“You walk out now, and you won’t be coming back. I will never open this door again for a man who chooses another woman’s bed,” Victoria said calmly, standing in the entryway.
Maxim froze with a travel bag in his hand and stared at his wife in disbelief. The strap pulled tight across his shoulder, and his fingers turned white around the handle, but he still tried to smirk as though he had heard a bad joke rather than a warning.
“Vika, don’t start. I’m not leaving forever.”
“And I’m not saying this temporarily.”
He blinked, then abruptly dropped the bag onto the floor.
“You’re emotional right now. Tomorrow you’ll calm down, and we’ll talk properly.”
Victoria stood beside the front door in a simple lounge outfit, without makeup, her hair pulled back. There were no tears on her face, no pleading, and none of the familiar tension Maxim had grown accustomed to seeing over the past few months.
That was what unsettled him most.
He had expected a scandal. Shouting. Accusations. Perhaps even an attempt to grab his sleeve and stop him.
Instead, his wife simply stood there, looking at him as though she had already made her final decision.
“I tried to talk to you calmly when you lied about meetings,” Victoria said. “When you came home with another woman’s perfume on your jacket. When you deleted messages while sitting beside me at dinner. When you accused me of being suspicious.”
Maxim rubbed a hand over his face.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Really? Then why did you hurt me little by little every single day?”
He turned toward the mirror in the hallway as though he hoped to see a more convenient version of the situation reflected there.
Instead, the mirror showed a forty-year-old man with a travel bag and a confused expression. Not the tortured hero of a romance, not a man tragically caught between two women, but an ordinary person who had spent far too long believing he would always be welcomed home, no matter what he did.
“I need time to figure things out,” he finally said. “Myself. My feelings.”
“Then figure them out.”
“But why are you giving me an ultimatum?”
Victoria gave a brief, humorless smile.
“How interesting. When you pack a bag and go to another woman, you call it ‘figuring things out.’ But when I close the door behind you, suddenly it becomes an ultimatum.”
Maxim opened his mouth, but no answer came.
For months, their apartment had become a place where everything remained half-spoken. Victoria had learned to recognize lies through tiny details: the speed of his answers, the irritation caused by an ordinary question, the way he always placed his phone facedown.
At first, she convinced herself that she was imagining things.
Then one night, Maxim’s phone lit up on the kitchen table while he was taking a shower.
Victoria had not intended to read his messages, but the name on the screen appeared too brightly to ignore.
Lera.
“Are you still at her place?”
Not “at home.”
Not “at work.”
At her place.
Victoria stared at those words for a long time. Her chest felt too tight to breathe, but she did not scream. She simply picked up a glass and poured herself some water, spilling half of it across the table because her fingers would not obey her.
When Maxim came out of the bathroom, he immediately noticed the look on her face.
“What?”
“Who is Lera?”
He became angry so quickly that Victoria immediately knew she had struck the truth.
“She’s a colleague. God, Vika, are you checking my phone now?”
“I didn’t check anything. The message appeared on the screen.”
“So what? We’re working on a project.”
“At eleven at night, she’s asking whether you’re still at my place?”
Maxim stared at her for several seconds, then snatched up his phone.
“You’re taking it out of context.”
That was when the real collapse began.
Not the affair itself. Victoria later understood that the affair had already been happening for quite some time.
What began that night was a life lived in fog, where Maxim tried to convince her that she was not seeing what she saw, not hearing what she heard, and not understanding anything correctly.
A week later, an acquaintance sent Victoria a photograph.
Maxim was sitting beside a restaurant window. Across from him was a younger woman in a pale jacket. She was leaning over the table, and Maxim was holding her hand.
It was not an accidental touch. He was not helping her remove a ring or examining an injury.
He was holding her hand with calm confidence, the way people hold someone they believe they have every right to touch.
Beneath the photograph was a short message:
“Vika, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interfere, but you deserve to know.”
Victoria had been sitting in a small meeting room at work. Samples of fabric for a window display were spread across the table, but the colors blurred before her eyes.
She closed her laptop and remained motionless for ten minutes. Then she went to the restroom and splashed cold water over her face.
In the mirror, she saw a pale woman with a neat hairstyle whose composed appearance did not match what had just shattered inside her.
At home, Maxim denied everything at first.
