Thirty days, Pasha. That’s all you have left.” Anna stood by the window, watching the falling snow. In the reflection of the glass, she saw her husband freeze with a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth.
“What do you mean thirty days?” his voice sounded bewildered. “That’s what I mean. One month to change something. Or I’m filing for divorce.”
Pavel slowly set down his cup. Over the years of their marriage, he had learned to read his wife’s intonations like an open book. Now, her voice lacked the usual tired resignation of their last arguments. Was this something else—determination? “Anya, let’s not…”
“No, we will,” she turned sharply. “You know what Alyosha told me yesterday? ‘Mom, I don’t want to get married. Ever. Because I don’t want to be as unhappy as you.'”
Pavel flinched. Their sixteen-year-old daughter had always been observant—too observant for her age.
“We’re not unhappy,” he tried to object. “We’re just… tired.”
“Tired of what, Pash? Of love? Of closeness? Of heart-to-heart talks?” Anna bitterly smiled. “That’s been gone a long time. We’re like roommates—polite, tidy, but strangers.”
Outside, the snow continued to fall. Somewhere on the street, a couple laughed loudly. Anna involuntarily remembered how fifteen years ago, she and Pasha had wandered through snowy streets, holding hands, believing their love would last forever.
“Do you remember how you proposed to me?” she suddenly asked.
Pavel smiled:
“On the rooftop of the dorm. You were afraid of heights, but you followed me anyway.”
“Because I trusted you. I believed you wouldn’t let me fall.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m falling, Pash. A little every day. And you don’t even notice.”
The door slammed in the hallway—Alyosha had returned. A displeased “are you arguing again?” was heard followed by the sound of her room door closing.
Pavel leaned tiredly on his arm:
“And what do you suggest?”
“Thirty days. Every day—a new attempt to remember why we chose each other. To find what we’ve lost. Or… to say goodbye.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then it doesn’t work,” Anna shrugged. “At least we’ll know we tried. Really tried, not just pretended everything was okay.”
Pavel stood up, walked to the window. Their reflections overlaid each other—just like long ago, when they were one whole.
“Thirty days,” he repeated slowly. “And where do we start?”
“With the truth,” Anna turned to him. “Complete and honest. No understatement, no ‘I’m fine’ and ‘everything’s normal.’ Ready?”
He looked into her eyes—tired, but resolute. Once, he could read everything in them: love, tenderness, passion. How had they become so impenetrable?
“Ready,” Pavel replied, feeling a lump in his throat.
In her room, Alyosha sat, pressing her ear to the door, and silently cried. On her phone flashed an unread message from Dimka: “Maybe go to the movies?” She deleted it without opening it. What movies when a whole world was collapsing behind the wall?
Day one began with silence. Unusual, ringing like a taut string. Usually, in the mornings, Pavel hurriedly drank coffee, Anna prepared Alyosha for school, everyone spoke automatically: “good morning,” “don’t forget the umbrella,” “I’ll be late.” Today they were silent, as if afraid to scare something important away.
“I’ll take a day off,” Pavel suddenly said.
Anna froze with the coffee pot in hand:
“But you have a meeting…”
“To hell with the meeting. Twenty years in this company, never took a sick day. They’ll survive.”
Alyosha looked up from her phone:
“Dad, are you sick?”
“No, sunshine. I just want to spend the day with your mom.”
“And…,” Alyosha looked from one parent to another. “Is this because of last night’s conversation?”
Anna and Pavel exchanged glances. Their daughter was no longer a child who could be fooled by a routine “everything’s fine.”
“Yes,” Anna simply replied. “We’re trying… to fix what’s broken.”
“Like that old radio of grandpa’s?” Alyosha suddenly smiled. “Remember how dad fixed it? Spent three days messing with it, filled the kitchen with parts…”
“And he did it!” Pavel proudly declared.
“Only it then caught only one station—Chinese radio,” Anna laughed.
And suddenly all three fell silent, realizing that for the first time in a long time, they were laughing together.
When Alyosha left for school, Pavel turned to his wife:
“Remember, you talked about the truth? Let’s start from the moment when everything went wrong.”
Anna sat down at the table, clutching a cup of cooled coffee:
“And you know that moment?”
“I think so. Three years ago, when I turned down a promotion.”
“What?” she looked at her husband in surprise. “What does a promotion have to do with it?”
“Because after that, you stopped trusting me. Decided I was a weakling, that I couldn’t take risks…”
“Pash,” Anna shook her head, “I never thought that. I was glad you turned it down.”
“Glad?” now it was his turn to be surprised. “But you said then…”
“I said I respected your choice. And it was true. You know why?”
She stood up, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out an old box of photographs. She took one out and handed it to her husband:
“Remember this day?”
