Sergey stood by the window, absentmindedly rolling a ring of keys between his fingers. The apartment that had once felt too small for four now pressed in with its emptiness. Three days earlier, Galina had taken the children and walked out.
She simply left—no screaming, no scenes—as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Only a note on the table:
“I’m sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore. We’re leaving.”
“Fine. Go,” he muttered through clenched teeth, hurling the keys onto the windowsill. “What a tragedy. Honestly, it’ll be calmer without you.”
But it wasn’t calm—not even close. Inside him, everything boiled with anger and confusion. How could she? After all these years? He’d done everything for them—worked himself to the bone, paid the bills, made sure they had what they needed. And she? She took the kids and vanished as if their whole life together meant nothing.
His phone stayed silent. Dasha and Vitya might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth. Sergey tried to call, but their numbers were unreachable. Galina’s relatives didn’t answer either—apparently they’d all agreed to shut him out.
“Fine then!” he yelled into the vacant apartment. “You think I’m going to run after you? Keep dreaming!”
That evening after work, for the first time in years, Sergey went to a supermarket. Galina had always bought groceries; he just handed over money. Now, drifting between the aisles, he felt lost.
“Can I help you find anything?” a young clerk asked, trying to be friendly.
“I’ll figure it out,” he grunted, grabbing the first ready-made meals he saw.
At home he called out by habit, “I’m home!”—then caught himself. No one was there to answer. In the kids’ room, Vitya’s bed was neatly made; on Dasha’s desk lay a forgotten physics textbook. Sergey opened the fridge automatically and pulled out a frozen pizza.
“Great,” he said aloud. “No one nagging me about ‘unhealthy food.’”
But the pizza tasted bland, and the apartment was unbearably quiet. That night he tossed and turned, listening to the nothingness. He missed Vitya’s familiar sleepy snuffling through the wall. He missed the soft rustle of pages—Dasha loved reading late. And he missed Galina’s warm breathing beside him.
The days stretched out into a dull, identical chain.
Sergey threw himself into work, staying late at the office. At home, only silence waited for him—along with a cold delivery dinner. His coworkers noticed the change but didn’t pry; he’d always kept his private life locked away.
“Sergey Viktorovich, maybe it’s time to go home?” his secretary Lyuda asked timidly around ten one night. “This is the third day you’ve stayed so late…”
“Work doesn’t wait,” he cut her off, eyes fixed on the monitor.
Only at home, in the dark of the empty apartment, it all came crashing over him. Memories arrived like uninvited guests: Vitya taking his first steps, Dasha bringing home an A in English, Galina greeting him after work in a new dress… When had he last told them something that mattered? Not about money, not about school—just… that he loved them?
A month later he stumbled upon an old photo album. Their first summer together—young, happy. Galina in a white sundress feeding pigeons, laughing with her head thrown back. When had she stopped laughing like that? When had their life turned into an endless loop of work–home–work?
“You could have called, at least out of decency,” his mother scolded him one day. “The grandkids probably miss you.”
“So you know where they are?” Sergey snapped.
“I do. And I’m not telling you. You did this yourself, son. You pushed her too far.”
“Me? I worked like a dog so they’d have everything!”
“And love? And attention? You can’t replace that with money.”
He slammed the phone down. What nonsense—love, attention… Yet a small, stubborn doubt had already begun chewing at his soul. Maybe he really had missed something. Maybe providing wasn’t the same as being present.
Once, in a supermarket, he spotted a woman who looked like Galina. The same beige coat, the same gait… His heart lurched and he rushed after her, shoving past people. But it wasn’t her.
“Sorry… I made a mistake,” he mumbled, feeling like a complete fool.
That night, for the first time in thirty years, he cried into his pillow. Without them, his life collapsed like a house of cards. And admitting it—even to himself—was terrifying.
A year flew by, like one endlessly long day.
Sergey aged, grew gaunt; more gray appeared in his hair. Colleagues whispered that the workaholic had finally gone off the rails—now he didn’t just stay late, he often slept at the office.
That day he stopped by a new shopping center near work. He wandered from counter to counter, mechanically dropping items into his basket when he heard a bright, familiar laugh. His heart skipped.
