I planned Pavel’s and my anniversary evening down to the tiniest detail. Twenty years together is no joke, and I wanted the celebration to feel truly special. A small restaurant with a summer terrace, just ten guests—our closest friends and our kids. Our son Kirill came in from St. Petersburg, where he was studying at university, and our daughter Alisa took a day off from her advertising agency.
I even bought a new dress—dark navy silk with embroidery along the hem. I picked something new for Pavel as well: a light linen suit that suited his still-impressive frame. At forty-five he looked younger than his years—fit, with only a hint of silver at his temples. People often said we looked great together, though I’d always believed he was the better-looking one.
“Well then, my beauty—shall we?” Pavel offered me his arm gallantly as we stepped out of the taxi at the restaurant entrance. “Everyone’s waiting.”
I smoothed my dress and smiled. In moments like that, it felt as if we were still newlyweds—not a couple with two decades behind us, with highs and lows, arguments and reconciliations, the birth of our children and their growing up.
The table was set exactly as I’d requested—white roses in tall vases, pale blue napkins, silver candelabras. Once, back in my youth, I’d dreamed of becoming an interior designer, but life had unfolded differently. Still, I didn’t regret it: my job at the library gave me books and conversations with interesting people, and I poured my creative energy into projects at home.
The guests welcomed us with applause. My best friend Irina, who had known Pavel and me since our student days, kissed me on both cheeks.
“You look stunning,” she whispered. “Even better than at your wedding.”
I smiled gratefully. Compliments at fifty land differently than they do at thirty—you learn to value every year in which you manage to keep your shape and your spirit intact.
The night flowed beautifully. We laughed, remembered our youth, relived the brightest moments of our twenty years together. People raised toasts—some embarrassingly funny, some so tender they brought tears. Kirill surprised us with a slideshow of family photos, and Alisa sang Pavel’s and my “special” song—the same one we’d danced to at our own wedding.
After the main courses, the anniversary cake arrived: two little figurines on top and the Roman numeral “XX.” Pavel stood, champagne glass in hand, and the room fell quiet. He usually avoided public speeches, but tonight he seemed determined to make an exception.
“I want to raise this glass to my beautiful wife,” he began, looking at me with warmth. “Liza, you’ve given me twenty years of happiness, two wonderful children, and a million reasons to thank fate for bringing us together.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat. Pavel didn’t say things like that often, which made them even more precious.
“But today I need to confess something,” he went on, and something in his voice made me tense. “I’ve been cheating on you since the first day of our marriage!”
A dead silence dropped over the table. I froze, feeling the blood drain from my face. Every pair of eyes was fixed on us—some in horror, others in disbelief.
“What?” was all I managed to whisper.
Pavel held the pause for maximum effect, then broke into a wide grin.
“I’ve been cheating on you… with your own dream,” he said, pulling an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handing it to me. “Open it.”
With shaking hands, I took the envelope. Inside were documents for a space in an old merchant house in the city center—and a sheet with a project layout.
“What is this?” I asked, still not understanding.
“It’s your interior design studio,” Pavel announced, almost ceremonially. “I bought the space five years ago, and I’ve been quietly preparing it for you ever since. I did renovations on weekends—when I told you I had work errands. I talked to designers, chose materials—everything behind your back, betraying our weekend plans. Bit by bit.”
I looked from the papers to my husband, then to our friends. From their faces, it was clear many of them already knew.
“You all knew?” I asked.
“Only me and the kids,” Pavel answered for everyone. “They had to help me pick out equipment. Alisa already built you a website and set up your social media pages. Kirill designed your logo.”
My children stared at me, glowing with pride.
“And all of this… is for me?” I still couldn’t believe it.
“For you,” Pavel nodded. “You put your dream on hold for years while you supported my career, raised the kids, kept the house running. Now it’s your turn. I’ve already spoken with the library director—you can move to part-time, and devote the rest of your time to the studio.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore—I burst into tears. Relief, happiness, and the realization that all this time my husband had remembered the dream I’d nearly buried beneath daily worries.
The guests applauded, and Pavel wrapped his arms around me, kissing my tear-wet cheek.
“You have no idea how hard it was to keep it secret,” he murmured. “Especially when you started thinking I had someone else. Remember three years ago, when I was constantly staying late?”
I remembered. Back then I truly suspected something: a new young assistant at his office, strange calls he took in another room, unexplained disappearances on weekends. I even checked his shirts for lipstick and sniffed his jacket for someone else’s perfume.
“I had to lie to you for the first time in our whole life together,” Pavel continued. “It was awful. But I wanted the surprise to be perfect.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I choked out through tears. “I practically went out of mine back then.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But once you see the studio, I hope you’ll forgive me completely.”
The rest of the evening passed like a blur. I accepted congratulations, hugged the kids, thanked our friends for keeping the secret. But my mind was already somewhere else—I was picturing my new work, imagining projects, clients, materials, mood boards…
When we got home after midnight, Pavel said, “Want to go right now? See your studio?”