In the picture, a little Alyosha, about five, sat on her father’s shoulders. Both were laughing, with a ferris wheel visible behind them.
“Of course I remember. It was a Saturday, I canceled an important meeting because I promised her a trip to the park…”
“Exactly,” Anna sat down next to him. “You’ve always been like that—family first, then work. And that promotion… it would have changed everything. Trips, meetings on weekends, endless calls. I’ve seen how the families of top managers live. And you know what? I didn’t want that life.”
Pavel was silent, looking at the photo.
“Then why… why did we start drifting apart after that?”
Anna sadly smiled:
“Because I decided I had to compensate for your refusal of a career. I went to work full time, took on extra projects… I thought I had to prove that I could also provide for the family.”
“But I never asked…”
“That’s just it, Pash. We both did what we thought was right for the family. And forgot to ask each other what we really wanted.”
She pulled out another photo—their wedding. Young, happy, endlessly in love.
“You know what I remember about that day?” asked Anna. “Not the dress, not the cake, not the guests. But how you whispered silly jokes to me during the toastmaster’s speech so I wouldn’t be nervous.”
Pavel smiled:
“And I remember how you hid a little toy elephant in your bouquet—because you knew I loved them.”
“Where did all that go, Pash? When did we stop sharing such silliness?”
He took her hand—for the first time in a long time, just because:
“Maybe when we decided to be too grown-up and serious?”
At that moment, Anna’s phone vibrated. A message from Alyosha: “Mom, can I come home early today too? Watch old photos together?”
In the evening, they sat on the living room floor, surrounded by photographs, old movie tickets, notes, and other evidence of the past. Alyosha held a worn album in her hands.
“What’s this place?” she pointed at a photo where young Anna and Pavel stood against a backdrop of some strange building with turrets.
“Oh, that’s a story!” Pavel came alive. “We had just met then. I tried to impress her and took her to see an abandoned mansion…”
“Which turned out to be a functioning retirement home,” Anna snorted. “And they mistook us for new orderlies!”
“But the grandmothers were thrilled,” Pavel laughed. “Especially Maria Stepanovna, who decided I was her grandson Borya from Saratov.”
“And made you play bingo with her for three hours!” Anna wiped tears of laughter. “And I entertained the other residents with songs on a detuned piano for those three hours.”
Alyosha looked at her parents in astonishment. She hadn’t seen them this… alive for a long time.
“Why don’t you do such silly things anymore?” she suddenly asked.
The laughter died down. Anna and Pavel looked at each other.
“Probably because we decided that adults aren’t supposed to,” Anna quietly said. “Mortgage, career, household chores… When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to, Pash?”
Pavel thought:
“You know… I don’t remember. But we used to constantly come up with adventures. Remember when we went to tango classes?”
“Oh, Lord, exactly!” Anna covered her face with her hands. “We were terrible!”
“But it was fun! And our instructor, remember? ‘Passion! Where is the passion? You dance like an accountant with a passport officer!'”
“You really went to tango?” Alyosha stared at her parents wide-eyed. “Is there a video?”
“No!” both exclaimed in unison.
“But there’s something else,” Pavel stood up and extended his hand to his wife. “Remember the moves?”
“Pash, are you crazy? How many years has it been!”
“All the more reason!” he turned on his phone, found some melody. “Come on, Anya. When was the last time we did something crazy?”
Anna hesitated. Thoughts of unwashed dishes, unironed laundry, and unfinished reports swirled in her head… And then she looked into her husband’s eyes and saw that same boy who once dragged her to the dormitory rooftop.
“Just don’t film it!” she strictly told her daughter, placing her hand in Pavel’s palm.
Of course, they got confused, mixed up steps, stepped on each other’s feet. But something happened in this clumsy dance—as if the crack in the wall that had separated them for the last few years was getting a little smaller.
“Mom, Dad,” Alyosha’s voice trembled with suppressed laughter, “you’re terrible! But… this is so cool!”
At that moment, the door turned with a key—Olga, Anna’s best friend who had spare keys “just in case,” appeared at the threshold.
“Oops,” she froze at the doorway, watching the dancing couple. “Am I interrupting? I’ve been calling you all evening, and nobody picked up, I got worried…”
“Aunt Olga!” Alyosha rushed to her. “Did you know they used to dance tango?”
“Did I know?” Olga leaned against the door frame. – I even attended that very performance where your dad tore his pants trying to do a particularly flashy ocho!
“Olga!” Pavel protested, but it was too late.
“What?!” Alyosha grabbed her phone. “This needs to be recorded immediately! Dad, tell me!”
