The doorbell rang at the exact moment I was unpacking the last box of dishes. Three years after the divorce, and finally—my own little corner. A small but cozy two-bedroom on the fourteenth floor of a new apartment complex. A view of the park, morning light in the bedroom, and the silence I’d missed so much in rented apartments.
The bell rang again—insistent and demanding. I brushed the dust from my hands and went to the door, puzzled about who it could be. The housewarming wasn’t planned until next week, when everything would be in its place.
When I opened the door, I practically turned to stone. On the threshold stood Andrey, my ex-husband, breathing hard as if he’d run here on foot rather than driven up in his usual black Volkswagen.
“So you bought it,” he blurted instead of greeting me, looking me up and down.
I automatically ran a hand over my hair, twisted into a messy bun, and tugged at my stretched-out T-shirt. I was, to put it mildly, not dressed for company.
“Hello, Andrey,” I said calmly, though inside I was boiling with indignation. “What brings you here?”
“I heard from Masha,” he said, naming our mutual friend—who had clearly failed to keep her mouth shut. “Couldn’t you have called? Told me?”
“Was I supposed to?” I folded my arms across my chest, not inviting him in.
Andrey frowned and raked a hand through his dark hair—a gesture I used to find cute, and now found only irritating.
“No, of course not. It’s just…” He faltered, clearly not knowing how to explain his sudden appearance. “Can I come in?”
I hesitated. On the one hand, seeing him was the last thing I wanted today. On the other, we hadn’t spoken for almost a year, and his showing up here, now, couldn’t be random.
“Five minutes,” I stepped aside, letting him into the entryway. “I still have a ton to do.”
He came in and looked around the half-empty rooms filled with boxes and hastily placed furniture.
“Not bad,” he said with a strange expression. “How many square meters?”
“Fifty-eight. It’s enough for me.”
“And where did you get the money?” The question came out sharper than all the ones before it.
I felt my face flush with anger. So that was it. He hadn’t rushed over to congratulate me—he’d come to find out how his ex-wife, the one he’d left three years ago without a penny, had managed to buy her own place.
“Does it matter?” I asked coldly.
“It matters if you took out a loan. You know the rates right now. You’ll drown in payments!”
“Andrey,” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “We divorced three years ago. My finances are none of your business now.”
“I’m worried about you, Lena.” His voice suddenly softened. “You’ve always been impulsive. Remember how you nearly bought that country plot from an ad without even checking the documents?”
“That was ten years ago!” I snapped. “And anyway—why the sudden concern? When you left for your… what was her name… Veronika, I don’t remember you worrying much then.”
Andrey winced as if he had a toothache.
“Veronika and I broke up.”
Was I supposed to be moved by that? I shrugged.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But it still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
He walked into the living room without waiting for an invitation and stopped by the window, staring out at the view.
“Nice neighborhood. Is transportation nearby?”
“Andrey,” my patience was fraying. “What do you want?”
He turned to me, and for the first time in the entire conversation I noticed how much he’d changed over the years. The lines around his eyes were deeper, gray had appeared at his temples. He looked exhausted and somehow… lost.
“Do you remember how we dreamed about an apartment?” he asked unexpectedly. “We planned it, drew layouts on napkins, argued about wall colors…”
“I remember,” I said quietly. “And then you decided you needed another woman, not another apartment.”
“I made a mistake,” he said simply.
I laughed, not believing my ears.
“Seriously? You barge into my home three years after the divorce and tell me you made a mistake? And what exactly am I supposed to say to that?”
“I don’t know,” he sank onto the only chair standing in the middle of the room. “I really don’t know, Lena. When Masha told me you bought an apartment, it was like I got electrocuted. That was supposed to be us. Together.”
“But we’re not together,” I said firmly. “And that was your choice, Andrey—not mine.”
“And what if I wanted to fix everything?” He looked up at me, full of hope.
“Fix?” I shook my head. “Some things can’t be fixed. You can only let go and move on. Which is what I did.”
“So you have someone?” Jealousy flickered in his voice.
“No. But even if I did, it wouldn’t concern you.”
