Ivan walked along the embankment, pulling the collar of his old coat tightly around him. The cold wind ruffled his graying hair. In his mind, gloomy thoughts buzzed like pesky flies. The past, it seemed, had built a wall around him, and he could neither sigh nor break free.
Twenty years ago, he was a completely different man. Back then, life boiled in his veins and his heart beat with passionate fire. A successful engineer and a young father to two charming twin girls, he sped through life, confident that the whole world lay at his feet. By his side, like a steadfast navigator, was his wife, Nadezhda. Delicate, with a cascade of golden hair, she resembled a porcelain doll—someone he longed to protect from all misfortunes.
They had met back in college. Ivan was always the life of the party, while Nadezhda, in contrast, appeared quiet and unassuming—perhaps why he had hardly noticed her. But one day at a student cabaret, she took the stage dressed as a mischievous gypsy. Ivan watched, utterly enchanted, as Nadezhda danced with eyes that burned with passion.
And then Ivan felt something overturning in his soul. That evening, he realized he was utterly lost.
Their love had burst forth like a brilliant flash—intense and passionate. They soon married, and daughters Anya and Tanya were born. Ivan was on cloud nine. He worked tirelessly to provide everything his loved ones needed. He bought a spacious apartment in the city center, then a car, and every summer he took the family to the seaside.
But not everything was smooth. Nadezhda sacrificed her career for the family and, as a result, began to feel trapped. She craved conversation, attention, and new experiences. Meanwhile, Ivan was absorbed in work and failed to notice the changes in his wife. To him, everything seemed as it always had been: children growing up, a well-provided home—what more could one ask for?
One day, returning home earlier than usual, Ivan found Nadezhda in tears. On the table lay an open magazine filled with vivid photographs of fashion shows. Seeing her husband, she hastily wiped away her wet cheeks—but it was already too late.
“What happened?” Ivan asked, alarmed by the unusual hysteria in his wife.
“Nothing,” Nadezhda muttered, turning toward the window. “Just…”
She faltered, not knowing how to explain her feelings.
“Don’t be silent, Nadya,” Ivan said as he approached and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “What is it?”
“I feel like I’m not living my own life,” she replied. “All I do is cook, clean, and look after the children.”
“But we have a family…” Ivan said, bewildered. “We’re together—everything’s fine…”
But Nadezhda shook her head. “Fine” was not what she truly desired. She dreamed of more than simply being a wife and a mother. That evening, they talked for a long time. Yet Ivan couldn’t grasp what Nadezhda truly wanted, and she couldn’t articulate it. Gradually, word for word, their conversation turned into an argument. In a burst of anger, Ivan shouted:
“If you feel so miserable with me, why did you ever marry me?”
Those words, unleashed in a moment of rage, proved fateful. Nadezhda fell silent. That night, Ivan couldn’t sleep; he tossed and turned, trying to understand what had happened. Had he not done enough for the family? Had he not tried with all his might? At breakfast the next morning, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the clinking of spoons. The daughters sensed the tension between their parents and ate in silence, afraid to speak a word.
At work, Ivan found it impossible to concentrate. He reproached himself for his outburst, not wanting to fight with his wife, yet he didn’t know how to restore their former harmony. That evening, he bought Nadezhda her favorite lilies, hoping that the flowers would thaw the icy distance between them. She accepted them, but the joy in her eyes was gone.
From that ill-fated evening onward, an invisible wall grew between them. Arguments became more frequent. Nadezhda spent more time away from home. She enrolled in design courses—a dream she had long harbored—and began attending exhibitions and fashion shows. Ivan grew uneasy as his wife drifted further away, living a life that was increasingly mysterious to him.
One day, while flipping through a glossy magazine, Nadezhda remarked,
“There’s an exhibition tomorrow. Some young artist— they say he’s very talented.”
Ivan had almost suggested they go together, but for some reason, he changed his mind. Lately, he and his wife had become complete strangers.
“Go if you want,” he said, and that was all.
Nadezhda went to the exhibition alone—and she did not regret it. There, to her surprise, she met former female classmates. They chatted animatedly, reminiscing about their college days. Suddenly, Nadezhda felt a poignant longing for the simple camaraderie of women. That evening, she recounted her impressions to Ivan with fervor, yet he listened distractedly, irritated by the sudden change in his wife.
Soon, a new employee named Irina appeared in their department—a striking, glamorous brunette who immediately caught Ivan’s attention. Irina was the complete opposite of Nadezhda.
At first, they were merely colleagues, but gradually, friendly conversations evolved into something more. Irina did not hesitate to flirt, and Ivan, almost unknowingly, fell under her spell. Initially, he chastised himself for the inappropriate thoughts, then shrugged them off: “After all, I am a living person.”
One evening, staying late at work, Ivan and Irina began talking. She confessed that she wasn’t in a hurry to tie the knot. He listened intently, inspired by her outlook. Their relationship developed rapidly. Ivan felt guilty about betraying Nadezhda and the children, but he couldn’t help himself. More and more, he ended up spending nights at Irina’s, offering absurd excuses to his wife. Yet Nadezhda was no fool—she understood everything. And one day she said to him,
“I know everything. Don’t torture yourself. Just say that you’re leaving.”
Lacking the courage to confess everything, Ivan packed his things and left home without saying goodbye to his daughters. The prospect of a new life seemed so enticing and free at that moment.
A long twenty years passed.
Life with Irina turned out to be nothing like the bright promise it had once seemed. The fiery passion quickly faded. Irina, accustomed to her freedom, wasn’t willing to change her ways for Ivan. She instigated scandals, and Ivan felt trapped. He longed for the quiet familial comfort and the laughter of his daughters. He tried several times to call Nadezhda, but no one answered. Eventually, succumbing to Irina’s persuasion, he moved to another city.
Years went by. Ivan built a decent career, yet it brought him no true happiness. Irina failed to give him the family he once had—they had no children. Ivan felt his life careening downhill. Tired of the relationship, Irina eventually left him, taking with her everything they had built together.
Left utterly alone, Ivan returned to his hometown. He tried to find work in his field, but his age worked against him, and he had to make do with odd jobs. He heard nothing about Nadezhda or the daughters. Through mutual acquaintances, he learned that Nadezhda had opened her own fashion salon and was doing well.
The daughters grew up and married. Ivan tried to start anew, but the past haunted him like a persistent shadow. He never managed to marry again; every woman he encountered seemed a pale imitation of Nadezhda.
And today, while walking along the embankment, he saw her. Time, it seemed, had no dominion over her. Nadezhda had hardly changed—the same cascade of golden hair, now touched with gray, and the same gentle smile. She strolled, lightly leaning on the arm of a tall, gray-haired man. The couple paused nearby, admiring the play of light on the river’s surface. And then Ivan recognized that man.
It was Sergey, his former classmate. His heart clenched. Nadezhda laughed—a bright, carefree laugh—and that familiar, distant sound struck him deeply. Tears, hot and salty, streamed down his face, which he quickly wiped away with his hand. Then Nadezhda looked at him, recognized him. In her eyes, there was neither reproach nor hatred, only a quiet sadness. She said nothing—only gave a slight nod, as one might to an old acquaintance—and then, once again, she left his life.