Then he became angry.
Finally, he said, “Yes, I’m involved with someone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect you.”
Victoria laughed once, dryly and without humor.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m confused.”
That became his favorite word.
Confused.
As though he had not spent months lying, visiting another woman, returning home, eating the dinner his wife had prepared, asking where his clean shirts were, and climbing into bed beside her.
As though he had accidentally wandered into another life and simply lost his way.
In reality, Maxim never intended to leave permanently.
Victoria did not understand that immediately.
He wanted to keep everything.
He wanted the home where every one of his habits was known and accommodated. The wife who remembered which tablets he took for his blood pressure, which shirt he wore to important meetings, and when the car documents needed renewing.
And he wanted Lera too—new, easy, admiring Lera, who had never seen him angry in the morning, sick in the evening, or irritable after a difficult day.
Maxim wanted to stay with Lera for “a week or two,” see how things went, and then make a decision.
He had almost admitted it honestly.
“I need to understand where I’ll be happier.”
Victoria had raised her eyes to him.
“Do you honestly believe I’m supposed to sit here waiting for the results of your comparison?”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“What else would you call it?”
He became angry again.
“You make it sound like I’m some kind of monster.”
“No. You’re simply a man who arranged everything for his own convenience.”
That evening, he began packing his bag.
He did it slowly and dramatically, as though every folded towel was supposed to frighten Victoria into changing her mind.
She sat on the edge of the bed and watched.
Maxim packed two shirts, jeans, a phone charger, and his razor. He opened the sock drawer, searched through it, and threw several pairs into the bag.
Then he took a sweater from the wardrobe—the one Victoria had given him for their previous anniversary.
“Leave that,” she said.
He turned.
“What?”
“The sweater. Leave it.”
“Vika, don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a piece of clothing.”
“Exactly. A piece of clothing I chose for the man I believed was my husband. The man going to his mistress doesn’t need it.”
Red patches appeared across Maxim’s face.
Without a word, he threw the sweater back onto the shelf.
Just before leaving, his voice suddenly softened.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t.”
“Vika…”
“Leave the keys.”
He froze.
“What keys?”
“The apartment keys.”
“This is my home too.”
Victoria studied him carefully.
The apartment belonged to her. She had purchased it before the marriage, long before she had met Maxim.
He knew that perfectly well, although in recent years he had started saying “our home” as though those words could erase legal documents.
“A home is where people live honestly,” she said. “And I am the legal owner of this apartment. Leave the keys.”
Maxim clenched his jaw.
“You’re humiliating me.”
“No. I’m taking away the thing that allows you to come back whenever you want, especially when Lera becomes inconvenient.”
He yanked the key ring from his pocket and threw it onto the hallway cabinet. The metal struck the surface with a loud, almost defiant sound.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Perhaps. But I still won’t open the door.”
He stood there for several more seconds, waiting for her to break.
Victoria did not.
The door closed behind him.
Only then did the silence inside the apartment become so heavy that Victoria lowered herself onto the small bench in the hallway.
She did not collapse onto the floor, nor was it an act of weakness. Her legs simply ached from the tension.
She sat there, staring at his keys and feeling an unfamiliar emptiness.
It was not relief.
It was not victory.
It was simply the end of a long and humiliating period of waiting.
Maxim did not call the next day.
Lera sent a message instead.
It came from an unfamiliar number.
“Victoria, I understand that you’re hurting, but Maxim is with me now. Let’s not make a scene. We’re all adults.”
Victoria read the message several times.
Then she deleted it and blocked the number.
There would be no scenes.
There would only be consequences.
Three days later, Maxim appeared again.
He did not call. He simply came to the apartment.
Victoria heard the doorbell at half past nine in the evening. She looked through the peephole and saw her husband standing outside.
He had no travel bag. He was wearing the same jacket he had worn when he left. His face looked tired and irritated.
“Vika, open the door. I need to collect some things.”
She opened the inner door but left the security chain in place.
“What exactly do you need?”
Maxim actually stepped backward.
“Are you serious? Am I supposed to dictate a list through a crack in the door?”
“Yes.”
He gave a short laugh.
“You’ve turned this into a circus.”
“No. I simply don’t want someone who no longer lives here walking through the apartment like its owner.”
Maxim leaned closer.
