“Without me you’re nothing, Anna. Remember that well,” Igor threw the last of his clothes into the suitcase and yanked the zipper shut. His words sliced through the apartment’s half-light like a cold blade. Anna stood in the doorway, clenching her fists until they hurt. She was silent—not out of fear, but from a strange numbness, as if she were watching an inevitable catastrophe—horrifying, yet mesmerizing.
“Cat got your tongue?” Igor straightened up, sweeping her with a contemptuous look. “Ten years I kept you afloat. Ten years you hid behind my back. And now what? You think you can manage without me?”
Anna slowly lifted her eyes. There were no tears in them—only the shine of the desk lamp and something new, unfamiliar to Igor.
“I already am,” she said quietly but firmly. His laugh sounded as cocky as ever, but now there was a distinctly false note in it.
“We’ll see,” he slung the bag over his shoulder. “A month. I’m giving you a month. Then you’ll come back to me yourself.” The door slammed, and the photo in the frame on the shelf cracked right between their faces.
The first days after he left felt like a strange dream. The silence in the apartment was so oppressive it felt almost physical—not calm and cozy, but taut and ringing like a stretched string. Anna kept catching herself listening for every rustle in the stairwell, the squeak of the elevator, the turn of keys in the neighbors’ locks.
At the table she mechanically cooked for two, poured two cups of coffee every morning. Each time she realized it, her hands betrayed her and shook.
“You’re nobody without me”—those words haunted her everywhere: in the rush of water, in the hum of appliances, in the steady ticking of the clock. Worst of all was that there was a grain of truth in them. Who was she really? The wife of a successful husband—that’s how she was introduced at business meetings. The owner of a flawless home—that’s how the neighbors spoke of her. But who was she without those labels?
The bank balance was dwindling alarmingly fast. Igor had “invested” their joint savings into his business six months ago. What remained was only her personal money—a very small sum, enough for two or three months at most. After that, she would have to borrow.
Her résumé looked pathetic: education, yes, but minimal and long-ago work experience. Skills? What skills? “Professional shirt ironer,” “stain-removal specialist,” “possesses husband’s contacts”?
The phone was silent. Not only did potential employers ignore her calls, but friends did too. It turned out most of their “mutual acquaintances” were really his acquaintances. They began to avert their eyes awkwardly when they met, cancel plans, gradually disappearing from her life.
In the evenings Anna sat by the window, watching passersby. They were all hurrying somewhere, knowing their destination. They had goals, plans, dreams. What did she have? Only emptiness.
One night she went up to the attic and took down an old box. Inside were her student projects—interior sketches, blueprints, rough drawings. Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of creating spaces where people would feel comfortable. As she leafed through the yellowed pages, she felt something inside her begin to stir back to life.
“Nonsense,” she muttered and snapped the folder shut. But the next day she opened it again.
“Anna? Anna Sokolova? It can’t be!” A familiar voice called to her in the supermarket. Marina, her university friend, looked almost the same—only her hair was cut shorter and there was more confidence in her eyes.
“Long time no see! You’re as beautiful as ever,” Marina hugged her. “How’s life? Still creating your magic interiors?” Anna shook her head, feeling awkward.
“No… I stopped doing that a long time ago. I had a family…”
“Ah, I get it,” Marina nodded. “You married that conceited law student from third year. What was his name…”
“Igor. We… we split up.” Anna surprised herself by saying the words out loud. All this time she had lived expecting him to return, but now, having said it, she realized the period had been put at the end of the sentence.
Marina didn’t pry, just looked at her attentively.
“You know,” she said after a pause, “we actually need someone for an internship at the studio. Mostly paperwork, but it would help you get back into the profession. If you want, of course.”
Anna felt her heart start beating faster. Something like hope stirred in her chest—cautious, barely perceptible.
“I’ll… think about it,” she said, taking the business card. In her kitchen, unpacking groceries, her gaze kept returning to the small rectangle of card with the design studio’s logo. It was a chance—fragile and uncertain, but still an opportunity to change her life.
“You’re nobody without me.”
She took a deep breath and dialed. Her voice trembled, but the words came out firm:
“Marina? It’s Anna. I’m in.”
The “Contrast” studio was in an old building, but inside the atmosphere was completely different: high ceilings, huge windows flooding the rooms with light. Anna stood at the entrance, feeling her fingers go cold. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed about to jump out of her chest. Through the glass she could see people constantly in motion, hear voices, the burble of the coffee machine. It was a world that felt distant and alien after years of domestic comfort.
“Be brave,” Anna ordered herself and pulled the door open.
