Oliver bumped into his ex-wife, and his face burned with envy. He slammed the fridge door so hard that everything inside rattled. One of the magnets from the door fell to the floor with a clang.
Eleanor stood opposite, pale, her hands clenched into fists.
“Feel better now?” she sighed, lifting her chin.
“You’ve just worn me out,” Oliver snapped, trying to keep calm. “What kind of life is this? No joy, no future.”
“So again, it’s my fault?” Eleanor laughed bitterly. “Of course, nothing is like your dreams.”
Oliver wanted to speak but just waved his hand. He opened a bottle of sparkling water, took a sip directly from it, and then placed it on the table.
“Oliver, don’t go silent,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling. “For once, say what’s really bothering you.”
“What is there to say?” he sneered. “I’m fed up with all this. To hell with it!”
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Finally, Eleanor took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Oliver sank heavily onto the sofa. From behind the door came the sound of running water—Eleanor had turned on the tap to drown out her own tears. But he didn’t care anymore.
Life had become a monotonous routine.
Three years ago, they got married. Initially, they lived in Eleanor’s apartment, passed down from her parents, then moved to a country house, transferring the apartment to their daughter. Their home was spacious but hadn’t been renovated; the furniture was a reminder of bygone eras.
Oliver was happy at first: central location, convenient for work. But over time, everything began to irritate him. Eleanor loved their “family fortress” with its brown wallpaper and antique sideboard, inherited from her family. Oliver saw it as stagnation.
“Tell me, Eleanor,” he repeated, “don’t you want to change this awful yellow linoleum? Update the interior, make it modern?”
“Oliver, we don’t have any extra money for renovations right now,” she replied calmly. “I dream of changes too, but let’s wait for a bonus.”
“Wait?! That’s your whole philosophy—endure and wait!”
Oliver often recalled why he fell in love with Eleanor. Then, she was a modest student, her sincere blue eyes and gentle smile captivated him. He told friends, “She’s a bud that will bloom.” But now it seemed the flower never blossomed and had already withered.
Eleanor didn’t see herself as invisible. She lived as she thought right, found joy in little things—a cup of mint tea, a new napkin, a quiet evening with a book. But Oliver saw only stagnation and routine.
Neither rushed for a divorce—Oliver didn’t want to move back with his parents, and living separately seemed impossible. Eleanor’s mother, Francine, always sided with her daughter-in-law:
“Son, Eleanor is a good woman. Be grateful you have a flat.”
“You just don’t get it, Mum!” Oliver fumed.
His father simply waved it off:
“Let him figure it out himself.”
At home, Oliver grew more distant: “She’s like a ghost, a gray phantom…” he thought. During one argument, he exclaimed:
“I saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I’m living with a frozen bud…”
It was the first time in months that Eleanor cried.
And on that day when everything finally broke down, Oliver quietly said:
“Eleanor, I’m tired.”
“Of what?” she asked.
“Of this life, the endless routine.”
Eleanor picked up her bag and left. Oliver hoped she would return and ask him to stay, but she walked out calmly:
“Maybe you really should live on your own. Move out.”
Oliver exploded:
“I’m not leaving!”
“This is my parents’ flat,” Eleanor said coldly. “And I don’t want to live with someone who thinks I’m a burden.”
Oliver had no choice—he moved out. A few weeks later, their divorce was finalized.
A Meeting that Changed Everything
Three years passed. Oliver was still living with his parents, trying to start anew, but luck didn’t favor him. His job paid little, and only small joys grew.
One spring evening, wandering down the street, he passed a café and, glancing inside, froze. There was Eleanor at the door.
But this wasn’t the Eleanor he remembered. Standing before him was a confident woman with a neat hairstyle, an elegant coat, and a set of car keys in hand.
“Eleanor?” Oliver uttered in surprise.
She turned, recognized him, and smiled.
“Oliver? Hi! How are you?”
“Yeah… I’m fine,” he mumbled, unable to take his eyes off her.
“Are you okay?” she asked calmly.
“And it seems you’re even better… Work as usual?”
“No, I’ve opened my own floral studio. It was daunting, but… someone gave me their support.”
“Who’s that?”
From the café, a tall man in an expensive coat emerged and tenderly wrapped his arm around Eleanor’s shoulder:
“Darling, the table’s free, shall we?”
“Oliver, meet William,” Eleanor addressed him. “We were happy to see you.”
“I’m glad for you,” Oliver whispered, feeling an intense pang of envy inside.
“Thank you,” Eleanor replied calmly.
William nodded, and they both entered the café, leaving Oliver standing on the cold pavement.
Once he said, “I’m living with a frozen bud.” But the bud did flourish. Just not with him.
