Anna sat on the edge of the sofa, in the half-light of the living room, listening to the washing machine purring quietly behind the wall. The evening stretched on endlessly, reminiscent of hundreds of similar evenings over the past two years. Andrey wasn’t in any hurry to come home. She knew that soon he would enter without even glancing at her, drop his briefcase by the door, and head for a shower. They would have dinner in silence—if he even felt like eating. Then he would sit at his laptop, and if she tried to speak, he’d throw out an irritated “I’m tired, let’s do this another time.”
Before, everything was different. When they’d first moved in together, they could sit in the kitchen until late, arguing about movies and planning vacations. Andrey would compliment her new dresses, touch her back as they strolled, and his voice was lively—not tired, not irritated. Now, silence always reigned in their home, even when the radio was on.
A click of the lock was heard, followed by footsteps in the corridor.
“Are you sitting in the dark again?” his voice was even, devoid of emotion.
“I’m thinking,” she replied.
He didn’t ask what she was thinking about. He slipped off his shoes, removed his coat, and walked past her into the bedroom. Water was running from the bathroom.
Anna closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see his face to imagine him frowning and rolling his eyes at her “silly things.” He hadn’t asked about her day in a long time. Whereas before he liked that she didn’t demand attention and gifts, now he was irritated that she no longer met his idea of a “successful man’s wife.”
She got up, walked to the kitchen, and turned on the light. Dinner was in the refrigerator, but she didn’t bother to heat it up.
“Tomorrow dinner is at my parents’,” Andrey said as he entered the kitchen, buttoning the sleeves of his shirt. “My mom asked that you not come in this…” he gestured vaguely toward her old cardigan. “You do understand how it looks, don’t you?”
She looked at him.
“How what?”
“As if I can’t afford to buy you proper clothes.”
For the first time in a long while, she wanted not to remain silent but to say something—something sharp, biting—but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. She just nodded.
“Alright,” she said.
Andrey nodded in satisfaction, grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and went into the bedroom.
She stood there, feeling a dull tension spreading.
The next morning they left the house together. In the elevator, Andrey was absorbed in his phone, replying to work messages, while Anna looked at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t updated her wardrobe in ages—not because she couldn’t afford it, but because she saw no point. Comfortable, practical clothes suited her. But today, recalling yesterday’s conversation, she put on a dress that had long lain unused in the closet. A flash of approval crossed his eyes, but he said nothing.
When they reached his car, he said, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
“I’m taking the metro.”
He looked up in surprise.
“You hate the metro.”
“I just want to walk,” she shrugged.
He didn’t argue.
That evening, they arrived at his parents’ house. A spacious living room, expensive curtains, and photos of Andrey on the walls—from childhood to recent corporate events. In every picture, he looked successful, determined. Anna was absent from all of them.
“Oh, Anna, you finally decided to wear something decent!” his mother said, appraising her.
She remained silent.
At dinner, they discussed business, Andrey’s career, and his achievements. Anna sat there feeling like a guest remembered only out of politeness.
“Anna, are you still working at your office?” Andrey’s sister asked while pouring wine.
“Yes,” she replied.
“When will you join a proper company? With a husband like him, you can afford not to count every penny.”
She glanced at Andrey. He didn’t intervene, support her, or even look her way.
“I like it there.”
His sister shrugged.
“Well, if you’re comfortable being a gray mouse…”
Anna fell silent again.
Then Andrey said it—casually, without looking at her, with a slight hint of mockery.
“You’re nothing but empty space to me.”
She froze. The table fell silent, but no one seemed surprised.
Her mother continued slicing meat, her sister sipped her wine calmly, and her father buried himself in his phone.
Anna realized that no one was surprised—because to them, she had always been just empty space.
She set down her cutlery and slowly stood.
“Is everything alright?” Andrey’s mother asked absentmindedly, her tone lacking any real concern.
Anna said nothing. She took her bag and stepped toward the door.
“Anna,” Andrey finally looked up, “where are you going?”
“Home,” she said.
“We haven’t finished dinner yet.”
She looked at him.
“For an empty space, dinner is over.”
He frowned in surprise.
That evening, she just walked. Without purpose, without thoughts, simply moving forward, hearing only the sound of her own footsteps. The city buzzed around her, but the noise of passing cars, voices, and flashing advertising screens seemed muted, as if she were moving through a transparent cocoon separating her from the rest of the world.
She didn’t think about where she was going until she found herself in front of a familiar, modest brick building—a place known all too well since childhood. It was her aunt’s apartment, the only person who had ever been kind to her. It smelled of old furniture, lavender sachets, and something warm, homely.
“Anna?” her aunt froze in the doorway, tying her robe at the waist. “What happened?”
Anna didn’t answer. She just stood in the doorway, feeling the leaden weight of fatigue settle on her shoulders.
“Do you want to come in?”
She nodded.
The apartment was cozy, but this time it didn’t feel comforting. Everything around seemed temporary, foreign—as if she had ended up there by chance and would soon disappear again.
“You haven’t called me once in the last six months.”
Anna knew. She remained silent.
“So, something serious must be going on.”
Her aunt didn’t press further. She simply went to the kitchen, leaving Anna in silence.
