Galina adjusted the tablecloth for the third time. The snow-white fabric, embroidered with tiny flowers, lay smooth without a single wrinkle. She took a step back and surveyed the set table. Two porcelain place settings — the kind reserved only for special occasions. Tall glasses reflecting the soft light of the antique chandelier. And candles — long, waxy, smelling of something sweet and sharp at the same time.
“Just like the first evening,” she thought, recalling the day when she and Viktor celebrated their anniversary for the first time. Fifteen years ago. Back then, they rented a tiny apartment on the outskirts, and had only enough money for cheap wine and supermarket candles. But how happy that evening was! Viktor came home early from work, carrying a bunch of wildflowers. They drank wine from teacups and dreamed of how they would celebrate their silver wedding anniversary.
Galina sighed and looked at the clock. Seven in the evening. Viktor promised to be home by six. “It’s okay, we’ll wait,” she mentally reassured herself. After all, he had warned her about an important meeting. He was probably delayed.
She lit the candles, dimmed the overhead light, and turned on the very melody they had danced to at their wedding. Half an hour of waiting turned into an hour. It grew dark outside. Galina called her husband — once, twice, three times. Viktor’s phone answered with long beeps.
“Maybe he forgot to charge it,” she said aloud into the empty apartment. “Or the meeting dragged on and he turned off the sound.”
On the stove, a duck with apples — Viktor’s favorite dish — was slowly cooling down. Today she had prepared it especially carefully, adding spices according to a new recipe. She wanted to surprise her husband. Galina sat down at the table, mechanically adjusting the fork, which was already perfectly placed.
Wax slowly dripped down the candles, falling onto the candlesticks. The clock’s hand relentlessly moved toward nine. Galina jumped when the phone finally rang. Her heart leapt with joy — she grabbed the receiver, but the screen showed the name of her friend.
“Anya, can I call you back later?” she said quietly. “I’m waiting for Viktor, today is our… anniversary.”
The last word came out with difficulty.
“Anniversary?” Anya was surprised. “I thought he was on a business trip. I saw him an hour ago at a restaurant on Nevsky. Probably with colleagues.”
Galina swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Yes, probably with colleagues,” she slowly replied. “He called, warned about an important meeting. I just forgot.”
She hung up and sank into a chair. Her gaze, unfocused, fell on the festive table where the candles had already melted down. The melody ended, and a heavy silence hung in the apartment. Somewhere behind the wall a neighbor’s child was crying, and water dripped monotonously from the kitchen faucet.
Galina didn’t notice how another hour passed. She sat motionless, staring at the cooling candles. Fragments of memories spun in her head. Last year’s anniversary — Viktor stayed late at work and came home at one in the morning with a box of chocolates from the 24-hour store. Galina’s birthday — he forgot, but later, embarrassed, gave her a spa certificate ordered through the secretary. Christmas — they were supposed to go to the seaside, but urgent business came up, and Galina went alone, while Viktor promised to join later but never did.
Every time she found excuses. Her husband had a responsible job. He provided for the family. He was building a career. Could she really blame him?
Galina shuddered as the clock struck eleven. A recent conversation with her mother suddenly surfaced in her memory. “Dear daughter, you always find excuses for him. But if a person time and again puts something above you, it means that’s how it is.”
Then she was offended by her mother. But now, looking at the cooled dinner and extinguished candles, she thought for the first time: “What if she’s right?”
Galina slowly got up. Her fingers, which had so carefully arranged the cutlery moments ago, now mechanically gathered them from the table. She cleared the plates and glasses, removed the tablecloth — methodically, as if performing a habitual routine. She threw away the melted candles. Covered the cooled duck with a lid and put it in the fridge.
When the table was empty, Galina stopped and looked at her reflection in the window glass. A tired woman with extinguished eyes stared back at her from the darkness. Somewhere deep in her pupils, a spark still smoldered — whether of resentment or determination.
She turned off the kitchen light and moved to the living room. Sat down in the armchair, turned off the floor lamp. And waited in the dark, feeling something inside her slowly but irrevocably change.
