The call caught Natalia at the moment she was trying to hang a picture. Five months of solitude in her small apartment were gradually becoming cozy. This painting—a mountain landscape—she and Andrey had bought in Crimea back in the nineties. During the division of property, it had almost accidentally ended up with her, and now, half a year after the divorce, Natalia finally decided to hang it.
“Yes?” she said, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder while trying to hold the hammer.
“Natalya, it’s me,” Ksenia’s voice sounded unusually quiet.
Natalia froze. Hearing the voice of her former sister-in-law after everything that had happened was unexpected.
The hammer slipped from her hands and hit her thumb. Natalia cried out.
“What happened?” Ksenia asked anxiously.
“Nothing, just hit my finger with the hammer,” Natalia sat down on the sofa, looking at her reddened finger. “Why are you calling?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” There was a chill in Natalia’s voice. “I think we’ve already discussed everything. Or did your brother decide to take something else of mine?”
“Natalia, please,” Ksenia spoke with an unusual softness. “Can I come? It’s important.”
Natalia rubbed her temple. For five months, she had been learning to live without the past, without calls from Andrey’s relatives, without having to think about the family she had lived in for thirty years.
“Okay,” she agreed unexpectedly. “In an hour.”
When Ksenia appeared at the door, Natalia involuntarily noticed how much her former relative had changed. Always well-groomed and bright, she now looked haggard, with shadows under her eyes.
“Come in,” Natalia stepped aside to let her guest into the apartment.
Ksenia hesitantly walked into the living room and looked around.
“You’ve made it cozy here.”
“Thanks,” Natalia answered dryly. “You didn’t come for that.”
“No,” Ksenia sat on the edge of the sofa. “I came because I can’t stay silent anymore.”
“About what?” Natalia crossed her arms.
“Andrey is sick.”
Natalia felt something tremble inside her. Thirty years do not pass without a trace. No matter how hard the divorce was, how hurtful Andrey’s leaving her for a younger colleague, part of her still cared about him.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
“Incurable,” Ksenia said quietly, almost whispering. “Stage three. He found out about it a month after your divorce.”
Natalia sank into the armchair, stunned.
“Why… why are you telling me this?” she gripped the armrests tightly.
“Because he asked me not to tell anyone. Especially you. Even Larisa left him when she found out about the diagnosis,” Ksenia said bitterly. “That girl wasn’t ready to be a caretaker.”
Natalia turned to the window. Outside, a light rain was falling. Thirty years of life flashed before her eyes. And now Andrey was left alone.
“Natalia,” Ksenia leaned forward, “I know he hurt you. And I know I betrayed you by siding with him during the divorce. But now everything has changed.”
“What exactly has changed?” Natalia turned sharply. “That he was abandoned by a young mistress? And now, when he is alone and sick, you remember me?”
“No, it’s not that,” Ksenia shook her head. “Andrey doesn’t know I’m here. He forbade everyone to bother you.”
“Then why did you come?”
Ksenia took a deep breath, as if preparing to dive into cold water.
“He asks about you. Every time I come. How are you, what about the apartment, are you managing on your own?”
“And when he left, he didn’t think about any of this,” Natalia said bitterly.
“He’s an idiot,” Ksenia unexpectedly agreed. “A complete idiot. I’m ashamed I defended him.”
Natalia looked at her former sister-in-law in surprise. In thirty years of family life, she had never heard Ksenia criticize her brother.
“Has he changed after the illness?” Natalia asked.
“Yes,” Ksenia paused. “But it’s not only about the illness. Something else happened. Something you don’t know.”
“What?”
“Andrey left you half of the summer house and the car.”
Natalia laughed.
“Don’t make me laugh. During the divorce, he fought for every spoon. His lawyer twisted every clause of the prenuptial agreement inside out.”
“I know,” Ksenia lowered her eyes guiltily. “But after the diagnosis, he changed the will. And…,” she hesitated, “there’s something else. He can only transfer those things in person. That’s the condition.”
“You want me to come to him?” Natalia felt a wave of indignation rising inside. “After everything that happened?”
