Lidia’s wrinkled fingers clutched a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. Thirty-two years of marriage, over three thousand dinners shared, countless shirts ironed and folded — and now she sat alone in their kitchen, where every inch whispered memories of a life once built together.
“I don’t understand, Vitya…” Her voice quivered, thin as thread. “You’re really just walking away?”
Victor packed slowly, carefully folding clothes into a worn-out suitcase like he was completing some routine chore. His movements were deliberate, almost as if he wanted to give her time to process the unraveling of their life.
“Lida, we both knew this day would come,” he replied without looking at her. “Whatever we had died a long time ago. I want to start living — for me. I’m sixty, and I haven’t seen the world yet.”
His words struck like a slap. Thirty-two years of vacations, birthdays, New Year’s Eves, Sunday breakfasts — all reduced to nothing in a single sentence.
“And how old is she?” Lidia asked, though she already knew.
“Thirty-five,” he said at last, meeting her eyes. “Her name is Katya. She’s… different. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Twenty-two years younger than me — is that what makes her different?” Lidia’s voice trembled as something inside her tore, the delicate paper of hope and illusion ripping down the center.
“It’s not just that,” Victor snapped the suitcase shut. “She’s full of life. She laughs, she doesn’t worry about every little coin.”
“I worried about money so we could buy this apartment! So we could send Masha to university!” Lidia’s voice rose without her meaning to.
“There you go again. Always shouting,” Victor muttered. “I’m tired of it.”
She bit down on her lips. That was his argument? That she raised her voice?
“I’ll come for the rest of my things later,” he said, adjusting the suitcase handle. “The apartment papers are already with the notary. It’s a fifty-fifty split, so don’t get any ideas about… interfering.”
Lidia blinked, her throat dry. “And now? Are you going straight to her?”
“Yes, Lida. I am.”
At the door, he paused, casting one last glance over his shoulder.
“I think it’s for the best. Maybe now you’ll get some peace. Maybe you’ll even understand me.”
Lidia stared at him, stunned.
“Understand you?” she echoed, a bitter smile twitching at her lips. “Will you ever understand what it feels like to be left behind?”
“You’re strong, Lida. You’ll be fine.”
The door closed with a final, hollow thud.
She sat frozen in the silence, surrounded by curtains, mugs, wall art — every object they had chosen together. Only when the tea in her hands went icy did she react. With a sudden cry, she hurled the cup against the wall. It shattered, the sharp crack echoing like a starter’s pistol.
The stillness was broken.
“He just left? Just like that?” her daughter Masha’s voice crackled through the phone, incredulous.
“Yes,” Lidia said, pacing the living room. “Suitcase in hand. Walked out the door. Told me I’d ‘manage.’ Imagine that.”
“Oh my God, Mom, what a… what a jerk. Thirty-two years together, and he says that?”
“Thirty-two years,” Lidia murmured, her eyes falling on their wedding photo. The smiling couple in the frame felt like strangers now.
For the next two weeks, Lidia barely stepped outside. She lay on the couch staring at the ceiling, flipping through old albums, crying until there was nothing left. And then, one morning, she awoke with a strange, clear calm.
“I will manage,” she whispered, looking at the cold pillow beside her.
That very day, she called her old friend Nina, a lawyer who specialized in family law.
“We don’t have much time,” Nina said, spreading legal papers across the café table. “If he’s already talking about splitting assets, this Katya is likely pushing him.”
“What can I do?” Lidia asked, her voice steady, her eyes focused.
“Transfer your share of the apartment to Masha immediately. And as for your joint savings…”
Lidia nodded, taking notes. That afternoon, she walked into the bank and calmly withdrew half of everything.
“Fifty percent is mine,” she whispered to herself. “That’s what he said, right?”
“Mrs. Vorontsova, are you certain you want to close this account?” the teller asked, surprised. “It has excellent terms.”
“Quite certain,” Lidia answered, smiling. A new kind of smile — one that didn’t tremble.
