Larisa sat at the kitchen table, clutching her phone. The voice on the other end delivered such unexpected news that, for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Thoughts rushed chaotically through her mind, but none formed a clear plan of action.
What should she do? The question pounded inside her, but no answer came. She had no intention of sharing her worries with anyone—she had long learned that people rarely rejoice in someone else’s happiness and even less often sincerely sympathize with misfortune. Words were one thing, but no one truly knew what was in another person’s heart.
She used to be able to tell her parents everything. They had been her support. But now they were gone, and she missed them more than ever. Her husband? There was a time when she trusted him, but lately, she had noticed that he had grown colder. He frequently made ambiguous remarks about her age, hinting that the autumn of her life had arrived too soon. He would cite articles about how women age faster than men or subtly suggest that she no longer took care of herself the way she used to.
But Larisa didn’t understand what had changed. She still went to the hairdresser, did her own manicure after an unfortunate salon experience, and picked out stylish clothes. Of course, time had left its mark, but her husband wasn’t getting any younger either. Other couples their age went on walks, holding hands, laughing, making plans. Meanwhile, Larisa found herself alone more often—her husband stayed late at work, and she knew perfectly well that these “late nights” had an entirely different explanation.
She didn’t want to share her doubts with her children. Her daughter had recently married and was preparing to become a mother, while her son was studying in another city. Larisa decided not to burden them. But one thing was certain—she needed to talk to her husband. Let him say once and for all if there was still anything left of the man she had once fallen in love with.
That evening, she greeted Oleg at the door with a serious expression.
“Did something happen?” he asked, noticing her look.
“Yes,” Larisa took a deep breath, choosing her words. “I’ve been given a difficult diagnosis. Tell me, if I need help, will you be there for me?”
Oleg tensed.
“What kind of diagnosis?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “What matters is whether you will stay with me if things get tough.”
Her husband exhaled, ran a hand over his face, and sat down in a chair.
“Lara, you know… You’ve given me the perfect opportunity to talk about this. I’ve been meaning to for a while, but I kept putting it off. The thing is, I’m leaving. You’ve started aging too early, and now you’re sick too… I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to take care of you. I have my whole life ahead of me, and I don’t need these kinds of problems. Besides, there’s already another woman. You’ll manage—you always have.”
He quickly got up, went to the bedroom, and packed his things.
“I’ll come back for the rest later. Take care of yourself.”
The door slammed shut, and Larisa was left alone. She didn’t cry. She only smiled wearily. “Exactly as I expected.”
A few days passed. Larisa sat by the window, thinking about what to do next. The phone rang. Her son’s number appeared on the screen.
“Mom, are you home?” Artem’s cheerful voice came through.
“Of course. When are you coming?”
“That’s the surprise! I’ve been assigned an internship in our city. Can you believe it?”
Larisa laughed.
“What a gift!”
For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of relief.
A week later, Artem was home. That evening, Larisa decided to talk to him.
“Artem, I found out something important,” she began. “I recently got a call from a notary. It turns out that I wasn’t my parents’ biological daughter. My real mother abandoned me as a baby and left the country with a wealthy man. She recently became a widow and hired a detective to find me. But she never got the chance—she died in a plane crash. Now they’re offering me an inheritance.”
Artem whistled.
“That’s quite a revelation! And you’re unsure?”
“Yes. I don’t know how to feel about it. She gave me up, and now I’m supposed to take her inheritance?”
“Mom, if you refuse, it’ll just go to strangers. This way, at least you’ll be secure.”
“You’re right. But I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know the language, I don’t have a passport…”
“We’ll figure it out,” Artem assured her. “I’ll find a lawyer to help.”
A few days later, Larisa stood at the steps of a plane in a foreign country. Beside her was Vladimir, an experienced attorney who knew all the intricacies of the case. He turned out to be not just a professional but also a pleasant companion.
“Larisa, you know, I wasn’t sure about taking this case at first,” he admitted. “But something told me this meeting would be important.”
She smiled.
They sorted out the paperwork, but the sale of the property took time. Vladimir showed her around the city, taking her to its most beautiful places. Slowly, Larisa realized that for the first time in years, she felt… happy.
When everything was settled, Vladimir accompanied her to the airport.
“Larisa, I have to be honest, I’ll be sad to see you go. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I feel so comfortable with.”
“Then come visit,” she said gently.
“I definitely will,” he smiled.
Back home, Larisa divided the money fairly. She bought her son an apartment, set up a savings account for her daughter, and put the rest in a deposit.
She never thought about her ex-husband. But one day, the doorbell rang. Oleg stood there—drunk and disheveled.
“Lara… take me back,” he mumbled.
“Leave.”
“Who else would want you?” he sneered.
At that moment, the elevator doors opened, and Vladimir stepped out.
“Good evening, Larisa,” he said, handing her a bouquet.
Oleg turned pale.
“Leave,” Larisa repeated. “There’s nothing more to say.”
She closed the door.
Two years passed. Larisa became a grandmother. Vladimir proposed, and she said yes.
But one day, she got a call from the hospital. Oleg had suffered a stroke and was asking to see them.
Larisa gathered her children.
“Mom, I wouldn’t go,” Artem muttered.
“Son, a person remains human when they know how to forgive.”
They went to the hospital.
In the bed lay a frail, aged Oleg.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered.
Larisa shook her head.
“I’ll arrange for a caregiver, but don’t expect anything more.”
That evening, she sat in the garden. Vladimir took her hand.
“Do you regret it?”
“No. If not for him, I never would have known what true happiness is.”
She looked at him and smiled.