Anna sat at the edge of the couch, the room dim around her, the soft hum of the washing machine barely audible through the wall. The evening stretched on, indistinguishable from countless others over the past two years. Andrey would be home soon, not that it mattered. He’d walk in without a glance, drop his briefcase by the door, and head straight for the shower. If he felt like eating, they’d sit in silence, the clink of cutlery louder than any words. And if she tried to talk, he’d dismiss her with a weary “Not now, I’m tired.”
It hadn’t always been like this. When they first moved in together, they’d talk late into the night, sitting in the kitchen with coffee, arguing over films and daydreaming about travel. He used to notice her new dresses, touch the small of her back as they walked, laugh easily. His voice had warmth then. Now, their home was filled with a quiet that no radio could mask.
The front door clicked open. Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
“Sitting in the dark again?” His tone was flat, emotionless.
“I was thinking,” she said.
He didn’t ask about what. He took off his shoes, shrugged off his coat, and disappeared into the bedroom. Soon, the sound of running water filled the silence.
Anna didn’t need to see his face to know what it looked like. The slight frown, the hint of annoyance he no longer bothered to hide. He hadn’t asked about her day in months. What he once appreciated—her independence, her low expectations—had turned into irritation. She no longer fit the image he wanted to project.
She got up and switched on the kitchen light. Dinner sat untouched in the fridge, but she made no move to reheat it.
“We’re having dinner at my parents’ tomorrow,” Andrey said, buttoning his shirt as he entered. “My mother asked you not to wear… this.” He waved vaguely at her worn cardigan. “You understand how that looks, right?”
She looked at him.
“How does it look?”
“Like I can’t afford to dress my wife properly.”
For the first time in a long while, something in her stirred—the urge to say something sharp, to push back—but the words didn’t come. She just nodded.
“Alright.”
He seemed satisfied with her compliance, grabbed a bottle of water, and returned to the bedroom.
The next morning, they left the apartment together. Andrey was glued to his phone, tapping away at work messages. Anna glanced at her reflection in the elevator mirror. Her dress, long ignored at the back of the closet, fit her loosely. She hadn’t worn it in ages—not because she couldn’t buy new clothes, but because there hadn’t been a reason. Still, she’d put it on today. His eyes flicked toward her, and she caught a brief flicker of approval. He said nothing.
At the car, he held the door open. “Get in, I’ll drive you.”
“I’ll take the metro,” she said.
“You hate the metro.”
“I feel like walking.”
He didn’t argue.
That evening, they sat in his parents’ grand living room, framed by velvet curtains and walls lined with framed photos of Andrey’s successes—from childhood awards to sleek corporate events. She wasn’t in a single one.
“Oh, Anna, finally wearing something presentable,” his mother commented with a polite smile.
She didn’t reply.
Dinner was a performance. They spoke about business, deals, future plans. Andrey’s future, not hers. Anna sat quietly, just another piece of furniture in the room.
“Still working in that little office of yours?” his sister asked, refilling her glass.
“Yes,” Anna said.
“Why not join a real company? With a husband like Andrey, you shouldn’t need to count pennies.”
Anna glanced at him. He didn’t defend her, didn’t say a word.
“I like it where I am.”
His sister raised an eyebrow. “Well, if being a gray little mouse makes you happy.”
She fell silent again.
And then Andrey said it, offhandedly, without even looking at her. “You’re just empty space to me.”
The words landed heavy and loud. No one reacted. His mother kept cutting her steak, his sister sipped wine, his father stared into his phone.
Anna realized that none of them were shocked. They’d always seen her as an absence.
She placed her knife and fork down and stood.
“Everything alright?” his mother asked, not really interested.
Anna didn’t answer. She grabbed her bag.
“Where are you going?” Andrey finally looked at her.
“Home.”
“We’re not done eating.”
“For something that doesn’t exist, dinner is over,” she replied.
He looked confused, caught off guard.
She walked aimlessly for hours. The streets pulsed with life, but she felt detached, like she was floating through it all in a silent bubble. She wasn’t thinking, just moving, until her feet brought her to a familiar place: a modest brick building she hadn’t seen in years.
Her aunt opened the door in a bathrobe, blinking in surprise.
“Anna? What’s going on?”
Anna didn’t speak.
“Do you want to come in?”
She nodded.
The apartment was warm and filled with the scent of lavender and old wood. It was the only place that had ever felt safe.
“You haven’t called in months,” her aunt said gently. “So, I’m guessing this isn’t just a visit.”
Anna stayed quiet.
Her aunt didn’t push. She just went into the kitchen to make tea.
Anna sat in the quiet, surrounded by the familiar ticking of the clock, the worn couch, the bookshelves. It all felt distant, like a life that didn’t belong to her anymore.
The next morning, while her aunt was distracted, Anna quietly left. No note. No goodbye. She knew it would be understood.
Back at her apartment, the one she used to share with Andrey, everything was just as she’d left it. His coat, his scent, his clutter. She walked into the bedroom, pulled out her suitcase, and began packing. She didn’t rush. It didn’t matter what she took. Leaving was what mattered.
She heard the key turn.
“Anna? Are you home?”
He stopped in the doorway when he saw her.
“You came back?”
“No,” she said, folding her last sweater.
He stepped closer. “Is this because of yesterday?”
She didn’t answer.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
She zipped the suitcase and picked it up.
“Are you really doing this?”
She walked past him.
“Over one dinner?”
She paused by the door.
“You’ve said worse before.”
He opened his mouth but had no reply.
She left.
Six months passed. She built a new life, slowly and without much joy at first. Her apartment was small, unfamiliar. She left the windows open at night. The silence, once painful, became bearable. Her routines were simple—work, sleep, repeat. But it was hers.
One morning at the office, the receptionist looked uneasy.
“You have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” she said.
“What kind of meeting?”
“A job interview. New candidate.”
Anna nodded and went to her office, scanning her schedule. Just another applicant. She had stopped preparing for these meetings—they were too frequent.
When the door opened, everything changed.
Andrey stepped in, confident as always—until he saw her. He froze. For a second, he looked like a man who had stumbled into a dream.
She didn’t move.
“Take a seat.”
He sat down, adjusting his posture, trying to recover.
“I’m looking for a new position,” he said. “My company closed. I’m… exploring options.”
She nodded. “I see.”
He looked at her closely.
“You work here?”
“I run it. I’m the managing partner.”
His eyes widened.
“You… how?”
“It’s a family business. Mine.”
She gave him a moment, then closed the folder in front of her.
“Thank you for coming. We’ll be in touch.”
He blinked, confused.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
He left slowly, barely noticing the receptionist.
Later, as Anna stared through the glass door, she felt nothing but peace. Not revenge. Not power. Just peace.
Mikhail stepped in.
“That was your husband, wasn’t it?”
“He was.”
“And now?”
“He’s not what we’re looking for.”
“You could’ve hired him. Just to see.”
“I already have.”
Mikhail nodded and left.
Outside, Andrey waited by the gate. Anna walked past him but stopped when he spoke.
“You knew this day would come.”
“I didn’t know it would be today.”
“I didn’t come here knowing it was you.”
“But now you know.”
“Will you really not hire me?”
She turned to him.
“If the roles were reversed, would you?”
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t wait. She walked away.
That night, her windows were open. The wind played with the curtains. A contract sat on her desk—something new, something big. Her phone buzzed.
Dinner at eight. No excuses.
She smiled and closed her laptop.
Somewhere in the past, another version of her had waited for love. Had tried to be enough. That Anna was gone.