Sveta saw them by chance as she was leaving the bank. Anna and a man were walking into the restaurant Grand—the most expensive place in town. The stranger held the door for her and laid his hand on her lower back. Proprietary.
Four months after the divorce, and Anna looked… radiant. A new coat, a confident stride, a genuine smile instead of that strained mask she’d worn in her marriage to Dmitry.
Sveta froze. The man looked familiar—tall, in an expensive suit. She looked closer and almost choked.
Mikhail Petrovich. Her boss. The very man for whom she’d come to work early for three years, brewed the perfect coffee, and bought expensive gifts for company parties.
“This can’t be,” Sveta whispered.
She paced around the parking lot for half an hour, unable to drive away. How did Anna even know Mikhail Petrovich? Where did a divorced woman get money for Grand?
When they came out, Sveta was stunned. Mikhail Petrovich had his arm around Anna’s shoulders—not politely, but for real. They walked toward his company car, laughing at some joke.
Anna got into the front seat. The very spot Sveta had dreamed about for three years.
Without quite knowing what she was doing, Sveta started the engine and followed.
They drove to an elite neighborhood, to Mikhail Petrovich’s two-story house. Sveta knew the address—she’d delivered documents there. The couple headed for the porch like people who’d done it many times before.
Lights came on in the windows. Two figures moved through the living room. He was telling a story, gesturing. She laughed, throwing her head back.
Sveta sat in the car in the shadow of the trees and, for the first time in three years, saw Mikhail Petrovich happy.
In the morning she was first to the office, as always. She made coffee—no sugar, a drop of milk—her hands remembered every one of his preferences. When the boss appeared, she set the cup on his desk and said nothing.
But today he was different. He hummed while he worked, smiled at his phone, straightened his tie—the expensive one Sveta had given him for the holiday party.
“Mikhail Petrovich,” she couldn’t hold it in until lunch. “You’re in such a good mood. Did something happen?”
He looked up from the papers.
“Ah, Sveta. Yes, I’m in an excellent mood. I’m getting married in three days.”
The words hit like a slap.
“Getting married?” Her voice sounded strange. “Congratulations. And… to whom?”
“To the most wonderful woman in the world,” he smiled the same smile she’d seen yesterday at the restaurant. “We’ve known each other for many years, but only recently realized we can’t live without each other.”
Sveta ran into the hallway and frantically dialed her brother:
“Dima, it’s me. Where does Anna live now?”
“Anna?” Dmitry sounded surprised. “What do you need her for? You couldn’t stand her.”
“I just… want to check on her. She was part of our family, after all.”
“In her old studio. You remember, she had that apartment even before we met? I think she even renovated it. Seems she’s living better than she did with me.”
Sveta hung up. “We’ve known each other for many years,” Mikhail Petrovich had said. So they were seeing each other when Anna was married? And she—Sveta—had spent three years buying gifts for a man who was thinking about another woman?
At four o’clock she took the rest of the day off. She needed answers.
Anna opened the door in homey jeans, her hair loose. She looked ten years younger.
“Sveta!” she said, genuinely surprised. “What brings you here? Come in.”
The apartment had been transformed. Light walls, new furniture, live flowers. On the table—an opulent bouquet of white roses with a small card.
“You’ve settled in nicely,” Sveta looked around. “Beautiful flowers. From an admirer?”
“From my fiancé,” Anna answered calmly. “I’m getting married in three days.”
Sveta caught her breath.
“Married? And who’s the lucky man?”
“Mikhail. We’ve known each other a long time, but only recently realized we’re meant for each other.”
Sveta slowly sat down in an armchair.
“Mikhail… what’s his last name?”
“Sokolov. Why?”
The world tilted. Sveta looked at Anna’s calm face and felt everything inside collapse.
“Mikhail Petrovich Sokolov from Alpha Construction?”
“Yes,” Anna tilted her head. “How do you know him?”