The days that followed turned into a relentless blur of paperwork and appointments. Lidia spent hours in legal and notary offices—collecting documents, seeking advice from experts, signing forms, making copies. With each stamped page, a piece of her life seemed to return to her. Control, once lost, was quietly reclaiming its place.
Then, a month later, Victor called.
“Lida?” His voice was hesitant, unfamiliar in its softness. “How are you?”
“Wonderful, Vitya,” she replied without hesitation, and this time, she meant it.
“I… was hoping to stop by. To pick up the rest of my things. And maybe… talk.”
A beat of silence.
“Of course, come by,” she said calmly. Then, after a thoughtful pause, “Maybe we’ll even have dinner together. Like old times?”
“Really?” His tone lit up with surprise—and hope. “I… I’ll be there tomorrow. Seven.”
When the call ended, Lidia dialed Nina.
“He’s coming tomorrow,” she said simply. “Something must’ve gone wrong with… Katya.”
“I knew it,” Nina laughed. “The young beauty probably got sick of his socks lying around. You ready?”
“Everything’s done,” Lidia glanced at the neatly stacked folder on the table. “Divorce finalized by proxy. Masha’s gift deed signed and registered. All accounts closed—new ones opened.”
“Lidochka, you’re incredible,” Nina’s voice brimmed with pride. “Whatever he says tomorrow, don’t let it shake you. You’re standing on solid ground now.”
The next evening, Lidia took her time getting ready. For the first time in months, she styled her hair. She chose the blue dress Victor always said made her look beautiful. And she cooked his favorite—potato casserole with mushrooms.
At exactly seven, the doorbell rang.
Victor stood in the doorway looking older, more worn. The lines on his face had deepened, his hair grown thinner. And there it was—that faint trace of a woman’s perfume still clinging to him, as if he hadn’t even bothered to wash it off.
“Lida,” he said with a small, awkward smile. “You look… amazing.”
He held up a bottle of their favorite wine. She nodded toward the coat rack without a word and turned back toward the kitchen.
“Smells incredible,” he said, following her in. “Is that… my favorite casserole?”
“I figured it was a good night for nostalgia,” Lidia replied, her voice even, almost detached.
They sat down. Victor fidgeted with his fork, clearly unsure how to start.
“So… how have you been?” he finally asked.
“Great,” she answered, serving him a plate. “I go swimming. I signed up for Italian classes.”
“Italian?” He looked genuinely surprised. “You always wanted to learn…”
“Yes,” she smiled, sipping her wine. “For thirty years, I wanted to.”
Victor shifted in his seat. “And how’s… life? How’s Katya?”
He coughed, set his fork down.
“We broke up,” he admitted, eyes dropping to the table. “It… wasn’t what I expected.”
“Mm,” Lidia nodded, as if he’d mentioned a change in the weather.
“She was… a lot,” he continued, rushing now. “Always picking on me. Complaining. Everything was wrong—my habits, my clothes, where we went. She wanted gifts, dinners out. We moved in together and within a week she was saying I wasn’t providing enough comfort. Me! Can you believe it? After all I’ve done, all my life—”
“Young women have their own expectations,” Lidia said with a slight shrug. “Isn’t that what you wanted, though? A woman who ‘laughs loudly’?”
Victor flinched. Her words—his own, once spoken so confidently—landed with a thud between them.
“Lida, I made a mistake…” Victor reached for her hand, but she gently drew it away.
“These past few weeks without you… they’ve been unbearable.”
Lidia looked at him—this weary man who had once been her whole world. And yet, she felt no rage, no bitterness. Just a quiet exhaustion. And something else: freedom.
“We can fix this,” Victor said, voice full of desperate hope. “We can start again. I swear, I’ll never—”
“Wait,” she interrupted softly, standing from the table. She walked into the hallway and returned with a thick brown envelope. “Before you say anything else, look at this.”
