Lika was just finishing her coffee during the break between appointments—a warm, slightly bitter sip was supposed to perk her up before the next couple of hours of intense work. She set the cup on the table and reached for a napkin when, with a loud clatter, a chair dropped down beside her. Alla, an orderly from the neighboring department, sat down without any ceremony, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Lika with a smirk.
“Well, show off,” she said, tilting her head slightly.
Lika jolted, almost choking on the last swallow. The coffee scorched her throat, and she hurriedly covered her mouth with her palm, coughing. When she looked up at her colleague, she silently raised her brows, trying to understand what this pressure was about.
“Oh, don’t play dumb!” Alla waved her hand as if swatting away the act. “I saw your hubby yesterday. He went into a jewelry store. And I went in after him—curious, you know! I didn’t get too close, of course, but I clearly saw a little box. Come on, show me!”
Lika felt something tighten inside. She slowly lowered her gaze to her cup, where a little of the divine drink still remained, then looked back at Alla. In her colleague’s voice there wasn’t just curiosity—there was a distinct note of envy, as if she’d already tried on the ring herself, the one she was sure Marat had bought for his wife.
“Sorry, but you’re mistaken,” Lika forced a smile, keeping her tone even. “Marat was home last night. The whole time.”
“Six twenty!” Alla lunged forward, her eyes flashing. “And don’t take me for an idiot! It was definitely your husband—I got a good look at him when he came to pick you up. Recognized him right away—he’s got that distinctive walk, and the same jacket. So don’t wriggle out of it. Show me what was in that box!”
Lika swallowed. She suddenly felt hot despite the cool air in the room. She automatically adjusted her snow-white coat, feeling her shirt stick unpleasantly to her back. Alla looked at her with such anticipation, as if she were already imagining how she’d tell everyone about the expensive gift Marat had presented to his wife.
“And you’re still wrong,” Lika repeated, making her voice sound confident. “Sorry, break’s over. My little patients and their worried parents are waiting.”
She stood up rather quickly, unwilling to spend another minute in Alla’s company. She’d chosen the time between appointments on purpose—hoping to steal at least ten minutes of blessed silence, sit in the half-empty hall, listen to the soft music, and simply catch her breath before the next wave of patients. But of course not.
As if on cue, the head gossip showed up—one who seemed to live for the moment she could latch onto any detail and blow it up into a full-scale disaster.
“Ah. Now I get it,” Alla drawled with acid mockery, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms again. “Your faithful husband got himself another woman. Now that’s news! Our incomparable Angelika Arkadyevna is getting dumped!”
Lika felt everything inside tense, but outwardly she stayed composed. She turned slowly and shot the gossip a sharp, irritated look.
“Don’t say stupid things!” she snapped, keeping her voice firm. “My husband loves me. We’re raising a wonderful son…”
“Who isn’t even yours,” the orderly finished for her coldly, never taking her eyes off Lika. “Clever guy, your Marat. Dumped the kid on you and runs around on business trips. Bet he’s got a fiancée in every city.”
Lika gripped the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood. A storm raged inside her, but she fought to keep her face steady. She wanted to shout for Alla to shut up, but instead she exhaled slowly and said evenly:
“You don’t know anything about my family. Or my husband. Please don’t spread nonsense.”
Alla only smirked, shook her head, and rose from the table.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see what you say in a month. Or a week. Men are… so fickle.”
She headed for the exit at an unhurried pace, deliberately clicking her heels loudly on the tiled floor. Lika stayed seated, staring straight ahead. Her hands trembled slightly, and she hid them under the table, afraid someone might notice. Alla’s words spun in her head, snagged on her thoughts, wouldn’t let her focus.
Suddenly Lika pivoted on her heel, her eyes blazing with anger. She caught up with Alla, closed the distance between them to almost nothing, and said clearly, each word clipped:
“One more word and I’m going to the chief doctor. You’ll be out of a job before you can even squeak. And nobody will stand up for you—you’ve already gotten on everyone’s nerves!”
Her voice was calm, but there was such iron in it that Alla instinctively took a step back. She opened her mouth to retort, but Lika had already turned and headed out of the cafeteria, her steps crisp and decisive.
“But I’m wishing you well!” Alla shouted after her, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “Dump him while it’s not too late! He didn’t just make it to the jewelry store—I saw him at the flower shop too! And he was cooing to someone on the phone! Lika, damn it! Honestly…”
She muttered the last words more quietly, almost to herself, but still with obvious irritation. Lika didn’t even look back—her back remained straight, her stride confident, as if Alla’s words hadn’t touched her at all. But inside, everything churned.
Left alone, Alla stood there for a few seconds, nervously tugging at the edge of her coat. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to calm her irritation. Thoughts spun in her head: What a temperament that Lika has. You can’t say a single thing to her…
Grumbling under her breath, she slowly made her way back to her station. Her legs felt like lead, and dissatisfaction bubbled in her chest. Her tongue practically itched to share the hot news with her girlfriends—they’d appreciate it, they’d listen with their mouths hanging open! But common sense held her back. Knowing Lika… she wouldn’t hesitate to go to management. One complaint—and that would be that. Then she’d have to look for a new job.
