Olga and Georgiy celebrated their 17th wedding anniversary in a quiet, family way. Olga made her signature roast and baked a cherry pie, while their fifteen-year-old daughter Diana gave them a touching collage made from old family photos. In those pictures, she and Georgiy—then still young grad students—laughed together, cuddling in a chilly autumn park. As Olga looked at the collage, she felt calm, lullaby-like happiness. It seemed to her that their life was a solid, sturdy home that could weather any storm.
«Mom, Dad, smile!» Diana called out and snapped a picture of them with her phone.
Georgiy smiled, but it was forced—a smile just with his lips. That night, in his usually calm and attentive eyes, flickered an odd, feverish gleam. Olga chalked it up to exhaustion. The end of the semester at the university, heavy workload, diploma defenses. If only she knew what kind of «defense» was really unfolding at Georgiy’s department.
It all began three months ago, when an intern named Alena was assigned to their history department. She was twenty-two, wore expensive perfume and short skirts that barely covered her thighs, and looked at Georgiy—the respected associate professor and monograph author—as if he were a living god. For a forty-three-year-old man whose days had turned into a predictable routine of «home – university – country house,» her gaze was a drop of oil thrown onto the smoldering coals of a midlife crisis.
At first, there were innocent discussions about curricula after lectures. Then came shared coffees in the cafeteria. And soon, Georgiy caught himself spending half an hour before work in front of the mirror, choosing a tie, carefully covering the gray at his temples with special gel.
At home, everything started to irritate him. Olga—familiar, cozy, always in her apron with her hair in a bun—made him feel a dull annoyance. He thought she smelled only of borscht and stove cleaner.
«Olga, why is the soup bland again?» he would snap, pushing his bowl away irritably.
«I salted it like I always do,» Olga would reply, confused, looking at her husband. «Do you want me to bring you the salt shaker?»
«I don’t need you to bring me anything! You can’t even get the simplest things right. And why are you always in that robe? Look at yourself, you’re a woman, not the household help!»
Olga would grow pale, clutching a kitchen towel. She tried to figure out what had changed, what she had done wrong. She started cleaning more, bought new dresses, but Georgiy seemed to deliberately ignore them.
Diana got caught in the crossfire, too. Georgiy used to adore his daughter—he’d check her homework and take her to the movies. Now, every time she appeared in the living room, he unleashed a storm of criticism.
«What are you wearing? What is that shapeless thing?» he’d yell at his daughter. «You look like a street kid! And why did you get another B in math? With your brains, you should be the best in class—but you’re sliding downhill!»
Diana, her face flushed with anger, stormed off to her room and slammed the door behind her. Olga tried to speak to her husband privately, but Georgy dismissed her every time, claiming both women were «weighing him down and becoming useless.» In a home where laughter and warmth once filled every room, a suffocating fear had now settled in. Olga and Diana moved around on tiptoe, doing their best not to catch the attention of the ever-edgy head of the family.
By late autumn, the tension finally reached a breaking point. It happened on an ordinary Tuesday. Olga was ironing laundry in the living room, while Diana sat in her room doing homework. Georgy came home late, carrying a faint hint of someone else’s sickly-sweet perfume. He went straight to the bathroom, and moments later, his furious scream echoed through the house:
«Olga! Get in here!»
Olga jumped, set the iron aside, and hurried to the bathroom. Georgy stood by the sink, breathing heavily, jabbing his finger at the mirrored shelf.
«How many times do I have to tell you? Why is the toothpaste not closed again? Because of you it dries out! Can you for once in your life show a little bit of care?»
It was so ridiculous and petty that Olga couldn’t take it anymore. All the resentment that had built up over the past months came bursting out.
«You better stop it. It’s not about the toothpaste, is it? You’re just looking for an excuse to blow up! What is happening to you? You’ve become a stranger, you’re driving me crazy, you’re yelling at your daughter! If you have problems at work, what does that have to do with us?»
Suddenly, Georgy fell silent. The red in his face drained away, leaving him chalky pale. He looked at Olga with an icy, disgusted stare that took her breath away.
«Problems at work?» he repeated quietly, mocking her. «No, Olya. My problems are at home. I can’t do this or lie any longer. I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.»
Diana, frightened by the shouting, came out of her room and stopped in the hallway.
«What are you talking about?» Olga whispered, feeling like the ground was vanishing beneath her feet.
«You heard me! You’ve gotten old, Olya! I’ve met someone else!» he shouted, his words striking like a whip. «I found a real woman. Young, vibrant, alive! With her, I feel like a man. With you, I just get older before my time!»
Olga swayed, throwing out her hand as if to ward off a blow. Diana rushed to her mother, wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, and shot her father a hateful glare.
«Leave!» the girl shouted at the top of her voice. «If you’re like this, then go to your young girlfriend!»