Anna looked at her husband, still holding her waist, at their laughing daughter, at her friend wiping tears of laughter… And suddenly realized: here it is. What they had been missing. Not passion, not money, not success—but this simple ability to laugh together, to be silly, alive, real.
But then Olga stopped laughing and looked at her friend strangely:
“Let’s go make coffee?” – she pulled Anna into the kitchen and whispered, – I’m actually here for you. Marina… Well, Victor came back to her. Shall we go?…
…Marina sat in Olga’s kitchen, mechanically stirring long-cooled tea. Her eyes were red from tears, and in her hand, she clutched a crumpled photo.
“And he just came,” she said when Anna entered the kitchen. “Stands at the doorstep with a suitcase and says: ‘Sorry. I’ve realized everything.’ Can you imagine?”
Anna silently hugged her friend. Three years ago, Victor had left Marina for a younger colleague, leaving her with two children and a mortgage. And now…
“I don’t know what to do,” Marina sobbed. “The kids miss their father. I… I miss him too. But how to forgive?”
Anna remembered their evening with Pavel, the clumsy dance, Alyosha’s laughter…
“Do you want to forgive?” she quietly asked.
“I don’t know…” Marina lifted tear-filled eyes. “I’m scared, Anya. Scared to trust again and get burned again. It’s easier to hold a grudge than to risk your heart, you know?”
Anna understood. All too well.
“You know,” she sat next to her friend, “Pavel and I are also at a crossroads right now. And I suddenly realized one thing: sometimes we’re so afraid of losing love that we kill it ourselves with our fear.”
At that moment, her phone vibrated. A message from Pavel: “Everything alright? Alyosha is worried. And so am I…”
Anna smiled and began typing a response, but then Marina said something that took her breath away:
“Vitya said he realized one thing… That there are no perfect relationships. There are living ones and dead ones. Living ones are when it hurts, it’s scary, it’s hard, but you still try. Dead ones are when everything seems right, but inside it’s empty.”
Olga peeked into the kitchen:
“Ladies, maybe some wine? To living relationships?”
“I can’t,” Anna stood up. “They’re waiting for me at home.”
At the doorway, she turned back:
“Marin… Ask him what he will do when it gets hard again? When the euphoria of reconciliation subsides, when everyday life returns…”
“What do you and Pavel do?”
“We’re learning to dance,” Anna laughed. “And you know… it works better than all the serious talks.”
She returned home late. The apartment was dark, only a strip of light slipped under Alyosha’s room door. Anna peeked in—her daughter slept at the table, her head resting on an open textbook. Next to her lay a phone with an open chat:
“Dim, it’s so cool! Imagine, they used to dance tango! My parents, who now only talk about work!” “And now what?” “Now… it seems, they’re learning to dance again. And you know, it’s so cool…”
Anna gently covered her daughter with a blanket and left. In the bedroom, Pavel pretended to sleep, but she felt his tension.
“How’s Marina?” he asked as she lay next to him.
“Victor came back.”
“And?”
“And I realized I don’t want to be like them, Pash. I don’t want to push it to the point of no return, only to spend years gluing the pieces back together.”
She turned to her husband:
“Remember what you told me on the dormitory rooftop?”
“That if you fall, I’ll fall with you?”
“No. You said: ‘Let’s learn to fly together.'”
In the darkness, she found his hand:
“Maybe it’s not too late to start learning?”
The next morning, Pavel woke up to an unusual smell. It smelled of burned pancakes and… cinnamon? He opened his eyes and didn’t immediately understand what time it was—the sun was already shining brightly through the window.
“I overslept!” he sat up sharply and reached for his phone.
“You didn’t oversleep,” Anna appeared in the doorway with a tray. “I called Sergey, told him you’re taking a day off. And I got myself a day off too.”
“You what?..” Pavel looked bewildered at the tray, where a pile of blackened pancakes, adorned with some berries, was displayed.
“I decided to remember how I used to make you breakfast during our first year at university, remember?” she smiled sheepishly. “Though, it seems my culinary skills haven’t improved since then…”
“Wait,” he looked closely at her face. “You’ve got flour on your nose. And… did you put on makeup?”
Anna blushed:
“Silly, right? To put on makeup at forty…”
“No,” he suddenly felt his heart squeeze. “Not silly at all. You… you’re very beautiful.”
In the hallway, there was a noise and Alyosha’s voice:
“Mom! Those pancakes of yours… Basically, I ordered delivery! And also… Dim is coming over in half an hour, we’ll go to school together, okay?”
Pavel looked questioningly at his wife:
“Dim?”
“That very Dim who’s been trying to invite our daughter to the movies for a month,” Anna smiled. “Imagine, she agreed yesterday. Said that, looking at us, she realized—sometimes you need to take risks.”
