Anna sat on the edge of the couch, wrapped in the dim glow of the living room, listening to the gentle hum of the washing machine through the wall. The evening dragged on endlessly, no different from the hundreds that had come before over the past two years. Andrei never came home in a rush. She knew he’d walk through the door soon, not sparing her a glance, drop his briefcase by the entrance, and head straight for the shower. Dinner would be silent—if he even bothered to eat. And if she dared to speak, he’d sigh and mutter, “Not now. I’m tired.”
It hadn’t always been this way. In the beginning, they would talk for hours in the kitchen, debate over movies, dream up spontaneous vacations. He’d notice her new dresses, brush his hand along her back as they walked. His voice had been warm, curious. Now their home was silent even with the radio on.
The door clicked. Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
“You’re sitting in the dark again?” His voice was flat, emotionless.
“Just thinking.”
He didn’t ask about what. Just took off his shoes and coat, then disappeared into the bedroom. The sound of running water followed.
Anna closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see his face to picture his usual frown, the way he rolled his eyes at her “dramas.” He hadn’t asked about her day in months. Once, he’d appreciated that she wasn’t clingy or demanding. Now, she just wasn’t enough.
She walked to the kitchen, turned on the light. Dinner was in the fridge, untouched. She didn’t bother reheating it.
“There’s dinner at my parents’ tomorrow,” Andrei said as he entered, buttoning his shirt sleeves. “Mom asked that you don’t wear… that.” He motioned vaguely toward her worn cardigan. “You understand how that looks, right?”
She met his gaze.
“How does it look?”
“Like I can’t afford to dress my wife properly.”
For the first time in a long while, she felt like speaking up—saying something sharp, something honest—but the words never came. She simply nodded.
“Good,” he said, satisfied, grabbing a bottle of water and heading to the bedroom.
She stood there, the tension in her chest expanding like a silent scream.
The next morning, they left the apartment together. In the elevator, he scrolled through emails. She watched her reflection in the mirrored wall. Her wardrobe hadn’t changed in years, not because she couldn’t afford it, but because she didn’t see the point. But today, after last night’s comment, she wore a dress buried deep in the back of her closet. He looked at her briefly, with the smallest flicker of approval. He didn’t say a word.
When they reached his car, he offered, “Want a ride?”
“I’ll take the subway.”
He looked up, puzzled.
“You hate the subway.”
“I just want to walk a little.”
He didn’t argue.
That evening, they arrived at his parents’ house—a large home with expensive curtains and walls covered in framed photos of Andrei. Every image showed him: smiling, successful. Anna wasn’t in a single one.
“Oh Anna,” his mother said, scanning her outfit. “You finally decided to wear something decent!”
Anna said nothing.
Dinner conversation revolved around business, Andrei’s accomplishments, career plans. Anna sat quietly, like a polite guest they barely remembered to acknowledge.
“So, you’re still working at that place?” Andrei’s sister asked as she poured wine.
“I am.”
“Don’t you think it’s time for a real job? With a husband like yours, you shouldn’t be pinching pennies.”
Anna glanced at Andrei. He didn’t defend her. He didn’t even look up.
“I like my job.”
His sister shrugged. “If being a grey mouse makes you happy.”
Anna didn’t reply.
And then Andrei said it.
Like it was nothing. Casual. Cruel.
“You’re just… nothing to me now.”
Everything stopped.
The room was silent, but no one looked surprised. His mother kept cutting her meat, his sister sipped wine, his father scrolled through his phone. It hit Anna like a slap—the realization that to all of them, she had always been nothing.
She laid down her utensils and stood.
“Is something wrong?” his mother asked, barely paying attention.
Anna didn’t answer. She grabbed her bag.
“Anna,” Andrei said, finally noticing. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“We’re still having dinner.”
She looked at him, calm.
“Dinner’s over for someone who’s nothing.”
That evening, she walked. No destination, no plan. Just movement. The city pulsed around her, but everything felt muted, like she was walking through a glass shell. Lights, voices, car horns—they were all distant.
