“Three thousand,” Pavel suddenly said, still not lifting his eyes. “Got it with a discount, at Sunlight.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s pretty.”
Something jabbed in her chest. It wasn’t that she’d been expecting diamonds—what diamonds at their age, really? But this matter-of-fact tone, this accountant’s precision. As if he were reporting on buying a loaf of bread.
Marina stood in front of the mirror for a long time, critically examining her new haircut. No, this cut didn’t suit her after all—too youthful. At fifty-seven it was already too late for experiments. Although Lyuba, the hairdresser, had sworn she now looked at least ten years younger.
“Who even needs that?” Marina thought, smoothing a stubborn strand.
There was a time when Pavel loved to run his fingers through her hair, saying it smelled like summer. And now? When was the last time he’d noticed her appearance at all?
Today was their thirtieth wedding anniversary. A big, serious date. Marina had gotten up early to cook something special for dinner. She took her favorite apron out of the cupboard—white, with embroidered daisies, a gift from their daughter. She started kneading dough for a Napoleon cake—the cake they never skipped for any family celebration.
Thirty years. How quickly they had flown by. It seemed like only yesterday was their wedding—modest, in the cafeteria of the factory where Pavel worked. She in a simple white dress sewn by her mother, he in a suit that was clearly second-hand. But what plans they’d made! They dreamed of traveling, of a big house, of how they would grow old together.
“Pasha, do you remember how you promised me back when we were young that for our thirtieth anniversary you’d take me to Paris?”
She asked it deliberately lightly, as if joking. So she wouldn’t give away how much she’d been waiting for this day, how much she’d hoped.
Marina smiled, looking at the tiny ring in the red velvet box. Silver, three cubic zirconias—modest, but tasteful. Very much in the spirit of their last years together.
Her husband muttered something in reply without looking up from his phone. His fingers moved quickly across the screen—probably some important work chats again. Lately he’d been hiding behind that screen more and more often, as if it had become a shield between them.
Marina remembered when it had started. About a year ago Pavel had suddenly “caught” the healthy lifestyle bug. Bought a membership to an expensive fitness club, started watching what he ate. At first she’d been happy—it was good for a man his age to take care of himself. But then she began to notice other changes: new clothes, expensive cologne, constant “business meetings” in the evenings.
“Well, whatever,” Marina thought. “The main thing is, he didn’t forget about our anniversary.”
She tried on the ring. It fit like it was made for her—after thirty years of marriage Pavel had at least learned to guess her size. Only the stones glittered a bit oddly in the chandelier’s light. Marina raised her hand closer to her eyes.
“Three thousand,” Pavel suddenly said, still not lifting his eyes. “Got it with a discount, at Sunlight.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s pretty.”
Something jabbed in her chest. It wasn’t that she’d been expecting diamonds—what diamonds at their age, really? But this matter-of-fact tone, this accountant’s precision. As if he were reporting on buying a loaf of bread.
She suddenly remembered how twenty years ago he’d given her a pendant—simple, but bought on credit, because he’d really wanted to make her happy. Back then they’d lived very modestly, pinched every penny, but Pasha always found a way to do something nice for her. He’d bring flowers from work—maybe not roses, just ordinary carnations, but every Friday. And now, when they had several times more money…
That evening they didn’t even have dinner together—Pavel had “urgent business,” had to go to a meeting. The cake stayed untouched, the bottle of champagne unopened. Marina sat at the table, absentmindedly prodding the cold pilaf with her fork.
After dinner she took out an old photo album in a worn leather cover. The pages had yellowed, some photographs had faded, but the memories were as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday.
Here they were young—tanned, happy, at the seaside. Their first vacation together, saved up for by the whole family. Pavel had his arm around her shoulders, she was laughing—she had just caught a jellyfish and gotten scared.
And here was their first car—an old Lada, but how happy they’d been with it! At night they unloaded freight cars at the rail yard to save up for the down payment. So many plans they’d made.
A note folded in four slipped out from between the pages. Pavel’s handwriting, still young and bold: “I love you, Marisha!”
Her phone chimed softly. A message from Tanya, her friend:
“Turn on the ‘Stolitsa’ channel! Quick!”
Tanya had always been like that—emotional, impulsive. When they were young Pavel had even been jealous of their friendship: “You two are always whispering about something!” And now… Now he seemed not to care at all who Marina talked to.
Marina reached for the remote. On the screen—a segment about Moscow restaurants. The camera slowly panned across the hall of an expensive place, the reporter’s voice talking about a new head chef.
And then she saw him. Pavel was sitting at a table by the window, in that same burgundy tie she’d given him for his last birthday. Across from him sat a striking blonde of about forty, in a tight red dress. She was talking animatedly, waving her hands. A gold bracelet glinted on her wrist.
