Need company? I can come over with wine and chocolate.”
“I have wine,” Evelina smiled, typing her reply. “But chocolate wouldn’t hurt, just not today. I need to be alone.”
“I get it. Hang in there, friend. I’m with you.”
Evelina put her phone away and looked out the window again. The rain had intensified, turning the street into a blurred canvas of gray and blue hues. Her mood, strangely enough, did not match the weather. Inside, it was quiet and clear, as if after a long storm. Tomorrow would be a new day; she would go to work, meet with her team, immerse herself in projects, and in the evening, visit her parents. Life goes on, and now it would be her own life — without compromises with Klavdiya Gennadyevna, without the need to prove her worth to people who couldn’t see it.
The key turned in the lock with a soft click. Timur froze on the threshold, feeling a strange mixture of anxiety and relief. After a week in the hospital, the apartment felt both familiar and alien. He carefully stepped into the hallway, trying not to make any sudden movements. The doctor had warned him that his shoulder would hurt for at least another month.
— Evelina! — Timur called out, although he already knew deep down there would be no answer.
The silence of the apartment confirmed his premonition. He walked into the living room and froze. Many small things were missing: books from the shelves, the vase on the coffee table, the blanket on the sofa. It was as if an invisible hand had carefully erased a part of their shared life, leaving only an outline. On the dining table lay a folder with documents. Timur slowly approached and opened it. A petition for divorce. Two copies, already signed by Evelina. And a short note asking him to sign and send them to the indicated address. No “dearest,” no “I’m sorry,” no “maybe we can try again.” Just a businesslike request and a signature.
Timur sank onto a chair, trying to process the reality of the situation. Could five years of marriage really end like this — with a cold note and divorce papers? He remembered Evelina’s words in the hospital: “I’m leaving.” At the time, it had seemed like a threat, not a statement of fact.
The phone in his pocket vibrated. It was his mother.
— Timurchik, are you home? How was the trip? Did the doctor let you travel alone?
— Yes, Mom. Everything’s fine. I took a taxi.
— Is the apartment intact? Did that… woman… not trash the place? — Timur winced at the phrasing.
— Evelina took her things. Everything is tidy.
— Well, thank God. I was afraid she’d destroy everything out of spite. Did you check? Is anything valuable missing? Are my things there?
— Your bags are where you left them. — Timur rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head was starting to ache. — Mom, I need to rest. I’ll call you later.
— Alright, my son. They promised to discharge me in three days. The doctor says my hip is serious. It will take a long time to recover.
— I understand. Get well soon.
He hung up and looked at the documents again. Five years together. Plans for the future, shared holidays, trips. And it all fell apart in a single moment when his mother appeared on the doorstep with an ultimatum.
“I should have talked to her properly,” Timur thought. “Explained the situation, asked her to wait, discussed it with Evelina.” But, as usual, he had chosen the path of least resistance. Just as he always did when it came to his mother.
His hand reached for the phone. Call Evelina? Apologize? Beg her to come back? But what would he say when his mother actually moved in in a few days? Timur put the phone down. No, he wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not now.
Instead, he went to the closet in the bedroom, looking for a clean t-shirt. Opening the doors, he froze: half of the hangers were empty, and drawers were also missing things. Evelina had really left and taken everything of hers. As if hypnotized, Timur went into the bathroom. Her jars of creams, hairbrush, and favorite perfume were gone from the shelf. Only his razor, shaving foam, and deodorant remained — the things she had brought him to the hospital. The reality of the situation began to hit him with deafening clarity. His wife was gone. For good.
Timur returned to the living room and sat at the table. The divorce papers stared back at him with a silent reproach. He had to make a decision.
Three days later, Klavdiya Gennadyevna returned from the hospital. A taxi driver brought in her bags, and she herself entered, leaning on a cane, with the expression of a martyr on her face.
— Oh, son, how I suffered! — she announced from the doorway. — Those hospital beds are real torture! And the food! Can you even call that food?
Timur helped his mother get comfortable on the sofa, placing pillows behind her back.
— How’s your hip?
— It hurts, of course! — Klavdiya Gennadyevna replied indignantly. — The doctor says it will take several months to recover. It’s a good thing I’m here with you now. My son will take care of his mother, won’t he?
Timur nodded, feeling something tighten inside him. He vividly remembered their cozy evenings with Evelina, watching movies, snuggled up together on this very sofa.
— Where is she? That woman of yours?
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