— No.
— Valya, please. I have nowhere else to go.
— Stay with friends. Or with that Vadik who got you into card games.
— Valya, I’m guilty. I understand everything. But don’t 30 years mean anything?
— They did. But you destroyed everything yourself. I’ve filed for divorce.
Silence. A long, heavy silence. Then his voice, hoarse:
— I deserved this. I understand everything. But at least give me a chance to explain. To talk properly.
— I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. You said everything that needed to be said that night.
— Valentina, I love you. I made a terrible mistake, but I love you.
— No. You only love yourself. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have come to the safe at night with a screwdriver.
She hung up, silenced the phone, and placed it face down on the table. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes stung. She hadn’t let herself cry this whole time, she had held it together, been strong. But now, hearing his voice, something inside broke. Valentina went into the bedroom, lay down on the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and finally let the tears flow. She cried for a long time, sobbing uncontrollably, as she hadn’t cried since childhood. She cried for the lost years, for the shattered dreams, for the betrayal, for the fact that life at 60 was starting over, and it was scary and painful.
The following weeks passed in a kind of fog. Valentina went to court, to the lawyer, to the police—giving additional testimony, signing documents. The money was returned to her after 10 days; she picked it up from the station, brought it home, and put it in a new safe that a locksmith had installed. The lock was different now, more secure, and the keys were always with her.
Gennady was charged with attempted theft on a particularly large scale. The lawyer said he would most likely get a suspended sentence, given his clean record and the fact that the crime was not completed. But it didn’t matter anymore. Valentina didn’t attend the hearings; she didn’t want to see him.
The case with the creditors turned out to be more complicated. The police conducted an operation, raided the illegal casino, and arrested several people. But the ringleader, the one called Byk, had disappeared. They were looking for him, but so far without success. Valentina was advised to remain cautious, not to open the door to strangers, and to avoid dark streets.
Irina and her family returned after three weeks, when it became clear that there was no immediate threat. Her daughter came to see Valentina almost every day, helping with housework, or just sitting beside her, holding her hand.
— Mom, do you have any regrets? — she asked one evening over tea. — About calling the police, about the divorce?
Valentina was silent for a long time, looking out the window. It was snowing outside; October had been cold this year.
— No, — she said finally. — I don’t regret it. If I hadn’t called the police, I would have been left without money, and he would have fled the country. I would never have known the truth. I would have lived with that uncertainty for the rest of my life, thinking my husband had left me for no reason. At least this way, everything is clear.
— You’re strong, Mom.
— Not strong. Just lucky. That old woman… If it weren’t for her, I would have given him the keys. And I would have lost everything.
— It’s a strange story with that old woman, — Irina poured her mother more tea. — Do you really think she was… well, not an ordinary person?
— I don’t know. Maybe she was an ordinary beggar who happened to say what she said. Maybe she could really see the future. Or maybe she was an angel, sent to help me. I’ll never know. But I’m grateful to her, whoever she was.
The divorce was finalized in November. Valentina didn’t attend the final hearing; the lawyer handled everything. The apartment was left to her: Gennady didn’t object—perhaps out of guilt, perhaps understanding he had no rights to it. The criminal trial took place in December. He was given a three-year suspended sentence and a ban on leaving the country. Valentina learned all this from the lawyer; she didn’t go to the trial herself.
Life gradually settled into a new routine. Valentina joined a swimming pool and started going three times a week. She joined a book club at the local library and met some pleasant women her age. Irina convinced her to buy a better smartphone and taught her how to use social media, so now she could see her grandson on video calls whenever she wanted.
The money lay untouched in the safe. Valentina decided she would only spend it on truly important things: for medical treatment, if needed, to help her daughter and grandson. She was financially secure for her old age with this money, and that brought her peace of mind.
At the end of January, when the first real frost hit, she went to the church again. The same church where she had met the blind old woman. She stood by the gate, scanning the faces of passersby. The beggar wasn’t there, of course. But Valentina wasn’t surprised. She went into the church and lit a candle. For herself, for her daughter, for her grandson. And one more—for the blind old woman who had saved her from disaster, warned her, protected her.
— Thank you, — Valentina whispered, looking at the flickering flame of the candle. — Wherever you are, whoever you are, thank you. You gave me my life back.
As she was leaving the church, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around—no one. Only the wind rustled a branch of the old chestnut tree, and snow fell from it like white dust. Valentina smiled, wrapped her coat tighter, and walked home. Home, where a new life awaited her. A life that was free, honest, and calm. The life she deserved.
And although she was sixty, and thirty years of marriage that ended in betrayal and pain were behind her, there were still many years ahead. Many days that could be lived with dignity, joy, surrounded by loved ones. She had lost a husband, but she hadn’t lost herself. She hadn’t lost the money, hadn’t lost faith in people and in life. And the blind old woman, whoever she was, had taught her the most important lesson: to listen to her inner voice, to trust her premonitions, and not to be afraid to make difficult decisions. And for that, Valentina would be grateful to her for the rest of her days.
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