Nothing had changed: the worn blanket, the shelves of books, the cuckoo clock. As if time had frozen.
She, too, froze.
The next morning, while her aunt was busy with some paperwork, Anna grabbed her bag and left without saying goodbye. She knew her aunt would understand.
Now, another home lay before her—the apartment she once shared with Andrey. Standing in front of the door, she felt a strange emptiness.
She entered.
Everything was just as it had been. Everything was in its place. Andrey’s coat hung in the hall, his laptop sat on the coffee table, and the scent of his cologne still lingered in the air.
Anna grabbed her suitcase and went into the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe.
Methodically, in complete silence and without fuss, she packed her things. It didn’t matter what she took with her and what she left behind—the very act of leaving was what mattered.
She heard the sound of the lock.
“Are you here?”
Andrey stood in the doorway, looking at her as if she were unexpected.
“Have you come back?”
She tossed her last sweater into the suitcase, zipped it up, and looked at him.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What are you doing? Is this because of yesterday?”
Anna didn’t answer.
“Anna, don’t be childish.”
She closed the suitcase, picked it up, and walked around Andrey, heading for the exit.
“Are you serious?”
He stepped behind her but didn’t try to stop her.
“Over one evening? Over some phrase?”
She placed the suitcase by the door, put on her coat.
“You haven’t said that for the first time,” she said calmly.
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
She grabbed her suitcase and left.
Six months passed.
Anna had gotten used to her new life, but to say it was easy would be a lie. For the first few weeks, she moved on autopilot: home – work – home. She rented a small apartment with bare walls that felt alien. She slept with the window open, unable to bear the silence—too sharp after years spent with Andrey.
But then, one day, everything changed.
Upon entering a building, Anna immediately sensed something different. The usually friendly secretary, Elena, was nervously fidgeting with a pen, as if preparing for an important conversation.
“Anna Sergeyevna, you have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“What meeting?” she raised her eyebrows.
“A new candidate for the position of lead specialist.”
Anna nodded, went to her office, and tossed a folder on the desk. A meeting was just a meeting—her work schedule was now so packed that she had long stopped delving into every detail in advance.
But as soon as the office door opened, everything fell into place.
Andrey.
He entered with confident strides, but when he saw her, he abruptly stopped. A flash of confusion crossed his face—he didn’t know. He didn’t know whose interview he had come for.
Anna slowly looked up from the documents laid out before her.
“Please, have a seat.”
He sat down, still trying to maintain an air of control, although the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
“So…” Andrey coughed, lowering his eyes to his resume as if he were seeing it for the first time.
Anna folded her hands on the table.
“Are you looking for a job?”
“Yes,” he finally mustered, looking up. “The company I worked for shut down. Now I’m looking.”
He said it with a challenging tone, awaiting her reaction.
“I see,” she nodded calmly.
Seconds passed slowly.
“You… you work here?” he finally asked.
“I’m not just working here. I’m the managing partner.”
Anna watched him process the information—confusion in his eyes giving way to shock.
“You… but how?”
“It’s a family business. I own it.”
Now he looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
She allowed herself a small pause, giving him time to absorb the revelation, then gently closed the folder with his resume.
“Thank you for coming. We will call you.”
Andrey left the office slowly, as if he couldn’t believe the interview had ended so abruptly. He passed by the secretary, mechanically adjusting the sleeves of his shirt.
Anna watched his back through the glass door.
She felt relief. Not schadenfreude, not satisfaction, but pure relief.
Now he knew.
Anna looked out the window, watching the sun slowly slide across the glass facades of neighboring buildings. The office was filled with silence—a silence that still carried the remnants of their recent meeting. Andrey had left, yet his presence lingered in the air like an invisible ghost of the past.
She closed her eyes. Should she feel triumph? Relief? Revenge? But in her heart, there was only calm. Perhaps because she had long since left it all behind.
“He was your husband, wasn’t he?” asked Mikhail, her business partner, as he entered the office without knocking. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“He was.”
He leaned against the door, arms folded.
“And now?”
Anna looked at the closed folder containing Andrey’s resume.
“He isn’t suitable for us.”
Mikhail nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
“You could have taken him—let him work under your leadership.”
“Why?”
“Just to see how he manages.”
Anna smiled.
“I’ve already seen how he manages.”
Mikhail nodded silently and left, leaving her alone.
After leaving the building, Anna noticed Andrey standing by the gate, his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead. Unexpectedly, she approached him.
“You knew that one day everything would change,” she said.
He looked up and smiled slightly.
“Did you really think I’d come here of my own accord?”
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t know this was your company.”
“Now you know.”
They fell silent.
“Are you really not going to hire me?” he asked.
She looked at him.
“What if I were sitting in front of you and you were interviewing me? Would you hire me?”
He didn’t answer.
Anna didn’t wait. She turned and left without looking back.
Evening. The windows were open. The wind roamed through the rooms, filling them with freshness. On the shelves were books she’d longed to reread but had always postponed, and on the table lay a contract for a new project—a project that would mark the beginning of a new phase in her work.
Her phone vibrated—a message from Mikhail.
“Dinner at eight. No refusal.”
Anna smiled, closed her laptop, and rose from her chair.
Somewhere in the past remained the Anna who waited, endured, and tried to meet someone’s expectations.