Andrey stood and stepped closer.
“Lena, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. About what I lost.”
“And what exactly bothers you?” I took a step back. “What you lost—or what I gained? You know, when we divorced, you told me I’d never get back on my feet without you. That without your support I’d be finished. Maybe you’re just annoyed that I managed on my own.”
He looked offended.
“You think I’m that petty?”
“I don’t know who you are now, Andrey. We’re strangers.”
For a long time he was silent, digesting my words. Then he nodded slowly.
“Maybe you’re right. I just… I didn’t expect to miss you this much.”
Those words stung. How many nights had I cried into my pillow missing him, missing our life? And now, when I’d finally started moving forward, he showed up with confessions.
“You should go,” I said softly. “I really do have a lot to do.”
“Yes, of course.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Can I at least know where the money came from? Just so I don’t worry.”
I hesitated, then decided there was nothing secret about it.
“My grandmother’s inheritance and my savings. Plus the maternity capital after Misha was born.”
His face changed.
“Misha? You… you have a child?”
Oh, damn. That was the one thing I absolutely didn’t want to talk about.
“Yes, Andrey. I have a son. He’s one year and seven months.”
“One year and…” He calculated quickly. “So you weren’t pregnant when we—”
“No,” I cut him off sharply. “I wasn’t pregnant during the divorce. That happened later.”
“And who’s the father?” His voice tensed.
“None of your business.”
“Lena, please. I just want to know.”
I sighed.
“His name is Dmitry. We met at work. But we aren’t together, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Is he involved in raising him?”
“Financially—yes. Otherwise—no, he got transferred to another city. He’s a good man, Andrey. He’s just not ready for a family.”
Andrey nodded, processing.
“And where’s Misha now?”
“With my parents. I’ll pick him up tomorrow, once I finish the main things here.”
He was quiet, and then suddenly asked:
“Could I meet him sometime?”
That question caught me off guard.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I just want to.”
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to throw him out and erase this conversation like a bad dream. Another part—the part that still remembered the good moments we’d had—hesitated.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said. “But for now, please go.”
He nodded and opened the door, but before leaving he turned back.
“Thank you for talking to me. And… congratulations on the apartment. You did great.”
When the door closed behind him, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. What was that? Why did he come? And what was I supposed to do with his strange request to meet Misha?
The phone ringing woke me at six-thirty in the morning. I fumbled for my mobile without opening my eyes and answered without even looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Lena,” Andrey’s voice sounded upbeat, as if he hadn’t slept all night. “Sorry for calling so early.”
I sat up in bed, instantly wide awake.
“Andrey? Are you out of your mind? It’s seven in the morning!”
“Six-thirty, actually,” he corrected. “Listen, I was thinking… maybe you need help with the apartment? Shelves, chandeliers, that kind of thing?”
I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“You’re calling me at six-thirty to offer to hang shelves?”
“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear a smile in his voice. “You probably have a mountain of things to do, and I have the day off. I can come over with tools.”
“Andrey,” I tried to keep my voice calm, “I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it. I have friends helping.”
“Friends are good,” he paused. “What about lunch? I could bring something tasty. You probably haven’t even stocked the fridge yet.”
His persistence was starting to irritate me.
“Thanks, but no. I already have plans.”
“Plans with Misha?” he asked immediately.
“Yes. I’m picking him up from my mom’s after lunch.”
“Great!” he exclaimed so enthusiastically I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Then I’ll come in the morning, help with whatever you need, and then maybe we can go pick him up together?”
“Andrey, stop.” I was starting to boil. “I didn’t invite you to help, and I definitely didn’t agree to introduce you to Misha. What has gotten into you?”
There was silence on the line.
“Sorry,” he finally said. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”
“Yes!” I burst out. “We haven’t seen each other in forever, and now all of a sudden you want back in my life, you want to meet my child… it’s weird, Andrey.”
“I understand,” his voice turned serious. “It’s just… when I saw your apartment yesterday, I realized how much I missed. How far you’ve gone without me. You have a new life, a child… and I’m still exactly where I was three years ago.”
Those words softened me.
