— Go to her. She needs you more. She asked for a chance to “live her own life.” Well then, let her. Let her try to build what I have built over three decades.
Let’s see if she has the patience for your moods, your snoring at night, your habit of leaving socks everywhere and grumbling every morning.
“You’ve already had a good life, Polina Nikolaevna… Please, try to understand! Let others have a chance!” the young woman sobbed, smearing mascara across her cheeks with quick, desperate hands.
Polina froze at the edge of the old park bench. She stared at this stranger—so young, maybe twenty-five, thirty at most—confused about how to react.
“What are you saying?” Polina asked quietly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alina,” the girl said, lifting her tear-filled eyes. “I love your husband. And he loves me. Do you understand? He really loves me.”
“Sergey? You must be mistaken. We’ve been together for thirty years. We have sons, we have…”
“I know all about your sons!” Alina interrupted with a sob. “I know about Yegor, and about Anton. I know you grew up in the same building, that you got married when you were twenty-one.”
He told me everything, every detail! We’ve been together for six months, Polina Nikolaevna. Six months of life, don’t you see?
Polina felt as if the bench beneath her suddenly tilted.
She looked at the girl’s slender fingers, at her cheap but colorful little ring, and for some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about this morning’s pancakes that Sergey had eaten so eagerly—they were really unnecessary.
She shouldn’t have made them for him at all…
“Six months…” she echoed. “And why are you here?”
“He’s suffering!” Alina leaned in. “He’s a good man, he doesn’t want to hurt you.”
He says: “Polya is a saint, the mother of my children, I can’t leave her.”
But with me he’s alive! He laughs, he’s even started dressing differently, haven’t you noticed?
He wants to live, not just exist in this… fortress of yours.
“Fortress…” Polina replied with a bitter smile. “Is that what he calls our home now?”
“That’s what I call it!” Alina burst out, then fell silent as a woman pushing a stroller walked by. “Sorry. Just… please let him go.”
Take the first step yourself, if you really love him. You’re a grown, wise woman.
You’ve had everything life could give: status, children, an apartment. You’ve had it all. I only have him.
Polina stood up slowly.
“You said: ‘let others live’?” Polina’s voice trembled. “That’s a very interesting philosophy, Alina…”
“You’re just angry,” the girl whispered to her back.
Polina didn’t reply.
***
Polina walked home, remembering, remembering, remembering…
She had gotten married in a white dress she made herself, while Sergey wore a baggy suit borrowed from someone else.
They lived in neighboring entrances, had known each other since childhood, but a spark suddenly appeared at someone’s birthday party.
Then came the cramped room in a communal apartment, Yegor’s first cry, sleepless nights.
Polina remembered Sergey running out to buy milk at five in the morning, how they counted every coin until payday, but were perfectly happy.
Then Anton was born. Things got a bit easier, they bought an apartment and had more space. Sergey’s work started to go well, and he began earning good money.
They were best friends, two halves of one whole. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to her.
When their sons grew up and moved out—Egor to his own place, Anton to another city—Polina actually felt happy about it.
“Finally, we can live for ourselves,” she thought.
But Sergei… out of nowhere, at fifty, it was like he was suddenly unleashed.
He swapped his classic trousers for jeans, got a trendy haircut, and started wearing expensive cologne that at first made Polina’s head spin.
For his birthday three months ago, the whole family gathered. Sergei stood at the head of the table, so fit and energetic, and proposed a toast:
“To a second youth! May the fire in our eyes never die!”
Polina laughed along with everyone else. She had no idea that this ‘fire’ was being fueled by young Alina.
***
It was quiet at home. Polina walked into the kitchen, absentmindedly straightening the napkins on the table. Sergei was due back in an hour.
She sat down on a chair, placed her hands in her lap, and waited.
And then… she waited him in.
“Poliush, I’m home!” her husband called out cheerfully. “You won’t believe it, I was stuck in traffic forever, but at least I got those pastries you love. From that bakery on the corner.”
He walked into the kitchen, saw his wife’s face, and froze.
“Did something happen? Did the boys call? Is Anton okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Sergei,” Polina looked up at him. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Polya, you look pale. Maybe it’s your blood pressure? Let me make you some tea.”
“No need for tea. I went for a walk in the park today… Met a girl. Alina.”
Sergei slowly set the bag of pastries down on the table.
“She came to see you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“She asked you to let her go. She told me that I’ve already lived my life and now it’s someone else’s turn.”
What do you think of that kind of logic, Sergei?
Her husband sat down across from her.
“Polya, I didn’t want it to go like this…” he began, stumbling. “I was going to tell you. I swear.”
I just didn’t know how. You… You’re part of me, and…
“Part of you? Which part? Third kidney, completely unnecessary?!”
“Don’t say that!” he lifted his head. “I’m grateful for everything. For our sons, for our home, for these thirty years. You’re the best woman I’ve ever known.”
But with her… with her I feel like I’m twenty again. Do you get that?