Victor frowned, taking it from her hands.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
He tipped the envelope over. A divorce certificate slid onto the table. Legal papers gifting Lidia’s share of the apartment to Masha. Statements showing closed accounts, severed ties.
Victor’s eyes scanned the documents, his expression shifting — disbelief, then fury.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he rasped. “What have you done?”
“I protected myself,” Lidia replied calmly, pouring herself a fresh glass of wine. “Just like you told me once — I ‘handled it.’”
“This isn’t fair!” He jabbed a trembling finger at the papers. “The apartment is in both our names!”
“It was,” she said with a small nod. “But once you left, I was the sole spouse on record. I had every legal right to give away my share. Yours is still yours, as is the car. No one touched them.”
“You filed for divorce behind my back?” Victor’s hands gripped his head, wild with disbelief. “How could you do this?”
“And how could you walk away after thirty-two years?” For the first time that evening, her voice hardened, sharp as broken glass. “You asked for freedom. And now you have it. All of it.”
She stood quietly for a moment, holding a plate to her chest as though the weight of the evening rested in her arms. The kitchen lights cast long shadows across the floor.
“No, Vitya,” she finally whispered. “You didn’t lose everything. But you lost me. The version of me you once knew.”
Perhaps there was a flicker of sympathy somewhere in her chest — he looked so defeated, so unfamiliar, and yet so painfully familiar. After all, decades leave their fingerprints. The way they brewed tea. The rhythm of their footsteps. Even the glance at a clock was shared. Who can explain such things?
“Lida…” His voice cracked. He rose to his feet, hands trembling. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You can,” she said gently. “Everyone can, when they have to.”
A breeze outside stirred the leaves, rustling the branches like the wind itself was reluctant to let go of summer. Lidia suddenly realized she wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, the room felt warm. Safe. For so long she had feared solitude — now, for the first time in years, it felt like possibility.
She wanted to walk somewhere new tomorrow. To sleep with the balcony door cracked open. To make decisions without asking permission.
Victor stood in the doorway, lost — like a child amid broken toys.
“Try, Vitya,” she said with a small smile — the first genuine one that evening. “It’s not the end. Not if you don’t let it be.”
He lowered his eyes. Took a moment. Then gave a quiet nod. Not in protest, not in hope — just a calm surrender to the truth. Their story was over. Not with fury, but with peace. For both of them.
“I should go,” he said at last.
“I know,” Lidia replied.
When the door clicked shut behind him, she stood still, listening to the silence. Funny, she thought — new beginnings often arrive on tiptoe.
A moment later, she returned to the table and rested a hand on the back of the empty chair.
“You still have your freedom,” she said softly, as if to the echo of him. “And that’s more precious than you think. One day you’ll see.”
Outside, night had fallen. The city lights blinked like distant stars. Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked — proof that time, always, moves forward.
“Can I stay the night?” he had asked, not long before. “Just on the couch.”
Lidia’s response was quiet, but final.
“No, Vitya. Not anymore. This home is different now.”
He had understood. Wordlessly, he gathered the documents, folded them back into the envelope, and straightened his shirt with a mechanical grace.
“Can I still call? Just to see how you’re doing?”
“Of course,” she’d said. “We were together too long to become strangers.”
At the door, he turned. His eyes lingered on her face — as if trying to memorize every line.
“You’re an incredible woman, Lida. I just… forgot for a while.”
“Goodbye, Vitya.”
When the door closed, Lidia leaned against it and exhaled deeply.
Then, with a peaceful resolve, she walked to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed.
“Masha? Yes, he came by. Everything’s fine. Listen… I’ve been thinking. Let’s go to Italy in December instead of January. I’m ready, sweetheart. Completely ready.”
Rain began to tap gently against the windows, but Lidia didn’t notice. She was looking at pictures of Italian cities glowing on her tablet screen — smiling at the future she no longer feared.
Because now she understood: every ending hides a beginning.
And sometimes, losing everything is the only way to finally find yourself.