The first week of the internship was a real trial. The computer seemed to mock her, the programs wouldn’t obey, and the colleagues looked like incarnations of confidence and professionalism. She felt out of place among these young specialists whose fingers flew across the keys faster than thoughts. Every evening she went home to cry quietly, curled up on the couch.
“You’re nobody without me.”
Those words still had power over her, though she hated herself for it.
By Friday she was ready to bolt. An error in a drawing, remarks from the director, colleagues’ mocking looks—all of it pressed down on her, sapping her strength. But Marina stopped her on the way out.
“Hey, where are you rushing off to? We’ve got a work get-together today. Come meet the team.” Anna wanted to refuse, but Marina was already tugging her across the street, chattering about a new place with great cocktails.
“You just haven’t found your footing yet,” she said as they wormed through the crowd to a table. “Everyone goes through this. You know, you have an amazing sense of space. I saw that café sketch—very stylish. A little practice with the software and you’ll be able to do incredible things.”
Anna looked up in surprise.
“You saw it? But I didn’t even send it…”
“I just happened to peek,” Marina smiled. “And you know what? It’s really good. Maybe you should think about your own projects?”
The cocktail really was excellent. Or maybe it was the company—for the first time in a long while Anna felt part of something bigger. They discussed projects, argued over design choices, laughed at inside jokes. And no one saw her as “Igor’s wife.”
She came home late, her head full of new ideas and her phone now graced with several new contacts. Her sketches lay on the table—now she saw not only the mistakes in them, but endless possibilities.
She took a clean sheet of paper and began to draw. Not for work, not for an assignment—just for pleasure. For the first time in many years.
Her first independent commission came unexpectedly. An ordinary workday, an ordinary Tuesday. Anna had been working as a junior designer for a month.
“Client for you,” Marina said, peeking into the room. “A café on Sadovaya. They want a remodel. Can you handle it?” Anna nodded.
“I can.”
The café was tiny—six tables in what had once been a bakery. The owner, a young bearded guy, looked vaguely familiar.
“We studied together,” he explained, seeing her confusion. “You were in design and I was in economics. I remember dancing at one of the university parties.” Anna blushed. She didn’t remember him at all.
“I always thought you were talented,” he went on as they inspected the space. “I saw your work at the course exhibition. So when I heard you were back in the profession, I knew right away: my interior would be done only by you.”
“You’re nobody without me,” Anna remembered Igor’s words, but now they were just sounds, stripped of any power over her.
She worked day and night. Drew, made plans, chose materials, negotiated with suppliers. For her it became a challenge, the starting point of a new life.
When the project was finished, even the stern Arkady grunted approvingly:
“Not bad, Sokolova. Could’ve used a touch more boldness, but for a first time—solid.”
It was the equivalent of a standing ovation.
The café “Sadovoye” opened in the fall. Dmitry insisted that Anna’s name be listed as the designer of the interior. It appeared in small, elegant letters on the glass door next to the logo.
It was a moment of triumph. Anna watched from the shadows as people admired her work, never suspecting who had created it. She felt the special joy of a creator.
“I’m offering you a stake in the business,” Arkady said three months later, when “Sadovoye” had become one of the city’s most popular spots and clients were lining up for Anna. “Five percent. You bring in clients, you have your own vision, you’re basically heading the practice. It’s time to formalize our relationship.”
Anna studied the contract carefully. Her own studio—even under the “Contrast” umbrella—surpassed every expectation she’d had a year ago.
As she signed, her fingers trembled.
“Congratulations, partner,” Arkady held out his hand.
That evening she and Marina went back to the same bar where they had once celebrated small victories.
“I always knew you’d get here,” Marina raised her glass. “You had the potential from day one. It’s just a shame it took ten years to unlock it.”
Anna shook her head.
“No regrets. This path was necessary. Every step, every mistake made me who I am now.”
She didn’t say the main thing: all these months she had been waiting for Igor’s call. At first she feared it, then she hoped for it, and then she simply waited for it, the way you wait for a natural phenomenon—without much emotion. But the call never came.
At home she walked through the rooms, which now felt different. Not because she had renovated them, but because the space was no longer shared. It was hers now—sketches on the table, heels in the hallway, her favorite mug no longer hidden in the back of a cupboard.
On the bathroom mirror hung a photograph from grateful clients at “Sadovoye.” In it she was smiling, holding a glass, in front of her first successful project.
“You’re nobody without me.”
Anna glanced at her reflection and smirked.
“I’m somebody without you,” she said aloud. “And that’s all that matters.”
