Stepan, I just don’t understand what you want,” Katya said quietly.
“Nothing complicated,” Stepan replied. “I just need some time alone, a break. How about you go to the country house, relax a bit, maybe shed a few pounds? You’ve been letting yourself go.”
He cast a disdainful glance at her figure. Katya knew her weight gain was from medical treatment, but she didn’t argue.
“Where is this country house?” she asked.
“In a very picturesque spot,” Stepan smirked. “You’ll like it.”
Katya decided not to argue. She did want some rest. Maybe we’re just tired of each other, she thought. Let him miss me. I won’t come back until he asks.
She started packing.
“You’re not upset, are you?” Stepan checked. “It’s just temporary—time to unwind.”
“No, it’s fine,” Katya forced a smile.
“All right, I’m off,” Stepan said, kissing her cheek before leaving.
Katya exhaled deeply. Their kisses hadn’t held warmth in a long time.
The journey took far longer than expected. Twice she lost the way—her GPS malfunctioned, and there was no cell signal. Finally, she saw a sign with the village name. It was remote; the houses were wooden but neat, with carved window frames.
No modern comforts here, Katya thought.
She wasn’t wrong. The house was a half-collapsed cabin. Without a car or phone, she’d feel like she’d stepped back a century. Katya pulled out her phone.
I’ll call him now, she thought. But no signal.
The sun dipped low, fatigue settling in. If she didn’t enter the house, she’d have to spend the night in the car.
Returning to the city wasn’t an option, and she didn’t want to give Stepan a reason to say she couldn’t handle it.
She stepped out of the car. Her bright red jacket looked out of place against the rustic countryside. She smiled to herself.
“Well, Katya, we won’t disappear,” she said aloud.
The next morning, a piercing rooster crow woke her in the car where she’d fallen asleep.
“What’s all that noise?” Katya grumbled, rolling down the window.
The rooster eyed her with one beady eye and crowed again.
“Enough already!” Katya snapped, but then she saw a broom fly past the window, and the rooster fell silent.
An elderly man appeared at the doorstep.
“Hello!” he greeted.
Katya looked at him in surprise—he seemed like someone from a bygone era, as if stepped out of a painting.
“Don’t mind our rooster,” the old man said. “He’s a good bird, just sounds like he’s being slaughtered.”
Katya laughed, instantly waking up. The man smiled too.
“Are you here for a visit or to stay long?”
“Just resting, as long as I can bear it,” Katya replied.
“Come inside, dear. Have some breakfast. Meet the grandmother. She bakes pies… but no one’s here to eat them. The grandchildren visit once a year, the children too.”
Katya accepted. She needed to meet the neighbors.
Peter Ilyich’s wife turned out to be a real-life fairy-tale grandma—in an apron and headscarf, with a toothless smile and kind wrinkles. The house was spotless and cozy.
“How wonderful your home is!” Katya admired. “Why don’t your children visit more often?”
Anna Matveyevna waved her hand.
“We ask them not to come. The roads are bad. After rain, you can’t get out for a week. There used to be a bridge, old though it was. It collapsed about five years ago. We live like hermits. Stepanich goes to the store once a week. The boat can’t take it anymore. He’s strong, but getting old…”
“Your pies are heavenly!” Katya praised. “Doesn’t anyone care about people here? Someone has to take responsibility.”
“Who would care? Only fifty of us live here now. Once there were a thousand. But everyone left.”
Katya thought deeply.
“Strange. Where’s the administration?”
“On the other side of the bridge. The detour is sixty kilometers. You think we haven’t tried? The answer is always the same: no money.”
Katya realized she’d found a project for her rest.
“Tell me where to find the administration. Or will you come with me? No rain is expected.”
The elders exchanged glances.
“You’re serious? You came here to rest.”
“Completely serious. Rest can be different. What if I come again and it rains? I want to try for myself.”
They smiled warmly.
At the city administration, they told her:
“How many times can you bother us? You make us villains. Look at the city roads! Who, in their right mind, will fund a bridge for a village with fifty residents? Find a sponsor. Maybe Sokolovsky. Heard of him?”
Katya nodded. Of course, she’d heard—Sokolovsky owned the company where her husband worked. He was from here; his parents moved to the city when he was about ten.
