Nadya was wiping her hands on her apron when the doorbell rang. The third time that day. First the mailman, then some electrician who’d gotten lost.
“Misha, the door!” she shouted toward the living room.
No answer. He’d cranked the TV up again—ever since retirement, had he gone completely deaf or what?
Nadya walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Svetlana from the neighboring apartment was standing on the landing. Young, pretty. She’d moved in about six months ago. They’d exchanged greetings in the elevator, nothing more.
“Svetlana? What happened?”
“I need to talk to you. To both of you.”
Her voice was trembling. Her face was pale, her eyes red. She’d clearly been crying.
“Come in, of course. Misha!” Nadya raised her voice. “Come here!”
Mikhail appeared in the hallway. The moment he saw Sveta, he froze. His face turned to stone.
“What is going on?” Nadya asked, looking from her husband to the neighbor.
Sveta straightened up and clenched her fists.
“I’m expecting his child!”
Silence. Even the TV in the living room seemed to quiet down.
Nadya blinked. She didn’t understand. The words wouldn’t form meaning.
“What?” she whispered.
“I’m pregnant by Mikhail,” Sveta repeated. “Three months already.”
The world tilted. The walls swam. Nadya grabbed the doorframe.
“Mish… is it true?”
Mikhail stood there silently, staring at the floor, hands at his sides.
“Answer me!” Nadya stepped closer. “Is it true?!”
“Nadya…”
“Yes or no?!”
“Yes.”
One word. Two sounds. Thirty years of marriage collapsed in a second.
Nadya sank onto a stool in the entryway. Her legs gave out.
“How long?” she asked softly.
“Four months,” Sveta answered. “We didn’t plan it… it just happened.”
“Just happened?” Nadya laughed hysterically. “Babies ‘just happen’ only in school textbooks.”
Mikhail lifted his head.
“Nadya, let’s talk without outsiders.”
“Outsiders?” Sveta flared up. “I’m carrying your child! How am I an outsider?”
“Shut up!” he barked. “This isn’t your business!”
“It is! More than anything! I’m not going to give birth in secret!”
Nadya stood up. Her body moved on its own. Her head was empty.
“Leave,” she told Sveta.
“But we have to decide everything…”
“Leave!” Nadya screamed. “Now!”
Sveta backed toward the door.
“I didn’t want it like this… I thought you had to know…”
“Know?” Nadya stepped toward her. “You wanted to trample my life. You did it! Now get out!”
Sveta darted out the door. Nadya slammed it shut and turned to her husband.
“Thirty years, Misha. Thirty years I gave you.”
“Nadya…”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare talk!” Her voice broke. “Our kids are grown, we have grandkids… and you… you with that…”
Tears burst out in a rush. Nadya covered her face with her hands.
“She’s younger than our Tanya! Do you understand?! Younger than your own daughter!”
Mikhail stood there like a post. Silent.
“What did I ever do to you?” Nadya sobbed. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re not to blame.”
“Then why? Why are you killing me?”
“I didn’t want to… it just happened…”
“It happened!” Nadya wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “So you’ve got a whole other life over there? One I know nothing about?”
Mikhail said nothing.
“Answer me! How many times did you go to her? When I went to the dacha? When I sat with my mother?”
“Nadya, don’t…”
“Yes, I need to! I have to know! Did you laugh at me? Talk about what an idiot I am?”
“No! Never!”
“You’re lying! You’re lying about everything!” Nadya punched him in the chest. “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe anything!”
Mikhail caught her hand.
“Listen to me…”
“Don’t touch me!” Nadya yanked free. “Don’t you dare put your hands on me! It’s disgusting!”
She ran to the bedroom and slammed the door. Fell onto the bed. Their bed. Where they’d slept for thirty years.
Now it was all over.
For three days Nadya didn’t leave the bedroom. Mikhail knocked, begged her to talk. She stayed silent.
On the fourth day he left. Took a bag, documents. Through the door he said:
“I’m with her. For now. We’ll figure it out later.”
Nadya heard the lock click. Silence.
She got up and went to the kitchen. The fridge was full, but she had no appetite. She sat at the table and stared out the window. Kids were playing in the courtyard. Life went on. But for her, everything had stopped.
The phone rang. Tanya, their daughter.
“Mom, how are you? Why did Dad sound so sad?”
“Everything’s fine, honey.”
“Mom, don’t lie. What happened?”
Nadya hesitated. How could she say it? That the father of her children… was with a girl their age…
“I’ll tell you later. Not over the phone.”
“Mom!”
“Later, Tanya. Later.”
She hung up. No—she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell the kids. Too ashamed. Of herself, of him, of everything.