“Vika, enough. I have work tomorrow. I need my suit, my documents, and my laptop.”
“I’ll bring out the documents and the laptop. Which suit?”
“The blue one.”
“Wait here.”
She closed the door, packed everything into a large bag, added the laptop, its charger, the folder of documents, the blue suit in its garment bag, several shirts, and a pair of shoes.
Then she opened the door and placed everything in the hallway.
Maxim looked at her as though he no longer recognized her.
“I’m not a stranger.”
“Almost.”
“You’re the one destroying everything.”
Victoria exhaled slowly.
“Maxim, you have spent the last three days living with the woman you were sleeping with for months. Don’t pretend the destruction began at this door.”
He grabbed the bag.
“At least Lera doesn’t have this icy pride of yours.”
“Then you’re lucky. Go warm yourself beside her.”
The door closed.
This time, Victoria’s hands did not shake.
A week later, the most unpleasant part began.
Her mother-in-law, Tamara Sergeyevna, called.
“Vika, what are you doing? Maxim came to see me, and he looked terrible. A man made a mistake, and you immediately locked him out of his home!”
“Tamara Sergeyevna, he left voluntarily.”
“He’s confused.”
Victoria stared silently at the ceiling.
That word had begun circling around her even when Maxim was not present.
“He is an adult.”
“You have to know how to bring a man back.”
“I’m not a delivery service.”
An offended silence followed.
“You’ve become very rude.”
“No. I was simply more convenient before.”
For more than half an hour, her mother-in-law explained that women were responsible for saving families, that Lera was only a temporary madness, and that Maxim would soon come to his senses.
But according to Tamara Sergeyevna, Victoria must not block his road back.
Victoria listened until her mother-in-law finally said, “The apartment is large. You could let him stay in another room while he makes up his mind.”
Victoria slowly sat down at the kitchen table.
“Are you suggesting that I let my husband live in a separate bedroom while he chooses between me and his mistress?”
“I’m suggesting that you shouldn’t make a decision in anger.”
“It’s too late. He already made enough destructive decisions for both of us.”
After that conversation, Victoria called a locksmith and changed the locks.
There were no speeches and no dramatic declarations. She found a specialist, arranged a convenient appointment, and stood nearby while he removed the old cylinders and installed new ones.
The locksmith, a man in a gray jacket, noticed Maxim’s old keys lying on the cabinet.
“Lost trust in someone?” he asked.
Victoria looked at the door.
“You could say that.”
He asked no further questions.
Two weeks later, Maxim returned.
This time, he was not alone.
Lera was standing beside him.
Victoria looked through the peephole and remained still for several seconds.
Lera was not at all what she had imagined.
She was not a predator, a glamorous temptress, or a shameless young girl. She was an ordinary, well-groomed woman of about thirty-five, visibly tense and holding a thin folder.
Maxim rang the bell again.
Victoria opened the door but remained on the threshold.
“What do you want?”
Lera raised her eyes first.
“I need to speak with you.”
Maxim turned sharply toward her.
“Lera, that isn’t why we came.”
“It’s why I came.”
Victoria tilted her head slightly, trying to understand what was happening.
Lera removed several sheets of paper from the folder.
“I didn’t know what he had told you. He told me that the two of you had not lived as husband and wife for a long time. He said the divorce was only a matter of time. He said the apartment belonged to both of you, but that he had left voluntarily because he didn’t want to hurt you.”
Maxim’s face turned dark red.
“Why are you saying this now?”
“Because you lied to me too.”
Victoria looked at her husband.
“Interesting.”
Lera swallowed nervously.
“He asked me for money. He said he urgently needed to pay a lawyer for the property division. He claimed you were trying to leave him with nothing.”
Victoria did not immediately understand what she had heard.
“What lawyer?”
Maxim raised one hand.
“Vika, don’t start making a scene—”
“Be quiet,” Lera snapped.
And at those two words, Maxim actually fell silent.
Lera turned back to Victoria.
“I gave him the money. Not immediately. He kept pressuring me and trying to make me feel sorry for him. He said he couldn’t access his savings because you controlled all the accounts.”
Victoria slowly looked at Maxim.
He turned his eyes toward the elevator.
This was no longer only betrayal. It was a small, dirty attempt to profit from his own lies.
