Without me, you are nothing, Anna. Remember this well,” Igor threw the last of his clothes into the suitcase and sharply zipped it closed. His words sliced through the semi-darkness of the apartment like a cold blade. Anna stood in the doorway, clenching her fists until they hurt. She was silent, not out of fear, but from a strange paralysis, as if watching an inevitable catastrophe—horrific, yet mesmerizing.
“Silent?” Igor straightened up, casting a scornful look at her. “For ten years, I kept you afloat. For ten years, you hid behind me. And now what? Think you can manage without me?”
Anna slowly raised her eyes. There were no tears—just the glint of the table lamp and something new, unfamiliar to Igor.
“I’m already managing,” she said quietly, yet firmly. His laugh sounded confidently usual, but now it clearly carried a false note.
“We’ll see,” he slung the bag over his shoulder. “A month. I give you a month. Then you’ll come back to me.” The door slammed loudly, and a picture frame on the shelf cracked right between their faces.
The first days after his departure felt like a strange dream. The silence in the apartment was so oppressive it almost felt like physical pain—not calm and cozy, but ringing, like a taut string. Anna constantly caught herself listening for every rustle in the hallway, the creak of the elevator, the turn of a key in neighboring locks.
At the table, she mechanically prepared food for two, poured two cups of coffee each morning. Each time, realizing this, her hands treacherously trembled.
“You are nobody without me”—these words haunted her everywhere: in the noise of water, the hum of household appliances, the rhythmic ticking of the clock. The worst part was that there was a grain of truth in those words. Who was she, really? A successful husband’s wife—that’s how she was introduced at business meetings. A perfect home’s owner—that’s what the neighbors said about her. But who was she without these labels?
The bank account was rapidly dwindling, frighteningly fast. Igor had “invested” their joint savings into his business six months ago. Only her personal funds remained—a very small amount, enough for maybe two to three months. After that, she’d have to borrow.
Her resume looked pitiful: education, yes, but minimal and outdated work experience. Skills? What skills? “Professional shirt ironer,” “stain removal expert,” “possessor of my husband’s contacts”?
The phone was silent. Not just potential employers ignored her calls, but friends did too. It turned out most of their mutual acquaintances were really his acquaintances. They awkwardly avoided her gaze upon meeting, canceled planned meetings, gradually disappearing from her life.
In the evenings, Anna sat by the window, watching passersby. They all hurried somewhere, knowing their direction. They had goals, plans, dreams. What did she have? Only emptiness.
One night, she went up to the attic and pulled out an old box. Inside were her student projects—interior sketches, drawings, doodles. She once dreamed of creating spaces where people would feel comfortable. Flipping through the yellowed pages, she felt something inside her begin to stir.
“It’s all nonsense,” she muttered and slammed the folder shut. But the next day, she opened it again.
“Anna? Anna Sokolova? No way!” In the supermarket, a familiar voice called out to her. Marina, her university friend, looked almost the same as before—only her hair was shorter, and her eyes held more confidence.
“It’s been ages! You’re still as beautiful,” Marina hugged her. “How’s life? Still creating your magical interiors?” Anna shook her head, feeling awkward.
“No… I haven’t done that for a long time. There was a family…” “Ah, I see,” Marina nodded. “Married that arrogant lawyer from our third year. What’s his name…” “Igor. We… we’ve separated.” Anna surprised herself by saying these words aloud. All this time, she had been living in anticipation of his return, but now, having said it, she realized it was over.
Marina didn’t ask any further questions, just looked at her thoughtfully.
“You know,” she said after a pause, “we actually need someone for an internship at our studio. Mostly paperwork, but it could help you get back into the profession. If you want, of course.”
Anna felt her heart beat faster. Something akin to hope stirred in her chest—tentative, barely noticeable.
“I… I’ll think about it,” she answered, taking the business card. In the kitchen, laying out groceries, her gaze kept returning to the small rectangular piece of cardboard with the design studio’s emblem. It was a fragile, uncertain chance, but still a possibility to change her life.
“You are nobody without me.”
She took a deep breath and dialed the number. Her voice trembled, but her words sounded firm:
“Marina? This is Anna. I agree.”
“Contrast” studio was located in an old building, but inside, a completely different atmosphere reigned: high ceilings, huge windows flooding the room with light. Anna stood at the entrance door, feeling her fingers chill. Her heart pounded so hard, it seemed it might leap from her chest. Through the glass, she could see people, caught up in perpetual haste, voices chattering, a coffee machine burbling. It was a world that seemed alien and distant after years of domestic comfort.
“Be brave,” Anna commanded herself and pulled the door.
