At 54, I consider myself a strong, self-aware woman. I spent 26 years married, raising a son and maintaining a home, but eventually I realized something was missing—me. I wasn’t reckless, I didn’t leave in a storm. I waited until my son left for university, then quietly packed my things and stepped into the unknown.
I moved into a small apartment that once belonged to my mother. My husband and I had always planned to pass it down to our son, but after everything, I decided it was time to stop giving things away. Let him earn his own home, the way I was learning to earn back my life.
At first, it was strange. I had to relearn what it meant to be alone. My ex tried to win me back with promises and apologies, but I had no desire to return to the life I had outgrown. Slowly, I started noticing the world around me again. The quiet mornings. The little joys. The possibility of feeling like a woman—not just a mother, not just a wife—but someone seen, wanted, and cherished.
My friends thought I’d lost my mind when I started noticing men again. But I wasn’t looking for anything foolish. I just wanted to feel something real again. That’s when Viktor entered the picture. We were neighbors. Sometimes we crossed paths in the park. Our chats became longer, our smiles warmer, until one day he asked me out.
I invited him over for dinner. I spent the day preparing—cooking something special, setting the table, lighting candles. I even picked out a dress I hadn’t worn in years. I was nervous, but hopeful.
At exactly seven, he arrived. I opened the door—and just stood there. No flowers, no small gesture, not even a kind word.
You came empty-handed? I asked, surprised.
What’s the big deal? he said. We’re not kids.
Exactly, I said, and closed the door.
I was angry, but not heartbroken. Over the years, I’ve learned that if a man doesn’t treat you with care from the start, he never will. If he sees you as nothing more than someone to pass time with, there’s no future in that.
Viktor didn’t take it well. Soon, I heard he was telling people I was arrogant and would end up alone. Maybe I will. But I’d rather be alone than with someone who doesn’t know how to treat me with respect.
Maybe there’s still someone out there who understands what it means to be a man. Or maybe they’ve all disappeared. Either way, I haven’t disappeared. And that matters more than anything.