I miss you so much,” Maria whispered, shuddering at the sound of her own voice in the silence of the room.
Her fingers froze above an old photo album. In the faded photograph, Sasha was smiling, holding little Artyom on his shoulders.
Maria gently ran her fingertips over his image. Nine years had passed, but the pain remained as sharp as ever.
A blizzard raged outside, throwing snowflakes against the glass. Maria stood up and moved to the windowsill, where a small dish with a burning candle stood. Anniversary. On nights like these, his absence pressed down hardest.
“I’m coping, you hear me?” she said, addressing the emptiness. “Artyom is almost as tall as you now. And Lyova… he looks so much like you.”
In the corner, the stove crackled. Maria wrapped herself in an old blanket and sank into an armchair. The old wooden house creaked under the gusts of wind.
She didn’t notice when she dozed off. Maybe it had been minutes or hours when three loud knocks on the door shattered the silence.
Maria jumped, instantly waking up. Her heart raced like mad. Who could be coming in this blizzard? The nearest neighbors were a kilometer away.
The knocking repeated — three sharp raps, as if someone was insisting.
Maria moved down the hallway, feeling her way along the walls in the dark. Her eyes landed on the kitchen knife resting on the table. She grabbed it and gripped the handle tightly.
“Who’s there?” Her voice trembled.
Silence. Then again — three knocks, even more insistent.
Maria pressed the knife to her thigh and turned the lock with her other hand. Cold air rushed in along with a cloud of snow, and on the doorstep…
“Marish, it’s me. I’ve come back.”
Sasha. Her Sasha. The one who had disappeared nine years ago. Stubble on his face, tired eyes, that familiar smile.
The knife fell from her numb fingers. Maria swayed, barely keeping herself upright by the doorframe.
“This can’t…,” she gasped. “You’re gone.”
“I’m here,” he stepped forward and hugged her.
Warm. Real. Smelling of frost and earth. Maria clung to his coat, buried her face in his shoulder, and tears streamed down her face. Her legs gave way, and they both sank to the floor of the hallway.
“How?” was all she could manage.
“I know, you don’t understand,” Sasha stroked her hair. “But I’ll explain everything. Let’s close the door first. It’s cold.”
He helped her stand. Maria didn’t let him go for a second, as though afraid he might vanish.
“The boys?” he asked, glancing around.
“They’re sleeping,” Maria couldn’t take her eyes off his face. “They’ve grown up.”
“I know,” he smiled, a little sadly.
“How is this possible?” She touched his cheek with trembling fingers. “You… you’re gone. I was there.”
“Come on,” he took her hand. “We need to talk. We don’t have much time.”
They moved into the room. Maria lit another kerosene lamp. Sasha sat at the edge of the table, carefully inspecting the room, as if trying to memorize every detail.
“You’ve taken good care of the house,” he said warmly.
“What are you talking about?” Maria pleaded. “Where have you been? Why now?”
Sasha sighed deeply and looked her in the eyes.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just sit down, please.”
Maria threw a few logs into the stove.
The flame flared brighter, spreading a soft orange light around the room and casting strange shadows.
She hesitated, as if stalling for time, then went to the old cupboard and pulled out his cup — dark blue, with a chipped edge. For nine years, this cup had remained untouched, as though waiting for its owner.
“I didn’t expect you to keep it,” Sasha’s voice sounded surprised as he took the cup with the hot tea.
Maria stared at him, afraid of missing even the slightest detail. Her gaze slid over familiar features: the wrinkle between his brows, the scar on his chin from childhood. Her hand instinctively reached out to him — her fingers carefully touching his wrist, his shoulder, the stubble on his cheek, as though checking whether her eyes were playing tricks on her.
“You’re real,” she whispered with dry lips. And only then, barely audibly, she asked: “Tell me… where have you been all this time?”
Sasha stared at the fire in the stove in silence for a long time before he began to speak.
“After I… left, I didn’t go where everyone usually goes,” he said. “I got lost. Didn’t reach my destination.”
He took a sip of tea and continued:
“At first, it was like a dark, thick space. Like fog, but dense, almost tangible. I wandered there for a long time, not understanding if I was alive or already gone.”
Maria listened, holding her breath. She gripped his hand so tightly that her fingers began to go numb.