“Mom, look at these sneakers!” a voice called out, and his hands began to tremble. “Can I try them on?”
At the far end of the store stood Galina. Beside her—an almost grown girl with her hair tied back. Dasha? Could that really be his little Dasha? And a few steps away—a teenage boy almost as tall as his mother… Vitya?
Sergey froze, unable to move. A year of loneliness, a year of muted grief—and there they were, three meters away. Alive. Real. So dear to him, and yet so distant.
“Dad?” Vitya noticed him first. Surprise and caution tangled in the boy’s voice.
Galina turned. Their eyes met. She was thinner, faint new lines at the corners of her eyes. But she held herself upright, with quiet dignity.
“Hello, Sergey,” she said softly.
“I…” His voice shook. “How… how are you?”
“Fine. We’re managing.”
Dasha turned away on purpose, pretending to study the display window. Vitya shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to do.
“Can I… can I talk to you?” Sergey forced the words out. “Just five minutes.”
“What for?” His daughter’s voice was edged with steel. “You were silent for a year, and now suddenly you need something?”
“Dasha,” Galina warned. “Not here.”
“Then where?” Dasha turned to face him, looking him straight in the eyes. “When I tried calling you those first months, you didn’t pick up. When it was Vitya’s birthday, you didn’t care. So what’s changed now?”
Sergey stood there, stunned by the truth in her words.
She was right. He had built that wall himself—pride, resentment, fear all stirred into one toxic mix.
“I… I was wrong,” he finally managed. The words—words he’d never said before—came out painfully. “Forgive me. All of you.”
Vitya stepped closer. In his eyes flickered something childish and unprotected.
“Dad… do you really mean it? Or are you just saying it?”
“I mean it, son. I’ve thought about it all year. A lot.”
Galina studied him as if seeing him for the first time. Where had his constant confidence gone? In front of her stood an older, lost man.
“Maybe we should sit somewhere,” she offered, unexpectedly gentle. “There’s a café upstairs.”
The café wasn’t crowded. They took a table in the corner, away from curious eyes. They ordered tea and pastries. Dasha still kept up her deliberate silence, but at least she no longer turned away.
“You’ve lost weight,” Galina noted.
“And you…” Sergey blurted before he could stop himself. “You’re still beautiful.”
“Mom, can we just go home?” Dasha nervously crumpled her napkin. “Why are we doing this?”
“Wait,” Galina said, placing a hand over her daughter’s. “Let your father speak.”
“I know I’m to blame,” Sergey began, staring into his cup. “I thought it was enough to bring money home and solve household problems. But you… you just wanted me there. To listen, to understand, to be part of your lives.”
“You never came to my performances,” Vitya said quietly. “And I waited.”
“And you didn’t come to my graduation,” Dasha added. “You said you had an important meeting.”
“I missed everything.” Sergey lifted his gaze; his eyes glistened. “Your childhood. Your wins and your losses. Galya… do you remember how we met?”
“In the park,” she smiled faintly. “You were feeding pigeons and telling them about your dreams. I thought, what a strange, sincere man.”
“And then I stopped being sincere,” Sergey said. “I shut myself inside a world of reports and meetings.”
For the first time, Dasha looked at him without anger.
“You know, Dad… I got into university. Journalism.”
“Really?” His face brightened. “You always wrote well…”
“And I joined a basketball club,” Vitya chimed in. “Coach says I have potential.”
Sergey drank in every word, afraid to miss even a syllable. The kids slowly thawed, talking about their new life. Galina watched quietly.
“Can I… can I see you sometimes?” Sergey asked at last. “I’m not asking you to come back. Just… let me be close. Get to know you again.”
“And you won’t disappear again?” Dasha asked, doubt still in her voice.
“No. I swear. I’ve rethought everything. I finally understood money is nothing compared to family.”
“Mom?” Vitya looked to Galina for an answer.
Galina was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “Vitya has a tournament next week. If you want… come and cheer for him.”
“Really, I can?” the boy lit up.
“I’ll be there,” Sergey said firmly. “I promise.”
The next week crawled by. For the first time in a year, Sergey took a day off, bought a new suit. He wanted to look worthy at his son’s game.
The gym was loud and crowded. Sergey searched anxiously until he spotted familiar faces in the third row. Galina waved warmly.