The first week of the internship was a real challenge. The computer seemed to mock her, programs refused to obey, and colleagues embodied confidence and professionalism. She felt out of place among these young specialists whose fingers fluttered over keyboards faster than thought. Every evening, she returned home to quietly cry, curled up on the couch.
“You are nobody without me.”
Those words still had power over her, though she hated herself for it.
By Friday, she was ready to run away. A mistake in a drawing, a manager’s remarks, colleagues’ mocking looks—all of it overwhelmed her, draining her strength. But Marina stopped her before she could leave.
“Hey, where are you rushing off to? We have a corporate party today. Come in, meet the team.” Anna wanted to refuse, but Marina was already dragging her across the street, chatting about a new place with great cocktails.
“You just haven’t settled in yet,” she said as they squeezed through the crowd to a table. “Everyone goes through this. You know, you have an amazing sense of space. I saw that sketch for the cafe—very stylish. A little practice with the programs, and you can do incredible things.”
Anna looked up in surprise:
“You saw it? But I didn’t send it…”
“Just happened to glance at it,” Marina smiled. “And you know what? It’s really cool. Maybe you should think about your own projects?”
The cocktail was truly splendid. Or maybe it was the company—for the first time in a long while, Anna felt part of something bigger. They discussed projects, debated design decisions, laughed at inside jokes. And no one treated her as “Igor’s wife.”
She returned home late, her head full of new ideas and her phone now adorned with several new contacts. On the table lay her sketches—now she saw not only mistakes but endless possibilities.
She pulled out a clean sheet of paper and began to draw. Not for work, not for an assignment—just for the pleasure of it. For the first time in many years.
The first independent order came unexpectedly. A regular workday, a regular Tuesday. Anna had been working as a junior designer for a month.
“A client for you,” Marina announced, peeking into the room. “A cafe on Sadovaya Street. They want a renovation. Can you handle it?” Anna nodded.
“I can handle it.”
The cafe was tiny—just six tables in a former bakery. The owner, a young man with a beard, seemed vaguely familiar.
“We studied together,” he explained, noticing her confusion. “You were in design, and I was in economics. Remember, we danced at one of the university parties.” Anna blushed. She didn’t remember him at all.
“I always thought you were talented,” he continued as they surveyed the premises. “I saw your work at the course exhibition. So when I heard you were back in the profession, I decided: my interior will only be from you.”
“You are nobody without me,” Anna recalled Igor’s words, but now they were just sounds, devoid of any power over her.
She worked day and night. Drawing, creating plans, choosing materials, negotiating with suppliers. For her, it became a challenge, a starting point for a new life.
When the project was completed, even the stern Arkady grunted approvingly:
“Not bad, Sokolova. A bit more boldness could have been added, but for a first time—worthy.”
It was the equivalent of a standing ovation.
“Sadovoye” cafe opened in the fall. Dmitry insisted that Anna’s name be listed as the interior designer. It graced the glass door in small, elegant letters next to the logo.
It was a moment of triumph. Anna watched from the shadows as people admired her work, unaware of who had created it. She felt a special joy of the creator.
“I propose a share in the business,” Arkady said three months later, as “Sadovoye” became one of the city’s most popular spots, with a line of clients queuing up for Anna. “Five percent. You attract customers, have your own vision, effectively lead the direction. It’s time to formalize our relations.”
Anna carefully studied the contract. Her own studio—albeit under the aegis of “Contrast”—exceeded all her expectations from a year ago.
Signing the document, she felt a tremor in her fingers.
“Congratulations, partner,” Arkady extended his hand.
That evening, she and Marina spent at the same bar where they once celebrated small victories.
“I always knew you’d achieve this,” Marina raised her glass. “You had the potential from the very first course. Just a pity it took ten years for you to reveal it.”
Anna shook her head.
“No ‘regrets.’ This path was necessary. Every step, every mistake made me who I am now.”
She didn’t mention the main thing: all these months, she had been waiting for a call from Igor. At first, she feared it, then hoped for it, and then just waited for it, like a common natural occurrence—without special trepidation. But the call never came.
At home, she walked through the rooms, which now felt different. Not because she had renovated, but because the space was no longer theirs. Now it was her territory—with sketches on the table, shoes in the hallway, her favorite cup no longer hidden in the back of the cabinet.
A photo from grateful cafe “Sadovoye” clients hung on the bathroom mirror. In it, she smiled, holding a glass in front of her first successful project.
“You are nobody without me.”
Anna glanced at her reflection and smiled.
“I am someone without you,” she said aloud. “And that’s all that matters.”