“Maxim,” Victoria said quietly, “did you take money from your mistress to pay for an imaginary legal battle over an apartment I owned before we were married?”
His face flushed.
“I was going to pay her back!”
“With what? Your next fictional story?”
Lera pressed the folder against her chest.
“I didn’t come here to cause a scandal. I only wanted to know whether he had really filed a lawsuit.”
Victoria gave a dry smile.
“He is welcome to try. I purchased this apartment before the marriage. There is nothing to divide.”
Lera closed her eyes briefly, as though Victoria’s answer had confirmed what she already suspected.
“I see.”
Maxim stepped toward the door.
“Vika, let me come inside. We can talk without her.”
“No.”
“I’m your husband.”
“On paper, for the moment. Not in any meaningful sense.”
He lowered his voice sharply.
“Don’t make me look like an idiot.”
Lera suddenly laughed, nervously, almost choking on the sound.
“Maxim, you managed that perfectly well on your own.”
At that moment, a neighboring door opened.
An elderly woman named Zoya Pavlovna appeared with a bag of rubbish and immediately understood from their expressions that she had interrupted something.
“Oh, excuse me. I’ll come back later.”
“There’s no need, Zoya Pavlovna. Go ahead,” Victoria said calmly.
Maxim flinched.
“Wonderful. Now the entire building is listening.”
“Strange that public embarrassment only bothers you now.”
Lera turned and walked toward the elevator.
“You’ll return the money by Friday. Otherwise, I’ll report you myself.”
Maxim hurried after her.
“Lera, wait!”
The elevator arrived, and both of them disappeared behind its doors.
Victoria closed her apartment door and laughed for the first time in a long while.
It was not from happiness.
The situation was simply so pathetic that tears would have been too great an honor for Maxim.
After that, he disappeared for almost a month.
Victoria did not wait for him.
She began dealing with everything she had postponed. She cleaned out the wardrobe, delivered some of his possessions to his mother, and packed the rest into boxes.
She made an inventory of the property acquired during the marriage: the car, household appliances, and savings that genuinely belonged to both of them.
She also booked an appointment with a lawyer so she could calmly understand the divorce and property-division process.
They had no children, but Maxim later refused to agree to a simple administrative divorce.
Not because he wanted to save the marriage.
He believed that refusing his consent allowed him to retain some control.
The lawyer, a serious woman with short hair, listened carefully and said, “If your husband refuses to consent, the divorce will have to go through the court. Don’t worry about the apartment. Property owned before marriage remains yours. As for everything else, we will review the documents.”
Victoria left the office carrying a folder and feeling solid ground beneath her feet again.
It was not happiness.
It was simply clarity.
Maxim appeared again at the end of the month.
Victoria had just returned from the supermarket. When she reached her floor, she saw him standing outside her door with two sports bags beside him.
“Hello,” he said tiredly.
She stopped three steps away.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have nowhere else to go.”
Victoria took out her keys but did not approach the door.
“Has Lera’s charity run out?”
He grimaced.
“Don’t start.”
“And your mother?”
“She said I need to resolve things with you first.”
Victoria gave the smallest nod.
“So every other door has closed, and now you’ve remembered mine.”
Maxim ran a hand over the back of his head.
He looked worn out. The usual confidence and irritated superiority were gone.
But Victoria had already learned that feeling sorry for him was a trap.
“Vika, I made a mistake.”
“With whom? Me, Lera, or the money?”
His cheek twitched.
“I know I’ve done terrible things. But we spent so many years together.”
“And during all those years, you always knew where you could return.”
“I want to come home.”
Victoria took out her phone.
“I’ll order you a taxi to your mother’s house.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. I’m helping you avoid sleeping in the stairwell.”
He stepped closer.
“Vika, open the door. I’ll only stay one night. I’ll sleep on the sofa and leave in the morning.”
“No.”
“Just once!”
“No.”
“Have you become a complete stranger?”
Victoria studied him carefully.
In the past, that question would have wounded her. She would have started explaining that she was not a stranger, that she was hurting, and that she had never wanted their marriage to end this way.
Now the words simply passed through her.
“You became the stranger. You were only the last person to notice.”
Maxim tightened his grip on the bag.
“I’m still registered at this address.”
