“Because I don’t want to.”
Andrey clenched his jaws.
“Fine, then I’m moving. I’ll take my things and leave.”
“Good.”
He got up, went into the bedroom, took a large sports bag out of the closet. Started packing things. Lida stood in the doorway, watching. Andrey threw clothes into the bag, crumpling carelessly. Hands trembling. He didn’t look at Lida.
“You’ll regret it,” he said without turning around. “When I leave, you’ll regret it.”
“Maybe,” agreed Lida, “you will be lonely, difficult, and no one to come to for help.”
“I’ll manage.” Andrey turned to her. Face red, eyes shining. “I loved you,” he said in a breaking voice. “Four years. I tried. I wanted you to feel good.”
“You wanted yourself to feel good,” corrected Lida. “And I had to service your desires.”
“That’s not true.”
“True. You spent my money to impress mother. You invited guests to show them how successful you are. And I had to provide this spectacle. For free.”
Andrey stood breathing heavily.
“I made a mistake. Once. And you crossed me out for it.”
“You made mistakes many times,” said Lida quietly. “I just kept quiet. Tolerated. Hoped you would change. But you didn’t change. You became worse.”
Andrey threw the last t-shirt into the bag. Zipped it up. Picked up the bag.
“Okay. Leaving. Hope you’ll be good alone.”
“I’m already good,” answered Lida.
Andrey walked past her without looking. Went out into the corridor. Put on his jacket, boots. Took the keys to the apartment. Twirled them in his hand. Put them on the nightstand by the door.
“Here. I won’t come back.”
Lida nodded.
Andrey opened the door. Went out onto the stairwell. Turned around.
“Goodbye, Lida.”
“Goodbye.”
The door closed.
Lida remained standing in the corridor. Listened to steps receding down the stairs, the entrance door slamming. Then silence. She approached the nightstand. Took the keys. Cold, metallic, with a keychain in the form of a small car. She gave him this keychain for his birthday two years ago. Lida squeezed the keys in her palm. Stood like that for a few seconds. Then put them back on the nightstand.
Returned to the kitchen. Sat at the table, finished the cold tea. Stood up, washed the cup. Wiped her hands. Looked at the oak board leaning against the wall. Approached. Took it in her hands. Heavy. Beautiful. Useless. Lida carried the board to the storage room. Put it behind old boxes. Away from eyes.
Returned to the kitchen. Turned on the kettle again. Took the remains of cottage cheese from the fridge. Cut a piece of bread. Sat at the table. It was getting dark outside. Streetlights came on. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Lida ate slowly, in small pieces. Drank tea. Looked out the window. Her chest felt empty. Quiet. Calm.
She got up. Washed the dishes. Wiped the table. Walked through the apartment turning off lights. Locked herself in the bedroom. Lay on the bed. Took her phone. Opened chat with Alla. Wrote: “He moved out.”
Alla replied immediately: “Finally. How are you?”
Lida looked at the message. Typed reply: “Good.”
Put the phone on the nightstand. Closed eyes. Tomorrow a new life will begin. Without Andrey. Without his claims. Without his mother. Without his attempts to shift responsibility for his mistakes onto her. Just her. Alone. In her apartment. In her life.
Lida turned on her side. Pulled the blanket to her chin. Fell asleep quickly. Calmly. Without dreams.
On January 9th at half past nine in the morning Lida woke up to silence. Unaccustomed, absolute silence. No sound of footsteps behind the wall. No coughing from the bathroom. No creaking of office doors. The apartment was silent. She got up. Walked through the rooms. Living room empty, sofa made. Office—door wide open. Dust on table. Bathroom doesn’t smell of his shower gel. Only her cup in the drainer in the kitchen. Andrey was gone.
Lida brewed coffee. Sat by the window. Wet snow was falling outside. Gray and joyless. January 9th. Holidays ended. The city was waking up after a prolonged hangover, returning to work, to routine. Lida drank coffee in small sips. Her chest felt empty but calm. As if something heavy that pressed for years finally disappeared. She could breathe fully.
Phone vibrated on the table. Lida glanced at screen. Andrey. Message: “Lid, I need to pick up remaining stuff. Can I come by this evening?”
Lida looked at screen for a few seconds. Then typed reply: “You can. After six. I’ll be home.” Sent. Put down phone. Finished coffee.
Andrey arrived exactly at six. Lida opened the door. He stood on the threshold with an empty backpack, in an old jacket, face gray, eyes not looking up. She stepped aside, letting him in.
“Thanks,” he grumbled and went into the bedroom.
Lida remained in the corridor. Listened to him opening the closet, taking out things, putting in backpack. Sounds were quiet, cautious, as if he feared disturbing the space. Ten minutes later he came out. Backpack stuffed, bag with shoes hanging on shoulder. Andrey stopped at the door.
“That’s all,” he said. “Nothing left…”
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