“Now? At night?” I laughed.
“Why not? I’ve got the keys. It’s all ready. I planned to take you tomorrow morning, but I can’t wait anymore—I want to see your face.”
And off we went, racing through the sleeping city like we were twenty again. I felt like the heroine of a romantic comedy—in an evening dress, with a half-finished glass of champagne in the taxi, beside a husband who suddenly seemed unpredictable and romantic the way he’d been when we were young.
The studio was exactly what I’d always dreamed of: a bright, spacious place with high ceilings and big windows, divided into a work area and a showroom. Modern equipment, samples of materials, catalogs—and even a drafting table, the kind I’d once stopped to admire in a shop early in our marriage.
“Well?” Pavel asked, watching me anxiously, as if he were the one receiving the gift. “Do you like it?”
“It’s… perfect,” I breathed, walking through the space, touching every detail. “But how did you pull this off? And with what money? We always talked through every expense.”
Pavel smiled sheepishly. “Remember that bonus I got five years ago? I told you I invested half of it in stocks. The truth is, I bought this place. After that I set aside money little by little and took on extra projects. Sometimes I had to… get creative with the family budget.”
“Wait,” I said suddenly, remembering something. “And the bathroom renovation we kept postponing because we ‘didn’t have the money’?”
“The money was there,” Pavel admitted. “But if we’d remodeled the bathroom, we would’ve had to delay buying equipment for the studio. I chose the studio.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I shook my head. “But never do that again. No secrets, no lies—even for a good reason. Those three years when I thought you were cheating were a nightmare.”
Pavel pulled me close. “I promise. No more secrets. Though now that you’ll have your own business, you might be the one staying late and whispering on the phone with clients.”
We both laughed, and I knew this was one of those moments that stays with you forever: my fiftieth birthday, the start of a new chapter in my career and my marriage, and an unexpected adventure.
The following weeks were a whirlwind. I quit the library (I decided to leave entirely), built my first projects, put together a portfolio. Pavel helped in every way he could, and the kids got involved too—Alisa handled social media promotion, and Kirill came on weekends to help with technical stuff.
My first client was a friend of Irina’s—a young woman who’d bought an apartment in a new building and had no idea where to begin. When I presented the design, she was so thrilled she immediately recommended me to people she knew.
Slowly, the work took off. I found my niche—not luxury mansions, but practical, stylish interiors for regular people with average budgets. I learned to find creative solutions without blowing clients’ limits.
One evening, about six months after the studio opened, Pavel and I were sitting in our favorite café. I was telling him about a new project—a kids’ room for twins where we had to fit two beds, two desks, and plenty of space to play.
“You know,” Pavel said suddenly, interrupting me, “I haven’t seen you this happy in years. You look younger.”
“That’s because of you,” I said, covering his hand with mine. “If it weren’t for your crazy plan…”
“I’m glad I went through with the deception,” he smiled. “Even though it wasn’t easy. I had to keep wriggling out of questions, invent excuses…”
“Speaking of excuses,” I said, remembering something that had been bothering me. “Who was Marina—the one who kept calling you back then?”
Pavel burst out laughing. “She’s the designer who helped me plan the studio! She’s married, by the way, and has three kids. Her husband even helped with some of the renovation.”
I blushed with embarrassment, remembering how jealous I’d been of a woman I’d never even seen.
“And what about the new shirts and the cologne?”
“Alisa told me to update my wardrobe,” he said. “She said if I suddenly started dressing better, you’d definitely suspect something. So we decided I’d change gradually—so you’d get used to the idea that I was simply taking better care of myself.”
“You really thought of everything,” I murmured, shaking my head. “And I was over here thinking…”
“I know what you were thinking,” Pavel said, squeezing my hand. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“And it doesn’t need to,” I smiled. “One shock in a lifetime is enough.”
Right then my phone rang—a new client who’d found me through a recommendation.
“Answer,” Pavel nodded. “I’ll wait.”
I picked up, and as I spoke with the potential customer, I watched Pavel. He sipped his coffee, scrolled through the news on his phone, and every so often looked up and smiled at me. That was the Pavel I’d known twenty years ago when we were just starting out—attentive, a little ironic, always ready to support me.
“Maybe,” I thought as I ended the call, “the real secret to a long, happy marriage isn’t the absence of secrets, but the ability to keep surprising each other—even decades later.”
Out loud I said, “I’ve got a new client. A young couple—first apartment, minimal budget.”
“Your favorites,” Pavel said, nodding. “Shall we go to the studio and talk through the project?”
“Let’s go,” I said, standing up. “And you know what? It’s time we finally deal with our bathroom. We’ve postponed it long enough.”
“As you say, designer,” Pavel laughed, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “From now on, I’m completely in your hands.”
And we walked out into the warm evening, feeling younger than we had twenty years earlier—back when we were only beginning our life together.