“No, you aren’t. You were never officially registered here. You lived with me because you were my husband. Now you don’t.”
He stopped speaking.
Victoria unlocked the door, entered the apartment, and immediately closed it behind her.
Maxim rang the bell several times, then began knocking.
She did not approach the door.
Ten minutes later, Zoya Pavlovna called.
“Victoria, he’s sitting on the stairs outside your apartment. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. If he tries to force his way in, I’ll call the police.”
“I understand. I’m nearby too.”
Maxim left half an hour later.
The next morning, a huge, expensive bouquet lay outside the door with a card.
“Forgive me. I understand everything now.”
Victoria picked up the bouquet, carried it outside to the rubbish containers, and carefully placed it beside them.
The flowers had done nothing wrong, but they had no place inside her home.
Several days later, Maxim changed his tactics.
He began sending long messages.
In the first, he reminded her of their first holiday by the sea.
In the second, he recalled how she had cared for him after an operation.
In the third, he wrote about the day they chose their sofa.
Victoria did not reply.
Then the messages became threatening.
“If you file for divorce, I’ll divide everything.”
She sent him her lawyer’s contact information.
“Direct all questions to her.”
After that, Maxim came to her workplace.
Victoria saw him through the shop window. He was standing outside with his hands in his pockets, staring directly at the entrance.
Inside, the shop was bright and smelled of new fabric and polished wood.
Her colleague, Oksana, noticed Victoria’s expression.
“Is that him?”
“Yes.”
“Should I call security?”
“Not yet.”
Maxim entered a minute later.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m working.”
“Are you going to hide everywhere now?”
Victoria straightened.
“I’m not hiding. I simply no longer exist to satisfy your sudden need for conversation.”
Oksana deliberately stepped out from behind the counter and stood beside her.
“We have customers. Personal matters should be discussed outside the shop.”
Maxim glanced at her.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does if you’re disrupting our work.”
He looked back at Victoria.
“So that’s how it is? You want to do this in front of witnesses?”
“Would you prefer secrecy? You’ve always been fond of that.”
His expression changed.
For one brief moment, she saw the old Maxim—the man who used to slam cupboard doors whenever a conversation failed to follow his preferred script.
“You’ll regret this,” he said.
Oksana immediately reached for her phone.
“I’m calling security.”
Maxim turned and left.
Victoria remained motionless until the door closed behind him. Then she placed both hands on the edge of the counter. Her fingernails made a faint tapping sound against the wood.
“Breathe,” Oksana said quietly.
“I am.”
“Good. Just don’t start feeling sorry for him.”
Victoria looked through the window. Maxim was already walking toward the car park.
“I don’t feel sorry for him. I’m remembering the woman I used to be. She would have run after him to explain herself.”
Oksana nodded.
“It’s good that you didn’t.”
The divorce hearing did not take long.
Maxim arrived in a perfectly ironed shirt, as though he were attending a business meeting rather than the end of his marriage.
Before the hearing, he tried to corner Victoria near a window in the courthouse corridor.
“Last chance, Vika.”
For a moment, she could not tell whether he was offering that chance to her or to himself.
“A chance for what?”
“To withdraw the application. We can begin again.”
“Begin with what?”
“A conversation.”
“You only wanted a conversation after you lost every other comfortable option.”
He frowned.
“You’ve become cruel.”
“No. I’ve simply stopped trying to appear kind to someone who treated me badly.”
During the hearing, Maxim unexpectedly asked the judge to grant them a period for reconciliation.
Victoria turned toward him.
He looked straight ahead, pretending that his request came from love.
The judge asked Victoria to state her position.
She answered calmly.
“Reconciliation is impossible. My husband voluntarily left to live with another woman after maintaining a relationship with her for a long time. He never intended to return to the marriage under honest conditions. I insist on the divorce.”
Maxim shot her a quick glance filled with irritation and wounded pride.
It was as though she had revealed something that was supposed to remain behind closed doors.
But now, closed doors worked in Victoria’s favor.
After the hearing, he caught up with her near the exit.
“Why did you say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“You could have said it more gently.”
Victoria stopped.
“Maxim, you spent months turning my life into something ugly, and now you want me to describe it politely?”
He looked away.
“You’re destroying me.”
“No. I’m simply no longer protecting you from the truth.”
