you come over today?”
“Of course. Did something happen?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Svetlana arrived an hour later. She sat down across from Natalya and looked attentively at her friend.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Oleg left.”
“Where?”
“To the Maldives. With another woman.”
Svetlana froze with her cup in hand.
“Is he serious?”
“Quite.”
“And you’re taking this calmly?”
“What else am I supposed to do? Cry? Chase after him? I don’t have the strength for that. And I don’t have the desire either.”
Svetlana set her cup down and took her friend’s hand.
“Natalya, I understand that it’s hard for you right now. But you can’t just let twenty years of marriage go like that.”
“I can. I already have.”
Her friend was silent for a moment, then nodded.
“All right. So what are you planning to do next?”
“Recover. Live. Without him.”
Svetlana stayed the whole evening. They talked about everything — work, plans, memories. Natalya told her how, in recent weeks, Oleg had been avoiding her, how he came home late, how he stared at his phone with a smile. Svetlana listened and shook her head.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
“I know.”
“You’re strong.”
“I don’t know. I’m just going on with my life.”
When Svetlana left, Natalya was alone again. The apartment was quiet, almost cozy. The woman went to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and took out Oleg’s things. Shirts, trousers, jackets. She neatly folded everything into a big bag and carried it into the hallway. Tomorrow she’d give it away somewhere. Or throw it out.
Natalya lay down in bed and closed her eyes. For the first time in a long while, sleep came easily, without anxious thoughts and fears. She simply slept. Calmly and deeply.
In the morning Natalya woke up to sunlight. The sun had come out — a rarity for November. The woman got up, stretched, and went to the kitchen. She brewed coffee and turned on her phone. A new photo had appeared in her social media feed. Oleg on a beach, in shorts, with a cocktail in his hand. Beside him, a young woman in a swimsuit. The caption read: “Finally living for myself.”
Natalya looked at the photo for a few seconds, then blocked her ex-husband. She had neither the desire nor the need to watch his happy life. She now had her own life.
The following weeks passed in a calm rhythm. Natalya went to her doctor’s appointments, took her medication, and walked in the park. Her condition was improving every day. The doctor was pleased with the results.
“You’re doing very well, Natalya Sergeyevna. Your body is recovering nicely. Keep it up.”
“Thank you.”
“Just no stress. That’s the main condition.”
Natalya nodded. There was no more stress. Oleg had left, and with him the constant tension had disappeared. The home had become quiet and peaceful.
In December, Natalya decided to change her surroundings. She rearranged the furniture in the living room, bought new cushions, and hung the painting she had long wanted. The apartment was transformed. It became brighter, cozier.
Svetlana visited often. The friends drank tea, talked, and laughed. One day Svetlana brought a magazine with job ads.
“Look. Maybe something will suit you.”
“It’s still too early. The doctor said no work for six months.”
“At least take a look. So you’ll know where you might want to go later.”
Natalya flipped through the magazine. She stopped at an ad for an administrator position in a small company. Calm work, no overtime, decent pay.
“This looks interesting.”
“Call them. Find out the details.”
Natalya called the next day. She spoke with the manager and explained her situation. The woman on the other end of the line listened attentively.
“I understand. Let’s do this. You fully recover first, and then you can come in for an interview. The position is still open for now.”
“Thank you.”
Natalya hung up and smiled. She had a plan ahead. A goal. Something to aim for.
December brought the first snow. Natalya stood by the window and watched the white flakes slowly fall to the ground. Her phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number.
“Hi. It’s Oleg. How are you?”
Natalya deleted the message without replying. An hour later another one came.
“Natalya, answer me. I’m worried.”
She deleted it again. Oleg went on texting all evening — short messages full of feigned concern. Natalya blocked the number and turned off her phone.
January came with severe frosts. Natalya went on long walks, wrapped in a warm coat. She breathed in the cold air and enjoyed each day. Her heart beat evenly, without interruptions. The doctor allowed her to increase her activity.
“You can start light exercise. Swimming, yoga. Nothing too strenuous.”
“All right.”
Natalya signed up for the pool. She swam three times a week, slowly, without rushing. The water relaxed her, eased her tension. After swimming she felt a lightness in her whole body.
In February, Natalya decided to change her appearance. She booked a hairdresser’s appointment and asked for a short haircut. The stylist gave her a neat shoulder-length style and added light highlights. Natalya looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself. Her face looked younger, fresher.
“It suits you very well,” the hairdresser smiled.
“Thank you.”
At home, Natalya went through her wardrobe. She threw out old dark clothes and kept the lighter ones. She bought new jeans, a few tops, and comfortable sneakers. She looked at herself in the mirror and nodded. Now it was right.