“Listen. I’m not against talking. Maybe even being friends someday. But not this fast, okay? And Misha… that’s serious, Andrey. He’s little. Sensitive. I can’t just bring new people into his life like that.”
“I understand,” he repeated. “I really do. Just think about it, okay? I’m not in a hurry.”
“Not in a hurry? And the six-thirty calls are what then?” I thought, but out loud I said:
“Okay, I’ll think about it. But now let me sleep at least another hour, please.”
“Of course,” his smile returned to his voice. “Sweet dreams, Lenochka.”
That affectionate nickname he hadn’t used in years stung my heart in a strange way. I said goodbye quickly and ended the call.
I couldn’t fall asleep again. I lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about yesterday’s conversation, the unexpected call, the fact that Andrey had broken up with Veronika. For three years I’d carefully avoided thinking about him at all, and now he had burst back into my life—and I didn’t know how to feel about it.
At eight I got up, showered, and started unpacking the remaining boxes. Work helped me not think about my ex-husband and his strange behavior. By ten I’d unpacked almost everything and was deciding where to put the bookcase when someone rang the doorbell.
“Not again,” I thought—but on the threshold was my mother, holding a big bag.
“Hi, sweetheart!” She hugged me. “I decided to come early to help you. Then we’ll go pick up Mishenka together—he’s with Grandpa right now.”
“Mom, you’re the best,” I said sincerely, letting her in.
“Wow, you’ve done almost everything!” she looked around. “I thought you’d still be knee-deep in it.”
“Got up early,” I said evasively, not wanting to explain Andrey’s call.
“Good,” Mom nodded, pulling containers of food from her bag. “I baked some pies and made borscht. I know you won’t have time to cook.”
“Thank you.” Tears rose in my eyes at that simple care.
Mom studied me.
“What happened? You’re jumpy.”
I sighed. You can’t hide anything from your mother.
“Andrey showed up.”
Mom froze with a container in her hands.
“I see. And what does he want?”
“No idea,” I sat down at the table. “Yesterday he rushed over as soon as he heard about the apartment. Today he called at six-thirty, offering help. And he also… wants to meet Misha.”
“On what grounds?” Mom flared up. “Three years he didn’t show his face, and now suddenly he’s interested?”
He said he’d broken up with Veronika. And that he misses me.”
Mom snorted.
“Of course he misses you. He ended up alone, so he remembered you. I hope you told him where to go?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “I said I’d think about meeting Misha.”
“Lena!” Mom threw up her hands. “Have you lost your mind? Why does a child need that… that…”
“Mom, I didn’t promise anything,” I hurried to calm her. “I just didn’t want a fight. Besides…” I hesitated. “I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid, but sometimes I think Misha lacks a male influence.”
Mom sat down across from me.
“Sweetheart, I understand how you feel. But Andrey is not the kind of man who should influence your son. He left you when you needed him most.”
“He didn’t know I needed him,” I objected quietly. “I never told him about my problems. About my illness.”
Mom took my hand.
“That’s not an excuse. A real man doesn’t leave a woman for the first pretty face that comes along. And now that that pretty face left him, he comes running back? And you seriously want to let him into Misha’s life?”
“I don’t know what I want, Mom,” I said tiredly. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Do what will be best for you and Misha,” she said firmly. “Not what’s best for Andrey.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. But what exactly was best for me and Misha?
When Mom and I returned with Misha, it was almost five in the evening. My son—a blond toddler with curious brown eyes—immediately began exploring the new space, peeking into every corner and cabinet.
“Home,” he announced seriously, stopping in the middle of the living room. “Our home?”
“Yes, sunshine.” I squatted in front of him. “This is our new home. Do you like it?”
Misha nodded, then ran to the window and pressed his nose to the glass.
“Trees! Birds!”
“Yes, sweetheart, that’s the park. We’ll go walk there.”
Mom started unpacking Misha’s things, and I went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Please don’t be Andrey,” flashed through my mind—but when I opened the door, Masha stood there. The same friend who’d told my ex-husband about my apartment.