After pondering all night, Katya gathered her courage. She knew Sokolovsky’s number—her husband had called him several times from her phone. She decided not to mention Stepan was her husband and called as a stranger.
The first call failed; on the second, Sokolovsky listened, paused, then laughed.
“You know, I’d forgotten I was born there. How’s it now?”
Katya’s spirits lifted.
“Very beautiful, peaceful, wonderful people. I’ll send photos and videos. Igor Borisovich, I’ve tried all the agencies—no one wants to help the elderly. Only you remain.”
“I’ll think about it. Send the pictures—I want to remember.”
Katya spent two days filming videos and taking photos for Sokolovsky. Messages were read, but no reply came. She was ready to give up when Igor Borisovich called himself:
“Ekaterina Vasilievna, could you come to the office on Lenin Street around three tomorrow? And please prepare a preliminary work plan.”
“Of course, thank you, Igor Borisovich!”
“You know, it feels like stepping back into childhood. Life’s a race—no time to stop and dream.”
“I understand. But you must come in person. I’ll definitely be there tomorrow.”
Only after hanging up did Katya realize this was the office where her husband worked. She smiled—this would be an interesting surprise.
She arrived early, an hour before the meeting. After parking, she headed to her husband’s office. The secretary was absent. Hearing voices from the break room, she went in.
There were Stepan and his secretary. They froze when they saw Katya. She stood rooted in the doorway as Stepan scrambled to pull up his pants.
“Katya, what are you doing here?”
Katya rushed out of the office and bumped into Igor Borisovich in the corridor. She handed him the papers and ran to the exit, tears streaming. How she got back to the village, she didn’t remember. She collapsed on the bed and sobbed.
The next morning, a knock woke her. Igor Borisovich stood at the door with a group of people.
“Good morning, Ekaterina Vasilievna. I saw you weren’t ready to talk yesterday, so I came myself. Care for some tea?”
“Of course, come in.”
Igor said nothing about the previous day. The village residents gathered near the house. Igor looked out the window.
“Wow, a delegation! Ekaterina Vasilievna, is that Ded Ilyich?”
Katya smiled. “The one and only.”
“Thirty years ago, he was already a grandfather, and his wife fed us pies.”
The man glanced anxiously at Katya, and she quickly reassured him:
“Anna Matveyevna is alive and well, still baking her famous pies.”
The day passed quickly with work. Igor’s team measured, recorded, and calculated.
“Ekaterina Vasilievna, may I ask something? About your husband… Will you forgive him?”
Katya thought a moment, then smiled.
“No. You know, I’m actually grateful for how things turned out… So what?”
Igor was silent. Katya stood, looking around the house.
“If the bridge is built, this place could be amazing! We could fix houses, create spots for rest. The nature is untouched, real. But there’s no one to do it. And if you didn’t want to return to the city…”
Igor admired her. She was special—strong, smart, determined. He hadn’t noticed before, but now he saw her true beauty.
“Katya, can I come again?”
She looked at him intently.
“Please come. I’ll be glad.”
The bridge construction progressed swiftly. The villagers were grateful, and young people started coming back. Igor became a frequent visitor.
Stepan called several times, but Katya ignored him and eventually blocked his number.
One early morning, a knock woke her. Sleepy, she opened the door and was surprised to see Stepan.
“Hi, Katya. I’m here for you. Stop sulking. Sorry,” he said.
Katya laughed.
“‘Sorry’? That’s it?”
“Well, come on… Pack up, we’re going home. You won’t send me away, will you? Besides, this house isn’t yours anymore, remember?”
“I’ll send you off soon enough!” Katya exclaimed.
The door creaked open, and Igor appeared in casual clothes.
“This house was bought with my company’s money. Or do you, Stepan Alexandrovich, think I’m a fool? There’s an audit at the office, and you’ll have to answer a lot of questions. And I’d advise Katya not to worry—that’s bad for her condition.”
Stepan’s eyes widened. Igor embraced Katya.
“She’s my fiancée. Please leave the house. The divorce papers have been filed. Expect notification soon.”
The wedding was held in the village. Igor confessed he had fallen in love with the place again. The bridge was finished, roads fixed, a store opened. People began buying houses as summer homes.
Katya and Igor decided to renovate their house to have a place to come back to when children arrived.