— You know, it’s just impossible to live with you,” Andrey said, standing with his back to Olga by the window. His silhouette stood out against the gloomy October sky. “You’re always so flawless, so convenient… like an old pair of house slippers.
Olga studied his back in the gray sweater intently. For twenty years she had observed that back: every morning, every evening. She had seen the first strands of gray appear at his temples, seen his posture change. And now he said that it was impossible.
“And what now?” Her voice was calm, without the slightest hint of emotion.
“I’m leaving. For someone else,” he abruptly declared.
She gave a faint smile. Of course, for someone else. When has it ever been otherwise? Men never just vanish into thin air. They always have a specific goal.
“Even now you…” He spun around sharply, his eyes flashing angrily. “Even now you remain so… cold! Do you ever feel anything at all?”
“And what am I supposed to do? Fall to my knees? Tear my hair out? Beg you to stay?”
“At least do something!” he almost groaned. “Can you imagine how long I’ve been seeing her already?”
“Three months,” she replied calmly.
Andrey froze.
“Where did you…”
“I found messages on your phone back in August.”
“And all this time you kept silent?!”
“And what would that have changed?”
His gaze turned strange—a mixture of anger, surprise, and a peculiar disappointment.
“That’s exactly what drives me crazy! You can’t even get jealous!”
Something trembled inside Olga. Can’t get jealous? She remembered every sleepless night of those three months, every time she checked his phone while he slept, every minute spent waiting for his return from work. Yet she kept silent. In twenty years, she had learned one important thing: some events must simply be accepted.
“Her name is Lena,” he continued, as if wanting to finish her off completely. “She’s completely different. Lively, vibrant. Everything is different with her.”
“Of course,” Olga shrugged. “The new always seems better than the familiar.”
“Again with your phrases!” he exploded. “These endless lectures! I’m telling you—it’s impossible to live with you. Always with your calm tone, those wise words…”
“Sorry for disappointing you,” she replied softly as she headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the store. I need to buy groceries for dinner.”
“I just said I’m leaving!”
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop eating,” she snapped, and left the apartment.
Olga took the elevator down, walked to the store. Automatically, she selected the necessary groceries and paid. Only at the entrance of the building did she pause, leaning against the wall.
Twenty years. Two thousand four hundred and eighty dinners. Millions of little things that had turned into habits. And now—”you can’t even get jealous.”
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. A message from an old friend: “Maybe we should meet up?”
Olga blinked. How did her friend know? Ah, of course. Andrey must have already told everyone about his decision. I wonder how he explained the situation? “I’m leaving my wife because she’s too perfect”?
She typed a reply: “Everything’s fine. See you next week.”
Because today she needed to be alone. To realize that twenty years had ended with one short phrase. And to figure out what to do next.
And also—to understand why his last words hurt her more than the fact of him leaving itself. “You can’t even get jealous.” It seemed she had learned so well to hide her feelings that she had convinced not only him but herself of their absence.
A month later, Olga realized one important thing: silence can be deafening. Especially in the evenings when there’s no need to cook dinner for two and you don’t have to watch the clock waiting for the familiar sound of a key in the lock.
The first week she acted mechanically, as if Andrey were still around: buying groceries for two, doing laundry for two people, cooking… Then it dawned on her: she could change her life. She didn’t have to cook at all if she didn’t feel like it. She could play her favorite music and dance in the middle of the room. She could rearrange all the furniture or paint the walls in bright colors. She could start living anew.
Her friends called every day:
“Maybe we should meet up? Just talk, take your mind off things…”
“No need,” she replied with a slight smile. “Really, no need.”
They didn’t believe it. They thought she was barely holding on. But in truth… she was holding on. Only she was doing it differently than they had imagined.
One morning, she went into the supermarket for coffee and paused. By the tea shelf stood Mikhail. That very Mikhail, the one with whom her fate had intersected in the library twenty-three years ago: he was writing his dissertation, and she was preparing for exams. Three months of meetings, endless conversations, long walks. And then Andrey appeared—reliable, serious, with an apartment and clear prospects.
“Olga?” Mikhail turned, as if sensing her gaze. “How many years…”
He had hardly changed. Silver threads had appeared in his hair, the wrinkles by his eyes had deepened, and his gaze… had become even warmer.
“Hi,” she greeted, surprised at her own calm tone. “You’ve come back?”
“A month ago. I’m opening a branch of my company here.”
“Your own company?” She smiled involuntarily, remembering how, twenty years ago, everyone thought his dreams of his own business were something unreal.