At quarter to midnight, the front door quietly creaked open. Viktor entered cautiously, like a thief in his own home. In the hallway, he froze, listening. Silence. That was a good sign — it meant Galina was asleep and the unpleasant conversation could be postponed until morning. And in the morning, he would slip out early and make it up to her with some gift in the evening. As usual.
He tiptoed down the corridor, careful not to bump the small cabinet — he remembered how loudly it creaked. Viktor took off his jacket right at the door and now carried it slung over his arm. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. He smelled of expensive cognac and cigars — to celebrate signing the contract, Severcev had brought the best from the restaurant bar.
Numbers from the contract still swirled in his head. Four million — no joke. Such a contract was worth celebrating. And who would refuse a business dinner with the director of the city’s largest logistics company? The secretary seemed to have scheduled this meeting for the evening on purpose. Although… maybe he had scheduled it himself for today. In recent years, Viktor often filled his evenings with work — less time left for meaningless talks at home.
The living room greeted him with pitch darkness. He was about to pass by, heading to the bedroom, when suddenly he noticed a silhouette in the armchair. Viktor jumped and stopped abruptly.
“Galya?” he called uncertainly. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
She was silent. Only now, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, did he notice that his wife sat very straight. Her hands folded in her lap. Her face in the dim light looked like a wax mask.
“Turn on the light,” Viktor suddenly felt a chill and asked.
“Why?” her voice sounded flat, without intonation. “It’s already perfectly visible.”
He grimaced. Here it begins. Now the reproaches, then the tears. Maybe even something thrown his way — that had happened before. Viktor mentally prepared himself for the usual scenario and decided to go on the offensive immediately.
“Can you imagine what contract we signed today?” he began with feigned enthusiasm. “Four million! Severcev personally invited me to celebrate. You know, you don’t refuse people like that.”
Galina didn’t move. She just looked at him — just as straight, just as motionless. In the dark, her eyes seemed like black pits.
“Do you even remember what day it is today?” she finally asked.
Viktor froze. A panic thought flashed through his mind — could it be her birthday? No, that’s in March… Mother’s birthday? No again. Damn, maybe the day they met? Galya sometimes attached importance to such dates.
“Uh…” he dragged, feverishly going through options. “Tuesday?”
He tried to joke, but the joke fell flat and awkward. Galina did not smile. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time — studying, evaluating. Under that look, Viktor felt uncomfortable.
“Fifteen years,” she said quietly. “Today is our fifteenth wedding anniversary.”
Viktor felt something cold touch the back of his head. Anniversary. Exactly. He had even planned to buy flowers in the morning, but a delegation from the head office showed up, and it slipped his mind.
“Galya, I…” He took a step toward her but stopped, hitting an invisible wall of her silence.
“I spent the whole day preparing,” she continued in the same colorless voice. “Baked your favorite pie. Roasted duck with apples. Bought aromatic candles — remember, you said you loved the smell of cinnamon?”
Each of her words lay between them like a brick in a wall. Viktor tried to object:
“You know how important work is to me. Severcev — that’s connections, that’s prospects. We couldn’t miss such a contract…”
“We,” Galina echoed. “Who’s ‘we,’ Vitya? You and the company? You and Severcev? You and work?”
She stood up from the armchair — slowly, tiredly. In the dim light from the window, Viktor saw she was wearing a fancy dress. The very blue one he had once brought from a business trip to Milan. Her hair was styled, a pearl necklace around her neck. She was ready to celebrate. And he…
“Galya, I’m sorry,” Viktor spread his hands, trying to look guilty. “Really, I got completely wrapped up. Let’s go out somewhere tomorrow? Or on the weekend, we’ll go to Repino — I’ll book a room. How about that?”
He expected the usual reaction — offense, maybe tears, and then reluctant forgiveness. Galina always forgave. She was like that — understanding, patient. Sometimes it even annoyed him how easily she accepted his excuses.
But today something changed. She looked at him like a stranger — calmly, detachedly.
“I thought we had a family,” Galina said, emphasizing the last word. “But apparently, I’m the only one with a family. And you have work.”
She passed by him, brushing his shoulder, and stopped at the door.
“If you put work above me again, you can sleep at the office.”
Viktor chuckled — the phrase sounded almost funny.
“Come on, Galya. You know I do everything for us. For you, for our future.”
