Alina sighed deeply again, fidgeting with the strap of her worn-out bag. “He’s lying there, completely weak.
No appetite, no energy.
We’ve seen every doctor—no one can help.
He’s even started preparing for the worst…
Says he feels like his time is up.”
“That’s no sick man!” Nina Petrovna suddenly scoffed, her eyes flashing with indignation.
“The great actor in your Pavlushka is clearly waking up!
He’s putting on such a show—Stanislavsky himself would be envious!”
“Why would you say that?” Alina was saddened, although a sliver of doubt had already started to creep in. “Pasha really is suffering.
How can it be his fault if the doctors can’t find a diagnosis?”
“Oh, you’re so young…” the paramedic waved her hand. “The doctors can’t find anything because there’s nothing to find.
But you’ll figure it out yourself,” she said meaningfully, giving Alina a look before disappearing down the alley, leaving the girl in a whirlwind of anxious thoughts.
She had no desire to go home.
Alina headed toward the river and sat on a fallen tree the locals used as an improvised bench.
A scene from their goodbye before her trip to the funeral flashed before her eyes.
When Pavel heard about her plan to leave, he let out a dramatic sigh and covered his eyes with a thin, waxy-looking hand:
“Of course, go, darling.
I understand…
Just remember, inheritances don’t grow on trees.
When I die, there won’t even be money for my funeral.”
Now those words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Alina thought back to how it all started.
After graduating from music college, she firmly refused to pursue a career as a violinist, despite all her grandfather’s hopes.
“I’ll never touch that instrument again!” she declared, placing her red diploma and the beloved violin he had gifted her at age twelve in front of him.
“What do you mean, never again?” her grandfather turned red with rage, his calloused hands balling into fists.
“I dedicated my whole life to making you a musician!
What now—are you going to twist cows’ tails?”
“Better twist cows’ tails than play the violin!” she blurted out, instantly regretting it—but it was too late.
Pride and hurt kept her from taking it back.
And so she ended up in this village, becoming the head of the local community center.
That’s where she met Pavel—the only guy who didn’t swear and seemed like the perfect life partner.
He admired her determination, spoke sweetly about their future, and Alina gradually forgot about her city life and the suitors who used to carry her violin case.
Their first year together passed in a blur.
She worked tirelessly: bought a cow, even though Pavel had dreamed of a motorcycle.
He was deeply offended, repeating over and over that she didn’t care about his interests, that she ignored his dreams.
Now Alina thought bitterly: she would’ve sold everything and bought a dozen motorcycles if only she could bring back the Pavel she had fallen in love with—the one who had been there and supported her.
Their family crisis began four months ago, when during a heavy rain, water started dripping right onto the dinner table.
“Pasha, what is this?” she asked, placing a bowl under the leaks.
“Water, what else?” he laughed, not taking his eyes off the TV.
“What’s so funny?
The roof’s going to collapse soon!” Alina raised her voice at him for the first time in her life, feeling years of bottled-up frustration finally break free.
“What am I supposed to do?” he snapped, finally turning toward her. “Fixing the roof costs money.
Do *you* have any?”
“Do *you*?” Alina exploded. “Other husbands work from dawn till dusk, provide for their families, care about their future!
And what do *you* do?”
“There’s no work for me in this village!” Pavel shouted, jumping up. “I’m not about to roll around in manure for some backyard farm.
That’s not what I was born for!”
After that fight, he moved in with his mother, and a week later came back claiming he was bedridden with some mysterious illness.
Now Alina was slowly walking up the familiar path toward their house, turning over the paramedic’s strange hints in her mind.
The gate was wide open, though she clearly remembered locking it before leaving.
Voices drifted from inside the house.
She crept closer to the door and heard her husband talking to his mother:
“No, mom, she’s dumb as a rock.
These cabbage rolls are amazing!
Haven’t eaten this well in ages.”
Alina peeked through the crack—and froze.
Her “dying” husband was eagerly devouring lunch, gesturing energetically.
His cheeks were flushed with healthy color, and his voice sounded completely lively.
“Don’t forget,” his mother reminded him, pouring another portion, “when she comes back, you should look completely miserable.
Mention a sanatorium, expensive treatment.
She got an inheritance from her grandfather—let her spend it on you.”
“Exactly,” Pavel chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “The treatment will cost exactly as much as her inheritance!
Then I can start recovering bit by bit.”
Alina’s breath caught in her throat.
She slipped out of the house silently and went to the neighbors.
An hour later, the cow and chickens were sold for next to nothing, and she was methodically packing her things into an old suitcase.
Seeing this, Pavel suddenly “fell ill” again:
“Alinochka, bring me some water…
I’m feeling really awful.”
“No, dear,” she replied, looking at him with contemptuous pity. “You’re only sick from your lies and your mother’s advice.
Look at yourself—a healthy man lying on the couch all day.
What are you even worth?”
That very evening, she left for the city, to the apartment she had inherited after her grandfather passed away.
A week later, the divorce papers were filed.
Pavel, coached by his mother, rushed to the city, hoping to win her back.
He paced for hours in front of her building, imagining himself the master of that city apartment, finally escaping the village he hated.
But when a sleek black car pulled up and an elegant silver-haired man stepped out to help Alina, Pavel froze.
She looked completely transformed—flawless hair, stylish clothes, a confident gaze.
There was no trace of the simple village woman she had been just a week ago.
“What are you doing here?” she raised an eyebrow in surprise upon spotting her ex-husband.
“I came to see my wife!
And you’re here with some… gentleman,” he tried to feign outrage.
“First of all, this is Andrey, an old friend.
Second of all, what’s it to you?
Didn’t you get the divorce papers?”
“I did, but I won’t agree!
We love each other!” he blurted out the line he had prepared, hearing how fake it sounded.
Alina laughed—lightly, as if she’d finally shed the weight of her past: “Go home, stop embarrassing yourself.
How did you even have the nerve to show up after your ‘terminal illness’ and mommy’s cooking?”
She took Andrey’s arm and confidently walked toward the entrance.
Pavel took a step after her but changed his mind when he met Andrey’s steely gaze—there was such strength and confidence in those gray eyes that Pavel just wanted to disappear.
Six months later, Alina, radiant in a snow-white dress, walked into the registry office on Andrey’s arm—happy and free from her past life with the fraud.
Her new husband turned out to be not only successful but also a gifted musician.
And when their city apartment filled with the sound of a violin in the evenings, Alina often thought how strangely fate works—bringing us back to what we once walked away from.
