Lida parked by the entrance and glanced at the time. Damn—it was forty minutes early. Raisa Mikhailovna couldn’t stand it when guests showed up at the wrong time. Especially her—Lidka, the outsider.
“So what now?” she muttered, turning off the engine.
She could sit in the car, but the neighbors would see her and report back to her mother-in-law. She could take a walk, but in these heels she wouldn’t get far. That left only one option: go upstairs and pray they wouldn’t tear her apart for breaking the schedule.
She climbed to the fourth floor and stopped at the door. Voices inside. Had Igor already arrived? Strange—he’d promised he’d be there at seven.
“…I’m sick of all this!” came from inside the apartment.
Lida froze. Her husband’s voice sounded irritated, almost angry. What were they talking about?
“Igoryok, my son, I can see how hard it is for you,” Raisa Mikhailovna said softly, soothingly. “You deserve happiness.”
“Mom, don’t start again…”
“And what, don’t start? Don’t tell the truth? Look at yourself! You’ve lost weight, your eyes have gone dull. Is that normal?”
Lida pressed herself against the wall. Her heart hammered so loudly she was afraid they’d hear it.
“Remember what you were like with Olechka. Do you remember Olya Matveyeva? She’s still single, by the way. And she’s always asking about you.”
“Mom…”
“What ‘Mom’? Olya understood you! With her you laughed, you enjoyed life. And now? You come home like it’s hard labor.”
Lida closed her eyes. It was hard to breathe.
“She’s a good person,” Igor said quietly.
“A good person!” Raisa Mikhailovna snorted. “A cow is good too, but you’re not going to live with it. Igoryok, you’re still young, handsome. Why ruin your life?”
“But we’re married…”
“So what? People get divorced. They get divorced like normal people! You’ll find someone suitable, have proper children.”
“But we had plans…”
“What plans?” her mother-in-law’s voice sharpened. “She’s dragging you down, Igoryok. I see it. A mother feels it in her heart.”
Lida grabbed the railing. Her legs were giving out.
“You’re probably right,” Igor suddenly said. “Sometimes I think… what if I hadn’t married then? I’d be living differently.”
“Of course, differently!” his mother exclaimed, delighted. “Free, easy! And now they keep you like a dog on a chain.”
“It’s not her fault…”
“Not her fault? Then whose fault is it? You’re unhappy—I can see it! Every time you come to me you’re exhausted.”
“It’s just hard, Mom. Work, home, constant talk about the future. Sometimes I just want to run away.”
“Then run!” Raisa Mikhailovna cried. “You only get one life, son. Are you really going to suffer until old age?”
“What if I’m wrong?”
“Wrong about what? Wanting to be happy? Look at Petrovich on the third floor. Divorced at fifty, married a young girl. Now he flutters around like a butterfly.”
“I don’t know…”
“But I do! A mother always knows. Olya is perfect for you. Remember how you went to the theater? How she understood you without you even finishing a sentence?”
Lida opened her eyes. Her head was buzzing. So he really was thinking about it? So she’d been right—when she’d felt him growing cold, when she’d noticed him turning away in the mornings?
“Mom, I can’t just get up and leave.”
“You can! You’ll say the feelings are gone. People will understand.”
“And if she suffers?”
“She’ll cry and forget. Women find comfort quickly. But you’ll be free.”
Lida clenched her fists. Cry and forget? How could anyone talk about a human being like that?
“Igoryok, trust your mother,” Raisa Mikhailovna went on. “I only want your happiness. Call Olya. Meet her. Just talk.”
“Alright,” Igor said quietly. “Maybe… maybe it’s worth trying.”
That was it. Lida turned around and walked to the elevator. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t press the button.
She went downstairs and sat in her car. She couldn’t start it—her hands trembled too much. She just sat there, staring through the windshield. Emptiness inside. Huge, icy emptiness.
“Cry and forget.” To hell with all of them.
She started the car and drove home. On the way she bought vodka. Good, expensive vodka. Since the “celebration” hadn’t happened after all.
At home she kicked off her shoes, poured a shot, and downed it. Then another. Her head cleared.
Igor came back at ten-thirty. Cheerful. Pleased with himself.
“Lid, where were you? We were waiting for you!”
“Changed my mind,” she said calmly. “Got a headache.”
“You should’ve called. Mom was worried.”
“Oh, really?”