«And I will!» Georgy strode quickly to the bedroom, grabbed a huge travel suitcase from the closet and began throwing his things in: suits, shirts, books. Olga stood in the doorway, unable to move, choked by tears, her heart pounding in her throat. Seventeen years of life reduced to dust, underscored by the crackling of zipper teeth.
«About the property,» Georgy said sharply as he zipped up the suitcase. «We bought this apartment when we were married. It’s registered in your name—stay here. But the apartment I inherited from my grandmother, the one we were renting out… I’m keeping that one. I need a place for me and Alyonochka to live. I won’t take anything else—I’m not petty. File for divorce; my lawyer will sign everything.»
He grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door. At the threshold, he turned around, looked at Olga—her face pale, suddenly aged in just those few minutes—and added:
«Don’t look for me. It’s over.»
The door slammed shut with a dull, heavy thud. Olga slowly slid to the floor right there in the entryway and burst into tears—loud, gut-wrenching sobs, her fingernails scraping the parquet. She felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest while she was still alive.
The next three months passed by in a blur for Olga. There was a court hearing, but Georgy didn’t even bother to show up—he just sent a representative. The divorce was finalized quickly. That same week, Georgy evicted the tenants from their inherited apartment.
Olga couldn’t sleep, barely ate, and lost ten kilograms. Her cheekbones became prominent, and dark shadows formed under her eyes. She felt branded—as if someone had marked her “discarded as useless.” The worst part was the pain of betrayal: the person she’d given her youth, the best years of her life, her health, had thrown her away like a pair of worn-out shoes.
But Diana was there for her. The fifteen-year-old girl suddenly seemed to grow up overnight. She wouldn’t let her mother lie in bed for days at a time.
“Mommy, get up, let’s go for a walk,” Diana would say softly, tugging the blanket off her. “Look at the weather. Let’s go have some coffee.”
Diana cooked simple dinners herself, cleaned the apartment, and even made Olga put on lipstick before they went outside.
“You’re the most beautiful mom, you know that?” her daughter would say while brushing Olga’s hair. “He’ll regret this. You’ll see, Mom—he’ll come crawling back, and by then it’ll be too late.”
Meanwhile, Georgy cut off all contact. He didn’t call his daughter once in the whole year, nor did he even ask if they had enough money. Technically, Olga could have filed for child support, but her pride was far too wounded—she refused to beg for handouts from the man who had trampled all over them.
By spring, Olga realized she needed to keep living for her daughter’s sake. She signed up for professional development courses in accounting, refreshed her skills, and soon her friend recommended her for a position at a large retail company. Olga landed the job with a good salary.
Her new job demanded energy. Olga revamped her wardrobe—ditching the shapeless sweaters for elegant pantsuits. She cut off her long, exhausting hair for a stylish bob and dyed it a soft chocolate shade. Gone were the traces of submissiveness and sorrow in her eyes, replaced by a firm, confident spark. She learned to value herself independent of any man. Life without Georgy’s constant criticisms and perpetual dissatisfaction turned out to be surprisingly peaceful and easy. At last, peace settled in their home.
But Georgy’s fairytale, which had started out so beautifully, quickly began to unravel into a nightmare.
The first two months with Alena felt like a nonstop carnival. She was young, passionate, and demanded his attention every minute. Georgy felt like the hero of a romance novel. But soon, everyday life caught up with them. Or rather, there was no everyday life—Alena absolutely refused to cook or clean.
“Darling, I’m your muse, not your cook,” Alena pouted dramatically as she scrolled through her social media feed. “Let’s just order from a restaurant. And we need a cleaning service—I can’t ruin my manicure with all those cleaning products.”
Georgy obediently paid for everything. But Alena’s demands kept escalating at lightning speed. First, she needed a new iPhone, then a designer bag. Soon after, she announced she was embarrassed to fly economy like her friends and demanded a trip to Dubai. Georgy’s university salary—even with all his lectures and tutoring jobs—was nowhere near enough. So he started taking out loans.
When the banks began to refuse him, Alena threw a huge tantrum.
“You’re a man, aren’t you? You promised me the world! Now you can’t even pay for a basic vacation! Why did I ever get involved with an over-the-hill professor?”
Swallowing his hurt, Georgy made a tough decision—he sold his inherited apartment. He believed the money would solve everything, give him peace and win the love of his young beauty. The apartment sold fast, the money landed in his account. Alena’s anger vanished instantly and they jetted off to a resort.
But the millions from selling the apartment vanished within six months with Alena at the helm. A car purchased on credit for her, expensive clubs, high-end clothes. By autumn, the money was gone, but Alena’s appetite for luxury remained.
With constant financial stress, juggling three jobs and nonstop complaints, Georgy’s health started to crumble. At first it was just ringing in his ears, then he began to feel dizzy.