“I understand how it sounds,” Ksenia raised her hands as if defending herself. “But there’s another reason I’m here. Dima.”
Natalia tensed. Their son refused to communicate with his father after the divorce. Learning about the betrayal, he took his mother’s side. Despite Andrey’s attempts to reconnect, Dima remained steadfast.
“What about Dima?”
“Andrey wants to make peace with him. Before…” Ksenia didn’t finish, but Natalia understood.
“Before he dies,” she finished the sentence.
A heavy silence fell in the room. Natalia went to the window and pressed her forehead to the cold glass. The rain intensified, drumming on the cornice.
“He doesn’t have much time left,” Ksenia said quietly. “Doctors say maybe six months. Maybe less.”
“And you want me to convince Dima to reconcile with his father?”
“I want you to come. Talk to Andrey. And then decide for yourself.”
Natalia closed her eyes. Scenes from their last meeting flashed before her mind — screams, tears, accusations. Andrey packing his things. His cold: “I don’t love you anymore, Natalia. Sorry.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she admitted honestly. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see him.”
“I understand,” Ksenia got up from the sofa. “But please think about it. Not for him. For yourself. For Dima.”
For three days, Natalia paced the apartment like a caged animal. Thoughts of Andrey kept her awake.
She ran through different meeting scenarios in her mind. Several times she grabbed the phone, found Ksenia’s number. But at the last moment, she hung up.
On the fourth day, Dima called.
“Mom, did you hear?” her son’s voice was anxious.
“Hear what exactly?” Natalia asked, though she already understood.
“Aunt Ksyusha called. Said Dad is seriously ill.”
Natalia sighed heavily. Ksenia had decided to come through their son.
“Yes, I know.”
“And you kept quiet?” Dima almost accused.
“I found out only a couple of days ago. Didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Is he really going?”
Natalia closed her eyes. How to explain to her adult son that the death of her ex-husband was a nightmare she never could imagine, even on the worst days of their divorce?
“Aunt Ksyusha says the prognosis is bad.”
Silence hung on the line. Natalia only heard her son’s heavy breathing.
“He wants to see you,” she finally said. “To reconcile.”
“And you?” Dima suddenly asked. “Will you go to him?”
Natalia did not expect that question. She thought her son would be angry, refuse, insist on his resentment. But he asked the very question she had been asking herself all these days.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Mom,” Dima’s voice suddenly became serious, almost strange, “you always taught me that grudges must be let go. That anger inside is like poison you drink yourself, hoping the other will be poisoned.”
Natalia smiled weakly. That was her favorite phrase.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “But it’s one thing to say it, another to do it.”
“Let’s go together,” Dima offered. “I’ll take the day off. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go.”
Natalia felt tears well up in her throat. Her boy, her son. Always protected her. Now he offered to do together what she didn’t dare to do alone.
“Okay,” she finally said.
The next day they stood at the door. Andrey had moved here after the divorce. He sold their shared three-room apartment and bought this smaller one.
“Ready?” Dima asked his mother.
Natalia nodded, and Dima pressed the doorbell.
Ksenia opened the door. She saw both of them and couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief.
“You came after all. Both of you.”
She let them into the apartment. Inside it smelled of medicine and something else — that special scent present in homes where seriously ill people live. Natalia’s heart tightened.
“He’s in the bedroom,” Ksenia said softly. “Just woke up. The doctor came this morning; he felt a little better.”
They walked down a short corridor. Dima tightly squeezed his mother’s hand, and Natalia couldn’t tell if she was supporting her son or he her.
Andrey lay on the bed, propped up by pillows. Natalia barely recognized him — his face was gaunt, eyes sunken, skin had a sallow hue. Only a ghost remained of the former Andrey — strong and fit.
He saw his ex-wife and son and tried to smile, but his lips only twitched painfully.
“Natalia,” he croaked. “Dima. You came.”
Natalia silently looked at her ex-husband. All the words she had prepared suddenly vanished from memory.
“Hi,” she finally managed.
Dima froze by the door. His gaze wandered around the room, avoiding his father.
“Sit down,” Andrey motioned to the chairs by the bed. “Thank you for coming.”