Igor looked at her closely.
“Did you drink?”
“I did. So what?”
“It’s just… you hardly ever drink.”
“I was in the mood. Sit down. Let’s talk.”
He tensed. When wives suggest “talking,” it usually ends badly.
“About what?”
“About life. About plans. About happiness.”
“Lid, can we do it tomorrow? I’m tired today.”
“You won’t be. This is important.”
Igor sat on the couch, as far from her as he could.
“I’m listening.”
Lida poured another shot but didn’t drink it.
“Tell me about Olya Matveyeva.”
Igor went pale.
“What Olya?”
“The one. The one who’s still single and asks about you.”
“How do you—”
“Doesn’t matter how. Tell me about her.”
“Lid, that was a long time ago. We were just friends.”
“Friends?” She smiled. “Funny—I thought you dated. Went to the theater. And she understood you without you even finishing a sentence.”
Igor stood up.
“You were eavesdropping?”
“I was.”
“Lid, it’s not what you think…”
“And what do I think?”
“Well… that Mom and I were discussing you.”
“You were,” Lida nodded. “Very enthusiastically.”
“We were just talking. Mom sometimes brings up the past.”
“And you agree with her?”
“I didn’t agree with anything!”
“You’re lying,” Lida said calmly. “I heard everything. About chains. About hard labor. About wanting to run away.”
Igor sat back down and covered his face with his hands.
“Lid… people say too much sometimes. Especially when they’re tired.”
“Too much? You called our marriage too much?”
“No! I said I’m tired at work.”
“Don’t lie to me, Igor. Please—at least now, don’t lie.”
He lifted his head and looked at her long and heavily.
“Fine. Yes, sometimes I think things could’ve been different. Everyone thinks that.”
“Not everyone plans meetings with their exes.”
“I’m not planning anything!”
“And Mom is planning for you? And you agreed?”
“I… it was just talk.”
“Igor, I’m tired,” Lida said. “So tired of these talks, of your mother, of feeling like an extra in my own family.”
“You’re not an extra…”
“I am. And we both know it.”
Igor fell silent, staring at the floor.
“What do you want?” he asked at last.
“I want honesty.”
“Okay. Yes, sometimes it’s hard for me. Yes, sometimes I think about the past. But that doesn’t mean I want a divorce.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means I’m a living person with living feelings.”
Lida nodded. She drank the shot she’d been holding.
“Got it,” she said. “Then I have a proposal.”
“What proposal?” Igor straightened on the couch.
“Let’s get divorced,” Lida said simply.
“What?!”
“You heard me. We file for divorce. Tomorrow.”
“Lid, you’re drunk. Let’s talk in the morning.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m sober for the first time in a long time.”
Igor jumped up and started pacing.
“Because of one conversation? Because of stupid words?”
“Not because of words,” Lida poured herself another. “Because of the truth. Your mother is right. Why suffer?”
“I’m not suffering!”
“You are. I can see it. And I’m suffering too, to be honest.”
“Lid, we can fix everything…”
“Fix what? The fact you think about Olya? The fact you come home like it’s hard labor?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You did. I heard you with my own ears.”
Igor stopped in front of her.
“Fine, I said it. But people say things in the heat of the moment. It doesn’t mean—”
“It does,” Lida cut in. “It all means something, Igor. You want freedom—you’ll get it.”
“And you? What will you get?”
Lida shrugged.
“Peace. Self-respect. The chance to stop pretending.”
“Pretending about what?”
“Pretending I like being unwanted.”
Igor sat down beside her on the couch.
“You’re not unwanted…”
“Igor, stop. Enough lying—to yourself and to me. Your mother hates me. You’re tired of our marriage. I feel like an extra. Why keep up this show?”
“Because I love you.”
Lida looked at him for a long time, sadly.
“You know what’s the scariest part? I believe you. You really do love me—in your own way. But it’s not enough.”
“Why isn’t it enough?”
“Because love without respect isn’t love. It’s habit.”
“I respect you!”
“Then why do you discuss me with your mother? Why do you let her say nasty things about me?”
Igor went quiet.
“See?” Lida continued. “You can’t answer. Because you know I’m right.”
“What was I supposed to do? Start a fight with my mother?”
“Yes!” Lida snapped. “Exactly that—defend your wife!”
“She’s an old woman…”
“An old bitch. And you know it perfectly well.”