She turned around, and for the first time that evening, something alive flickered in her eyes — sharp as a needle, pain.
“No, Vitya. That’s not for me. That’s for yourself. It’s always been for yourself.”
And she quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.
Viktor remained standing in the middle of the living room. He felt strange — as if he had taken a hit but hadn’t yet felt the pain. Only dull confusion. Over fifteen years of quarrels and reconciliations, they had developed a certain pattern. Galina would get offended — loudly, with a cry. He would repent, promise to improve. She would forgive. Everything returned to normal.
But today something broke in their well-oiled relationship machinery. Her calm scared him more than any screams.
“An anniversary, big deal,” he muttered, heading to the kitchen. “We’ll celebrate next year.”
In the fridge was the duck with apples — untouched, under plastic wrap. Nearby — a bottle of champagne, strawberries, her favorite almond cake from the bakery on the corner. Viktor was about to pour himself a drink but suddenly lost the desire. He shut the fridge door and sank onto a stool.
For the first time in a long while, the evening didn’t end with reconciliation. Galina didn’t cry on his shoulder, didn’t say she understood everything. Didn’t hug him before bed, pressing her warm side against him. And because of this, the apartment felt uncomfortable and cold, as if the invisible heating had been turned off.
Viktor rubbed his face with his palms. “Morning is wiser than evening,” he thought. Tomorrow he would buy her flowers — those lilac ones she loved. The corner shop opened at seven. And everything would be as before.
Only somewhere deep inside, an unpleasant thought churned — maybe this time it would be different. In Galina’s voice he heard something new, unfamiliar. Either determination or… indifference?
That thought scratched unpleasantly, but Viktor pushed it away. He was too tired for deep reflections. And tomorrow… tomorrow would be a new day. And most likely, Galina would be the same again — gentle, yielding, understanding. After all, it couldn’t be otherwise. Right?
Viktor came home early from work. A fresh bouquet of lilac irises in his hands, a box with her favorite pastries in a bag. Mentally, he had already prepared a whole speech, starting with the words: “Dear, I was wrong.” His wife usually met that phrase with special favor.
He opened the apartment door and shouted without taking off his shoes:
“Galya, I’m home!”
Silence. Only the kitchen clock measured the seconds steadily.
“Galya?” he repeated uncertainly, stepping inside.
The first thing that caught his eye was the empty hanger. Her red coat, which usually hung at the edge, was gone. The umbrella standing in the corner had disappeared too. Viktor frowned and quickly went to the bedroom.
The closet was ajar. The right half — her side — was empty. Neatly folded stacks of sweaters, underwear, T-shirts — all gone. On the shelf, there were no favorite perfumes or cream jars. Only dusty marks where they once stood.
Viktor slowly sat on the edge of the bed. The irises slipped from his weakening fingers and scattered on the floor. He looked around the room as if searching for clues. On the nightstand lay a sheet of paper folded in quarters.
“I’m not angry. I just need to be happy too.”
Viktor reread the short note twice. Then crumpled it into a fist and threw it against the wall.
“Big deal, she staged a protest,” he muttered into the emptiness. “She’ll stay at her mom’s for a week and come back.”
But deep inside, something like anxiety stirred. In the fridge was only a packet of cold tea, an orange, and an opened pack of butter. Her favorite cup was missing from the shelf. Favorite books — from the nightstand.
“Too thorough for a simple offense,” Viktor thought but immediately brushed off the idea.
The first week without Galina was almost pleasant. No one grumbled about scattered socks. No one demanded attention in the evenings when he reviewed work files. He could stay late at the office without explaining by phone. Bachelor freedom returned, even if temporarily.
But when the second week passed and there was no news from Galina, a strange feeling of emptiness arose inside. The house became quiet — not cozy-quiet, but dead and lifeless. He caught himself talking aloud just to break the silence.
By the start of the third week, worry turned into genuine anxiety. He called his mother-in-law, but she dryly replied she didn’t want to be a mediator. Called Galina’s friends — no one answered. As if her whole life had suddenly separated from his.
Viktor stood in the living room, still smelling her perfume, and for the first time in many years felt infinitely lonely. Without dinner waiting in the fridge. Without the quiet rustle of pages when she read before bed. Without her voice asking how his day went.
