Oleg slammed the fridge door so hard that the shelves inside rattled. One of the magnets fell to the floor with a dull clunk.
Lena stood across from him, pale, her fists clenched.
“Feel better now?” she exhaled, lifting her chin.
“You’re driving me insane,” Oleg’s voice cracked, though he tried to speak more quietly. “What kind of life is this, huh? No joy, no future.”
“So it’s my fault again?” Lena laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Of course, because life isn’t how you fantasized it.”
Oleg wanted to say something but just waved his hand dismissively. He opened a bottle of mineral water, took a swig straight from the neck, and set it on the table.
“Oleg, don’t go silent,” Lena’s voice trembled. “Just tell me for once — what is it?”
“What is there to say?” he sneered. “Even if I told you… you wouldn’t understand. I’m sick of all this. Sick to death!”
They stared at each other for a few seconds in silence. Finally, Lena took a deep breath and walked into the bathroom. Oleg sat on the couch. The sound of running water came from the sink — Lena had likely turned on the tap to muffle her crying. Yet Oleg realized that he just didn’t care anymore.
Oleg and Lena had been married for three years. They lived in Lena’s apartment, inherited from her parents. When they retired and moved to a countryside house, they transferred ownership of the city apartment to their daughter. It was spacious, though modestly renovated, with furniture dating back to Soviet times.
At first, Oleg was satisfied: the apartment was nearly in the city center, close to his job, and in a decent neighborhood. But within six months, domestic life began to grate on him. Lena felt cozy in her childhood home with its familiar brown wallpaper and her grandmother’s old buffet cabinet. To Oleg, it all felt painfully dull.
“Lena, come on, explain this to me,” he would often start the same argument. “Don’t you want to get rid of this awful yellow linoleum? Change the wallpaper? Make it modern, stylish?”
“Oleg, we don’t have extra money for a full renovation right now,” she’d reply gently. “Of course, I’d like to change everything too, but let’s wait until I get my bonus or we save up a bit.”
“Wait?! That’s your whole life — waiting and enduring.”
Oleg often thought back to when he first met Lena. She was a modest student, but her blue eyes and endlessly kind smile won him over. He used to tell his friends, “She’s like a flower bud — just wait, she’ll bloom and stun everyone.” But now he felt disillusioned: “She didn’t bloom — she withered,” he thought constantly, watching Lena dust her mother’s delicate vases, feed sour cream to a stray kitten, or straighten the picture frames of childhood photos on the wall.
But Lena didn’t see herself as a “grey mouse.” She simply lived the way she believed was right. She found joy in small things — a new placemat, a quiet evening with a book, a cup of mint tea, the warm light of a desk lamp. Oleg, however, saw it all as stagnation.
Still, despite his endless complaints, he wasn’t ready for divorce — deep down, he knew that would mean moving out of the convenient apartment and back in with his parents, whom he never got along with. Especially since his mother, Tamara Ilyinichna, usually sided with Lena in arguments.
“Son, you’re wrong,” she often told him. “Lena is a wonderful woman, smart and kind. You’re living in her apartment — be grateful.”
“What do you know, Mom?” Oleg grumbled. “You’re stuck in the same stone age as Lena.”
Tamara would sigh — her son had long grown distant. His father, Igor Sergeyevich, knowing Oleg’s nature, would just say, “Let him figure it out himself, Tamara. Don’t interfere.”
Meanwhile, Oleg came home angrier and angrier. “Lena’s like a shadow, a grey mouse, and now I’m trapped in her apartment,” he muttered to himself. In yet another argument, he yelled:
“I once saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I’m living with a wilted bud…”
It was the first time Lena cried in months.
Then came that hot day — the day everything truly began to unravel — when they seriously spoke of divorce for the first time. Oleg stood by the window, watching the neighbors across the street unload things onto their balcony.
“Lena, I’m tired,” he said softly, still staring out the glass.
“Tired… of what?” she tried to keep her voice steady.
“Of this life. Of our constant bickering. You’ve shut yourself in your little world of pots and placemats. You think I want to waste years like this?”