My back straightens up, I feel like moving mountains. I’m not just getting by—I’m truly living!
“So with me, you were just killing time?” she said bitterly, a wry smile on her lips. “All those evening walks, our plans for grandchildren, the vacation in Bulgaria…”
Was all that just an act?
“No! That was real, but… Polya, you have to understand, at fifty a man needs to know he still can… that he’s interesting not just as a wallet or father.”
“And that’s how you decided to prove it?!”
Sergei buried his face in his hands.
“Tomorrow is our thirtieth anniversary,” Polina reminded him. “You booked a table at ‘Olimp.'”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“We are going there. Tomorrow. Just the two of us. And we’ll decide what to do next there. But today… today you need to leave, Sergei.”
Go see your Alina, tell her you confessed everything to me…
He left. Quietly, closing the door almost silently behind him.
***
The next evening, she took her time getting ready. She put on her best dark blue dress and carefully styled her hair.
In the mirror, she saw a beautiful, elegant woman looking back at her. No, not a girl anymore. There were fine lines around her eyes, and her gaze was deep—far too knowing, full of life experience.
But does that really mean she should be discounted?
At the restaurant, waiters fluttered between tables. Polina walked confidently to hers—Sergey was already waiting for her.
He looked awful: dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly as he straightened his napkin.
“You look wonderful, Polya,” he said as she sat down.
“Thank you. Let’s get to the point, Sergey. I don’t want to waste this evening on small talk.”
He took a deep breath and nodded.
“Alright. You asked how long it’s been going on. Six months. We met at an auto show.”
She was working at the booth there. At first, we were just talking, but then… things developed.
“Do you love her?” Polina asked directly, looking him straight in the eye.
Sergey hesitated, looked away, but then met his wife’s eyes again.
“Yes. I do love her. It’s a different feeling, Polya. Not the same as what I have for you.”
“With her, I feel alive, you know? Whole… I hate myself for saying this.”
“And what have you decided?”
“She’s pregnant, Polya.”
For a split second, Polina’s whole world shrank to a single point. The sounds of the restaurant faded, leaving only the pounding of her own heart echoing in her temples.
“Pregnant…” she repeated. “So you’re going to have another child. At fifty-one years old.”
“I’m in shock myself. But… I can’t just abandon her in this situation. You know me. I couldn’t live with that guilt.”
“Of course,” Polina felt a solitary tear slide down her cheek. “Of course you are so noble.”
So noble that you decided to destroy everything we built, brick by brick.
“Polya, forgive me. If you can—please forgive me. I’ll leave you the apartment, the car, the dacha. Anything you want. I don’t need anything, I’ll start over from scratch.”
“Start fresh?” she smiled bitterly. “Sergey, it will never truly be a clean slate. But I won’t hold you back. Go. Right now.”
“Right now? What about dinner?”
“Do you really think I could swallow a single bite after what you’ve just told me? Go to her. She needs you more. She’s the one who asked for ‘a chance to live.’ Well, let her live now.”
Let her try to build what I’ve been building for three decades. Let’s see if she has the patience for your quirks, your snoring at night, your habit of leaving socks everywhere and grumbling in the mornings.
Sergey stood up. He looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and yet—as if he’d just been thrown into the cold, naked.
“Polya, I…” He faltered. “I’ll tell Egor and Anton myself.”
“Tell them. I’m sure they’ll be curious to know they’ll soon have a little brother or sister, a quarter-century younger than they are.”
After he left, Polina ordered herself a glass of the finest wine. She sat alone at a table set for two, and the people around her were probably thinking:
What a lonely, sorrowful woman.
And now, she felt free.
***
Polina stood by the window in her spacious living room. On the table lay tiny pink knitted booties.
In a couple of weeks, Egor’s daughter would be born. The first granddaughter. A little miracle the whole family was waiting for.
Seryozha was living with Alina. Anton shared that their father looked tired, even though this was supposed to be his ‘second youth.’
It turned out that his young wife demanded lots of attention, expensive gifts, and endless entertainment—things Seryozha, who was used to cozy evenings with a book, wasn’t really prepared for.
On top of that, his back had started to ache, and for some reason, Alina wasn’t eager to give him massages with the same tenderness that Polina used to.
His phone buzzed—it was a message from Egor:
“Mom, will you pick up the car seat tomorrow? We’ve got everything ready.”
Polina smiled and quickly texted back:
“Of course, son. I’ll pick it up!”
Polina had finally let her husband go. Sure, sometimes she still felt sad, but she quickly pulled herself together. After all, life doesn’t end after divorce.
Seryozha did become a father for the third time, but the initial joy was quickly replaced by constant sleepless nights, exhaustion, and confusion as he tried to keep up with the demands of his young wife.
Alina was angry at her husband. How could he have left absolutely everything to his ex-wife?!
She thought she’d hit the jackpot, but what she really got… was just an ordinary, worn-out man who wasn’t exactly new—and broke, too!