“I work there,” the voice that came out sounded like someone else’s. “I’m his secretary.”
Silence fell. Anna poured coffee unhurriedly while Sveta sat gripping the armrests.
“How long have you two… been seeing each other?” she managed.
“As friends—about five years. We have mutual acquaintances; we’d run into each other sometimes. Mikhail supported me when things with Dima were really bad,” her voice warmed. “Romantically… three months ago, after the divorce.”
Five years. For five years, while Sveta brewed coffee and dreamed of reciprocity, he had been friends with Anna. He took her to the theater, supported her in hard times, waited for her to be free.
“Did he… tell you about his coworkers?” Sveta’s voice trembled.
“Sometimes. He said his secretary is very attentive—the coffee is always fresh, the gifts are expensive. He even marveled at such care,” Anna smiled. “Why?”
Sveta stood on shaky legs.
“No reason. Congratulations. I wish you… happiness.”
The next day, Mikhail Petrovich beamed with joy. Sveta set down the coffee in silence—for the last time.
“Sveta, I want to introduce you to my wife,” he appeared in the doorway not alone.
Anna stood beside him in a light dress, a new wedding ring on her finger.
“Very nice to meet you,” Sveta shook the offered hand. Her fingers were ice-cold. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Anna smiled warmly. “Mikhail has told me so much about his wonderful colleagues.”
“Anya, show Sveta the ring,” Mikhail asked. “We chose such a beautiful one.”
Anna held out her hand. The diamond sparkled in the sun—expensive, exquisite. Sveta recognized the stone. Six months ago she’d seen it in a jeweler’s window and dreamed that someday Mikhail Petrovich would give one like it to her.
“Magnificent,” she said through her teeth.
“Isn’t it? Mikhail chose it himself. He says he knew right away—it was the one,” Anna looked at her husband with adoration.
“I’ve got a good eye,” he laughed. “When you see perfection, you know immediately.”
They chatted for another minute, exchanging pleasantries. Then the newlyweds left—to look at their new apartment.
Sveta sat down at her computer. The screen glowed, but the letters blurred. Outside, the city hummed, people hurried about, life went on.
Inside, there was nothing but emptiness.
For three years she had bought expensive ties and brewed perfect coffee. For three years she had hoped for a casual smile, a kind look. For three years she had built plans for a future that never existed.
And all that time he was thinking about Anna. Taking her to the theater, buying her flowers, waiting for her to get out of an unhappy marriage.
Sveta opened a desk drawer and took out a folder. The resignation letter had been lying there for two weeks—she’d written it in a burst of feeling but hadn’t dared submit it.
Now she was ready.
She picked up a pen and put today’s date. Then she stood up and headed for Mikhail Petrovich’s office.
“May I?” she knocked on the door.
“Of course, Sveta. Is it urgent?”
“My resignation,” she set the paper on his desk.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously? What happened? Not happy with the salary? The conditions?”
“Everything’s fine. It’s just… time to move on.”
Mikhail Petrovich looked at her closely.
“I understand. It’s a pity to lose an employee like you, but good luck, Sveta. Where are you planning to work?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll find something suitable.”
“You definitely will. You have golden hands and a bright head.”
Sveta nodded and left the office. In the corridor she stopped, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.
At last. At last she’d done what she should have done three years ago—stopped clinging to the impossible.
A month later, Sveta was working at another company. New office, new people, new tasks. The boss—a middle-aged woman, strict but fair. No romantic illusions.
One evening, walking past Grand, she saw a familiar couple at the entrance. Anna in an elegant dress, Mikhail Petrovich in that very tie Sveta had once given him. They were talking quietly, holding hands.
Sveta stopped, looked, and walked on. No pain, no envy. Just past.
Some stories don’t end the way you dreamed. But that doesn’t mean they end badly. Sometimes the happiest ending is when you stop waiting for someone else’s happiness and start building your own.