Lena stayed silent for a minute, then grabbed the trash and walked into the hallway. Oleg heard the door slam. He hoped she’d be back in a couple of minutes — maybe to talk it out. But Lena was gone for half an hour, returning calmer.
“You know,” she said, leaning against the wall, “maybe you really do need to be alone. You should move out.”
“No way,” Oleg snapped, as if wounded. “I’m not leaving my home.”
“Oleg, it’s not your home. It’s my parents’ apartment,” Lena replied with a bitter smile. “Let’s be honest — it’s not working. It’s time we admit that.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he retreated to his room and opened his laptop. But the thought gnawed at him: “Where would I go? My parents… things are already tense there.” The argument hung in the air, and in the following days, everything repeated: petty fights that stemmed from one root — his indifference toward a wife he deemed “a grey mouse,” mixed with the fear of losing his roof.
Eventually, things came to a head. Oleg, in a fit of anger, filed for divorce himself. “I’m making the decision, not her,” he muttered stubbornly. “I still have my parents. I’ve got somewhere to go.” He packed his bags and moved in with Tamara and Igor, though not with much enthusiasm. Lena agreed to the divorce without protest.
They filed the papers — and soon they were no longer husband and wife.
Three years passed. Oleg had been living with his parents all that time. At first, he told himself, “I’ll just rest for a few months, then get back on track — rent an apartment, meet a new girl who shares my ideals.” But instead, he got stuck, like in a swamp. Work brought no joy — he had just enough for basic needs. No real prospects in sight. His parents kept nagging him: their son was over thirty and still mooching off them.
Then, one cold spring evening, Oleg was walking home after meeting a friend. He passed by a cozy little café with warm glowing lights in the window. On impulse, he decided to step inside and warm up — but froze mid-step.
Lena was standing at the entrance.
The same Lena he had left three years ago. But she was different now: confident posture, neat hairstyle, elegant but sharp outfit, calm eyes. She held car keys — judging by the brand, an expensive car.
“Well, I’ll be…” Oleg thought, not even realizing how close he’d gotten to her.
“Lena?” he called out.
She turned, didn’t recognize him right away, then smiled. Oleg noticed it wasn’t the shy smile of the past — this one was calm and self-assured.
“Hi, Oleg,” she said. “Nice to see you! How are you?”
“Alright…” he adjusted his scarf, suddenly flustered. “Looks like you’re doing great.”
“Let’s just say I’m finally living the life I always dreamed of,” Lena replied without a hint of arrogance.
“Is that so…” Oleg swallowed hard, trying to choke down the lump of growing envy. “Well… good for you. Still at the same job?”
“No, I changed fields. Opened my own floral studio. I was scared at first, but…” — she smiled — “someone believed in me.”
“Who?” the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Before Lena could answer, a tall man in a coat emerged from the café. He walked up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Sweetheart, the table’s ready — shall we?”
Lena turned to Oleg and introduced the man.
“This is Vadim. Vadim, this is Oleg,” she smiled, touched by the man’s warmth. “Anyway, Oleg, it was really nice seeing you. I… hope things work out for you too.”
Oleg nodded, a storm raging inside. Looking at Vadim, he suddenly saw clearly: Lena was no longer the “grey mouse” he once thought her to be. She had bloomed — just not with him.
“Lena…” he wanted to say something like “I’m sorry,” but the words stuck in his throat. “I’m… happy for you. Really.”
“Thank you, Oleg,” she replied quietly, but firmly. “Take care.”
Vadim gave Oleg a polite nod, and the two disappeared behind the café’s glass door. A cold wind pierced through Oleg’s coat. He closed his eyes for a moment and remembered: “Living with a wilted bud…” — a cruel phrase he had once thrown at her. And now, the bud had blossomed — and he was left on the outside, quite literally.
Through the large windows of the café, he saw Lena and Vadim talking, laughing. Their gestures were relaxed, their smiles genuine. Oleg stood there, feeling the night — and something inside him — unravel.
He had once had the chance to be the one who encouraged her, who supported her dreams, who helped her grow. But he chose something else entirely.
Oleg turned and walked away from the café, head bowed. If he could see himself right now, he’d probably notice he looked green — from envy, from regret, and from the bitter sting of a missed chance.