The room was filled with a half-darkness, in which a silent sadness hung heavily. Sergey Andreevich sat on the edge of the sofa, fingers interlaced, staring at a single point. His eyes, surrounded by the shadows of sleepless nights, looked into emptiness, as if beyond an invisible boundary lay the answer to the tormenting question: “Why?”
Nearby, in the crib, his younger son slept peacefully — a little toddler who had just turned two. But even he, despite his young age, seemed to feel his father’s pain and appeared to try to support him with his breath.
A year ago, Lyudmila, his beloved wife, suddenly passed away, leaving Sergey alone with three children. The pain did not subside, nor did the anxiety for the future, in which he, a man unfamiliar with women’s cares, had to become both mother and father. Relatives helped as much as they could but most often repeated the same thing:
“Seryozha, it’s time to marry again. The children need a mother.”
“And what would Lucy say?” his mother asked, tidying up in the kitchen where their wedding portrait still hung. Sergey silently nodded, but inside everything tightened. He didn’t want anyone beside him. He couldn’t even imagine someone taking Lyudmila’s place.
The first time he saw Tonya was at his cousin’s birthday. An ordinary girl, without any special features, but she awakened in him a long-forgotten feeling — hope. Her kindness, openness, and warmth in conversation seemed to thaw the ice surrounding his heart.
Their conversation flowed easily, without pretense. She listened attentively, spoke softly, and there was something in her voice that warmed him from within. It seemed that only beside her did he become a living person again.
“How are the children? How did you manage?” she once asked, lightly touching his hand. The touch was so simple, yet it seemed to reach the very soul.
“They miss… like I do. I try to make things good for them. But you… why are you interested?”
“Because they are part of you. And it’s important for me to know everything connected to you,” Tonya whispered, lowering her gaze. There was such sincere care in her voice that Sergey felt loved and understood for the first time in a long while.
But there was another woman — Lida. Relatives introduced her as a “suitable match.” She was beautiful but cold. Her face never knew a smile, and her voice often sounded harsh. Yet, to Sergey’s surprise, the children quickly grew attached to her. Lida told scary stories, baked cookies from a secret recipe, allowed them a little more than usual, and genuinely seemed to try to be good for them.
Sergey saw how she cared for the children, perhaps even loved them in her own way — after all, she had none of her own. But his heart remained deaf to her. When she touched him, he felt only detachment. No warmth, no light — nothing like what Tonya gave.
“Lida is practical, strict but fair. The children are drawn to her!” his mother urged. “Now think about them, not yourself.”
Sergey remembered Tonya — her quiet laugh, the shine of her hair in the sun, that gentle confidence with which she entered his life. She was the one he saw beside himself. But the children wanted Lida. Especially the eldest, Volodya. He called Tonya ugly, asked not to bring her home anymore. He said Lida was a true beauty, cheerful and kind.
A month had passed since Lida began regularly appearing in their home. Sergey was starting to lose his bearings: what was truth, and what was a forced necessity. He kept his distance, but the children did everything to bring them closer. During evening tea, Lida took her place at the table, poured tea by the old family recipe, spoke about work. Sergey nodded, but found no warmth in her words.
One day, on a gloomy autumn day when the wind was tearing the last leaves from the trees, Sergey stood by the window. Outside was a gray road, bare branches, and a lilac bush that Lucy had once planted. The man closed his eyes.
“What to do, Lyudochka?” he whispered, addressing her memory. The tears he had held back for so long finally burst forth.
He entered the room where the children sat. All three froze, waiting.
“Children… I want to tell you… Lida will live with us.”
Barely finishing, Volodya jumped up, his eyes shining with joy:
“Really, Dad? She’s staying? Hooray!”
The younger ones rushed to him, hugging. Sergey felt the room grow warmer from their happy laughter. But inside, he was suffocated by cold. Tonya wouldn’t leave his thoughts. The one who could have been his new life remained beyond its boundary.
Lida moved into their home in early November. Without fuss, without ceremony. She calmly placed her things as if she already knew she would stay. Life in the house began to change. But Sergey’s heart remained empty. The one that only Tonya could fill.