The neighbors greeted her differently now. Like they knew. They looked away. At the store, the cashier Lyuba asked:
“Nadya, where’s Mikhail? Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Business trip,” Nadya lied.
“Ahh. It’s just they say…”
“What do they say?”
“Oh, nothing. Gossip.”
Everyone knew. Of course they did. Sveta must’ve told everyone. Shame for the whole building.
At home, the phone stayed silent. Her girlfriends used to call, chat. Now—no one. Were they afraid? Or did everyone really know?
Nadya walked circles around the apartment. Cleaned ten times a day. Washed, scrubbed, ironed. Just not to think.
But the thoughts came anyway. He strokes her. Kisses her. Says the same words he used to say to Nadya. “My beautiful girl.” The thoughts made her sick.
A week later he came. Knocked—didn’t use his key.
“Nadya, open up. We need to talk.”
She opened. He looked older. Hollowed out.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Great. A holiday every day.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“And how am I supposed to be? Sing for joy?”
He walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. So familiar, as if nothing had happened.
“Listen, Nadya. I’ve been thinking. Maybe we can… work something out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But it’s been thirty years…”
“You crossed out thirty years in one second.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“But you did.”
Mikhail rubbed his face with his hands.
“She’s going to give birth. The baby isn’t guilty of anything.”
“And I am?”
“No. But what do we do?”
Nadya sat across from him and looked at him. A stranger now.
“Live with her. Raise the child. And leave me alone.”
“Nadya…”
“That’s it, Misha. It’s over. You chose. Now live with your choice.”
“But the apartment… the property… what will the kids say?”
“You should’ve thought about the kids earlier. And the apartment… split it however you want. I don’t care.”
“How can you not care?”
“Like this. I can’t live here anymore. Every wall reminds me.”
Mikhail was silent. Then he stood up.
“I’ll come tomorrow for my things. The rest.”
“Come.”
He reached the door, turned back.
“Forgive me, Nadya.”
“I won’t. Never.”
He left. Nadya sat alone in the kitchen. It was already getting dark. She turned on the light. So quiet. Before, his TV would roar and she’d scold him. Now she could scream—no one would hear.
She stood up and went to the window. In the courtyard, Sveta was walking. You couldn’t see her belly yet, but her gait was already different—careful. Pregnant.
Nadya stepped away from the window quickly. She couldn’t stand the sight of her. It made her nauseous.
Tomorrow she’d call Tanya. Tell her everything. It was time. And then… then she didn’t know. Starting life over at fifty-seven was terrifying.
But there was no other way.
Tanya came the next day. Sat in the kitchen and listened in silence. Then she cried.
“Mom, how could he?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I honestly don’t know.”
“He’s a bastard. A bastard!”
“Tanya, he’s your father…”
“What kind of father does that? Fathers don’t do that!”
Nadya stroked her daughter’s hair. At least she’d told someone. It felt lighter.
“Mom, come live with us. Why torture yourself here?”
“Too soon. There are things to do…”
“What things? Just divorce him and that’s it.”
A month later, Nadya finally decided. She went downstairs to Sveta’s door and knocked.
“Nadezhda Ivanovna?” Sveta opened. Her belly was already noticeable.
“I need to talk.”
“Come in.”
The apartment was exactly like Nadya’s—just different furniture. All new.
“Would you like tea?”
“No. Tell me one thing. Why?”
Sveta sat in an armchair, hands folded over her belly.
“I love him.”
“Love him?” Nadya snorted. “A man who’s sixty?”
“Age doesn’t matter.”
“It does. He could be your father.”
“He’s kind. Caring.”
“Caring at my expense! I raised him for thirty years!”
Sveta stayed silent.
“Answer me! Why did you destroy my family?”
“I didn’t want to… I just fell in love.”
“Fell in love!” Nadya stood, paced around the room. “What did he promise you? That he’d leave his wife?”
“No. We just… met.”
“Met… and then what? Decided to trap him with a baby?”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Then how was it? Tell me!”
Sveta started crying—quietly, into her palms.
“I was alone. Completely alone. I moved here, didn’t know anyone. And he… he helped with repairs, shopping. He talked to me.”
“Talked to you—sure, about what!”
“Not that! About life. He listened. When I had problems, he supported me.”
Nadya sat back down, watching her. Young, beautiful. Crying.
“So what now? He’ll leave you after you give birth.”
“He won’t.”
“Oh, he will. He’ll get bored and come back.”
“He won’t come back to you. You won’t forgive him.”
True. Nadya knew that.
“And you—do you think he loves you?”
Sveta looked up.
“I don’t know. I hope.”
“You hope… And if he doesn’t? What will you do?”
“I’ll have the baby. I’ll raise it myself.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
Nadya studied her. A girl. Scared.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you? That you’ll be alone with a child?”