“Can you imagine?” He snorted. “Sometimes dreams do come true. Though not quite the way you plan them… Listen, how about we have a coffee? There’s a great spot here.”
Previously, she would have refused without hesitation. She would have thought about what Andrey might say or what people might think. But now…
“Let’s do it.”
In the café, it smelled of cinnamon and fresh croissants. Mikhail told her about his life: how he had moved to St. Petersburg, how he started from scratch, how he failed and rose again.
“And how about you?” he asked after a pause.
“I… am learning to live again,” she replied after a brief moment of thought.
“Did something happen?”
“My husband left. He said it was impossible to live with me.”
She expected to hear the usual words of sympathy, but instead Mikhail looked at her intently:
“And how is it that you’re impossible?”
She laughed—genuinely, lightly, for the first time in a long while.
“You know… it turned out that everything is possible. Even things I had long forgotten to dream about.”
“For example?”
“For example… sitting in a café with someone I almost considered a stranger, and talking about life.”
“Almost a stranger?” Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “Then what about those three months in the library?”
“That was twenty-three years ago.”
“Then it’s about time to continue what was started,” he smiled. “How about we give it a try?”
And again, instead of the habitual “no,” she heard her own voice:
“Let’s try.”
Outside, the rain washed away the last traces of autumn. And she realized that freedom was exactly that feeling: the smell of coffee, raindrops on the window, and the chance to start over.
Andrey sat in his chair, watching as Lena gathered her things. Three months ago he had seen Olga the same way—as she carefully packed her belongings into a suitcase. But now Lena was throwing them in chaotically, without looking.
“And you know what?” she suddenly turned around. “You’re just a coward! You ran away from your wife because she was supposedly too proper. But in reality—you’re boring!”
He wanted to object, but she wouldn’t let him speak:
“Did you think it would be an endless party with me? Wrong! I’m human too. And I need a normal relationship. Shared plans. Confidence in tomorrow.”
“But you always said we should live in the moment, enjoy life…”
“Oh my God, how naive you are!” she exclaimed. “That was a beautiful quote for social media! But in real life, you want something more serious than casual encounters and spontaneous trips.”
Andrey looked at her and no longer recognized the bright, carefree woman who had conquered his heart. Where was the one who laughed at “stick-in-the-muds, obsessed with stability”?
“You know what’s the funniest?” Lena fastened her suitcase. “You left your wife because she was ‘too proper.’ And now you’re complaining that I’m ‘improper.’ Who could you even please?”
“I don’t…”
“What do you mean ‘don’t’? Didn’t you mean otherwise? Didn’t you imagine something else?” She smiled bitterly. “What did you imagine? That I’d flutter around forever, never asking for anything in return? That I’d never want more?”
He was silent. What was there to say?
“You didn’t even bother to find decent housing,” Lena continued, her voice even but now tinged with fatigue. “We’re crammed into this studio like freshmen in college. ‘Later,’ but that ‘later’ never came. And it won’t, right?”
Lena approached the mirror and automatically touched up her lipstick.
“You know what? I’m even grateful to you. You helped me figure myself out. Yes, I want a family. I want children, my own home. And there’s nothing shameful about that. And you… you just don’t know what you want.”
She grabbed her suitcase:
“Goodbye. And send my regards to Olga when you’re crawling back on your knees, begging for forgiveness.”
“What do you mean…” he tried to object.
“Come on,” she smiled again. “It’s the typical scenario. The only problem is, she probably won’t even listen to you anymore.”
The door slammed. In the empty apartment, only the faint trace of her perfume remained—the same scent that once had seemed so enticing to him. Now it seemed artificial, cloying.
Andrey approached the window. Outside, Lena quickly got into a taxi and drove away without looking back.
He took out his phone and opened social media. There she was, still as vibrant and energetic: photos with captions like “Live in the moment!” and “Enjoy life!” A beautiful appearance, flawless filters. But now he saw: it was just an image. Behind it was the same as with Olga. A desire for stability, for certainty about tomorrow. That was what he feared, what he ran from. And now he realized—he had simply traded one reality for an illusion. The new always seems better than the familiar until you get used to it…
Olga looked at her reflection in the mirror and marveled. Outwardly, almost nothing had changed—except that a new sparkle had appeared in her eyes, as if a little flame had been lit inside. But inside, everything had changed beyond recognition.
“Unusual?” Mikhail appeared behind her, his reflection smiling in the mirror.
