Oleg slammed the refrigerator door so hard that the contents of the shelves inside trembled.
One of the magnets decorating its surface fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Lena stood opposite him, pale, with tightly clenched fists.
“Well, do you feel better now?” she exhaled, sharply lifting her chin.
“You just drive me crazy,” Oleg’s voice broke, though he tried his best to speak quietly.
“What kind of life is this? No joy, no prospects.”
“So it’s my fault again?” Lena laughed, but her laughter sounded bitter.
“Of course, nothing is the way you dreamed it would be.”
Oleg wanted to say something in return, but just waved his hand.
He opened a bottle of mineral water, took a sip straight from the neck, and set it on the table.
“Oleg, don’t stay silent,” Lena’s voice was trembling.
“At least once, tell me directly — what’s wrong?”
“What’s there to say?” he bared his teeth.
“Even if I explained… you wouldn’t understand.”
I’m tired of all this.
Sick and tired!
They stared at each other in silence for several seconds.
Finally, Lena took a deep breath and went to the bathroom.
Oleg slumped down on the couch.
Behind the door, he could hear the sound of running water: Lena had probably turned on the faucet to muffle her sobs.
But Oleg realized that he no longer cared.
Oleg and Lena had gotten married three years ago.
They lived in Lena’s apartment, which she had inherited from her parents.
After retiring, her parents had moved to a house in the countryside and transferred the city apartment to their daughter.
The apartment was spacious, but with a simple renovation, and the furniture was almost from Soviet times.
At first, Oleg was satisfied: after all, the apartment was almost in the city center, close to work, in a decent neighborhood.
But after six months, everyday life started to irritate him.
Lena felt comfortable in her family stronghold with familiar brown wallpaper and her grandmother’s cupboard.
But to Oleg, everything seemed too ordinary.
“Lena, come on, explain it to me,” he kept bringing up the same topic.
“Don’t you want to change that horrible yellow linoleum? Or at least re-paper the walls? Make everything modern and stylish?”
“Oleg, we don’t have extra money right now for a major renovation,” she answered, trying to speak gently.
“Of course, I’d love to change everything, but let’s wait for a bonus or save up a little.”
“Wait?!
That’s your whole life — wait, endure.”
Oleg often remembered how he had met Lena.
She had been a modest student, but her blue eyes and kind smile had won him over.
He had told his friends, “I see a flower bud in her — it’ll open up, and everyone will be amazed.”
But now he felt disillusioned: “She never bloomed — she withered right at the root,” he thought, watching Lena dust fragile vases from her mother, feed a kitten she had picked up from the street, or straighten framed childhood photos on the wall.
But Lena didn’t see herself as a “gray mouse”: she simply lived the way she believed was right.
She found joy in small things — a new tablecloth, a quiet evening with a book, a cup of mint tea, the warm light of a desk lamp.
Oleg saw only stagnation in all of this.
Still, despite his constant complaints, he didn’t want to get divorced — deep down, he was held back by the thought that he would have to move out of the convenient apartment and back to his parents, with whom he never got along.
Especially since his mother, Tamara Ilyinichna, tended to take his wife’s side in any argument.
“Son, you’re wrong,” she would often say.
“Lena is a wonderful girl, a real treasure.”
“You live in her apartment… be grateful for that.”
“Mom, what do you know?” Oleg would grumble.
“You don’t understand anything about life.
You’re stuck in the Stone Age, just like Lena.”
Tamara Ilyinichna would sigh: her son had long since drifted away.
His father, Igor Sergeevich, knowing Oleg’s character, would simply say:
“Let him sort it out himself, Tamara.
Don’t interfere.”
Meanwhile, Oleg would come home and grow even angrier: “Lena’s like a shadow, a gray mouse, and she’s tied me down with this apartment,” he told himself over and over.
During another heated argument, he shouted:
“I once saw a beautiful flower in you!
And now what?
I live with a frozen bud…”
That time, Lena cried for the first time in many months.
And that hot day — the day everything started — they finally seriously discussed divorce.
Oleg stood by the window, watching the neighbors across the street arrange things on their balcony.
“Lena, I’m tired,” he said quietly, continuing to stare at the glass.
“You’re tired… of what?” she tried to keep her voice even.
“Of this life, of our endless arguments.
You’ve locked yourself in your world of pots and doilies.
Do you think I want to waste my years meaninglessly like this?”
Lena was silent for a moment, then grabbed a trash bag and went out into the hallway.
Oleg heard the door slam.
He hoped she would come back in a few minutes, maybe to talk it out.