One evening, as Alena was once again demanding money for a friend’s birthday at an exclusive club, Georgy’s vision faded. His heart pounded wildly, his left arm went numb. He collapsed onto the couch, gasping for air.
“Alena… call an ambulance… I think my blood pressure…” he managed to croak.
She glanced at him with a mix of annoyance and disgust.
“Oh my God, not this! Are you planning to die now? I’m twenty-two! I want to have fun, not take care of some old sick loser! And you can’t even afford a proper doctor!”
She did call the ambulance, but while Georgy lay in the hospital with a hypertensive crisis, Alena packed her things, took the last of the money from his card, and moved out. As a farewell, she sent him a message: “Sorry, but we’re done. I need a man who is strong and put together, not falling apart. The landlord wants the rent tomorrow. I left the keys on the table.”
After being discharged from the hospital, Georgy found himself in an empty rented apartment—broke, burdened with debts, his health ruined, realizing he’d lost everything. He had nowhere to go.
Late October was cold and rainy. Olga and Diana were in the kitchen—Diana chatting about school, Olga sifting through work documents. The apartment felt warm and cozy, filled with the scent of fresh tea with cinnamon and apple pie.
Suddenly, a hesitant, uncertain ring sounded from the hallway. Olga glanced at the clock in surprise—it was already around nine in the evening.
“I’ll get it, Mom,” Diana said, getting up from her chair.
No, stay seated, I’ll handle it myself.
Olga walked over to the door, turned the lock, and opened it. Standing in the dim light of the landing was a man. It took Olga a moment to recognize her ex-husband.
Georgy looked terrible. He was gaunt and hunched, his face covered in a gray web of wrinkles, and his hair was almost completely white. He wore an old, slightly worn coat, clutching the same suitcase he had left with a year ago. Soaked by the rain, he breathed heavily and wheezed, pressing his hand to his chest.
«Olya… hi,» he said softly, his voice hoarse as he tried to smile. «Can I come in? The weather is awful out there… and I feel so sick, my blood pressure spiked again.»
He started to step through the doorway, just like he used to at home, but Olga calmly moved forward, blocking his way. She looked at him and felt absolutely nothing inside. No anger, no hurt, no old love. Just emptiness and a slight disgust, the kind you feel toward an unpleasant bug.
«Hello, Georgy,» she said calmly. «Why are you here?»
«Olya, I made a terrible mistake,» his voice shook, and tears welled in his eyes. He looked pathetic, like a beaten dog. «That… Alena, she turned out to be a monster. She only wanted my money. She made me sell my apartment, took everything, and left me when I got sick. Olya, youth is such a foolish thing, such a blur of reason! Only now, when I’ve lost everything, do I realize how wonderful you were, how great our family was… Please forgive me. Can we start over? I understand now.»
He looked at her with pleading eyes, ready to almost drop to his knees. Diana came out of the kitchen into the hallway. She stopped behind her mother and silently stared at her father with cold eyes. Georgy turned his gaze to his daughter:
«Dianochka, sweetheart… say something to her. I am still your father…»
«There’s no way back, Georgy,» interrupted Olga, her voice steady. «You left to chase youth—so go keep looking for it. You shouted for everyone to hear that I was old. Well, take a look at me now. I’m alive, I’m happy, and there’s no place for traitors in my life.»
«But Olya, I have nowhere to live!» Georgy almost yelled, grabbing the door frame. «I don’t have a single penny, just debts, and my health is ruined! Where am I supposed to go?»
Olga gave a short, bitter laugh.
«And when you left, did you even think about how we would survive? Did you once in this whole year ask if your daughter had a winter coat? You never paid a single ruble in alimony, hid, and blocked our numbers. You erased us, Georgy. And now you crawl back because your new toy kicked you out? What kind of return are you talking about?»
«Mom, close the door, it’s drafty out there,» Diana said quietly, not even looking at her father.
«You’re right, honey.»
Olga looked Georgy in the eyes one last time.
«Goodbye, Georgy. And don’t come here again.»
She pulled the handle and closed the door. The lock clicked shut. Georgiy was left standing in the dimly lit stairwell. He stood there for a couple of minutes, hoping for a miracle, but instead he heard the distant footsteps and gentle, calm laughter of his ex-wife and daughter on the other side. They had gone back to their tea.
Georgiy slowly turned, picked up his now heavier suitcase, and trudged down the stairs. His legs weren’t cooperating, and he felt a tightness in his chest. Stepping outside into the pouring, cold rain, he adjusted the collar of his coat and set off towards the bus stop.
He had a long journey ahead, all the way to the edge of the city, to a Khrushchyovka where his mother lived—a woman with a difficult character, who never praised him and certainly wouldn’t be happy to see her forty-four-year-old son returning with a suitcase full of debts and a broken life instead of success. This was his new reality, one he had created with his own hands.