They were in the same café where they had met two months ago. In the meantime, she had learned that he possessed something unique: the ability to truly listen. Without haste, without advice, just being there and understanding.
“You know,” she said, taking a sip of her cappuccino, “I realized that all these years I was playing someone else’s role. The convenient wife. The proper woman. And now…”
“And now?”
“Now I’m living a real life.”
Mikhail smiled:
“And what is it like—to feel free?”
She paused, contemplating how to describe the feeling when you no longer need to live up to someone else’s expectations. When you can be yourself, no matter what. When every day becomes an opportunity for new discoveries…
“Olga?”
Her heart stopped. That voice. Andrey was standing by their table, clearly embarrassed, shifting his gaze from her to Mikhail.
“Hello,” she said calmly.
“Long time no see.”
“Yes…” he hesitated. “You… you have changed.”
“Really?” she tilted her head. “But it seems to me that you have changed. You look… tired.”
Indeed, he was different. The once immaculate suit now looked crumpled, and his eyes betrayed uncertainty.
“Can we talk?” he asked, casting a cautious glance at Mikhail. “Alone.”
“Why?” was his simple question, throwing him off balance.
“I… wanted to say…” he fell silent, choosing his words carefully. “During this time, I realized a lot.”
“For example?”
“That it wasn’t about you. It’s me… I just didn’t know what I wanted.”
In the past, these words would have made her heart beat faster. In the past, she would have seen hope in them. But now…
“Thank you,” she smiled softly. “I’ve learned a lot too.”
“What do you mean?”
“That we no longer need each other, Andrey. You taught me an important lesson—to live for myself. And I am endlessly grateful to you for that.”
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Perhaps, that was indeed the case.
“So… it’s over?”
“Yes, it’s over,” she nodded. “Good luck to you.”
He stood for a few more seconds, as if gathering the courage to say something more, but he never did. Then he turned and left.
“An interesting meeting,” Mikhail remarked as Andrey disappeared out the door.
“Yes, strange,” she replied, looking at him. “I didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s… just there.”
Outside, the rain fell—the same as on that day when they had first met here.
Andrey stood by the window of his temporary apartment. It had been three months since he had accidentally met Olga in a café. Those three months had completely changed his outlook on life.
He was convinced he knew Olga. Twenty years together—a serious span of time. But that woman in the café… She was nothing like the Olga he had known before. The very one he had always dreamed of seeing—lively and open. Only, it happened after he left.
His phone vibrated—a message from the realtor:
“New apartment showing tomorrow at 10:00?”
Andrey ignored it. For the fourth month in a row he had been going to apartment viewings, but none of them evoked any response. Each one felt empty, as if something important was missing. Or maybe, it wasn’t about the apartments at all?
There was a knock at the door. The neighbor—a sprightly septuagenarian with a kind smile—stood there.
“Andrey Petrovich, the computer is acting up again. Could you take a look?”
He nodded. Over the past months, this had become a sort of ritual. Once a week, she found an excuse to ask him to “fix her computer,” then treated him to tea and shared stories from her long life.
“You know,” she said, as he set up her video call with her grandchildren once again, “I too once left my husband.”
Andrey raised his eyes in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I thought life was too monotonous, and that I deserved more. I left for a young, cheerful man. But over time, I realized—happiness wasn’t where I was looking.”
“And where then?”
“In the ability to appreciate what you have,” she answered, looking at him with wise eyes. “Only usually you realize that too late.”
He gazed thoughtfully out the window. In the building next door, a young couple was moving furniture into their new apartment. The girl laughed, the boy feigned discontent, but in his eyes there was endless tenderness.
“And you… did you go back to your husband?” he asked.
“No,” the old lady shook her head. “By that time, he had already remarried. But you know what I realized? Happiness isn’t about bursts of intense emotion. It’s in the little things. Morning coffee, your favorite mug, someone who knows all your habits and accepts them.”
Andrey recalled how Olga always left him little notes, how she anticipated which shirt he would choose for an important meeting, how she sensed his mood without a word.
And he thought all that was boring…
“Thanks for the tea,” he stood up. “I must be going.”
“Of course,” she smiled, as if understanding his thoughts. “Do come by again.”
At home, he opened his laptop. Lena’s page was filled with new photos—now with another man. The same captions about “living in the moment,” the same perfect image.
And in his mind, Olga’s words echoed: “Lose in order to find.”
She had found herself. And him? He had exchanged reality for an illusion. He had chased after a façade and lost the real thing.
