The summer house in Zatoka was filled with sunshine and children’s laughter. Snezhana was 45. 8 years of marriage to Vitaliy. Anna, 15, was reading a book on the terrace overlooking the sea. Ten-year-old Gleb was learning to fly a kite with his father on the beach below.
Snezhana sat in a deck chair with a glass of wine, thinking about that night 20 years ago. The dust, the hotel room floor, the words “bland as kefir,” spoken by the man she had entrusted with her life. She remembered the second she almost stayed, thinking, “Maybe if I love him hard enough, he’ll choose me.”
Thank God she didn’t listen to that voice. She chose anger, she chose war. People asked her how she was able to trust again. The answer was simple. The darkness had taught her to recognize the light. Vadim had taught her what love is not. Love is not a secret plan, not turning someone into kefir so they don’t outshine you.
Love is Vitaliy, carving a crooked wooden cat. Love is a father, standing by you in court. Love is paying for treatment for the child of the man who broke your heart.
— Snezhana, look! — Vitaliy shouted from the beach. — It’s flying!
The kite was rising into the sky over the Black Sea, fighting the wind, gaining altitude until it caught a current and began to dance against the clouds. Snezhana Fedorovna Tikhomirova. Mother, CEO. Wife, a woman who didn’t let a stupid joke turn against her.
No matter how dark it is under the bed, there is always a way out. You just have to be brave enough to open the door.
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