A bright spring noon. A light office filled with the smells of fresh coffee and blooming plants. Anna sat at the desk of the director of her own studio, “ASdesign,” now independent of Arkady. In front of her lay sketches for a new project—a restaurant in a historic building on the embankment. It was one of the largest and most prestigious commissions of her career.
The studio was thriving. In two years Anna had set up a modern office overlooking the city center, assembled a team of seven talented specialists, and built a portfolio that made even competitors jealous. Of course, not everything went smoothly—there were failed projects, financial headaches, conflicts with clients. But every trial only tempered her character.
“Ms. Sokolova,” Svetlana poked her head into the office, holding the door frame, “the candidate for the manager position is here. Tall, blue jacket.”
“All right,” Anna finished the last stroke on a drawing without looking up. “Take him to the conference room and offer him coffee.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror and went downstairs. The position demanded an ideal candidate—someone who could control all project timelines, win over the most capricious clients, and keep tasks on schedule. After the previous manager left, the team had been working at the limit.
When she opened the conference room door, Anna froze on the threshold.
Igor was sitting at the table.
His reaction was just as startled. His face reflected a whole gamut of emotions—from shock to embarrassment.
“Anna?” His voice sounded different, stripped of its usual swagger. He looked different too: the suit no longer fit perfectly, his hair had started to gray, and the wrinkles were more noticeable.
“Good afternoon,” she took her seat calmly. “You’re here for the interview?”
Igor nodded, still not hiding his amazement.
“I… I didn’t know this was your company. The ad just said ‘ASdesign.’”
“My initials,” Anna smiled. “Anna Sokolova. So—you’re interested in the project manager position?”
“Yes,” he said, gradually regaining composure. “I have extensive experience managing teams…”
“Tell me about your last job,” she cut in, opening the folder with his résumé.
It turned out his business had collapsed like a house of cards. A partner had cheated him, taking the money; clients had scattered; debts kept piling up. For the past year he had drifted, changing job after job.
“Why our company?” Anna asked, making notes in her notebook.
Igor thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully.
“Honestly, I’m tired of living out of a suitcase,” he admitted at last. “I’ve heard a lot about your studio—‘ASdesign’ is on everyone’s lips. You create truly quality projects, not just façades. Your team is made up of real professionals. I’d like to be part of it.”
Anna looked at him closely. Something in his appearance had changed—the old arrogance was gone. In front of her sat a man with a dimmed gaze, as if life had wrung him dry.
“What do you know about design?” she asked evenly.
“Truthfully, very little,” he answered with a crooked smile. “But I learn fast; I soak things up like a sponge. And besides…”
He fell silent, as if bracing himself for something important.
“Anna, I need to apologize,” he said quietly. “For those words, for everything that happened between us.”
Her face remained impassive, emotionless. Another time, two years earlier, she had dreamed of such a moment, imagining every detail of the scene: how she would react, what she would say, whether she would forgive or not. Now she felt complete indifference, as if she’d met a casual acquaintance from the distant past.
“Unfortunately,” she said, closing the folder, “we can’t accept your candidacy. It’s better to keep personal history and professional activity separate.”
Igor flinched as if struck. A twitch crossed his face; his eyes darkened.
“So you’ve decided to take your revenge?” he hissed, gripping the chair arms. “Bringing up old grudges?”
“Nothing of the kind,” Anna replied coolly. “It’s purely a business decision.”
“Business?” his voice shook. “You just want to get even! You’re enjoying this! And here I thought…”
“Thought I’m still ‘nobody’ without you?” she raised an eyebrow. “As you can see, it’s different. Thank you. The interview is over.”
He stood up abruptly, knocking over a glass of water. A dark stain spread across the papers on the table.
“You’ll regret this,” he spat, grabbing his briefcase. “The business world is very small.”
“No doubt,” she smiled faintly. “Svetlana will see you out.”
He left, slamming the door so hard the panes rattled. Muffled muttering drifted in from the hallway.
Anna looked at the spoiled papers. To her surprise, she felt neither gloating nor the joy of victory—only lightness, as if she’d finally rid herself of shards that had been stuck for a long time.
Back in her office, Svetlana asked cautiously:
“Are you all right? That man was… unusual.”
“I’m fine,” Anna answered—and for the first time in a long while, it was true.
She went to the window and watched the bustle below: people hurrying about their business, cars honking, chestnut trees in bloom. In the glass she saw her own face—the face of a woman who wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.
“You’re nobody without me.”
Now those words had lost their power. They had become merely an echo of the past, which could finally be left behind.
Anna smiled and returned to work. A new project awaited her, her team, her life—rebuilt from scratch, entirely her own.