“We’re here!”
“Dad, you really came!” Vitya burst out of the locker room in his uniform, eyes shining.
“Of course I came, son. Good luck!”
Dasha sat beside her mother, stealing glances at him. Something had changed in him—maybe his gaze had softened, maybe the hard lines in his face had eased.
“Our boy’s up!” Galina exclaimed as Vitya ran onto the court.
Sergey’s palms went damp with nerves. Vitya played brilliantly—fast, sharp, confident. The stands erupted when he sank the winning shot.
“Atta boy!” Sergey jumped up, clapping hard. “That was incredible!”
After the game, the four of them stopped at a café. Vitya, flushed with victory, chattered excitedly about every moment. Dasha laughed, teasing her brother. Galina smiled as she watched the kids.
“Thank you for letting me come,” Sergey said quietly when he and Galina were briefly alone at the table.
“You’ve changed,” she said, looking closely at him. “You’ve become… real, somehow.”
“I understood a lot this year. How stupid it was to chase a mirage of success and lose what mattered most.”
“You know,” Galina hesitated, “the kids missed you. Especially Vitya. He kept asking, ‘Why doesn’t Dad call?’”
“And you?” Sergey asked softly.
“And I… I missed you too. In spite of everything.”
After that, their meetings became regular. Every Sunday Sergey came to see the kids—walked with Vitya, listened to Dasha’s poems, learned how to be a father again. Galina watched the changes with cautious hope.
“Imagine this, Dad,” Dasha said during another family lunch, “they accepted my report for the university paper!”
“I’ll read it,” Sergey smiled. “What’s it about?”
“About how important it is to hear each other in a family. How easy it is to lose the connection—and how hard it is to rebuild.”
A silence fell. Everyone understood what the piece was really about.
“You know,” Vitya said suddenly, “I’m glad we’re together again. Even if we don’t live in the same apartment.”
Galina discreetly wiped away a tear.
“We’re all glad, sweetheart.”
That evening, walking his former family home, Sergey finally gathered the courage.
“Galya… maybe… maybe we can try again. I know we can’t fix everything overnight, but—”
“Do you really want that?” she asked, stopping to search his face.
“More than anything. I realized without you, my life is empty. All those promotions, all that ‘success’—it’s worth nothing if there’s no one to tell about it at night.”
“And work?” she asked. “It was always more important than anything else.”
“I quit last week,” Sergey admitted. “I found a new position with normal hours. Now I’ll be home by six.”
Galina said nothing, and he hurried to add, “I’m not rushing you. Just… give me a chance to make it right.”
“You know,” she said slowly, “I learned a lot this year too. Leaving was scary. Starting over was even scarier. But sometimes you have to lose something to understand its value.”
The kids stood a few steps away, holding their breath. Dasha squeezed her brother’s hand tightly.
“I’m not asking you to come back right away,” Sergey said, carefully taking Galina’s hand. “Let’s start small. Maybe we go somewhere—just the two of us. Like when we were young.”
“To the park?” she smiled. “To feed the pigeons?”
“And tell them about our dreams,” he smiled back, remembering their first meeting.
“Yes!” Vitya couldn’t hold it in. “So you’ll try?”
“We’ll try,” Galina nodded. “But this time everything will be different. Right, Sergey?”
“Right,” he said. “I won’t let go of what matters again.”
Dasha stepped closer to her parents.
“Can I write about this?” she asked. “About how love is stronger than pride and resentment?”
“Write it, sweetheart.” Sergey pulled her into a hug. “Just make sure it has a happy ending.”
The four of them stood together, arms around each other, and each of them felt it—life was giving them a second chance. A chance to be a real family again, where the most important thing wasn’t career or money, but the ability to hear one another, to stay close, to love without conditions.
“By the way,” Sergey remembered with a small smile, “I have a new dream.”
“What is it?” Galina asked.
“To learn how to be happy,” he said. “Together with you.”
Snowflakes swirled in the light of the streetlamps and settled on their shoulders. Ahead lay a whole new life—different, but real. And now they knew for sure: the most important thing is not to lose each other while chasing an illusion. Because true happiness isn’t measured in money—it’s measured in the warmth of home and the love of the people waiting inside.