Sveta nodded.
“I’m afraid.”
“And you should be. He’s not a father. He’s practically a grandfather. He already has grandkids.”
“I know.”
“You know, and you still went after someone else’s husband.”
“Forgive me,” Sveta whispered. “I didn’t mean you harm.”
“Too late for forgiveness.”
Nadya got up and went to the door. Then turned back.
“Listen to me, girl. He’s old. He’ll get sick sooner or later. And you’re young. You’ll find a normal man your age. You’ll have children with him.”
“And this baby?”
“This one… I don’t know. Your problem.”
She left Sveta’s and immediately called Mikhail.
“Come over. We need to talk.”
He came an hour later. Sat at the table in silence.
“I went to your underage little girlfriend.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to understand what she found in you.”
“And what? Did you understand?”
“I did. She was looking for a daddy. She found one.”
Mikhail flinched.
“Don’t say that.”
“And what should I say? Do you read her bedtime stories? Or something else?”
“Nadya…”
“Our children already know. Tanya cried. Vova called, screaming at me—he thought I’d kicked you out.”
“I’ll explain to them.”
“What will you explain? That you’re an old fool now?”
Mikhail was quiet. Then he said softly:
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Too late not to know. You should’ve thought earlier.”
“Help me.”
“With what? You chose. Now live with it.”
“But I’m not sure…”
“Not sure about what?”
“That I’m doing the right thing.”
Nadya looked at him for a long time, then shook her head.
“That’s it, Misha. Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce.”
They processed the divorce quickly. Mikhail didn’t fight it. They split the apartment fifty-fifty. Nadya sold her share to him for pennies.
“Why so cheap?” Tanya asked.
“I don’t want any ties with him. None.”
She packed two suitcases. Left the rest. A new life—clean slate.
Tanya met her at the station and hugged her tight.
“Mom, everything will be okay.”
“It will, sweetheart.”
At first it was hard. She stayed home, bored. Tanya at work, her son-in-law too. The grandkids at school. Silence.
Then a neighbor suggested:
“Nadya, want to watch some kids? Good family, they pay well.”
“I’ve never…”
“What’s there to know? You raised two.”
She tried. She liked it. They weren’t her kids, but they made her happy. They listened. They reached for her.
“Grandma Nadya, tell us a story!”
“Grandma Nadya, play with us!”
She came alive again. Needed again.
Half a year later she met Nina, another nanny. They became friends.
“Men are all goats,” Nina would say. “I’ve survived three already.”
“Not all of them,” Nadya would answer. “Just bad ones turn up.”
“You’re still young. You’ll find a good one.”
“I don’t need anyone. Peace is worth more.”
But sometimes she thought: maybe someone really would come along. Normal. Decent.
Mikhail called rarely. Asked how she was. His voice sounded tired.
“Sveta gave birth,” he told her once.
“A boy or a girl?”
“A girl. They named her Masha.”
“Good,” Nadya said, and hung up.
She pictured him pushing a stroller. At sixty. Not sleeping at night, changing diapers. Hard for him, probably.
But it was his choice. Let him live with it.
Tanya once said:
“Mom, Vova called Dad. Says he’s aged a lot. Gets tired.”
“So what?”
“Maybe we should visit him?”
“Why?”
“He’s still our father.”
“Your father. To me he’s nobody.”
The kids didn’t understand. They thought time healed. Nadya knew some wounds never close. You can get used to them, but you can’t forgive them.
A year passed. Then a second. Nadya settled into the new city. Worked with three families. Had enough money. Made friends.
“You’ve changed,” Tanya said. “You’ve become… strong.”
“I always was strong. I just didn’t know it.”
“And you don’t pity Dad?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
And it was true. There was no pity. Only a faint sadness sometimes—for what had been. For youth. For the time when they’d been happy.
Nina said:
“I saw him недавно. Walking with a stroller. Totally gray. Looked so tired.”
“Where did you see him?”
“By the clinic. Probably taking the baby for shots.”
“I see.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Not really.”
That was true too. Someone else’s life. Someone else’s problems.
In the morning Nadya got up, had breakfast, went to the kids. Played, read books. In the evening she went home. Watched a series or read. A calm life. Measured.
Sometimes she wondered: what if she’d forgiven him? Would they have gone back to how it was? No. They wouldn’t have. Trust was gone.
And this way—she was free. Owed no one. Waiting for no one. Responsible only for herself.
On weekends she went to the theater with Tanya. Or to the movies. Took the grandkids to the park. A full life.
“Mom, are you happy?” Tanya asked once.
Nadya thought for a moment.
“You know what, sweetheart? Yes. In my own way, I’m happy. For the first time, I’m finally living for myself.”
And that was the pure truth