It turned out that voice was more important than he thought. Viktor was just used to considering it part of the background — like the ticking clock or the rain noise outside. And only when it disappeared did it become clear how empty it was without it.
He sat at the table and for the first time wondered: had he always put work above her? Not just in words, but truly. And could he ever fix it?
A small town two hours from the capital greeted Viktor with drizzling rain. He got out of the car, shivered from the dampness, and turned up his coat collar. The address given by his mother-in-law after long persuasion was an old two-story house with carved window frames and a front garden.
“Don’t you dare hurt her,” the mother-in-law warned him last. “She looks… calm for the first time in many years.”
Viktor nervously adjusted his jacket. He didn’t bring flowers — he understood it would look fake. He hadn’t prepared a nice speech — all the words flew out of his head as soon as he saw the house where Galina now lived. The windows on the second floor glowed with warm light. Clay pots with some plants stood on the porch.
He hesitated before ringing the bell. For the first time in their fifteen-year marriage, Viktor felt fear before meeting his own wife. Earlier quarrels ended with reconciliation — he promised something, she forgave, and life went on the usual way. But now, after a month of her absence, he understood: everything had changed.
The door opened before he pressed the bell. Galina stood in the doorway — in a house dress, with hair casually gathered, without makeup. She looked younger and… freer.
“I saw you arrive,” she said simply.
No surprise, no joy, no anger. Only a calm statement of fact. Viktor caught himself not knowing how to start the conversation. All the prepared phrases sounded fake even in his head.
“May I come in?” he finally asked.
Galina hesitated as if thinking, then nodded and stepped aside.
The small living room was cozy and warm. It smelled of fresh baked goods and herbal tea. Paintings of local landscapes hung on the walls. On the table lay an open book and glasses.
“You’re here… alone?” Viktor asked cautiously.
“Yes. I rented a room from the landlady,” Galina pointed to the armchair. “Sit down. Want some tea?”
He shook his head. His throat was dry, but it wasn’t thirst.
“Galya, I…” he began and stopped, choosing words.
“Why did you come, Vitya?” she asked directly, sitting opposite him.
Viktor looked carefully at his wife. He rarely really looked into her face before. Now he noticed fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, slight gray at the temples. The years flew by, and he missed it all, absorbed in endless work.
“I want to come home,” he said simply. “But if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”
Galina was silent for a long time, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe she really was — without the usual mask of a businessperson, without the showy confidence. Just a tired man afraid to lose the last warmth in his life.
“You’ve changed,” she finally noted.
“No,” Viktor answered honestly. “I’m the same. I can’t promise to stop working. But I can promise that from now on, you will be more important.”
He didn’t utter loud phrases about love. Didn’t swear to devote his whole life to her. He just spoke the truth — the only thing that could still save their marriage.
Galina looked at him silently, as if weighing something. Then slowly exhaled.
“All right. But we will have rules.”
She didn’t rush into his arms, didn’t cry with happiness. There was no former softness and readiness to forgive in her eyes. There was firmness and… self-respect.
“What rules?” Viktor asked, feeling a stirring of fear inside. Not of his boss, not of failure at work — but of the possibility that he might not be forgiven.
Galina walked to the window where the rain was drizzling.
“We’ll start with a clean slate. No old grudges and claims. But I won’t forgive you again if you put work above us.”
She turned to him, calm and resolute:
“I’ve found myself here. I started writing — can you imagine? The local newspaper prints my notes. I’ve made friends, I have my own life. I realized I can be happy without you. And you need to understand that.”
Viktor slowly nodded. For the first time, he saw not just “his wife” but a separate person — with dreams, aspirations, inner strength. A person to be proud of.
“I understand,” he answered quietly. “And I… am happy for you.”
Galina smiled — for the first time that evening. Hesitantly, as if tasting new relationships, new feelings.
“Then maybe some tea?” she asked. “And you’ll tell me how you lived this month. Really tell me, without excuses and business tone.”
She reached out her hand, and Viktor cautiously shook it. It was not a reconciliation — it was an introduction. As if they met for the first time, starting with a clean slate. And at that moment, he realized that for the first time in many years, he was ready to truly listen and hear.