In March it was time to change the locks. Natalya called a locksmith. The man arrived an hour later, removed the old locks, and installed new ones. Natalya took the keys and put them in her bag. She threw the old ones out immediately.
“All done,” the locksmith said. “These locks are reliable, no one will break in.”
“Excellent.”
When he left, Natalya locked the door with the new lock. She turned the key twice and smiled. Now no one would enter without her permission.
In April, Natalya filed for divorce. She gathered the documents, medical certificates, and a registration extract. She went to the court and handed everything to the lawyer.
“Is your husband in agreement with the divorce?” the lawyer asked.
“I don’t know. We’re not in contact.”
“All right. We’ll file without his participation. You have grounds — you’ve been living separately for more than three months.”
“How long will it take?”
“About two months. Maybe a little more.”
Natalya nodded. Two months wasn’t long. She could wait.
May brought warmth. Natalya started her new job — as an administrator in a small firm, just as she had planned. The work turned out to be calm and stress-free. Her colleagues were friendly, and the manager was an understanding woman.
“If something’s wrong, let us know immediately. We’ll help.”
“Thank you.”
Natalya adjusted quickly. Her job took exactly eight hours, with no overtime. In the evening she came home, made dinner, and watched a series. Life had settled into place.
In June, a notice came from the court. The divorce was finalized. The marriage was dissolved. Natalya took the document and calmly put it in a folder. That was it. Officially free.
Svetlana called in the evening.
“So, congratulations?”
“On what?”
“On your divorce. You’re a free woman now.”
“Yes. Free.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good. Great, to be honest.”
The friends met at a café. They ordered desserts and coffee. Svetlana talked about work, her daughter, her vacation plans. Natalya listened and smiled. Life was going on, bright and full.
July turned out to be rainy. Natalya was at home reading a book when the doorbell rang. It was late in the evening; she wasn’t expecting visitors. The woman got up and went to the door. She looked through the peephole.
Oleg was standing on the landing. Gaunt, with dull eyes. A shabby bag in his hand. Natalya froze. For a few seconds she looked at her ex-husband through the peephole, then opened the door.
Oleg tried to smile. The smile looked pitiful and unsure.
“Hi, Natalya.”
“Hello.”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
Oleg blinked, as if he hadn’t expected refusal.
“Natalya, I… I’m sorry. I did something stupid. Something very stupid.”
“I see.”
“I’ve been thrown out. That girl… She used me. I wasted my money, and she left me for another man. I’ve realized everything. I realized I was wrong.”
Natalya stood in the doorway looking at her ex-husband. Inside she felt neither pity nor anger. Only calm.
“What do you want?”
“To come back. Let’s try again. I’ve changed.”
“No.”
“Natalya, give me a chance. I see my mistakes now. I’ll be different.”
Natalya tilted her head and looked at Oleg closely. This was the man who had left when she was at her worst. Who left her after a heart attack and flew off to a resort with his lover. And now he was standing on her doorstep asking to come back.
“You walked away when I was lying between life and death,” she said calmly. “You walked away because you were uncomfortable. Because you were tired of hospitals and medicines. And now you’ve come because you feel bad. Not because you missed me. Not because you love me. But because you have nowhere to go.”
“Natalya…”
“It’s too late to come back, Oleg. Much too late.”
Natalya closed the door. Slowly, without haste. She turned the key in the lock twice. She heard his footsteps outside, then silence. Oleg had gone.
The woman went back to the living room, sat in the armchair, and picked up her book. She finished the chapter, then put it aside and looked out the window. It was drizzling outside, but inside it was warm and calm.
Natalya got up, went to the kitchen, and brewed tea. She sat at the table and drank it slowly, enjoying the silence. Her silence. The silence she had earned. The kind no one would disturb again.
Her phone was lying on the table. Natalya picked it up and opened the gallery. She deleted all the photos with Oleg. All the shared pictures, all the memories. She tapped the button — and everything disappeared.
The woman put her cup in the sink and stepped out onto the balcony. The air was fresh and damp after the rain. Natalya inhaled deeply. Her heart beat evenly and calmly. No stumbles, no pain.
She had lived through a heart attack. Through betrayal. Through loneliness. And she had survived. She had become stronger. Freer. Herself.
Natalya looked at the city, glowing in the evening lights. Somewhere out there, Oleg was wandering around, looking for a place to sleep, regretting his choices. But that was his problem. His life. And she now had her own.
The woman went back into the apartment, closed the balcony door, and went to the bedroom. She lay down in bed, pulled up the blanket, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow there would be work again, a walk, a meeting with her friend. Tomorrow there would be life again.
Her life. Which no one would ever destroy again