“And where would I find a position then?” Alla mused, mechanically straightening a stack of folders on the desk. “With her salary… This clinic is private, not state-run. There’s already a line of people who’d love to get in here…”
She sank into her chair, glanced at the clock, and let out a heavy sigh. There was still a long time left in the shift, and her mood was already ruined for good. Fine. Time to get back to actual work, before they fired her even without any complaints…
Lika was tortured by doubts. In front of others she could confidently say that everything in their family was fine—her voice steady, her gaze calm, a light smile on her lips. But now, alone with herself, she couldn’t chase away the anxious thoughts. Alla’s words sat in her head like splinters and flared up from time to time with a sharp sting.
Marat really had come home yesterday closer to eight. She’d even been surprised—usually he returned around six, seven at the latest. “A ton of work piled up,” he’d mumbled without looking her in the eye, and immediately disappeared into the bathroom, as if hurrying to wash the day off himself. Lika had only nodded then, saying nothing, but something unpleasant pinched inside. Maybe it was all much more banal? Maybe behind those late arrivals and evasive answers was exactly what Alla had been so persistently harping on?
Lika slowly opened the front door, stepped over the threshold, and called out as usual:
“I’m home!”
Silence answered her.
She froze for a second, listening. Normally it was completely different. First Archie would come running with happy barking—a golden retriever who recognized only one true master in this house: Lika. He tolerated everyone else indulgently, but to her he was devoted without reserve. Right behind him, barely keeping up, would come Yura—her boy, her joy, her light. He always greeted her with a smile, grabbed her hand, and dragged her off to show her something important: a new plasticine craft, a drawing, or a freshly built set.
But today—silence. Only the ticking of the hallway clock disturbed the stillness.
Lika took off her shoes, hung her jacket on the hook, and walked deeper into the apartment, peering into rooms.
“Where are you?” she repeated a little louder, trying to keep her voice calm.
Not a sound.
Her heart clenched. Maybe they’d gone out for a walk? But Archie never went far without her, and Yura knew his mother didn’t like it when he left the apartment without asking. Lika pulled out her phone and dialed her husband. The line rang, but no one answered. She tried again. And again.
Nothing.
Anxiety swelled in her chest. She went into the kitchen—maybe there were at least some traces of them there? On the table stood a cup with unfinished tea; beside it lay Yura’s open book. A toy dump truck was on the floor. Everything looked as if they’d been here just a moment ago—then vanished.
Lika inhaled deeply, trying to stop the rising panic.
“Calm down,” she told herself. “It’s nothing. They must have just stepped out for a bit. They’ll be back any minute.”
But an inner voice, quiet and persistent, whispered something else: What if not? What if everything Alla said is true?
She went to the window and looked down at the street. The evening sun painted the courtyard in warm tones; children played on the playground; someone was walking a dog. But there was no sign of Marat, or Yura, or Archie.
Lika lowered herself into a chair and clutched the edge of the countertop. Questions whirled in her head with no answers. Where were they? Why weren’t they picking up? And most importantly—what if Alla hadn’t just been gossiping, but had seen what Lika stubbornly refused to notice?
And then she noticed that on the coffee table, right in the middle, lay a large envelope. It looked unusual—not business mail, not the flyers they usually piled by the door. Something about it made her heart beat faster: thick cream paper with big bright letters, as if meant to catch her eye at once—“Open me.”
Lika froze in the doorway to the living room, not daring to come closer. In the last few days she’d endured so much—from Alla’s hints, from her own anxious thoughts, from silent evenings with Marat—that any unexpected object in the house felt like a harbinger of bad news. She walked up slowly and touched the envelope lightly with her fingertips, as if checking whether it would vanish if her touch was too bold.
Her hands trembled. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and finally picked up the envelope. It was light, but no less frightening for that. She carefully tore open the edge, pulled out a sheet folded in half, and held it for a second with her eyes closed. The worst possibilities spun in her mind: divorce… I’m leaving… Words after which life would never be the same.
With effort, she swallowed and unfolded the paper.
And froze.
There was only one line. A painfully familiar address. The very one she remembered by heart, though many years had passed. A small cozy café on the corner of an old street, with stained-glass windows and tables under striped umbrellas—the place where Marat once sat her down opposite him, nervously twisted a napkin, then suddenly dropped to one knee and, looking into her eyes, asked, “Will you marry me?”
Lika couldn’t help smiling, and the tension that had held her in a vise all this time began to ease. Her fingers still trembled, but now not from fear—from a strange, thrilling anticipation. She reread the address once more, as if trying to catch some hidden meaning encoded in those familiar letters.
“Interesting… is this a good sign?” she thought, pressing the paper to her chest…
Lika stepped out of the taxi, took a deep breath of the cool autumn air, and adjusted her coat. The street looked familiar, but today everything seemed somehow special—maybe because of the light excitement squeezing her heart, or because she still didn’t understand why Marat had asked her to come именно here.