“Hi!” she chirped brightly, handing me a box with a cake. “I decided to drop by for the housewarming! Oh, and is Mishanya here already? Hi, sweetheart!”
She squeezed past me without waiting to be invited and instantly started cuddling Misha, who squealed happily—he adored “Auntie Masha.”
“What a cute apartment!” she babbled, looking around. “Did you design it all yourself? And where did you get the curtains? I need the same ones!”
I stared at her, trying to decide whether to be angry. On the one hand, she was the reason Andrey had shown up yesterday. On the other, we’d been friends since kindergarten, and I knew she’d never been able to keep a secret. It was just surprising that when she told Andrey about the apartment, she hadn’t mentioned my son…
“Mash,” I finally said when she let Misha go, “I need to talk to you.”
“Of course!” she immediately put on a serious face. “Did something happen?”
I led her into the kitchen, away from Mom’s curious ears.
“Why did you tell Andrey about my apartment?”
Masha’s eyes widened.
“What, was I not allowed? We ran into each other at the mall, chatted… he asked how you were doing, so I said you’d bought an apartment and were moving. What’s the big deal?”
“He came here yesterday,” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “And today he called at six-thirty. Offered help, wanted to meet Misha…”
“Wow!” Masha was clearly impressed. “What did you say?”
“I said I’d think about it. What else could I do?”
“And you don’t want to… well, try again?” she asked cautiously. “You were together for so many years. And Misha needs a father.”
“Misha has a father,” I snapped. “It’s just that he’s far away.”
“Oh come on, Lenka,” Masha waved her hand. “What kind of father is Dima? Sends money once a month and thinks he’s done his duty. And Andrey… he always wanted kids.”
“Then why did he run away from me when he learned my diagnosis?” I asked bitterly.
Masha looked at me in confusion.
“What diagnosis? He said you split up because of ‘differences,’ and then he met Veronika…”
I froze. She didn’t know. I hadn’t told her. Which meant Andrey hadn’t known either…
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” I mumbled, deciding not to go into details. “Listen, Mash—I’m not mad. Just don’t tell him anything else about me and Misha, okay? It’s complicated.”
“Of course,” she nodded. “I’m sorry if I caused problems. I thought you two talked normally.”
“We barely talked at all after the divorce.”
“Maybe it’s a sign?” Masha smiled suddenly. “Fate is bringing you back together right now, when you’ve finally gotten back on your feet. Maybe you should give him a chance?”
I shook my head.
“No, Mash. That train has left.”
But somewhere deep inside, a small treacherous voice whispered: What if she’s right? What if it really is a sign?
After Masha and Mom left, Misha and I were alone in the new apartment. He was building a tower of blocks in the middle of the living room, and I sat on the couch watching him and thinking about Andrey.
What did he mean by barging back into my life? Did he simply miss me—or did he truly regret the breakup? And should I let him meet Misha?
My thoughts were interrupted by my phone ringing. Andrey’s name lit up on the screen.
“Hello,” I answered after the fourth ring, still unsure whether I wanted to talk.
“Hi,” his voice sounded hesitant. “Did I wake you?”
“No, we’re not asleep yet.”
“We?” he latched on immediately. “So Misha is with you already?”
“Yes, I picked him up earlier.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“And how is he? Does he like the new home?”
I looked at my son, who had just toppled his tower with a crash and was now giggling delightedly.
“I think so. He’s settled in.”
“That’s good,” Andrey fell silent again, then said decisively, “Lena, I want to apologize for the morning call. And for barging in yesterday. You were right—I rushed things.”
The admission caught me off guard.
“It’s okay,” I said awkwardly. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine,” he objected. “I acted like an idiot. It’s just… when I heard about the apartment, something snapped. I remembered how we dreamed about it together, and I realized it could’ve been ours. If it weren’t for me.”
I didn’t know what to say. Three years ago I’d dreamed of hearing those words. But now?
“Andrey,” I said at last, “you can’t bring the past back. We both changed. I have a different life now.”
“I know,” his voice sounded muffled. “And I’m not asking to bring back the past. Just… maybe we could see each other sometimes. As friends. I’d really like to meet your son. Not as a father, of course—just as a friend of the family.”
