Without me, you’re nothing, Anna. Don’t forget that,” Igor’s voice carried an edge of finality as he threw the last of his clothes into the suitcase and yanked the zipper shut. His words sliced through the dimly lit apartment, sharp and merciless. Anna stood motionless in the doorway, her nails digging into her palms, the pressure grounding her in the moment. She wasn’t silent out of fear but out of a strange, almost hypnotic detachment, as if she were watching a building collapse in slow motion—terrifying, yet inevitable.
“Nothing to say?” Igor straightened, eyes gleaming with superiority. “For ten years, I carried you. For ten years, you lived in my shadow. And now what? You think you can manage without me?”
Anna lifted her gaze. There were no tears, no pleading—only the glow of the table lamp reflecting in her eyes, revealing something unfamiliar to Igor.
“I already am,” she said softly but firmly.
His laugh came out forced, a hollow echo of the confidence he once wielded. “We’ll see,” he muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “A month. That’s how long I give you before you come crawling back.” The door slammed behind him, and a picture frame on the shelf cracked right between their faces.
The first few days after Igor’s departure were surreal. The apartment’s silence wasn’t peaceful—it was oppressive, ringing in her ears like an abandoned echo. Every creak in the hallway, the distant hum of the elevator, the sound of a key turning in a neighboring lock made her tense involuntarily.
Her hands betrayed her most. Each morning, she instinctively poured two cups of coffee. She prepared meals for two. The realization of her routine made her fingers tremble, a quiet reminder of how deeply his presence had been ingrained in her life.
“You are nobody without me.” His words haunted her, lurking in the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock. And the worst part? A sliver of her feared he might be right. Who was she? The successful man’s wife, the perfect hostess, the woman behind the carefully curated facade. But on her own—what did she have?
The reality of her finances struck hard. Six months ago, Igor had “reinvested” their savings into his business, leaving her with only the remnants of her personal funds. Just enough for three months, maybe less. The job market wasn’t promising. Her resume felt flimsy, her skills outdated. “Expert in stain removal” and “proficient in ironing” wouldn’t get her far.
Friends, or rather, acquaintances, vanished. They were Igor’s friends first, after all. Invitations were rescinded, calls went unanswered.
She spent her evenings by the window, watching people rush by. They had places to be, goals to pursue. She had only uncertainty.
One sleepless night, she rummaged through the attic and found an old portfolio—her student projects, sketches, interior designs. A dream she had abandoned years ago. She flipped through the yellowed pages, feeling a long-dormant ember stir within her.
“It’s too late,” she told herself, shutting the folder. But the next day, she opened it again.
A week later, fate intervened in a supermarket aisle. “Anna? No way!” A familiar voice called out. Marina, her university friend, looked almost unchanged, except for the short hair and a sharper confidence in her eyes.
They hugged, exchanged the usual pleasantries. Marina tilted her head. “Are you still designing those incredible interiors?”
Anna hesitated. “No… life happened. I got married.”
Marina’s expression darkened with understanding. “Igor, right? That arrogant guy from third year? Let me guess—he didn’t take it well when you started thinking for yourself.”
Anna’s lips parted in surprise. “We… we separated.” Saying it out loud felt different, like unlocking a door she didn’t realize she had kept bolted.
Marina didn’t pry. Instead, she pulled out a business card. “We need an intern at our design studio. Mostly paperwork, but it’s a foot in the door. If you want it.”
Anna’s fingers curled around the card. A fragile thread of hope wove itself into her chest.
She called the next day.
Stepping into “Contrast” studio was like entering another world—high ceilings, sunlit windows, the steady hum of focused creativity. Anna hesitated at the door, fingers cold, heart pounding. She didn’t belong here. Not anymore.
“Be brave,” she told herself, and stepped inside.
The first week was brutal. The software taunted her, her colleagues exuded effortless confidence, and every mistake felt magnified under the weight of her own self-doubt. Each evening, she collapsed onto her couch, exhaustion and quiet tears her only company.
“You are nobody without me.”
The words still haunted her. But by Friday, she surprised herself—she hadn’t quit. Marina invited her to a company outing, and for the first time in years, she laughed freely. It wasn’t just the drinks or the lively debates about design—it was the realization that here, she wasn’t “Igor’s wife.” She was just Anna.
Months passed. She worked tirelessly, relearning, improving, rediscovering her passion. Then came the moment she never expected—her first independent client. A tiny cafe in need of a makeover. The owner was a university acquaintance who had always admired her work.
“You are nobody without me.”
No. She was someone. And she proved it.
She poured everything into the project. And when the cafe opened, her name was etched onto the door as the interior designer. A small inscription, but to her, it was everything.
Opportunities snowballed. A year later, she was offered a partnership in the firm. Two years later, she launched her own studio—ASdesign.
She had built something entirely her own.
Then, one day, fate came full circle.
“Anna Sergeyevna, the candidate for the manager position is here,” Svetlana, her assistant, announced. “Tall, blue jacket.”
Anna walked into the meeting room—and froze.
Igor sat across the table.
Shock flickered across his face. He looked… different. A little worn. A little older.
“You?” he exhaled.
“Yes,” she replied smoothly, taking her seat. “You’re here for the project manager role?”
He nodded. “I… I didn’t know this was your company.”
“My initials,” she smiled. “Anna Sokolova.”
His business had collapsed. A partner betrayed him, debts piled up, and he had been job-hopping since.
He hesitated before saying, “Anna, I owe you an apology. For everything.”
Once, she had dreamed of hearing those words. Now, they meant nothing.
She closed his resume. “Unfortunately, we’re moving in a different direction.”
Igor stiffened. “Is this revenge?”
“No. Just business.”
His face darkened. “You’ll regret this.”
Anna merely smiled. “Good luck, Igor.”
As he stormed out, she exhaled. No triumph, no bitterness—just lightness.
She turned back to her desk, her empire, her future.
“You are nobody without me.”
No.
She was everything without him.