But Lena was gone for half an hour and returned much calmer.
“You know,” she said, leaning against the wall, “maybe it really would be better for you to be on your own.
You should move out.”
“No way,” Oleg snapped, as if he had been insulted.
“I’m not leaving my own home.”
“Oleg, this is not your home.
It’s my parents’ apartment,” Lena smiled bitterly.
“Let’s be honest: things aren’t working out between us.
It’s time to admit it.”
He couldn’t find anything to say, so he retreated to the living room and sat down at his laptop.
But one thought kept gnawing at him: “Where will I go?
Back to my parents… and relations with them are strained.”
The quarrel hung heavy in the air, and over the following days, it was the same: they fought over trifles, but behind every argument lay the same thing — his indifference to his wife, whom he called a “gray mouse,” and his fear of being left without a roof over his head.
Finally, it reached the limit: Oleg got so angry he filed for divorce himself.
“I’m the one making the decision, not her,” he stubbornly muttered.
“After all, I have parents, I have somewhere to go.”
He packed his things and moved back to Tamara Ilyinichna and Igor Sergeevich, though without much enthusiasm.
Lena agreed to the divorce calmly.
Applications at the registry office — and soon they were officially no longer husband and wife.
Three years passed.
During all that time, Oleg lived with his parents.
At first, he thought, “I’ll relax for a couple of months, and then return to normal life: rent an apartment, find a new girl who shares my ideals.”
But he got stuck, like in a swamp.
Work was miserable: he earned just enough for modest pleasures.
And there were no prospects in sight.
His parents grumbled that their son was over thirty and still living off them.
And then one cold spring evening, Oleg was returning from a meeting with a friend.
He was walking past a small cozy café, where the lights in the windows were glowing warmly.
Oleg decided to step inside and warm up.
But as he got closer, he suddenly froze: standing at the entrance was Lena.
That same Lena he had left three years ago in her apartment.
But she was a different woman now: confident posture, neat hairstyle, elegant but strict clothes, and a calm gaze.
In her hand — car keys.
Judging by the brand, it was an expensive car.
“Wow…” Oleg thought and didn’t even notice how he approached her.
“Lena?” he called out.
She turned, didn’t recognize him at first, but then smiled.
Oleg noticed that her smile was no longer shy and awkward, but truly calm and confident.
“Hi, Oleg,” she said.
“Good to see you!
How are you?”
“Doing okay…” he adjusted his scarf, feeling awkward.
“I see you’re doing great.”
“Let’s just say, I now live the way I always dreamed,” Lena replied without a hint of arrogance.
“Really…” Oleg swallowed, trying to suppress the lump in his throat — and the growing envy.
“Uh… good for you.
Are you still working in the same place?”
“No, I changed fields.
I opened my own flower studio.
At first, I was scared, but…” she smiled.
“I met someone who supported me.”
“Who is that?” the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Before Lena could answer, a tall man in a coat appeared from the café.
He approached Lena and gently put his arm around her shoulders:
“Sweetheart, a table has opened up.
Shall we go?”
Lena turned to Oleg and introduced the man:
“This is Vadim.
Vadim, this is Oleg,” she smiled, touched by Vadim’s care.
“Anyway, Oleg, it was good to see you.
I… hope everything turns out well for you too.”
Oleg nodded, feeling a storm rise inside him.
Looking at Vadim, he suddenly realized: Lena had changed completely — she was no longer the “gray mouse” he had once seen her as.
She had bloomed, just like the flower he had once envisioned — only not with him, but with someone else.
“Lena…” he wanted to say something like “I’m sorry,” but the words stuck in his throat.
“I’m happy for you, really.”
“Thank you, Oleg,” she said softly but confidently.
“Take care of yourself.”
Vadim smiled at Oleg, nodded slightly, and they disappeared inside the glass doors of the café.
Oleg felt the cold wind cut through him to the bone.
He closed his eyes for a moment and remembered: “Living with a frozen bud…” — those were his own cruel words about Lena once.
And now that bud had blossomed — while he himself remained standing outside the door, literally and figuratively.
Through the big windows of the café, he could see Lena and Vadim chatting and laughing warmly.
Watching their gestures and genuine smiles, he realized that not just his evening was ruined — the emptiness inside him was only growing.
Once, he could have become a source of confidence for Lena, encouraged her to change, supported her dreams.
But he had chosen something completely different.
Oleg lowered his head and walked away from the café.
If he could have seen himself at that moment, he would have realized: he had turned green — with envy, with regret, and with the agonizing sense of a missed chance.