Without realizing it, she found herself at the doorstep of a small brick building from her childhood. Her aunt’s apartment. The only place that had ever felt safe.
“Anna?” her aunt blinked in surprise, tightening her robe. “What happened?”
Anna said nothing. The fatigue in her limbs spoke louder than words.
“Do you want to come in?”
She nodded.
The apartment smelled like lavender, tea, and worn books. But Anna didn’t feel comforted. Not this time. Everything felt like it belonged to someone else.
“You haven’t called in months.”
Anna knew. She remained quiet.
“Then something serious must have happened.”
Her aunt didn’t press. She simply disappeared into the kitchen.
Anna stayed there, frozen in time.
The next morning, while her aunt shuffled papers at the dining table, Anna quietly left. No goodbye. But she knew her aunt would understand.
Back at the apartment she once called home, everything was exactly where she’d left it. His coat. His laptop. His cologne in the air.
She pulled out a suitcase and began to pack. Slowly. Methodically. It didn’t matter what she took. What mattered was that she was leaving.
The front door clicked.
“You’re here?” Andrei sounded surprised.
She didn’t respond.
“You came back?”
She zipped the suitcase.
“No.”
He furrowed his brow.
“Is this about last night?”
No answer.
“Don’t be dramatic, Anna.”
She lifted the suitcase and walked past him.
“You’re really doing this? Over one dinner? One comment?”
She stopped at the door, slipped on her coat.
“You’ve said it more than once.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
She left.
Six months passed.
Life wasn’t easy. The beginning was a fog of routines: home, work, repeat. She rented a small apartment with bare walls and an emptiness that echoed. She slept with the window open, unable to bear the silence.
Then one day, something shifted.
She walked into work, expecting the usual. But her assistant looked nervous, twisting a pen between her fingers.
“You’ve got an interview in fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Interview?”
“A candidate for the senior position.”
Anna nodded and walked into her office, dropping the folder on her desk. Lately, her calendar had been so full, she barely registered half her meetings.
But the moment the door opened, everything fell into place.
Andrei.
He stepped in confidently, then froze when he saw her. His face flickered with recognition and confusion.
She looked up from her papers.
“Have a seat.”
He sat. Trying to keep control, though the twitch at his jaw betrayed him.
“I… uh… I’m looking for a new role. My company shut down,” he said, bracing for judgment.
She didn’t give him any.
“I see.”
A few seconds passed.
“You work here?” he asked finally.
“I don’t just work here,” she replied. “I’m the managing partner.”
She watched the realization dawn on him. The shift in his expression. The disbelief.
“This is a family business,” she added. “Mine.”
He was silent.
She closed the folder with his résumé.
“Thank you for coming. We’ll be in touch.”
He left slowly, as if his legs didn’t quite believe what had happened. She watched through the glass door as he passed her assistant, adjusting his sleeves.
The room was still. But Anna felt… light.
Not victorious. Just… free.
The sun poured in through the windows. Her office hummed softly with life again.
Later, her business partner Mikhail stepped in.
“That was your ex-husband, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“What now?”
She glanced at Andrei’s closed résumé.
“He’s not the right fit.”
“You could’ve hired him,” Mikhail said. “Let him work under you.”
She smiled faintly.
“I’ve already seen how he performs.”
Mikhail nodded and left.
Outside, Andrei stood near the gate, hands in his pockets, staring into space. She surprised herself by walking over.
“You always knew things would change,” she said.
He smirked. “You think I came here on purpose?”
“I don’t.”
“I didn’t know this was your company.”
“Now you do.”
A silence settled between them.
“You really won’t hire me?” he asked.
She looked at him carefully.
“If our roles were reversed—if I was the one being interviewed—would you have hired me?”
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t wait for one. She turned and walked away.
That evening, her windows were open. The breeze moved through the apartment, gentle and cool. On the shelf sat books she’d been meaning to read for years. On the desk, a contract for a new project—something bold, something hers.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Mikhail:
“Dinner at eight. No excuses.”
Anna smiled, closed her laptop, and stood up.
The version of her that waited quietly, lived in someone else’s shadow, that version was gone.