He bought her expensive clothes and jewelry, took her to restaurants, introduced her to important people—doctors, officials, directors. In public, he hugged her waist possessively, presenting her as «my beautiful wife.»
— Look what country rose I found!
He’d say to friends, and Sophia smiled, clenching her fists in her dress pockets until her knuckles whitened.
In those moments, what she’d failed or refused to see before emerged. To Dennis, she was a trophy, a beautiful thing he’d won in competition with his friend. At night, lying in the cold bed next to her husband, Sophia stared at the ceiling and thought of town, of fresh-mown grass smell, stars over the river, her mom’s callused hands, the crackle of logs in the stove when blizzard howled outside, simple joys, fresh milk, new bread, songs to accordion at holidays.
She imagined her mother sitting on the bed by the window, watching the road. Waiting. Or had stopped waiting.
City life turned out nothing like her dreams. Instead of freedom, a new cage, roomier than the rural one, but with stronger bars. Sophia worked at the clinic registry where Dennis was lead surgeon.
Sorted cards, answered calls, heard patient complaints. Tedious, monotonous work. Why do you need more? Dennis wondered when she mentioned studying.
You have me. I provide for you, dress you, feed you. Many can only dream of that. And he was right.
Many girls from her town would dream of such life. But why then did she wake every morning feeling she couldn’t breathe? Dennis often stayed late at work. Sometimes didn’t come home overnight, explaining complex surgeries.
Sophia didn’t believe but stayed silent. What difference? Between them long gone was what could be called love. If it ever was.
Everything changed on a rainy October day when she literally bumped into Victor at the library doors. Sophia? His eyes, dark and deep, widened in surprise. What brings you here? She flustered.
Awkwardly tucked a loose hair strand, pressed the borrowed book to her chest. A volume of classic literature, reminder of home town.
— Library’s open to all,
She answered, surprised at her own boldness.
Victor smiled. That special smile that always transformed his stern face, making it boyish and vulnerable. Of course.
Just didn’t think I’d meet you here. Dennis said. He faltered.
Sophia tensed. What did Dennis say? That you don’t particularly like reading, Victor finished awkwardly. Prefer movies and restaurants? Sophia felt her cheeks flush, not from embarrassment, but anger.
— Dennis doesn’t know much about me,
She said quietly. Though he’s sure he knows everything. They stood under the library awning, while rain poured around, a wall cutting them off from the world.
Victor looked at her attentively, as if seeing her for the first time.
— You’ve changed,
He said finally.
— Have I?
She tried to smile, but her lips trembled.
— Still the same country girl.
— No.
He shook his head.
— You’ve become… deeper. And sadder.
In those words was so much understanding that Sophia’s eyes stung. When Victor suggested coffee at a small cafe around the corner, she agreed without hesitation. They talked for three hours.
About books, music, dreams. Victor told of getting a job at a law firm, buying a small apartment, sometimes visiting parents outside town. Sophia spoke of work at the clinic, city impressions, everything except her marriage.
But Victor saw what she omitted. He always could see through her.
— You’re unhappy,
He said as they parted under the same library awning.
The rain still fell, but softer, quieter. And who is happy? Sophia shrugged. Victor touched her hand, fleetingly, almost weightlessly.
— You deserve happiness, Sophia. Always have. She returned home a different person.
As if shedding a cocoon she’d sat in all these months, numb, indifferent. A forgotten feeling beat in her chest. Not just life, but thirst for life.
They started meeting once a week, at the same cafe, bookstores, the park. Talked for hours. Victor never touched her marriage topic, didn’t judge, didn’t demand explanations.
He was just there, attentive, understanding, patient. When he first kissed her, in an empty autumn park amid fallen leaves, Sophia didn’t pull away. She’d waited for that kiss.
Needed it like a breath of air after long underwater. Their secret meetings filled her life with the meaning she’d sought. Sophia bloomed, grew prettier.
Dennis, absorbed in work and occasional binges with colleagues, didn’t notice the changes. Or didn’t want to. Then the inevitable happened.
On a raw November day, Sophia went to the pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. With shaking hands, locked in the bathroom, opened the package. Two lines appeared almost instantly.
Clear, bright, leaving no doubt. Sophia slowly sank to the tub edge. Her head swirled with thought fragments.
A child. She’d have a child. From Victor.
She was sure. With Dennis, they’d barely been intimate the last months, and when they were, her husband was always careful. Not time for kids yet, he’d say.
Need to get on our feet first, strengthen. Victor didn’t know. No one knew.
Terror gripped her. What now? Tell Dennis? That meant destroying not just her marriage, but two men’s friendship. Cause scandal, gossip, possibly.
Cruel revenge from a husband who took any encroachment on his territory painfully. Hide? But how hide pregnancy living in one apartment with a doctor husband? Abortion? The thought nauseated her even more than morning sickness. No, not that.
Inside her beat a new life already. Blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh. Hers and Victor’s.