Igor stood up again.
“Lid, let’s try one more time. I’ll talk to Mom. I’ll explain—”
“Too late,” Lida said. “I’ve already decided.”
“You can’t just decide for both of us!”
“I can. And I did.”
They fell silent. Igor paced, Lida sat with the shot glass in her hand.
“And Olya?” she asked suddenly. “Do you really want to meet her?”
Igor stopped.
“I don’t know.”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly—I don’t know. Maybe I do.”
“Then meet her. But first we get divorced.”
“Lid…”
“What, Lid? I’m setting you free. Be happy.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“But you don’t want me to stay either.”
Igor sank to the floor by the couch and clutched his head.
“Damn, I’m such a bastard.”
“You’re not a bastard,” Lida said softly. “Just a person. A tired person who got tangled up in what he wants.”
“So what now?”
“Now each of us goes our own way.”
“And if I change my mind? If I realize I’m making a mistake?”
“Then it’ll be too late.”
“Lid, give me time to think.”
“There’s no time left,” she said. “The train has left the station.”
Igor looked up.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“And nothing will change your mind?”
“Nothing.”
In the morning Lida woke up clear-headed. No hangover. No doubts. Igor was asleep on the couch—apparently he hadn’t dared to come to bed.
She packed a bag with the essentials. She’d take the rest later.
“You’re leaving?” she heard behind her.
She turned around. Igor stood in the doorway, messy-haired, eyes red.
“I’m leaving.”
“Where to?”
“To Marina’s. She doesn’t mind.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
Igor stepped closer.
“Lid… I thought all night. Maybe we shouldn’t rush.”
“We should,” she said, zipping the bag. “The longer we drag it out, the more it’ll hurt.”
“And the paperwork?”
“I’ll file today. You’ll sign, right?”
Igor nodded.
“I’ll sign.”
“Good. I’m leaving you the apartment. I don’t need anything.”
“Lid…”
“What?”
“Forgive me.”
She looked at him. He stood like a beaten puppy—pathetic, lost. Yesterday the sight would’ve shattered her heart. Today—only a light sadness.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said evenly. “You didn’t do anything terrible. You just didn’t love me strongly enough.”
“But I loved you!”
“In your own way. But that isn’t enough for a family.”
She picked up the bag and went to the door.
“Will you call?” he shouted after her.
“I don’t think so.”
“Lid!”
She stopped on the threshold.
“Tell your mother thank you. She set me free.”
“From what?”
“From illusions.”
She slammed the door. Went down to the first floor. By the mailboxes, the neighbor Aunt Nina was smoking.
“Lida, why do you have a bag?”
“I’m leaving, Aunt Nina.”
“For long?”
“Forever.”
“What, did you fight?”
“We didn’t fight. I just realized—enough.”
“And Igoryok?”
“Igoryok stays. He’s a big boy.”
Aunt Nina took a drag.
“You’re doing the right thing. I look at you two and think—why does she suffer with him? His mother’s a bitch and he’s a limp rag.”
“He’s not bad. Just not mine.”
“So where now?”
“To a friend’s for now. Then we’ll see.”
“Do you have work?”
“I’ll find something.”
“Good for you,” Aunt Nina nodded. “You only get one life. No point wasting it on fools.”
Lida smiled. Walked out into the yard, got into the car, started it, and drove off.
At the traffic light her phone rang. Igor.
“Hello?”
“Lid, I called Mom. I told her everything. She’s crying.”
“Let her cry. It’s too late.”
“She says she didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“She’s lying.”
“Lid, maybe we should all meet—talk together?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m sick of your talking. Talk less—live more.”
She ended the call. Turned off her phone.
She arrived at Marina’s. Her friend met her with coffee and cigarettes.
“So. It happened?”
“It happened.”
“How do you feel?”
Lida thought. Sad? Yes. Scared? No. Free? Definitely.
“Fine,” she said. “Even good.”
“And what next?”
“Next we live. Without looking back at other people’s mommies and spineless men.”
“Won’t you regret it?”
“Regret what? The lost time? You can’t get it back anyway.”
Marina nodded.
“Wise. When are you filing?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Need help?”
“I’ll manage.”
“And that’s how it should be,” Marina clinked her coffee cup against Lida’s. “To a new life!”
“To a new life.”
Outside, rain was falling. But it seemed to Lida like the sun had come out