Lidia’s Fingers
Lidia’s wrinkled fingers clutched the cup of cold tea. Thirty-two years of marriage, three thousand shared dinners, countless shirts washed — and now, she sat alone in their kitchen, every corner steeped in memory.
“I don’t understand, Vitya,” she said, her voice trembling like a string. “You… you’re just leaving like that?”
Victor was methodically packing his belongings into an old suitcase, as if performing some mundane chore. His movements were slow, almost thoughtful — giving her time to grasp what was happening.
“Lida, we both knew this would happen eventually. Everything between us has been dead for years. I want to live for myself now. I’m sixty and I haven’t really lived yet.”
Lidia flinched, as if he had slapped her. Thirty-two years of travel, theater, anniversaries, New Year’s dinners — all reduced to “nothing.”
“How old is she?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Thirty-five. Her name is Katya. She’s… different. Do you understand?”
“Twenty-two years younger than me — that’s what you mean?” Lidia felt something tear inside her — like a sheet of paper made of hope and illusion.
“Not just that,” Victor replied, snapping the suitcase shut. “She’s full of life. She laughs loud, doesn’t count every penny.”
“I counted so we could buy this apartment! So Masha could go to university!” Her voice rose without her meaning to.
“There you go again. Yelling. I can’t take it anymore.”
Lidia bit her lip. Her? Yelling? That’s what he took away from thirty years?
“I’ll come back for the rest of my things. The apartment papers are at the notary. Fifty percent each. So don’t even think about…” he hesitated, “making any decisions on your own.”
“You’re going to her place?”
“Yes, Lida. To her place.”
He walked to the door, then paused:
“You know, maybe this is for the best. You’ll get a break from me. Take a step back. Maybe you’ll understand.”
Lidia stared at him, incredulous.
“Understand you?” she said with a bitter smile. “And will you understand how I feel?”
“You’re strong, Lida. You’ll be fine.”
The door slammed shut. Lidia remained standing in the apartment, where every cup, every curtain had been chosen together. She didn’t move until the tea had gone completely cold. Then, suddenly, she threw the cup at the wall.
The shattering porcelain rang out like a signal.
“He’s just… gone?” her daughter Masha’s voice came through the receiver, indignant.
“Yes, he took his things and went to her. Told me I’d ‘be fine.’ Can you imagine, Masha?”
“My God, Mom, what a… what a selfish man! Thirty-two years!”
“Thirty-two years,” Lidia repeated, gazing at their wedding photo.
For two weeks, Lidia barely left the house. She stared at the ceiling, flipped through photo albums, and cried every last tear. Then one morning, she woke with a strange clarity.
“I will be fine,” she whispered to the empty pillow beside her.
That day, she called Nina, her friend and lawyer.
“Lida, we don’t have much time. If he’s already talking about dividing things, that Katya is pulling the strings.”
“What should I do?” Lidia asked, her eyes resolute.
“Transfer your share of the apartment to Masha. As for the savings…”
Lidia listened carefully, taking notes. That same day, she went to the bank and withdrew half of their joint account.
“Fifty percent, Vitya. Remember?”
“Mrs. Vorontsova, are you sure you want to close this account? It’s very advantageous.”
“Quite sure,” she replied calmly — even surprising herself.
The following days were a blur of lawyers, notaries, and banks. Lidia signed, photocopied, and filed documents. With every completed form, she felt a little more control return.
A month later, Victor called.
“Lida? How are you?”
“Wonderfully well, Vitya.”
“I’d like to come get the rest of my things. And… maybe talk.”
“Of course. Come by. We could even have dinner, like old times.”
“Really? I… I’ll be there at seven.”
After hanging up, she called Nina.
“He’s coming tomorrow. I think things didn’t work out with Katya.”
“Obviously. She probably got tired of his dirty socks,” Nina joked. “Are you ready?”
“All the documents are in order. Divorce finalized, gift deed to Masha registered, accounts closed.”
“Lidochka, you’re incredible. Stay strong.”
The next day, Lidia styled her hair for the first time in weeks. She wore the blue dress Victor used to love and cooked his favorite dish — potato gratin with mushrooms.
At 7 p.m., he rang the doorbell.
Victor looked older. His wrinkles deeper, hair thinner. And he smelled of some foreign perfume.
“Lida, you look stunning.”
She pointed silently to the coat rack and returned to the kitchen.
“Smells good,” he said. “Is that my favorite gratin?”
“I thought we could remember the past.”
They sat. Victor fidgeted with his fork, uneasy.
“And you? How’s life?”
“Very well. I go swimming, started taking Italian classes.”
“Italian? You’ve always dreamed of that…”
“Thirty years of dreaming, yes. And Katya?”
Victor cleared his throat.
“It’s over. Wasn’t what I expected. She was demanding — wanted gifts, restaurants. Within a week she said I didn’t give her enough comfort.”
“Young women have different expectations. Wasn’t that what you wanted? A woman ‘full of life’?”
Victor lowered his eyes.
“I made a mistake. I see that now. These weeks without you… they were a nightmare.”
Lidia looked at him. Strangely, she didn’t feel angry or bitter. Just tired… and free.
“We could fix things. Start over.”
“Wait,” she said, going to fetch a brown envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Take a look.”
Inside were documents: divorce certificate, deed of donation to Masha, bank account statements.
His expression changed — from surprise to rage.
“You’ve got to be kidding. What have you done?”
“I protected myself. Like you said — I ‘managed.’”
“This is unfair! The apartment was ours!”
“It was. I gave my share to our daughter while we were still married. The rest is yours.”
“You divorced me without telling me?”
“And you left without telling me. You wanted freedom — now you have it.”
They sat in silence. Then Victor whispered:
“I won’t make it on my own.”
“You will. Everyone can. If they choose to.”
Outside, the wind rustled the leaves. Inside, it was warm. For the first time in a long while, Lidia wasn’t afraid. She wanted to live for herself. Walk at her own pace. Open the window without asking. Be free.
“Try, Vitya. It’s not hopeless.”
He nodded slowly. No anger, no hope — just resignation.
“I’ll go, then.”
“I know.”
He lingered by the door.
“Can I stay tonight? Just on the couch?”
“No, Vitya. This isn’t your home anymore.”
“Can I call sometimes? Just to know how you are?”
“Of course. We’ve shared too many years to be strangers.”
At the door, he turned once more:
“You’re an incredible woman, Lida. I just… forgot.”
“Goodbye, Vitya.”
The door closed. Lidia leaned against it for a moment, then reached for her phone.
“Masha? Yes, he came. It’s all fine. Say… how about moving the Italy trip to December instead of January? I’m ready, my love. Really ready.”
Outside, the rain was falling gently. Inside, Lidia was browsing pictures of Italian cities on her tablet, smiling at the new day she no longer feared to meet.