Natalia cautiously sat. Dima remained standing but stepped forward.
“How are you?” Natalia asked, realizing how absurd the question was.
“Could be better,” Andrey weakly smiled. “Doctors say a new chemo course might help. But no miracles promised.”
Silence fell. Natalia looked at her ex-husband. She didn’t recognize this emaciated man. And she had lived with him for thirty years.
“Dima,” Andrey turned to his son, “I’m very glad to see you.”
“Mom said you wanted to talk,” Dima answered dryly.
“Yes,” Andrey tried to sit up straighter but winced in pain. “I wanted to apologize. To both of you.”
Natalia shuddered. In all their years of marriage, she didn’t remember Andrey ever apologizing first.
“I was selfish,” he continued. “And a coward. I should have talked to you, Natalia. Honestly said what was going on. Not run away.”
“Why are you doing this now?” Natalia couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. “Because you got sick?”
Andrey shook his head.
“No. I thought about this before the illness. Larisa left me a month before the diagnosis,” he smiled sadly. “She said I was too obsessed with the past. With our past, Natalia.”
Dima snorted.
“And now you decided to fix everything?”
“No, son. Nothing can be fixed now,” Andrey looked at his son with sadness. Natalia’s heart ached. “But I can at least ask for forgiveness.”
“Why did you want to see us?” Natalia asked, recalling Ksenia’s words about the inheritance.
Andrey pointed to the bedside table.
“There’s a folder there. Take it.”
Natalia reached out and took the brown folder. Inside were documents.
“I transferred the summer house to you,” Andrey said. “And the car. You always liked that summer house.”
“I didn’t come for that,” Natalia said sharply. “I don’t need your…”
“I know,” Andrey interrupted her. “I know that’s not why. But I want it to stay with you. In memory of those years when we were happy.”
Natalia looked down. The summer house on the Volga shore — a small house with a terrace where they had spent many summer evenings. Where Dima learned to swim. Where they planted apple trees that had probably grown tall by now.
“And there’s also a letter,” Andrey added. “For you. And for Dima.”
Dima finally stepped closer.
“Dad,” he said quietly, and Natalia felt that in that short word there was a question, pain, and forgiveness all at once.
Andrey reached out, and after hesitation, Dima shook his hand.
“I was a bad father lately,” Andrey said. “But I always loved you. And I’m proud of you.”
Natalia saw her son’s lips tremble. He leaned in and hugged his father tightly. Andrey closed his eyes, a tear rolled down his cheek.
“I don’t want you to go,” Dima suddenly said.
“Me neither,” Andrey replied. “Just know that I loved you both.”
He turned to Natalia:
“We lived together for thirty years. It was a good life, wasn’t it?”
Natalia nodded.
“I wish I could fix everything,” Andrey continued. “Go back five years and do things differently. But you can’t turn back time.”
“No,” Natalia agreed. “You can’t.”
She stood and went to the bed. Looked into the eyes of the man she once loved more than life itself. Who became the father of her child. With whom she shared joys and sorrows for three decades.
“I forgive you,” she said simply.
Andrey took her hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
When they left the apartment, it was already dark. Dima walked silently, hands in his pockets. Natalia held the folder with documents close to her chest.
“How do you feel?” she asked her son.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Strange. Sad. And at the same time… lighter.”
Natalia nodded. She felt the same. As if a heavy burden she had carried inside all these months suddenly vanished.
“Will we come again?” Dima asked.
“Yes,” Natalia took her son’s hand. “We definitely will.”
A week later, they came again. And two weeks later. Andrey gradually weakened but greeted them with a smile each time.
Andrey passed away in early December, quietly, in his sleep. Natalia and Dima were with him in his last days.
That day Ksenia stood next to Natalia. They held onto each other.
“Thank you for coming then,” Natalia said when it was all over.
“You saved him,” Ksenia replied. “You and Dima. He left peacefully.”
In spring, Natalia visited the summer house for the first time after the divorce. The apple trees she and Andrey planted had indeed grown tall. She stood on the terrace and looked at the river. The world kept living. And so did she.