— I’m happy with you, — he said one day. — I don’t need anything else.
— Me too.
— Then let’s just be together. No obligations, no plans. Just together.
— Deal.
Her parents met Andrei in July. He came to Dnipro with Marina for her mother’s birthday. Her father looked him up and down and grunted.
— Well, at least he looks like a decent person. Not like the last one.
— Dad! — Marina protested.
— What? I’m telling the truth.
Andrei laughed.
— Stepan Vasilyevich, I’ll try to live up to your trust.
— We’ll see, we’ll see.
But it was clear: her father liked him. And her mother did too.
— He’s a good guy, — she whispered to Marina in the kitchen. — Hold on to him.
— Mom, we just started dating.
— So what? I married your father after three months. And here we are, 36 years together.
— Times were different.
— Times are different, people are the same. When you meet your person, you feel it.
Marina said nothing. She wasn’t sure if Andrei was her person. But she was happy with him. And for now, that was enough.
In the fall, exactly one year after the ill-fated anniversary, Marina visited her parents again. Alone, without Andrei. He had flown to a conference in Madrid. In the evening, the three of them sat on the veranda, drinking tea. September was warm, almost like summer.
— A year has passed, — her mother said thoughtfully. — So quickly.
— Indeed, — her father shook his head. — A lot has happened.
Marina looked at them—older, grayer, but so dear—and felt her heart fill with warmth.
— Thank you, — she said.
— For what? — her mother was surprised.
— For everything. For being there. For supporting me. For not judging me.
— Honey, we’re family. How could it be any other way?
— It can be different. I’ve seen it.
Her father covered her hand with his.
— Marinochka, you are our pride. You always have been and always will be. Whatever happens, remember that.
— I remember, Daddy.
They sat in silence, watching the sun set. Red, huge. It slowly sank below the horizon, painting the sky in pink and orange hues.
— Beautiful, — her mother whispered.
— Yes, very.
Marina thought about the past year. About what she had been through. The pain, the disappointment, the loneliness. And about what she had gained in return: freedom, peace, herself. She was no longer Oleg’s wife, no longer Tamara Nikolaevna’s daughter-in-law, no longer part of someone else’s story. She was just Marina—her parents’ daughter, a woman who knew her worth. And that was the best thing that could have happened to her.
The call came unexpectedly. Marina glanced at the screen. An unknown number.
— Hello?
— Marina? — the voice was female, unfamiliar. — This is Lyudmila, Tamara Nikolaevna’s neighbor.
Her heart skipped a beat.
— What is it?
— I… I feel awkward calling, but… Tamara Nikolaevna is in the hospital. A stroke. The doctors say it’s severe.
— And what does that have to do with me?
— She asked… she asked for you. Before she… Well, you understand.
Marina was silent.
— Hello? Can you hear me?
— I can hear you.
— So, will you come?
Marina wanted to say “no.” She wanted to hang up and forget about this call. This woman, her former mother-in-law, had done everything to ruin her life. Why should she go to her now? But something stopped her.
— Which hospital?
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