For the longest time, I was living in denial, convincing myself that my life was unchanged—stuck in a repetitive loop as if everything were merely a nightmare from which I’d soon awaken. The reality that Sergey had been unfaithful was too much to accept. What hurt even more was not a fleeting indiscretion, but the fact that he was genuinely involved with her—the same woman who had recently become his assistant at work, and someone he saw daily.
The evidence was unmistakable: unexplained late nights at work, an unfamiliar scent on his shirts, hushed conversations behind closed doors, and frequent business trips. Even so, I dismissed these as figments of my imagination, reassuring myself there must be reasonable explanations without resorting to dramatics.
Yet, the day came when I could no longer ignore the mounting doubts and confronted him outright:
“Tell me the truth—are you seeing her?”
His response was chilling in its detachment. Without denial, he stated bluntly:
“You already know everything. It’s good we had this talk. I want a divorce.”
That moment was a crushing blow—devoid of remorse or kindness, just a cold finality.
The comfort from those around me brought some solace:
- “He’s not worthy of you, Olga,” Marina, my closest friend, reassured me. “Forget him like a nightmare—perhaps this is a blessing. He would have only wrecked your life.”
- My mother, visibly outraged, declared, “I knew he was no good from the start! Let him be gone. You will find someone real.”
- Upon informing my mother-in-law about the divorce, she sighed, “It’s life, dear. No children, you’re young and beautiful—there’s a whole future ahead.”
Despite their kind words, my heart resisted their comfort, clinging to the hope that Sergey might recognize his mistake and return. It may have been foolish, but I desperately grasped at any flicker of possibility.
I reached out repeatedly, yearning for him to reconsider, yet he remained silent, as if erasing me entirely from his existence the moment he left our home.
To heal, I began spending more time with Marina and her brother Kirill, someone I had known for years but only casually interacted with before. As teenagers, I had harbored a quiet fondness for him but kept it secret, especially from Marina.
Now, freshly divorced himself and somewhat adrift, Kirill’s presence awakened a sense of vitality within me. Unlike others, he never pitied me or uttered empty platitudes about deserving better. He simply accompanied me—taking evening strolls, catching movies, or quietly enjoying ice cream in the park. Gradually, the weight of my pain lessened, and memories of Sergey dimmed.
When the divorce was finally official, I agreed to explore a relationship with Kirill. Even Marina, who supported me throughout, expressed astonishment:
“At last!” she exclaimed, embracing me warmly. “I always knew it would be like this. I’m so happy for you!”
I looked at her, puzzled:
“You… knew?”
With a knowing smile, she replied:
“Absolutely. Who else could possibly match my brother better than you? Your divorce turned out to be the best thing that ever happened.”
A few months earlier, I might have found her words hurtful, but now I recognized their truth. Beside Kirill, I felt cherished, wanted, and deeply loved. He was a stark contrast to Sergey—gentle, considerate, and attentive. For the first time, I experienced the thrill of being spoiled and cared for.
One day, as if shaking awake from past sorrows, my phone rang. Seeing Sergey’s name on the screen sparked an unexpected unease.
“It’s Sergey,” I whispered, my heart tightening.
Kirill encouraged me:
“Answer. Hear what he has to say.”
With some trepidation, I accepted the call.
His voice was sharp, businesslike:
“Olga? We need to meet immediately.”
I hesitated, asking what it was about.
He cut me off:
“Not over the phone. Can you come to the park near your house, by the lake, tomorrow? Pick a time.”
Slightly perplexed, I agreed.
After he hung up, I asked Kirill:
“Did you understand what this is about?”
He shook his head:
“No. But if you want, I can join you.”
I responded firmly:
“No, I have to close this chapter myself. It’ll be just me.”
At the appointed time, standing alone by the small pond, doubts crept in. Would Sergey even come? We were supposed to have nothing left between us. Or did he intend to plea for reconciliation?
He arrived swiftly, appearing hurried, and immediately said:
“Glad you came. We need to talk about the ring.”
I blinked in surprise:
“What ring?”
He clarified:
“Your wedding ring—you still have it, right? I want it back.”
My eyebrows arched incredulously.
“You want me to hand over the ring? Why?”
He shrugged with a frown:
“I’m getting married. Karina and I need wedding rings. I paid for them, so it seems fair to reclaim mine, especially the one that was originally yours.”
Momentarily stunned, I studied the man I had once loved. Now, he asked for a relic of our past, just to save money on another wedding. The absurdity made me laugh until tears streamed from my eyes—not from sadness, but disbelief.
Drying my face, I looked him squarely in the eyes:
“Lucky for you, I didn’t throw it away—I carry it with me.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ring, along with the memories it held.
“Here,” I said with a playful smirk, “since you need it so badly—take it! I won’t stand in the way of your happiness.”
With a swift motion, I tossed the ring into the pond. It sank beneath the surface, leaving only gentle ripples behind.
I didn’t wait to hear his response—no protests arrived. I no longer cared. Let him curse his luck. I turned away, leaving him alone where he belonged.
Later, sharing the story with Kirill, we both laughed heartily. He found the situation amusing as well.
“You’re incredible,” he remarked with a smile. “Sometimes, the best choice is to let go—whether it’s people or the memories attached to them.”
While a wedding is not immediately on the horizon, I sense Kirill contemplates it. Perhaps soon, he will ask me to marry him. After enduring divorce and heartbreak, we both deserve a chance at genuine happiness. My parents, especially my mother, are delighted by our relationship and already dream of grandchildren.
As for me, I’ve found peace with what I now hold. I am happy, even if that sounds cliché. Most importantly, I have discovered someone who truly loves me.
In conclusion, this experience taught me the importance of confronting painful truths, embracing support from loved ones, and allowing oneself to heal. True happiness often emerges when we release the past and open our hearts to new possibilities.