“Wait. The bracelet.”
Marina leaned forward, practically pressing her nose to the screen. Yes, exactly the same as in the photo on Pavel’s phone. She had accidentally seen that picture a month earlier when her husband had asked her to find some document photos in his gallery. He had quickly snatched the phone away: “Oh, that, just an ad for watches.”
Her hands started to shake. Her temples throbbed. On the screen, Pavel was saying something to his companion, smiling that special smile Marina hadn’t seen for many years.
A new message from Tanya:
“That’s Viktoria, she goes to our fitness center. Thirty-eight, divorced, works at some cosmetics company. She was bragging that her lover gave her a trip to Paris for the May holidays.”
The May holidays. In a week.
Marina sank into the armchair, clutching the phone in her hand. One thought pounded in her head: “Three thousand. With a discount.”
And for her—Paris.
When Pavel came home after midnight, Marina was still awake. She was sitting in the kitchen, an untouched cup of cold tea in front of her.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” He tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away.
“How was the meeting?” she asked, her voice suddenly ringing.
“Fine. I’m just tired.”
“At La Mare?”
He froze. For a second something like fear flashed in his eyes, but it quickly shifted back to his usual confidence.
“Oh, you mean the TV piece? Yeah, there. I was meeting with partners.”
“With a partner,” Marina stood up. “So when are you two flying to Paris? For the May holidays?”
“What nonsense is this? What Paris?”
“Don’t take me for an idiot, Pasha,” her voice was shaking. “I know everything. About Viktoria. About the trip. About all of it.”
He was silent for a while, then sank heavily onto a chair.
“So what are you going to do now? Make a scene? Throw a tantrum? At our age it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” she was almost shouting. “Too late to respect your wife? Too late to be honest? Three thousand, Pasha! You spent three thousand on a ring for your wife and give Paris to your mistress?!”
“And what did you expect?” he suddenly raised his voice too. “Thirty years in the same apartment, the same bed! Just look at yourself—faded housecoat, those eternal curlers.”
“I raised your children! I cooked, washed, ironed your shirts!”
“Exactly!” He jumped up, looming over her. “You weren’t a wife, you were a housekeeper! And Vika—she sees a man in me. She actually finds it interesting to talk to me, not just about grandkids and varicose veins!”
Marina stared at him in silence. Thirty years. Half a lifetime. And just like that—“housekeeper.”
“You know what,” she said quietly. “Go ahead and fly to your Paris. Just sign the divorce papers before you go.”
“Oh, come on,” he tried to take her hand. “I got carried away. I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just forget it ever happened.”
She shook his hand off.
“No, Pasha. Not anymore.”
A month later, Marina was sitting in a café with Tanya. There was no longer any ring on her left ring finger—neither the cheap one, nor the wedding band.
“Can you imagine,” her friend was saying, “that Viktoria came back from Paris and came straight to the gym. In tears! Turns out your dear husband spent the whole trip on the phone with work. Didn’t even take her to the Louvre—‘no time.’ Took her to a restaurant once, and even that was some hole-in-the-wall.”
Marina laughed.
“What a romantic.”
“And you? How are you holding up?”
“You know…” Marina thought for a moment. “The first week I cried. The second I was furious. And then… I signed up for Spanish classes. I’d dreamed about it for years but never had the time. And I’ve started going to the pool. And you know what’s the strangest thing? It’s like I’ve woken up.”
She paused, looking out the window.
“Yesterday my granddaughter asked, ‘Grandma, why did you become so pretty?’ And I really have. I got a new haircut, bought a dress. For the first time in so many years—just for myself, not for anyone else.”
“And Pavel?”
“What about Pavel?” Marina shrugged. “They say Viktoria dumped him. He called the other day, asked if he could come back. I said no.”
“Do you feel sorry for him?”
“I used to,” she said. “But now… You know, I bought myself a ticket. To Paris.”
“Alone?!”
“Alone,” Marina smiled. “I’ve dreamed about it for so long. Why not? I’m only fifty-seven—it’s the perfect time to start living for myself.”
For the first time in many years, she felt truly free.
And six months later, Sergey appeared in her life—a widower, a Spanish teacher. They met at the courses and started talking. One day he invited her out for coffee.
“You know, Marina,” he said, looking her in the eyes, “how about next time we just take off to Paris together? I’m going there for a conference anyway.”
She laughed.
“Let’s. Just not in May—there are too many tourists in May.”
They say life only really begins after fifty. Marina now knew for sure that it was true. You just have to dare to wake up and start living for yourself.
And the three-thousand-ruble ring she gave to her granddaughter—for her dolls. The most fitting use for it