“Then I ended up in a place… they call it Limbo. It’s like…” He paused, searching for words. “Like an endless station where no one knows where the trains are headed. There are no bodies, just sensations.”
Sasha put his cup down and looked her straight in the eyes.
“You can’t even imagine how many of us are there. Lost. Forgotten. Those who can’t move on.”
“Who are they?” Maria asked.
“Different people. An old man who couldn’t forgive his brother and left without making up with him. A young woman who left her child in the hospital — she cried endlessly. A guy who died in a fight and still doesn’t understand that he’s no longer among the living.”
Sasha sighed and ran a hand through his hair — that familiar gesture squeezed Maria’s heart.
“They all want something. They all want to fix something or get something back. But no one knows how.”
“And you?” Maria looked him in the eyes. “What did you want?”
“To see you once more,” he simply answered. “All these years, all I did was remember.”
Your laughter at my clumsy jokes. The smell of Lyova’s hair when he sat on my neck. Artyom’s hands when he first picked up a hammer — just like me, with caution.
He fell silent. The blizzard outside continued to rage, but to Maria, it felt as if the entire world had shrunk down to the size of this room.
“I saw the tree fall on you,” she suddenly said. “I got a call at work. I dropped everything and ran. Right across the whole village, in my school apron.”
Her face twisted with the pain of the memories.
“You have no idea how I suffered after that. I kept asking myself, why you? Why did they leave us when it was so hard?”
She stood up and went to the chest of drawers. She opened the top drawer and pulled out a crumpled note.
“See? This is a receipt from the pawnshop. I sold my silver pendant to buy food for the boys. Artyom had fallen ill, and we didn’t even have money for medicine.”
Sasha stood up and hugged her from behind. She felt his warmth and shuddered.
“Marish, forgive me for everything.”
“For what?” She turned to him. “For being gone? For leaving us?”
“For you being alone,” he held her tight. “For you having to be strong for both of us. For you having to pretend everything was fine every day, while inside you were empty.”
Maria cried — quietly, without sobs. The tears just flowed down her face.
“I put a pie on the windowsill every anniversary,” she whispered. “Like Grandma taught me. Then I sat all night and waited for something. I don’t even know what.”
They stood in silence for a long time. Then Maria lifted her head and asked:
“Will you stay now? With us?”
He didn’t answer. He just held her tighter.
“Sash?”
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t know the rules. I just… ended up here.”
Maria suddenly felt exhausted. Her legs buckled, and Sasha caught her, carrying her to the chair. She leaned against his shoulder, inhaling the forgotten, familiar scent.
“Don’t go until I fall asleep,” she asked, closing her eyes.
“I won’t go,” he promised, stroking her hair.
In her half-dream, she heard his whisper:
“I didn’t know how to live without you either…”
Maria woke up to the first rays of sunlight coming through the curtains. She was still sitting in the chair, covered with a blanket. Sasha was sitting across from her, looking at her with the same tenderness he once had.
“Good morning,” he smiled softly. “You’ve only slept a couple of hours.”
Maria straightened, instantly shaking off the last remnants of drowsiness. Morning. That meant it wasn’t a dream. He had really come back.
“The boys will wake up soon,” she hurriedly spoke, her throat tight with emotion. “They won’t believe their eyes. You have no idea how much they’ve missed you. Especially Artyom.”
He hadn’t said the word “Dad” for almost a year after you were gone.
Sasha took her hand.
“Marish,” he began softly, “I have to tell you something.”
Something in his voice made her freeze.
“I can’t stay.”
“What?” She pulled her hand away sharply. “Why? You’re here! I can feel you, see you, touch you!”
She grabbed him by the shoulders, as if trying to physically hold him in place.
“It was… permission,” he slowly said. “One time. One night. I don’t even know how this works.”
With each new ray of light coming through the curtains, he seemed to be fading away. Dawn was pulling him back, to where no one returns from.
“No, no, no!” Maria’s voice broke into a scream, but she stopped when she threw a frightened glance toward the children’s rooms. She whispered instead: “Just not now. Not when I’ve found you again. Not now!”
Sasha hugged her, holding her tightly to him.
“Listen to me. I came so you would know — I’m here. I’ve always been. Every minute.”
When you cried into your pillow at night so the boys wouldn’t hear. When Lyova got pneumonia and you didn’t sleep for three nights straight. When Artyom got into a fight at school, defending your honor.