Bright spring noon. A light office filled with the aromas of fresh coffee and blooming plants. Anna settled at the director’s table of her own studio “ASdesign,” now independent from Arkady. In front of her lay the sketches of a new project—a restaurant in a historic building on the waterfront. It was one of the most extensive and prestigious orders in her career.
The studio thrived. Over two years, Anna had set up a modern office overlooking the city center, assembled a team of seven talented specialists, and created a portfolio that even competitors envied. Of course, not everything went smoothly—there were failed projects, financial difficulties, conflicts with clients. But each challenge only toughened her character.
“Anna Sergeyevna,” Svetlana peeked into the office, holding the door frame, “a candidate for the manager position has arrived. Tall, in a blue jacket.”
“Alright,” Anna finished the last stroke on the drawing without taking her eyes off it. “Take him to the meeting room and offer him coffee.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror and went downstairs. The position required an ideal candidate—a person capable of controlling the progress of all projects, finding an approach to the most capricious clients, and keeping track of deadlines. After the previous manager left, the team had been working at their limit.
Opening the meeting room door, Anna froze on the threshold.
Igor was sitting at the table.
His reaction was just as surprised. His face reflected a whole range of emotions: from shock to embarrassment.
“Anna?” his voice sounded different, lacking the usual confidence. And he himself looked different: the suit no longer fit perfectly, his hair had begun to gray, wrinkles were more noticeable.
“Good afternoon,” she calmly took her place. “Are you here for the interview?”
Igor nodded, still not hiding his astonishment.
“I… I didn’t know it was your company. The ad just said ‘ASdesign.’”
“My initials,” Anna smiled. “Anna Sokolova. So, you’re interested in the project manager position?”
“Yes,” he replied, gradually regaining confidence. “I have extensive experience managing teams…”
“Tell me about your last job,” she interrupted, opening his resume folder.
It turned out his business had collapsed like a house of cards. A partner had deceived him, taking the money, clients had scattered, and debts had continued to grow. He had aimlessly wandered for the last year, changing jobs repeatedly.
“Why our company specifically?” Anna asked, making notes in her notebook.
Igor pondered, carefully choosing his words.
“Honestly, I’m tired of living out of a suitcase,” he finally admitted. “I’ve heard a lot about your studio—’ASdesign’ is on everyone’s lips. You create truly quality projects, not just showcase facades. Your team consists of real professionals. I’d like to be part of this team.”
Anna looked at him attentively. Something in his demeanor had changed—no more arrogance. Before her sat a man with a dimmed look, as if life had drained all strength from him.
“What do you know about design?” she calmly inquired.
“Honestly, minimal,” he answered, slightly crookedly smiling. “But I learn fast, soak everything up like a sponge. Plus…”
He paused, as if preparing for something important.
“Anna, I need to apologize,” he said quietly. “For those words, for everything that happened between us.”
Her face remained impassive, devoid of emotions. At another time, two years ago, she had dreamed of this moment, imagined every detail of this scene: how she would react, what she would say, whether she would forgive or not. Now, she felt complete indifference, as if meeting a mere acquaintance from a distant past.
“Unfortunately,” closing the resume folder, she said, “we cannot accept your application. It’s best to keep personal relationships and professional activities separate.”
Igor flinched as if struck. A spasm flickered across his face, his eyes darkened.
“So, you decided to take revenge?” he hissed, gripping the armrests of the chair. “Remembering old grievances?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Anna replied coldly. “This is strictly a business decision.”
“Business?” his voice trembled. “You just want to get even! Enjoying this moment! And I thought…”
“Thought that I’m still ‘nothing’ without you?” raising an eyebrow, she interrupted. “As you can see, it’s different. Thank you, the interview is over.”
He abruptly stood up, knocking over a glass of water. A dark stain spread across the documents on the table.
“You’ll regret this,” he hissed, grabbing his briefcase. “The business world is very small.”
“I have no doubt,” she barely smiled. “Svetlana will see you out.”
He exited, slamming the door so hard the glass trembled. His muffled grumbling carried from the corridor.
Anna looked at the spoiled papers. Surprisingly, she felt neither schadenfreude nor a victory joy—just lightness, as if she had rid herself of long-stuck shards.
When she returned to her office, Svetlana cautiously asked:
“Are you alright? That man was… unusual.”
“Everything’s fine,” Anna replied, and it was true for the first time in a long while.
Approaching the window, she watched the city bustle below: people hurried about their business, cars honked, chestnut trees were in bloom. In the glass reflection, she saw her face—the face of a woman who feared nothing anymore.
“You are nobody without me.”
Now these words had lost their power. They became just an echo of the past, which could finally be left behind.
Anna smiled and returned to work. A new project awaited, her team, her life—rebuilt entirely, completely her own.