She pushed open the café’s glass door, and the pleasant jingle of a bell above the entrance broke the cozy hush of the room. Inside it was warm; it smelled of freshly brewed coffee and vanilla buns. Lika paused for a second at the doorway, looking around—and immediately felt everything inside flip.
At their favorite table by the window with stained-glass panes sat everyone she loved most in the world. Marat—in a neatly pressed shirt and dark blazer; Yura—in a dressy blue sweater, his eyes shining with excitement; and beside them—Archie, who, seeing Lika, jumped up at once and wagged his tail joyfully.
They were all beautiful, dressed up, happy. On the wall behind them hung a huge poster with an ornate silver “5.” Lika frowned despite herself. Why five? flashed through her mind, but she didn’t have time to think about it for more than a second—Yura was already sprinting toward her across the whole room.
“Mom! Congratulations!” he shouted, arms spread wide, and Lika barely had time to bend her knees to catch him in a hug.
She hugged her son tight, burying her nose in his soft hair that smelled of children’s shampoo. For a moment all the worries and doubts fell away—there was only this warm, familiar feeling that always appeared when Yura was near.
“And… for what?” Lika asked a little plaintively, pulling back to look at him. “We’ve only been married four years… and it’s September now, not July…”
Yura laughed, grabbed her hand, and tugged her toward the table.
“That’s not it!” he exclaimed. “You’ll find out right now!”
Marat stood up, smiling broadly, and stepped toward her. In his hands was a huge bouquet—white roses, her favorite, neatly tied with an satin ribbon. Lika caught her breath, looking at her husband. He looked so happy, so… young, as if he’d become the guy she’d met five years ago again.
“Yes, it’s not our wedding anniversary,” Marat said, handing her the flowers. “But this date is very important too. Exactly five years ago, we met for the first time. I’ll never forget that day—fate itself brought us together!”
Lika gently ruffled her son’s hair, her face lighting up with a warm, slightly teasing smile.
“Fate brought us together through this little whirlwind,” she said, looking at Yura with love. “The one who absolutely refused to sit still for even five minutes. Right, Yura? Who was it at three years old who managed to smash into a doorframe so hard we had to go to the hospital?”
The boy lifted his chin, his eyes sparkling with pride. He straightened up as if ready to receive a medal and answered loudly, without a hint of embarrassment:
“Me!”
Then he burst into bright, carefree laughter, and that ringing laugh filled the café with warmth and joy. Lika couldn’t help laughing with him, and Marat, watching them, felt tenderness spread through his chest.
“It was fate,” the man insisted stubbornly, looking at his wife. “Remember? Your shift had already ended, you’d even gone home. And only the phone you forgot in your office made you come back.”
“And in the end I stayed two hours,” she said softly. “Someone clung to me like a little tick and wouldn’t let go.”
She looked at Yura, who was still smiling, clearly pleased to be part of such an important story.
“See? I told you—fate slammed us together,” Marat repeated confidently. His eyes glowed, and that same smile played on his lips—the one that always made Lika’s heart warm. “I have a gift for you. I hope you like it.”
He took a small step forward and held out a little box decorated with a bright red bow. Lika froze for a second, holding her breath. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the lid.
Inside, on a soft velvet bed, lay earrings—delicate, with thin shimmering stones that seemed to sparkle in the lamplight. Lika gasped. They were beautiful, but what struck her even more was how perfectly they matched the pendant she wore around her neck.
“I don’t even have words,” Lika whispered, tears glittering in her eyes. She lifted her gaze to Marat, then to Yura, who was waiting impatiently for her reaction. “Thank you… all of you!”
Her voice shook, but it wasn’t sadness—it was happiness overflowing her heart. She carefully took the earrings out, held them up to the light to look more closely, and looked back at her husband.
“They’re gorgeous,” she said quietly, with such sincerity that Marat felt something tighten inside with tenderness. “How did you guess?”
“I just wanted you to have something that would remind you of that day,” he answered, taking her hand. “Of how we met. Of how you became part of our life. Of how we’re all together.”
Seeing his mother moved, Yura ran up and hugged her tightly around the knees.
“I love you too!” he declared with such seriousness that Lika laughed and bent down to kiss the top of his head.
Archie, sensing all the attention on the family, padded closer and nudged Lika’s leg with his muzzle, demanding affection. She stroked him, and the dog wagged his tail happily.
The café was filled with warmth and happiness. People at nearby tables smiled as they watched the family, and Lika, holding her gift and feeling her loved ones close, understood—this was the real thing…
The next day Alla stood by the corridor window, arms crossed, watching Lika through clenched teeth. Lika was walking past—collected, calm, with an unusually strict look. Instead of her usual loose waves, her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, emphasizing her neck and cheekbones. And in her ears—those lacy earrings, flashing in the autumn sunlight streaming through the glass with every movement.
Alla involuntarily clenched her fists. Of course, ran through her mind. Shining like a brand-new coin. Yesterday she looked like her world was falling apart. She remembered how she’d tried to plant doubts in Lika the day before, hinting at her husband’s infidelity—and now she saw a woman who didn’t look merely calm, but happy.
And that irritated her even more.