— Anya, it was a last-minute deal, such a great price! I thought you’d be happy, but you’re sitting there with a face like I’ve given you a punishment instead of a gift, — a note of irritation appeared in his voice.
Anna felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she had become too suspicious? Maybe her husband really just wanted to do something nice?
— No, of course not, I just wasn’t expecting it. Thank you, of course. It’s just that I need to organize things at work, give notice…
— You’ll give notice tomorrow. Call the director, say it’s for family reasons. Or take sick leave. Anya, don’t complicate things. It’s two weeks of vacation. Other women dream of this.
Anna nodded. There was logic in his words, but a nagging feeling remained. She looked at the ticket again, running her finger over the dates. Two weeks in Turkey. Alone. Without her husband, without her children, without her usual surroundings. On one hand, it sounded like a dream: the sea, the sun, no responsibilities. On the other hand, in 20 years of marriage, she had gotten used to them doing everything together, even if that “togetherness” had long become a formality.
In the evening, she began to pack, taking summer clothes out of the closet, a swimsuit she hadn’t worn in years. Igor bustled around her, suggesting what to take, even getting an old suitcase down from the top shelf.
— See, it’s working out great. You’ll rest, come back refreshed and full of energy. And I’ll try to manage on my own here without you, — he said, and Anna noticed he was avoiding eye contact, fussing with things, rearranging something.
She packed dresses, T-shirts, shorts, a cosmetic bag with creams, a book she had long meant to read, and a phone charger into the suitcase. All the little things that are essential for any trip. Igor brought her shampoo and shower gel from the bathroom.
— Maybe you shouldn’t take it? They have everything at the hotel, — he said.
— I’m used to my own. I have sensitive skin.
— Alright, as you wish.
They packed in silence, only occasionally exchanging short phrases. Anna suddenly thought that they hadn’t had a real conversation in a long time. Not about bills, or shopping, or fixing the tap in the kitchen. But just about life, about feelings, about what was on their minds. When did that happen? When did they become strangers?
She remembered how it all began. She was 28, Igor was 30. They met at a mutual friend’s wedding. He was a manager at a trading company, she was a librarian. He seemed reliable, solid. Not handsome, not a romantic, but a man you could count on. He courted her persistently, gave her flowers, took her to cafes. Six months later, he proposed. The wedding was modest but cheerful. They spent their honeymoon in Odessa, renting a room by the sea. Then Katya was born, and three years later, Maxim.
Igor gradually built his career, started his own business — a small wholesale trade of building materials. Business was good; they bought an apartment, a car. They lived like many others: not rich, but not poor either. And then, imperceptibly, everything changed. Igor started spending more time at work. She focused on the children, the house. Conversations became shorter, more superficial. Intimacy disappeared, leaving only habit. And now, with the children grown and gone, they were left alone — two people with almost nothing to say to each other.
She barely slept that night. She lay staring at the ceiling, listening to her husband’s steady breathing beside her. When was the last time they had a heart-to-heart talk? When was the last time she felt needed by him not as a housekeeper, cook, and laundress, but as a woman, as a beloved? The years had flown by unnoticed. First, there was love, passion, plans. Then children, daily life, work. Then the children grew up, and the intimacy with her husband evaporated. They became strangers under the same roof.
Anna turned on her side, looking at the sleeping Igor. In the dim light, his face seemed unfamiliar. Wrinkles near his eyes that weren’t there before, gray in his hair. They had both aged, changed. Or maybe they had just forgotten how to see each other?
The next morning, she called work, citing family circumstances. The library director, Marina Sergeevna, was understanding: Anna was a responsible employee who never took time off without a good reason.
— Take a rest, Anna Petrovna. You truly deserve it. How many years have you been working with us? Eighteen? And you’ve never let us down. Two weeks will fly by, we’ll manage here.
— Thank you, Marina Sergeevna. I’m so sorry it’s so sudden.
— Don’t be silly! You have to live for yourself sometimes too. Sunbathe, swim. And bring back photos to show us.
Anna hung up the phone and felt a little lighter in her chest. At least someone had said kind words to her without a hidden subtext, without a double meaning. Marina Sergeevna was a good person, a fair boss. At the library, Anna felt needed, useful. She was valued there. Readers thanked her for her help in selecting books, and her colleagues respected her experience. It was the part of her life that gave her a sense of self-worth.
The day was spent on final preparations. Igor was surprisingly active: he checked if she had taken everything, reminded her about documents, money, her phone. In the evening, he even made dinner, frying potatoes with sausages, which was a rarity because Anna usually did all the cooking.
— We’ll leave at eight tomorrow morning to be on time without rushing. I’ll drive you, help with the luggage, — he said at dinner.
— You don’t have to go, I’ll take a taxi, — Anna suggested.
— What are you talking about, of course I’ll drive you. What taxi, I’m your husband.
They ate in silence. The TV was on in the living room, the voices of some talk show hosts drifting from there. Anna looked at Igor and thought that he was behaving strangely. Too caring, too fussy. As if he was in a hurry to do something, to finish, to send her off as quickly as possible.
— Igor, maybe I really shouldn’t go anywhere?
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