Victoria received the final divorce decision later.
She did not go anywhere to celebrate that day.
She simply returned home, removed her shoes, placed the documents on the table, and stood silently in the hallway.
The apartment was unchanged.
The same wardrobe.
The same cabinet.
The same hooks beside the door.
Only the place where Maxim’s jacket had once hung was now occupied by her sports bag.
It was not a grand symbol of a new beginning or a beautiful cinematic moment.
An empty space had simply become available at last.
That evening, Tamara Sergeyevna called.
At first, Victoria considered ignoring the call, but then she answered.
“Well, are you satisfied now?” her former mother-in-law asked without saying hello.
“With the divorce? Yes.”
“He’s completely broken.”
“Then he can put himself back together.”
“You could have been wiser.”
Victoria looked at the divorce papers.
“I was wise for a very long time. You simply called it wisdom because I was the one paying the price for it.”
Tamara Sergeyevna took a loud breath.
“So that’s it? You don’t even want to talk?”
“No.”
“What about his belongings?”
“There are two boxes left. He can collect them on Sunday between twelve and two. I’ll hand them over downstairs.”
“Why can’t he collect them from the apartment?”
“Because he no longer lives here.”
The conversation ended there.
On Sunday, Maxim arrived with his mother.
Victoria had already placed the boxes beside the elevator.
Inside were books, tools, winter boots, and old photographs in an envelope.
She had not thrown the photographs away. Their past had been real, even if its ending was ugly.
Maxim crouched beside one of the boxes, opened the envelope, and removed a photograph of the two of them laughing beside a waterfront.
They were younger, tanned, and still convinced that the worst things in life would never happen to them.
“Do you remember that day?” he asked softly.
Victoria stood nearby, holding her keys.
“I remember.”
“We were happy then.”
“We were.”
“And you don’t feel sorry at all?”
She looked at him.
Maxim’s expression was lost, almost childlike. In the past, that look would have disarmed her.
It no longer did.
“I am sorry. Just not sorry enough to let you back into my life.”
Tamara Sergeyevna sniffed loudly.
“Vika, you can’t be made of stone.”
Victoria turned toward her.
“You can, after spending too long being treated like a door.”
Maxim stood.
“I truly wanted to come back.”
“I know.”
“Then why wouldn’t you let me?”
She tightened her fingers slightly around the keys.
“Because you didn’t want to return to me. You wanted to return to the place where you were served, forgiven, and endlessly awaited. That version of me no longer exists.”
He said nothing.
His mother helped him lift the boxes.
The elevator arrived quickly, and its doors closed behind them.
This time, Victoria did not listen to the sound of the elevator descending.
She entered the apartment, locked the new door, and went into the kitchen.
The divorce papers lay on the table.
Beside them was her list of tasks for the week.
Nothing heroic.
Call someone to repair the washing machine.
Take her coat to the tailor.
Buy light bulbs.
Record the utility-meter readings.
Life did not instantly become festive.
It simply became her own.
And that was enough.
Maxim continued sending messages for a while.
Sometimes apologetic.
Sometimes angry.
Sometimes only two words:
“Do you miss me?”
Victoria never replied.
One day, he sent her a photograph of the sea—the same coastal town they had once visited together.
“Remember?”
She looked at the photograph, smiled faintly, and deleted the message.
Of course she remembered.
But memory was not an invitation to return.
Several months later, Victoria met Lera outside a shopping center.
Lera noticed her first and stopped.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
“I got my money back,” Lera finally said.
“Good.”
“He tried to come back to me afterward.”
Victoria was not surprised.
“And?”
“I didn’t open the door.”
They looked at one another and smiled at the same moment.
It was not friendly or warm. For one brief second, they were simply two women viewing the same ridiculous situation from the outside.
“Good luck,” Lera said.
“You too.”
Victoria continued walking.
The wind was strong. She buttoned her coat, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and suddenly realized that in the past she would certainly have told Maxim about this meeting.
She would have described every detail and every emotion.
Now she did not even want to say his name aloud.
That evening, she returned home, placed her keys on the cabinet, and paused in the hallway.
Once, Maxim had stood there with a travel bag, certain that he was only leaving for a little while.
He had been wrong about only one thing.
He truly had left for a little while.
But the door behind him had closed forever.
