Nastya was already approaching the café when she heard familiar voices:
“Forget that anniversary,” Zhenya cooed softly and slowly, leaning right into the ear of Nastya’s best friend. “Come to your place. Or mine. Nastya won’t be coming back,” he added with a pleased little chuckle.
“Sure,” Lilia replied, doubt in her voice. “Fine, I go to yours now… and when she comes back, what then? Jump out the window?”
“Why the window?” he said smoothly, sliding an arm around Lilia’s waist. “If you agree, I’ll show Nastya the door.”
Nastya didn’t wait to hear the rest. She knew Lilia well—her “free spirit” reputation was no secret. But Zhenya… They’d been together for three years. For all that time she’d been waiting for an official proposal. For the past year they’d been living in Zhenya’s brand-new apartment. He’d bought it on a mortgage and was doing renovations now. Big expenses. So all the everyday costs were on Nastya. She’d told herself that getting married—registering it officially—was just a formality.
Now it was like a veil had dropped from her eyes. It was all a lie, all of it. There was never going to be a family with him. For that role, he’d find someone else. And she—she was just a convenient girlfriend for the period when money was tight.
Six months ago, Nastya’s mother had died. Even then she’d been shocked by how cold Zhenya was. He didn’t go with her to the funeral, didn’t help with any of the arrangements. He’d said, businesslike and icy:
“Sell something over there. You know I’ve got a mortgage, renovations. Maybe your relatives can lend you the money. And when we sell the house, you’ll pay it back.”
That’s exactly how he’d put it: you’ll pay it back—as if he had nothing to do with her.
The phrase had cut her sharply. But later she’d excused him. He’d misspoken. Chosen the wrong words. Zhenya was never much of a talker anyway. Nastya had even liked his gloom and silence.
“He keeps everything inside,” she’d bragged to her friends. “That kind won’t betray you or hurt you. Cheating takes skill—you have to talk a girl into it.”
Her friends had laughed. Lilia had laughed too.
Not knowing what else to do, Nastya started waving with all her strength at a taxi driving past. The car stopped. She slipped into the back as inconspicuously as she could, as if someone was watching her, and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Faster. Faster.”
She hadn’t even made it far when her phone lit up, demanding an answer. It was Zhenya.
“Where are you? I’m standing here alone like an id*ot, everyone’s asking about you. You were supposed to be here already—did something happen?”
Nastya ended the call and threw the phone out the window. Then she burst into tears like a little child whose favorite toy had been taken away. She cried for a long time—bitterly, with sobbing and little wails.
All the while, the car kept going. Nastya started to come to her senses—and suddenly remembered she’d never given the driver an address.
“Where are we going?” she asked cautiously.
“Home,” the driver replied.
But Nastya could see the car was racing along a dirt road.
“Home where?”
“Want me to tell you your address?” the driver snapped—rude and brazen, as it seemed to her.
“Stop immediately, stop!” Nastya screamed.
“In the middle of a field?” the driver laughed. “What are you going to do out here?”
“I’ll call the police,” Nastya blurted, the first thing that came to mind.
And then she remembered—she’d thrown her phone away. She couldn’t call anyone. She’d told everything to a stranger, and now he knew she had nobody. He could dump her somewhere in the woods and no one would even come looking.
Nastya wanted to jump out while the car was moving. She even tried to open the door, but in the dark, with shaking hands, she couldn’t find the handle. She let her arms drop and started crying again—quietly now, hopelessly.
Let it be whatever it is. Let the mrderer kll her and there would be no more suffering, no more betrayals. Maybe this was her fate.
The car braked sharply. The driver got out and came to her door in silence.
“Get out.”
“No,” Nastya said—and suddenly she wanted to live more than anything. She decided she wouldn’t give up so easily. She would fight.
“Don’t be stupid, Nast,” the driver said calmly. “We’re here.”
Nastya lifted her head and, for the first time, looked at the man standing beside her.
“Sergey?” she asked softly.
“Who did you think?” he replied.
She stared at her former classmate as if seeing him for the first time. Flickers of memory rushed through her mind—he’d left somewhere after school, he’d apparently built a career…
“So you’re a taxi driver?” she asked, incredulous.
Sergey laughed—an old, familiar laugh that somehow felt like home.
“What taxi driver?”
“Then why did you pick me up?”
“You were waving like that—I thought you were about to throw yourself under the wheels.”
“And I…” Nastya started, wanting to explain.
“I know everything,” Sergey said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “That was a very useful ride. You’ve never been so honest.”
Nastya laughed, and her chest finally felt light, calm. She was standing at the doorstep of her own home.
“And I came because of you,” he said, gently turning her small fingers over in his big hand. “Thank God you didn’t marry him.”