For several days she walked in a fog. Dennis didn’t notice.
Busy preparing some important surgery. Or maybe spending time with a mistress. Sophia knew of her existence, though didn’t ask.
On the fourth day, she decided. Called Victor from a street payphone, set a meeting. Not at the cafe, but his home.
— I’m pregnant,
She said, sitting on his couch edge.
— From you.
Victor froze.
Then knelt before her, took her cold hands in his.
— You’re sure?
He asked quietly. She nodded.
— Term’s short, but I’m sure. Dennis, we’ve barely been together lately. Victor sighed deeply.
His face was pale but determined.
— What do you want to do?
And in that question was everything. Respect for her choice, readiness to accept any decision, absolute support.
— I want this child,
Sophia answered, her voice strengthening.
— I want to leave Dennis. But I’m afraid of his reaction. And I don’t want him to know about us.
Victor pondered. His fingers gently stroked her palms.
— What if… If you go back to town? Sophia shuddered. Town. Mom.
Simple wooden house with cracked mirror in the corner. Stephen, who probably long stopped waiting at the gate. You’re leaving me? She whispered.
— Never. Victor’s gaze hardened. Listen.
You file for divorce. Tell Dennis you’re unhappy, want to go home. He’ll let you go.
His pride won’t let him hold a woman who doesn’t love him. You’ll go back to town, and in some time, I’ll come for you. We’ll be together, Sophia.
You, me, and our child. The plan sounded logical. Protect the child, avoid scandal, preserve her and Victor’s reputation.
Start fresh. But something in Sophia resisted this decision. Something like a premonition.
— And if something goes wrong?
She said.
— If you can’t come. Victor squeezed her hands harder.
— I swear I’ll come. Whatever happens. And she believed.
Because she wanted to believe. That same evening, back home, Sophia gathered divorce papers.
Packed a suitcase with only essentials. None of Dennis’s gifts. Nothing to remind of city life.
Morning, when her husband returned from night shift, she sat at the kitchen table with a cup of cold tea.
— We need to talk,
She said, looking him straight in the eyes.
— I’m filing for divorce.
Dennis froze in the kitchen doorway. Then slowly sank onto the chair opposite.
— So,
He said in an even voice, but Sophia saw his knuckles whiten, gripping the chair back.
— And why?
— I’m unhappy,
She answered honestly.
— And you are too. We made a mistake, Dennis.
This isn’t love. It’s… something else. He stared at her long, scrutinizing.
— It’s another man. Sophia shook her head.
— It’s me. I want to go home.
To your hole? Dennis sneered.
— To your chickens and gardens? Don’t make me laugh, Sophia.
You’ll suffocate there in a week.
— Maybe.
She shrugged.
— But it’s my choice. And I ask you to respect it. Dennis stood.
His face twisted. She’d never seen him so angry, so wounded.
— You’re an ungrateful bitch,
He hissed.
— I pulled you out of the mud, gave you everything.
— You didn’t give me the main thing,
Sophia interrupted, rising too.
— Respect. I was a thing to you, Dennis. A trophy you won from your friend.
He fell silent, struck by her words.
Then clenched his fists.
— Get out. Today.
And don’t expect a penny.
— I need nothing.
She was already heading to the door.
Only freedom. Leaving the apartment, Sophia felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. She was scared, but incredibly light.
As if learning to breathe fully again. She sent Victor a short note. «Done.
Heading home.» And took a ticket on the next bus to her hometown. When the gray city landscape out the window changed to fields and forests, Sophia placed her hand on her belly.
«We’re going home.» She mentally told the tiny life inside. «They’re waiting for us there.»
She didn’t know the meeting with Victor wouldn’t happen. That fate prepared a different test for her. That this journey.
Was the beginning of the end and at the same time the beginning of a new story, which would continue many years later, when another small bundle would end up in an unexpected place. Dennis sat in his office, staring blankly at a medical reference. Third day after Sophia’s departure.
Third day of inner emptiness he tried to drown in work, alcohol, dark thoughts of revenge. A knock at the door pulled him from stupor. Victor stood on the threshold.
Pale, with dark circles under eyes, but still composed and restrained.
— I heard what happened,
He said, not waiting for invitation and entering the office.
— How are you?
Dennis smirked, leaning back in his chair.
Like a man whose wife left without explanation. Splendid. Victor sat in the chair opposite.
His face was impassive, but his fingers trembled slightly. A detail Dennis, immersed in his own turmoil, didn’t notice. She really didn’t explain anything.
Asked Victor. Dennis reached for the decanter of brandy on the table. Poured himself, offered his friend.
He declined. Said she’s unhappy. Dennis shrugged, taking a sip.
Wants to go back to town. Imagine?
To that dump we pulled her from. Ungrateful wretch. Victor barely noticeably flinched at those words but kept a stoic expression.
— Maybe something happened to her?
