The living room was dark, and Linda sat on the edge of the couch. From the other side of the wall, she could hear the washing machine humming softly.
Like many nights over the past two years, this one seemed to drag on endlessly.
David wasn’t in any hurry to come home.
She was sure he’d walk in soon, drop his bag by the door, and head straight to the bathroom without even glancing at her. If he wanted, they could have dinner alone. Then he’d sit down at his computer and say, “I’m tired,” if she tried to talk to him. “We’ll talk later,” he’d add.
This wasn’t how things used to be. When they first moved in together, they would spend hours in the kitchen talking about movies and planning trips. David would compliment her new clothes and gently stroke her back as they walked. His voice never sounded tired or angry; it was full of life. Now, even though the radio played, the house was eerily quiet.
The door clicked shut, followed by footsteps in the hallway.
“Again in the dark?” he asked flatly, his voice drained of life.
“Just thinking,” she replied.
He didn’t ask what she was thinking.
He took off his shoes and coat, passed by without a glance, and headed to the bedroom. The sound of water running into the bathtub started immediately.
Linda closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see his displeased expression to imagine it—if she dared to bring up what she called his “nonsense.” It had been ages since he’d asked her how her day went. She had once loved that she wasn’t fussy or demanding; now she resented that she no longer fit his idea of “the wife of a successful man.”
She got up, walked to the kitchen, and turned on the light. Dinner was in the fridge, but she didn’t even bother to warm it up.
“We’re having dinner at my parents’ tomorrow,” David said, entering the kitchen as he buttoned his shirt sleeves. “And please don’t wear… that.” He gestured vaguely toward her worn cardigan. “You know, the image, right?”
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked.
“I just can’t seem to buy you decent clothes,” he said bluntly.
For the first time in a long while, Linda wanted to snap back with something sharp, something cutting… but no words came. She just nodded.
“Okay,” she murmured.
Satisfied, David grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and returned to the bedroom. She stood there, the weight of his words settling like a thick fog.
The next morning, they left the house together. In the elevator, David was absorbed in his phone, answering emails, while Linda stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t updated her wardrobe in years—not because she couldn’t afford it, but because she never saw the point. Comfortable, practical clothes were enough for her.
But that morning, recalling the night before, she pulled out a dress she hadn’t worn in a while. When David saw her, for a moment, he seemed to approve of her choice. But, as always, he said nothing.
When they got to the car, he said:
“Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“I prefer the subway,” she replied.
He looked at her, confused.
“But you hate the subway.”
“Today, I want to walk.”
She didn’t insist.
That evening, they arrived at David’s parents’ house. A spacious living room, expensive curtains, and photos of David everywhere: as a child, at work events, at awards ceremonies… None of them showed Linda.
“Oh, Linda, finally you’re wearing something decent!” her mother-in-law said with a forced smile, eyeing her up and down.
Linda didn’t respond.
During dinner, the conversation centered on business and David’s achievements. Linda felt like a tolerated guest, not part of the family.
“Are you still working at that little office?” David’s sister asked as she poured herself some wine.
“Yes,” Linda replied quietly.
“Don’t you think it’s time to join a ‘real’ company? With a husband like David, you shouldn’t have to worry about money.”
She glanced at her husband. He said nothing. He neither defended her nor looked her way.
“I like my job,” she said barely above a whisper.
“Well… if you’re happy being a little gray mouse,” her sister-in-law muttered, shrugging.
Linda stayed silent.
Then David said it. Without warmth. Without looking at her. In a mocking tone:
“You’re nothing to me.”
The table fell silent, but no one seemed surprised.
Her mother continued cutting meat. Her sister sipped wine. Her father was glued to his cell phone.
Linda understood: to all of them, she had never been anything more. Nothing.
David calmly put down his cutlery and stood.
“Everything okay?” David’s mother asked distractedly, not looking up.
Linda didn’t answer. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Linda?” David finally looked up. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” she said.
“But dinner isn’t over.”
She looked at him.
“For a ‘nothing,’ dinner’s over.”
He frowned, surprised.
That night, she wandered without direction. She just moved forward, without thinking or feeling. The city buzzed around her, but everything sounded muted and distant, as if she were inside an invisible cocoon separating her from the world.
Eventually, she found herself in front of a modest building familiar from childhood: her aunt’s apartment, the only person who had ever been kind to her.
“Linda?” her aunt asked, stepping into the hallway in a bathrobe. “What’s going on?”
Linda didn’t answer, just stood in the doorway.
“Want to come in?”
She nodded.
The apartment was the same—cozy—but this time it felt cold and unfamiliar. Temporary. Like she was just passing through.
“You haven’t called me in six months,” her aunt said.
Linda knew. She said nothing.
“Then it must be serious.”
Her aunt didn’t press further and went to the kitchen, leaving Linda alone.
The next morning, while her aunt sorted papers, Linda quietly grabbed her bag and left without saying goodbye. She knew her aunt would understand.
Back at the door of the old home she once shared with David, she felt an odd emptiness. She went inside.
Everything was unchanged—David’s coat, his computer, his scent in the air. Linda went to the closet, took out her suitcase, and began packing. Slowly. What she took or left behind no longer mattered. The important thing was to leave.
The lock turned.
“Are you here?”
David appeared in the doorway, surprised.
“You came back?”
“No,” she said, closing her suitcase.
“What are you doing? About last night?”
Linda didn’t answer.
“Don’t be childish, Linda.”
She picked up her suitcase, passed him without a word, and headed for the door.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s not the first time you’ve said that,” she replied calmly.
He tried to say more but couldn’t. She opened the door and left.
Six months passed.
Linda adapted to her new life. It wasn’t easy. The first weeks, she moved on autopilot—home to work, work to home. She rented a small apartment and slept with the window open; the silence was unbearable otherwise.
Then one day, everything changed.
At the office, the secretary Elena nervously fiddled with her pen.
“Linda Sergeyevna, you have an interview in fifteen minutes.”
“Interview?”
“A candidate for senior specialist.”
Linda nodded. Her schedule was so full, she no longer checked every appointment.
The door opened.
David.
He walked in confidently but froze when he saw her. He had no idea she’d be there.
“Have a seat,” Linda said without raising her voice.
He sat, trying to stay composed even though his lips trembled.
“Uh… I’m looking for a job,” he finally said. “My company closed.”
“I see,” Linda replied, emotionless.
“You work here?”
“No. I’m the CEO.”
He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Linda closed his resume folder.
“Thanks for coming. We’ll call you.”
David stood slowly, stunned. He left without a word.
Linda watched him leave from the window. She felt neither revenge nor joy. Only peace.
Minutes later, Mikhail, her partner, walked in without knocking.
“Was he your ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“So, what now?”
Linda looked at the resume.
“He’s not right for us.”
“You could have hired him. Let him work for you.”
“I’ve seen him ‘work’ before.”
As she left the building, she saw David standing by the gate, hands in pockets.
“Someday, everything had to change,” she said.
“I never thought I’d end up here,” he murmured.
“Me neither,” she replied.
“Are you really not going to hire me?”
“If I were in your shoes, would I hire me?”
He said nothing.
She turned and left without looking back.
That night, the open windows let in a cool breeze. On the shelves were books she hadn’t had time to read. On the table, a new contract for a major project.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Mikhail:
“Dinner at eight. No excuses.”
Linda smiled, shut down her computer, and stood.
A part of the past stayed behind: the Linda who waited, stayed silent, and settled for less.
But now she was different.
And she had no plans to go back.