“Oh God,” groaned Pavel, “just don’t tell me our daughter is taking an example from our… strange attempts to save our marriage.”
“I think it’s a good example,” Anna sat on the edge of the bed. “You know, what struck me at Marina’s yesterday? She said Victor spent three years building perfect relationships with another woman. Did everything right: flowers on Fridays, dinners in restaurants, joint plans… And then he realized he was suffocating from this correctness.”
She took the most burned pancake from the tray:
“Like these pancakes. I spent an hour learning to make perfect ones—thin, lacy, like on the internet. Then I spit it out and started baking them as I know how. Because… it’s more honest?”
Pavel looked at his wife, sitting on the edge of their bed with a burned pancake in her hand, with flour on her nose and carefully applied eye makeup, and suddenly realized: he was falling in love again. With her imperfection, with this mix of strength and vulnerability, with her readiness to be herself.
“And remember,” he moved closer, “how you tried to teach me to cook borscht?”
“Oh no,” she laughed, “not that story!”
“Why not? I think it’s very indicative! Especially the part when I confused beet with radish…”
“And the borscht turned green!”
“But it was original!”
They were laughing when Alyosha peeked into the room:
“Guys, am I interrupting?”
And she paused. Because her parents were sitting on the bed, smeared with flour, with burned pancakes, and laughing like teenagers.
“Mom, Dad…” she hesitated. “Can I also skip school today? Just once! Dim says there’s some festival in the park today…”
Anna and Pavel looked at each other.
“No,” Pavel said sternly. “Not alone.”
“Dad!” Alyosha protested.
“We’ll go with you,” he finished and winked at his wife. “We’ll also check if we can still fly.”
In the park, there indeed was a street culture festival. Youth danced breakdance, artists painted graffiti, someone played on homemade drums.
“Mom, Dad, you’re embarrassing me!” Alyosha laughed, watching her parents, holding hands, trying to mimic the street dancers.
“Hey, whose idea was it to skip school?” Pavel retorted.
Dim, who initially felt awkward with the presence of his almost-girlfriend’s parents, gradually relaxed and now filmed them on his phone:
“This is just bomb! Alic, your ancestors are cool!”
Anna, flushed and tousled, caught her husband’s gaze. That same look that once made a young college student’s knees wobble.
“You know,” Pavel whispered, drawing her closer, “I think we’re starting to remember…”
“What to remember?”
“How to be alive.”
In the evening, when they sat in the kitchen, tired and happy, Marina called.
“Anya…” her friend’s voice sounded uncertain. “I told Victor ‘yes.'”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I’m ready to try again. I set a condition: no attempts to be perfect. Enough. We’ll be real—with all our mistakes, fears, silliness…”
Anna looked at her husband, who was trying to wipe the paint off his jeans—they accidentally got into someone’s still wet graffiti.
“You know, Marin, I think it’s the only way.”
A week later, Pavel’s parents came over for dinner. Anna cooked her signature “green borscht”—now deliberately with radish instead of beet. It had become their family joke and tradition.
“Kids,” his mother suddenly said, watching her son and daughter-in-law exchange glances across the table, “I’ve been wanting to ask… Is something going on?”
“Why do you think so?” Anna smiled.
“Well, you seem… different.”
“Mom,” Pavel took his wife’s hand, “remember, you always said that love is work?”
“I remember, of course.”
“Well, you were wrong. Love isn’t work. It’s courage. The courage to be real, to laugh at yourself, to admit mistakes…”
“And the courage to eat my borscht!” Anna chimed in.
Everyone laughed. And Alyosha, who had been texting Dim under the table all evening, suddenly looked up:
“Mom, Dad… You’ll stay together, right?”
Anna looked at the calendar. Two weeks had passed since that conversation about thirty days. And she had completely forgotten to count the days.
“You know, sunshine,” she squeezed her husband’s hand, “we’re not going anywhere. Because you can’t leave yourself. And we’ve finally found our true selves.”
“In green borscht and street dancing?” Alyosha giggled.
“And in them too,” Pavel smiled. “By the way, who wants to learn to dance break-dance?”
“Not that!” everyone exclaimed in unison.
But a month later, they all signed up for dance lessons. Not break-dance, but Argentine tango. Because, as Anna said: “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, do it beautifully!”
And six months later, Marina invited them to her renewed wedding with Victor. Simple, homely, without pomp and splendor. But with sincere smiles, real feelings, and… tango from Anna and Pavel.
It turned out that love doesn’t live in perfect candlelit dinners and beautiful posts on social networks. It lives in burned pancakes, clumsy dances, honest conversations, and the courage to be yourself. Because real love isn’t a beautiful picture. It’s the stories we write together, with all their smudges and corrections.