I watched Misha collecting blocks for a new tower and thought: what do I lose? If Andrey only wants friendship, there’s nothing wrong with that. And maybe a male influence really wouldn’t hurt Misha.
“Okay,” I finally said. “Let’s try. But only as friends, Andrey. No hints of anything more.”
“Of course!” the relief in his voice was so obvious I couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you, Lena. Really—thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We can meet in the park this weekend. Misha likes parks.”
“Great!” he exclaimed. “Saturday?”
“Saturday,” I confirmed. “Two o’clock at the main entrance.”
After the call, I sat for a long time staring at my phone, wondering if I’d made a mistake. But something told me it was the right decision. People change. Maybe Andrey truly understood what he’d done.
Saturday turned out unusually warm and sunny for late September. Misha and I arrived at the park a little early. He was thrilled with the new place—there weren’t just swings and slides, but a whole play complex with mazes and rope bridges for older kids.
“Look, Mom!” Misha pointed at everything: a squirrel hopping along branches, the bright-red maple leaves, a dog running after a stick.
I smiled, soaking in his joy and trying not to think about the upcoming meeting. But when it was already ten past two and Andrey still hadn’t appeared, I started to worry. Had he changed his mind? Had something happened?
“Lena!” I heard a familiar voice and turned.
Andrey ran toward us along the path, carrying a giant teddy bear and a bunch of balloons.
“Sorry I’m late,” he blurted, stopping in front of me. “I couldn’t decide what to buy. So I bought both.”
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Andrey, we agreed on a simple meeting. Why all this?”
He shrugged.
“Come on. The first meeting should be special.”
Misha, who’d been hiding behind my leg, peeked out curiously, eyeing the strange man with the toys.
“Hi, buddy,” Andrey crouched down. “My name is Andrey. And you—I know—are Misha.”
Misha looked at him suspiciously, then glanced at the bear.
“This is for you,” Andrey held out the toy. “Want to be friends with him?”
My son looked at me as if asking permission. I nodded, and he carefully took the bear, which was almost as tall as he was.
“Thank you,” Misha said quietly, hugging it.
“And the balloons?” Andrey offered the bunch. “Those are for you too.”
Misha broke into a grin and grabbed the strings with his free hand.
“Mom, look!” he shouted, turning toward me.
“Yes, sweetheart—very pretty,” I smiled at him, then turned to Andrey. “You didn’t have to spend money.”
“It’s nothing,” he waved it off. “I just wanted the first meeting to be memorable.”
We walked slowly down the path. Misha toddled between us, clutching his bear and balloons. Andrey kept looking at him with a strange expression.
“He looks like you,” he said suddenly. “Same eyes.”
“Everyone says that,” I smiled despite myself. “Though I think he resembles my dad more. Same stubbornness.”
“And his father?” Andrey asked carefully. “What is he like?”
I tensed up.
“We agreed this was a friendly meeting, Andrey. No interrogations.”
“Sorry,” he raised his hands. “Just curious. But you’re right—not my business.”
We reached the playground and Misha immediately dragged me toward it.
“Swings!” he shouted, pointing at an empty one.
“Go on,” I smiled. “But you’ll have to leave the bear and balloons. I’ll hold them.”
Reluctantly, Misha handed over his treasures and ran to the swings. Andrey watched him with a smile.
“He’s wonderful,” he said. “So… alive.”
“Yes, he’s very active,” I agreed. “From morning till night—always moving. I can barely keep up.”
“Do you need help?” Andrey asked immediately. “I could watch him sometimes if you need a break or have errands.”
I studied him skeptically.
“Thanks, but you’ve just met him. It’s too early to talk about that.”
“Of course,” he nodded. “Just offering.”
We stopped by the swings, watching Misha try to climb up and impatiently kick his legs. Andrey gently pushed the swing and looked at me.
“You’ve changed,” he said unexpectedly. “You’re… more confident. Stronger.”
I smirked.
“Life forced me to be.”
“Lena,” he turned to me, “I have to ask. What about your diagnosis?”