The children accepted Lida with joy. Volodya began calling her “mom” within weeks, and the younger ones, though shy at first, soon followed his example. Lida truly cared for them: supervised their lessons, cooked tasty lunches, read before bed. At first glance, everything was fine — the house was a home again. But for Sergey, there was no peace in this comfort.
At night, he lay awake, listening to her breathing. It was nearby but not familiar. Not warming. Every evening she met him after work with a warm dinner:
“Are you tired today?” she’d ask, setting a hot dish on the table.
Sergey silently nodded. Her words were full of care, but not love. She was a good mother to the children but a stranger to him. This feeling never left him for a second.
Over the years, the house filled with the smell of pies, children’s jokes, laughter. But there was no warmth — none of what had once been with Lyuda. Sergey often caught himself feeling pain in his chest when he met Tonya in town. She no longer came to their home, understanding she would be superfluous. But even from afar, her gaze, full of kindness and light, warmed his heart.
Years passed unnoticed. The children grew up, moved away — each with their own life, their own concerns. The house, once full of noise and joy, became quiet and empty. Sergey was left alone with Lida, who never became close to him. The gap between them grew each year, and their life together turned into mere coexistence.
He sat by the window, watching the yard where no one had played for a long time. Trying to remember how children used to run through the house, how he waited for them from school, how he hoped to find warmth in Lida that was so lacking. Now only memories and echoes of former life remained in the house.
Sergey’s health gradually worsened. At first small worries, then real illnesses. He stopped seeing meaning in each new day, and it seemed life itself was slowly leaving him. Lida watched this almost indifferently. There was no compassion in her eyes — only fatigue. As if she had long given up too.
One day Sergey couldn’t get out of bed. The doctors’ diagnosis was simple — stroke. Lida informed the children, but no one managed to come. Then she made a decision that surprised him little:
“We must be honest to the end,” she said coldly, handing him his things on the day of discharge. “I can’t be your caregiver. You’d be better off there. There you’ll get more serious care.”
She didn’t even say a proper goodbye. The orderlies helped Sergey sit in the car, and he was taken to a nursing home — where every day was like the previous one, where time lost meaning, and the future became nothing but a continuation of loneliness.
There, within gray walls, he waited for life to end. But fate decided otherwise.
One day, while Sergey lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, a woman entered the room. Her steps were soft but confident. And in her eyes was the very light he remembered.
It was Tonya.
He did not recognize her at first — years had left their mark. But inside, something stirred. She froze seeing him, tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Sergey Andreevich… Is that you?”
He lifted himself a little higher; his heart raced. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Before him stood the woman he had lost for the sake of family. The one who could have been his support.
“Tonya… How did you get here?”
“I have been working here for several years,” she replied, sitting beside him and gently taking his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
Her touch was so warm, so familiar. Exactly what he had waited for so long but had not realized.
Tonya stayed with him. Cared for him, talked to him, helped him get up, brought him food. And every day Sergey felt the desire to live return. Not because it got physically easier, but because he had found a reason to wake up each morning again.
They spent much time together, recalling how things had been, sharing what had happened during years apart. Tonya said she never married, dedicating herself to work helping others. But his image never left her heart.
Sergey understood — he had lost his happiness many years ago, choosing duty over love. But now, in old age, he got a second chance.
After several months, his health noticeably improved. Sergey regained strength, and Tonya offered him to move in with her.
“I have a little cozy house on the outskirts. Want to come live with me?”
He agreed without hesitation.
Now they lived together. In the mornings they walked in the garden, tended the flowers Tonya loved, sat on the bench, reminisced about youth. Sergey felt life awakening again in his soul. The years had taken their toll, but it didn’t matter. They were together.
Their love, forgotten by time, flared up again. Not brightly like a flame, but quietly like dawn. But that was how it was meant to be — true, deep, alive.
In the evenings, they sat on the veranda, watching the sunset in silence. No words were needed — everything necessary had already been said. And in this silence lived a love that came late but came nonetheless. Real. Last. And most important.
Sergey no longer thought about what he had lost. He knew — now he was home. Next to the one who had always been closest to him above all.