Vadim threw open the window and climbed onto the sill. The black asphalt below seemed to call to him, both inviting and terrifying.
Life’s like a winding forest path—you never know where it’ll lead or what’s waiting just beyond the trees. Vadim Seregin never could’ve guessed he’d lose his happiness, only to find it again.
He wasn’t in a hurry to marry—he wanted a kindred spirit. When he saw Emily in the café, his heart kicked. That was her. Without thinking, he slid into the seat across from her. They read the same books, loved the same films, both adored ice skating, both dreamed of a loving family and children.
Everything fell into place—except the children never came. Emily saw doctors, tried everything, even visited holy sites, refusing to give up hope. Then, one day, she was sure she was pregnant. She waited, not rushing to the hospital, wanting to be certain. Only when her belly grew did she finally go for a checkup.
It wasn’t a baby. It was a tumour. Every time Vadim took her to the cancer clinic, he saw that hollow look in the other patients’ eyes, like they were listening for their own heartbeat. Soon, he saw it in Emily, too.
He never left her side—took leave, then unpaid leave, till the GP took pity and signed him off. But his boss called him in: either come back or quit. Vadim handed in his notice.
He cared for her day and night, holding her hand when the breath rattled in her chest, begging God not to take her, or to take him, too.
Nothing helped. Three months later, Emily was gone.
After the funeral, he returned to an empty flat. Her dressing gown still hung on the chair where she’d left it. Her boots stood in the hall, the sheepskin coat they’d bought last spring on sale still on its hook. Every corner screamed of her—his only love, gone too soon.
He buried his face in her pillow, still smelling of her, and howled. Then he went out and bought two bottles of vodka. The next morning, he barely dragged himself out of bed. The grief he’d drowned the night before came roaring back. He poured the rest down the sink. What did it matter now? Without her, he didn’t want to live.
Days were bearable—nights were torture. One evening, he stood at the window, staring at the city lights. What kept him here? The flat? To hell with it. No job, no wife, no children. He opened the window and climbed onto the ledge. The pavement below was dark, beckoning. Fourth floor—not that high. But what if he didn’t die?
The doorbell rang. He hesitated, glanced down once more—then stepped back.
Mrs. Wilkins, his neighbour, stood there. “Couldn’t sleep either? Came to check on you. You’ve been too quiet. And why’s there a draft? Window open? You weren’t thinking—?”
“Just airing the place,” he mumbled.
“Right. Don’t do anything daft, lad. Jump out that window, you’ll never see Emily again. Suicide’s a sin—God won’t let you into Heaven together.”
“Yeah, alright, Mrs. Wilkins.” He shut the door. The urge to jump was gone. He’d heard the same—suicides don’t get forgiven.
He lay awake all night, thinking. By dawn, he’d stuffed a bag and grabbed the photo where he and Emily would stay frozen, happy, forever. No money left—all spent on her treatment. His gaze snagged on her dressing gown. He turned away, locked up, and knocked on Mrs. Wilkins’s door.
“Where you off to?” she asked, eyeing his bag.
“Back to Mum’s. Can’t stay here. I’ll drink myself to death.”
“Good idea. How long?”
“Dunno. Keep an eye on the flat.” He handed her the keys. “You’ve got my number—ring if you need me. Gotta go.” He hurried down the stairs before she could pry further.
He sat in the car for ages, gathering himself. Then he turned the key and sped off. For a wild second, he thought about letting go of the wheel—but innocent people could die.
Two hundred miles later, he felt lighter than he had in months. His hometown shocked him—narrow, grubby streets. He usually visited in summer, when the trees hid the grime. He’d forgotten the muddy mess of spring in a provincial town.
There it was. He parked, stepped out. The gate hinges squealed. His mum burst onto the porch, gasped, and ran to him.
“Vadim, love! Why didn’t you call? Are you alone?”
He hugged her, breathing in home—warmth rushed through him. He’d thought he’d cried every tear at the funeral, but his eyes stung anew.
They talked for hours. Mum grieved for Emily, comforted him, piled his plate high.
“You did right, coming home. Walls help. What’s there for you in that empty flat? Remember when you’d race back from school—?”
Her voice soothed him. This place held no memories of Emily—the pain dulled here.
That night, he noticed lights next door.
“Mum, who lives there now? Didn’t Auntie Louise pass?”
“Lena moved in. Came back last year—divorced. Bloke was a gambler, got locked up. Came with her little one. Found a lad, too—Samuel. Ten years old, ran from drunk parents. No papers, no school.”
“She told me the truth, scared Social Services’ll take him. Works as a cleaner. Samuel minds her boy when I can’t. What else have I got to do? No grandkids of my own—” She caught herself. “Sorry, love.”
“S’alright, Mum.”
He couldn’t sleep. His mind flickered between Emily and Lena—his first love, who’d chosen some lad from another class.
Next day, he saw her through the window. She hadn’t changed much. His heart stayed steady.
Then, a few nights later, a flickering light woke him.
“Fire next door!” Mum shouted.
He bolted out, barely grabbing boots. Neighbours were already hauling buckets. Sirens wailed in the distance. Lena stood by the fence in a nightdress, clutching her toddler. Samuel huddled close.
“Come inside,” Vadim urged. “You can’t help here.”
Mum fussed, wrapping Lena in her own robe, boiling the kettle.
“How’d it start?”
“No clue. Woke up coughing—smoke everywhere. Grabbed the boys and ran. Lost everything. What now?” Lena sobbed.
Mum took the toddler. “You lot stay with us.”
“The house insured?” Vadim asked.
Lena shrugged.
“Right. We’ll sort it. For now, you’ll live in my flat. Cramped, but better than nothing. We’ll get Samuel papers—your surname, if you want. School’s non-negotiable.”
“Won’t they check?”
“Dunno. Worth a shot. Alive’s what matters—the rest can be fixed.”
They stayed with Mum till the police finished inspecting the ruins. Then Vadim drove Lena and the boys back to his place. Mum packed them jars of preserves.
The whole drive, Vadim planned—find work, sort Lena’s documents, get Samuel tutors. For the first time in months, he had purpose.
He swung the door open. The flat filled with shouts and footsteps—the silence shrank like darkness before light.
He showed Lena around. “You take the big room—kids need space. I’ll bunk in the small one.”
“This was a mistake—”
“Would’ve never come back alone. Place was rotting empty.”
He folded Emily’s dressing gown into the wardrobe.
“Can’t believe she’s gone. Left it out like she’d slip it on any minute. There’s dresses, too, if you—”
“I can’t wear them.”
“Right. I’ll fetch the spare key from Mrs. Wilkins.”
“Found a replacement quick, didn’t you?” she snipped.
“It’s not like that. Lost her home—where else could she go?”
“Hmph. Need help, knock.”
That night, over tea, Vadim laid it out.
“I’ll always love Emily. But we’re helping each other survive. I’ll beg for my job back tomorrow. Then we’ll sort your papers. Samuel starts school next year—needs tutoring. Loads to do.”
But Samuel bolted the next day. They searched—nothing.
“Probably scared of school,” Vadim said. “He’ll land on his feet.”
Living together, sharing chores, pretending not to notice each other—impossible. Old feelings flickered. Vadim decided to leave—a mate had a spare flat.
But Lena stopped him.
“So I’m kicking you out? I’ll go—”
“And live on what? I won’t forget Emily, but seeing you every day—He took her hand and whispered, “Stay,” and in that moment, the past finally loosened its grip on him.