“That was a long time ago, Andrey. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me,” he insisted. “If I ignored something serious, then I need to know now.”
I sighed, realizing he wouldn’t let it go.
“Remember how I started getting sick a few months before the divorce? Constant fatigue, weakness…”
He frowned, remembering.
“Yes. You went to doctors, but they couldn’t find anything.”
“They found it later,” I stared straight ahead, not looking at him. “A month after the divorce. An autoimmune disease. Pretty rare. Not pleasant. The doctors said my chances of getting pregnant were almost zero.”
Andrey went pale.
“God, Lena… But I didn’t know. I mean… I didn’t know it was that serious.”
“What would’ve been the point of telling you?” I said quietly. “You’d already chosen Veronika. Besides, you always wanted kids. Lots of kids. Why would you need a wife who couldn’t give them to you?”
“Lena,” he took my hand, “if I’d known—”
I pulled my hand away.
“What? You’d have stayed out of pity? No thanks.”
“Not out of pity,” he objected. “Because I loved you. No matter what.”
“You didn’t love me, Andrey,” I said softly. “If you had, you wouldn’t have left for someone else at the first opportunity.”
He lowered his head.
“I was an idiot. A selfish jerk who couldn’t see past his own nose. Veronika… it was an obsession. I thought everything would be easier with her. Lighter. No problems, no worries.”
“And was it?” I couldn’t resist.
“No,” he gave a bitter smile. “She turned out even more difficult than you. Tantrums, jealousy scenes, constant complaints… and then she found someone richer and more interesting.”
I didn’t know what to say. Part of me felt smug—serves him right. Another part felt sorry—I knew what it was like to be left behind.
“And Misha?” Andrey asked suddenly. “The doctors said you had almost no chance, but… he happened.”
“A miracle,” I smiled, watching my son digging in the sandbox. “The doctors are still surprised. They say it’s one in a thousand. I got lucky.”
“We got lucky,” Andrey said unexpectedly.
I snapped my head toward him.
“What do you mean ‘we’?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Sorry—I misspoke. I just… I’m glad you’re okay. That you’re happy.”
Just then Misha ran up to us, covered in sand.
“Mom! Andrey! Let’s go feed the ducks!”
“He remembered my name,” Andrey whispered with something like childlike delight, then answered loudly, “Of course! I even brought bread!”
He pulled a little bag of bread crumbs from his jacket pocket, and Misha clapped excitedly.
“You came prepared,” I noted.
“I wanted everything to go perfectly,” he said simply.
On the way home, Misha fell asleep in Andrey’s arms, hugging his new bear. I’d tied the balloons to the stroller handle—Misha had refused to sit in it, preferring to walk, but by the end he was so tired he started whining, and Andrey offered to carry him.
“He’s heavy,” I said, watching how easily Andrey held my son.
“It’s fine,” he smiled. “I have nephews—I’m used to it.”
We walked in silence, enjoying the warm evening. The meeting had been… not as awful as I’d feared. Even pleasant, in a way. Misha warmed up to Andrey quickly, and by the end of the walk he was chattering away at him, showing him toys and narrating his adventures in toddler language.
“Here we are,” I said when we reached my building. “Thanks for the walk. And for the bear.”
“Thank you for agreeing,” he carefully handed the sleeping Misha to me. “Can I… can I come again?”
I hesitated. On one hand, the meeting had gone well. On the other, I wasn’t sure I was ready to see my ex-husband regularly.
“Let’s do this,” I finally said. “If Misha asks about you tomorrow, it means he liked you and we can meet again. If he doesn’t… then it’s not meant to be.”
Andrey nodded, accepting the condition.
“Fair. So—until… maybe the next meeting?”
“Maybe,” I smiled and headed toward the entrance.
In the morning, Misha woke up earlier than usual and immediately ran to hug his giant bear.
“Mom,” he asked at breakfast, “where’s Andrey?”
I froze with my tea cup in my hand.
“He’s at his home, sunshine. Why?”
“I want to feed ducks again,” Misha declared. “With Andrey.”
I smiled, realizing fate had, apparently, decided for me.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll call him today.”