He suggested cautiously. Something she couldn’t tell. Dennis pondered.
Before his mind’s eye flashed months of their marriage. Cold, strained relations, his frequent absences, her wistful gaze out the window. He’d seen it all but didn’t want to admit.
More likely she just found someone else. He smirked bitterly. Some rich patient rolled up.
Sophia was always keen on the good life. Victor gripped the armrests so his knuckles whitened.
— You really think that of your wife?
He asked quietly.
Dennis set the glass down with a thud.
— Ex-wife.
He corrected.
— And yes, I do.
Beautiful shell, empty inside. Trophy wife I won from you, buddy.
Victor’s face flashed something like anger, but he quickly controlled himself.
— Maybe she just realized she doesn’t love you,
He said evenly. And had the courage to admit it.
Dennis stared at his friend.
— Why are you defending her? You were smitten with her once too. Weren’t you the one saying she’s special?
Victor looked away. She deserved better than either of us could give.
Dennis laughed suddenly. Hoarsely, sharply.
— Know what’s funniest?
He leaned forward.
— Sometimes I thought she chose wrong. That she’d be happier with you.
Those words hung in the air between them. Victor didn’t reply. A few minutes later he rose, citing urgent business.
At the door, turned. Did she say where exactly she’s going. Dennis shook his head.
To her town, I suppose. To her mother. Victor nodded and left, softly closing the door.
In the hallway, he leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes. Inside him struggled joy at the thought Sophia was free and pain at not being able to be with her right now. «Need to give her time,» he thought.
«Let her settle, prepare the ground for my arrival.» And then… Sophia deeply inhaled. The air was clean, frosty, smelling of smoke and pine.
Such a familiar, dear smell she’d missed so much in the city. Slowly, as in a dream, she moved down the street to her mother’s house. Women at the well turned after her.
Someone gasped, someone crossed themselves. She’s back. The whisper rolled.
At the gate of her childhood home, Sophia stopped. Suddenly she was scared. What if her mother wouldn’t forgive? What if she’d drive her away? What then to do with the child, with her shattered life, with hopes for the future? But there was no retreat.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the creaky gate and entered the yard. Evelyn was chopping wood by the shed. Rhythmically, with strength hard to expect in an aging woman.
She didn’t hear her daughter’s steps, didn’t see her, only felt. Froze with raised ax, slowly turned.
— Mom!
Sophia mouthed. The ax fell from Evelyn’s hands, thudding dully on the frozen ground. She looked at her daughter with a long, unreadable gaze.
Not angry, not joyful, but somehow emptied. As if in months of waiting she’d cried out all emotions and now found no strength for joy or reproaches.
— Alive!
She said finally.
— And I thought…
She didn’t finish, but Sophia understood. Her mother thought she was dead. That only death could prevent her from writing, calling, letting know.
— Forgive me!
Sophia exhaled, tears rolling down her cheeks.
— Forgive me, Mom!
Evelyn stepped to her. Rough hands, callused, cupped her daughter’s face so gently, as if she were fragile porcelain.
Then the mother hugged her tightly, and Sophia smelled it. Wood, bread, herbs. Smell of home!
— Foolish!
Evelyn whispered into her crown.
— My silly girl!
They stood like that for a long time. Mother and daughter, separated by months of silence, but bound by ties impossible to break. Then Evelyn pulled away, scanned Sophia with an attentive gaze.
— You’ve gotten thin!
She stated.
— And your eyes aren’t the same! Come inside, you’ll tell me.
Nothing had changed in the house. Same faded curtains, same stove heated to cozy warmth, same table covered in oilcloth.
Only seemed more gray in her mother’s hair, more wrinkles on her face. Sophia told of city life, clinic work, disappointment in husband. Omitted only Victor and the pregnancy, not yet ready to trust even her mother fully.
Evelyn listened silently, her hands on her knees sometimes clenching into fists, as if fighting the urge to hit someone—maybe that city husband who’d hurt her daughter so, or herself for not holding back, not warning, not saving.
— Eat this!
She said when Sophia finished and set a plate of hot soup before her. You’ve wasted away.
Sophia obediently took the spoon. The soup smelled of childhood, dill, sour cream, that special aroma only grandma’s pot could create. After city food from semi-prepared, it was like returning to paradise.
— And now what?
Evelyn asked, not looking at her daughter, as if afraid to see the answer in her eyes.
— Stay or go further?
Sophia set down the spoon. This moment had to come.
— I’ll stay, Mom. If you’ll have me. Evelyn nodded, as if expecting just that answer.
— House is big. Room enough. In her words, simple and everyday, hid so much unspoken—relief, joy, lingering fear the daughter would vanish again.
Sophia knew. Her mother wouldn’t ask why she decided to stay. Wouldn’t pry.
Just accept as given, as she’d accepted all fate’s blows. Evening, as Sophia prepared for bed in her old room, a motorcycle noise came from the gate. Sound familiar.