Maria hit him in the chest with her fists.
“If you were here, why didn’t you help? Why just watch?”
“I couldn’t,” his voice cracked. “I was like… a shadow. A watcher.”
Suddenly, a sleepy voice came from the hallway:
“Mom? Who are you talking to?”
In the doorway stood Lyova — his hair tousled from sleep, his pajama top hanging like a sack from someone else’s shoulders, sleeves rolled up several times.
The boy rubbed his eyes with his fists, then the second one, as if not trusting his own vision. His gaze shot to the man next to his mother, pupils widening in confusion.
“Dad?” he whispered.
Maria turned to her son, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Yes, Lyovushka! Daddy’s back! He…” she stopped, noticing the strange expression on her son’s face.
“Mom, who are you talking to?” Lyova stepped forward, his gaze passing right through Sasha as if he were invisible. “Didn’t you sleep again all night?”
Maria turned to her husband in horror. His figure was already starting to disappear, becoming transparent at the edges.
“He can’t see you,” she whispered.
“They shouldn’t,” Sasha replied quietly. “Only you. This was my gift to you.”
“Lyova, go wake up Artyom,” Maria tried to speak calmly. “Quickly, please!”
The boy hesitated, but then turned and ran to his brother’s room.
“Sasha, stay,” she begged. “At least for a day. At least for an hour. Let them see you!”
He shook his head. His body was becoming more and more transparent, like morning mist under the sun’s rays.
“Sorry, my dear. I have to go.”
“Where?” She clutched his hand. “Back?”
“I don’t know,” he smiled sadly. “But I know I saw you. I saw how strong you are. How beautiful you are. That’s all I dreamed of there, in the dark.”
Hurrying footsteps sounded in the hallway. Artyom and Lyova were running to them.
“I love you,” Sasha said. “I’m always here. I always will be.”
His figure thinned into a translucent silhouette.
“Mom!” Artyom burst into the room first. Tall, with his father’s features.
“What happened?”
He scanned the room, not noticing his father’s fading ghost. Maria saw Sasha looking at his son with pride and love.
“He looks so much like you,” she whispered, lips barely moving.
Sasha nodded and extended his hand as if trying to touch his son, but his fingers passed through the air.
“Mom, are you okay?” Lyova approached and hugged her. “You’re crying.”
Maria startled and opened her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
She was sitting in the same chair by the window, wrapped in a blanket. The first rays of the sun were piercing through the curtains. There was no one in the room.
“Sasha?” she whispered, looking around.
Silence. Only the firewood crackled in the cooling stove.
Maria stood up, her legs numb from sitting so long. Was it a dream? So real, she could still smell him, feel the warmth of his hands.
From the corridor, she heard Lyova’s sleepy voice:
“Mom, you’re not asleep anymore?”
In the doorway stood Lyova, squinting against the bright morning light — his disheveled hair sticking out in all directions like a ruffled sparrow, and his father’s pajama top hung on him, which his mother hadn’t yet dared to shorten.
He rubbed his eyes with his fists.
“Good morning,” Maria tried to smile. “It’s still early, sleep a little more.”
“You stayed up all night again?” The boy came closer, watching her carefully. “Didn’t you sleep again?”
Then Artyom appeared — tall, with the same facial features as his father.
“What happened?” he asked, noticing the tears on her cheeks.
Maria hugged both of her sons.
“Nothing, everything is fine,” she replied, and for the first time in many years, her words sounded sincere. “I just had a dream. A good dream. Your dad came to us.”
“And what did he say?” Lyova asked softly.
“That he’s very proud of you,” Maria smiled through her tears. “Very, very proud.”
Lyova pressed against her.
“Will you make pancakes? Today’s the anniversary.”
“Of course,” she lovingly stroked his head. “And you know what? Let’s spend the whole day telling stories about dad. All the ones we remember.”
The boys went to wash up, and Maria went to the window. The sun had completely melted the night snow, and the room filled with soft light.
The dish was still on the windowsill, but the pie was gone. She froze, unable to believe her eyes.
If it was a dream… where did the pie go?
She gently touched the dish. It was warm, as if someone had just taken the treat from it.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the emptiness. “For this night. For everything.”
And it seemed that the wind outside whispered in response: “I love you.”