Three months passed after our first park meeting. During that time we saw Andrey every weekend—walks, children’s theater, the zoo, or just sitting at my place while he played with Misha’s endless cars and building sets. Andrey was surprisingly patient with a child and clearly enjoyed spending time with him.
As for Andrey and me… it was complicated. We tried to keep things strictly friendly, avoiding any hints about the past or a possible future. But sometimes, when our eyes met over Misha’s head as he played, I felt something—an echo of the old feelings. And it seemed to me Andrey felt it too.
One pre-New Year evening, after Misha was asleep in his little bed, exhausted from decorating the tree, Andrey and I sat in the kitchen drinking tea and talking about everything—like in the old days.
“You know,” he suddenly said, turning his cup in his hands, “I never thought I could be so happy just spending time with someone else’s child.”
I flinched at the word “someone else’s.”
“Misha’s grown attached to you,” I said carefully. “He asks every day when ‘Uncle Andrey’ is coming.”
“Really?” Andrey lit up. “I think about him constantly too. He’s so… not like other kids.”
I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat.
“Lena,” Andrey suddenly covered my hand with his, “I need to tell you something.”
I tensed, bracing for anything.
“These three months were the best months of my life,” he said simply. “Better than all the time with Veronika. Better than… forgive me… even our marriage.”
I pulled my hand away.
“What do you mean?”
“No—don’t misunderstand,” he rushed to explain. “Back then I was a different person. Selfish. Immature. I didn’t know how to value what I had. But now… now I see how amazing you are. How strong. How much you do for Misha, how you handle everything alone. And I… I’m falling in love with you again, Lena. Every day more.”
I stared at him, not believing what I’d heard. After everything. After all the pain he’d caused…
“Andrey, I don’t think—”
“Wait,” he took my hand again. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I hurt you. And I’m not asking for anything right now. Just… let me keep coming. Be near you and Misha. And then—whatever happens, happens.”
I looked at our intertwined hands and thought how strange fate could be. Three months earlier I’d believed I’d never see this man again. And now he was sitting in my kitchen, confessing love.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted honestly. “It’s all so complicated…”
“Don’t say anything,” he smiled. “Just think about it. About us. About what we could be. A family. A real family.”
I shook my head—not in refusal, but in disbelief at what was happening.
“You know what’s the funniest part?” I laughed quietly. “When you came rushing here that first day, I thought you’d come to fight over the apartment. Out of jealousy or something.”
He laughed too.
“I confess—there was a moment like that. But then I saw you, and nothing else mattered. I realized I still love you. I always did.”
“And Veronika?” I couldn’t help asking.
His face darkened.
“That was a mistake. An obsession. I thought it would be easier with her… but in the end I realized I don’t want ‘easier.’ I want you—with all your complexity, stubbornness, independence.”
I was silent, taking in his words. Three years earlier they would’ve made me cry with happiness. Now I didn’t know what to feel.
“I’m not rushing you,” he said gently, seeing my confusion. “I just wanted you to know.”
He stood to leave. I walked him to the door, still lost in thought.
“See you Saturday?” he asked from the threshold. “I promised Misha I’d take him skating.”
“Yes, of course,” I answered automatically. “Saturday.”
When the door closed behind him, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. What now? Trust him again? Take the risk? Or keep it as it is—friendship, nothing more?
I went to Misha’s room and quietly opened the door. He slept hugging the giant bear Andrey had given him on that first day. A faint smile played on his face—as if he was having a good dream.
Looking at my sleeping son, I suddenly understood that his happiness mattered most of all. And if Andrey made him happy… maybe we really should give ourselves another chance. Not for me, not for Andrey—but for Misha. For the family he’d never had.
I took out my phone and texted: “I’ll think about it. Honestly. Good night, Andrey.”
The reply came instantly: “Thank you. That’s all I’m asking. Good night, Lenochka.”
And for the first time in a long while, that nickname didn’t irritate me or make me sad. It only brought a warm, almost forgotten feeling—like I’d finally come home after a long, exhausting journey.
Maybe that’s exactly what it was