Oliver met his ex-wife, and envy practically made his cheeks turn green. He slammed the refrigerator door with such force that everything inside rattled from the impact. One of the magnets on the door fell off with a thud onto the floor.
Helen stood across from him, pale, with clenched fists.
“Does that make you feel better?” she sighed, lifting her chin.
“You just get on my nerves,” Oliver snapped, trying to keep his voice steady. “What kind of life is this? No happiness, no future.”
“So it’s my fault again, is it?” Helen bitterly chuckled. “Of course, our life isn’t exactly like your dreams.”
Oliver wanted to say something but just waved his hand. He opened a bottle of sparkling water, took a gulp straight from it, and set it on the table without delay.
“Oliver, don’t stay silent,” Helen said with a trembling voice. “For once, say outright what’s bothering you.”
“What’s there to say?” he growled. “I’m tired of all of this. To hell with it!”
They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Finally, Helen took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom. Oliver sank heavily onto the sofa. The sound of running water emerged from behind the bathroom door—Helen must have turned the tap on to drown out her own tears. But he couldn’t care less.
A Life Become Routine
Three years ago, they had married. They initially lived in Helen’s apartment, which she had inherited from her parents, and then moved to a suburban house, transferring the apartment to their daughter. They resided in a spacious but unrenovated place, with furniture that was reminiscent of past decades.
Oliver was initially content: it was in the city center, conveniently located near his work. But over time, everything began to irritate him. Helen loved her “family fortress” with its brown wallpaper and an antique sideboard passed down through generations. Oliver, however, viewed it as stagnation.
“Helen, be honest,” he’d insist. “Don’t you ever want to replace that worn-out yellow linoleum? Update the décor, make it modern?”
“Oliver, we don’t currently have any extra money for renovations,” she’d calmly reply. “I want changes too, but let’s wait for the bonus.”
“Wait?! That’s your whole philosophy—endure and wait!”
Oliver often remembered how he fell for Helen. Back then, she was a modest university student with sincere blue eyes and a gentle smile that enchanted him. He’d tell friends, “She’s a bud that’s yet to bloom.” But now, it seemed the flower never opened and had already started wilting.
Helen didn’t consider herself insignificant. She simply lived as she saw fit, finding joy in small things—a cup of mint tea, a new napkin, a quiet evening with a book. But Oliver saw it as stagnation and routine.
They weren’t in a hurry to divorce—Oliver didn’t want to move back with his parents, and living separately wasn’t an immediate option. Helen’s mother, Trish, always sided with her daughter:
“Dear, Helen is a good woman. Be grateful you have a home.”
“Mum, you don’t understand anything!” Oliver would retort in frustration.
His father would just wave his hand:
“Let him sort it out himself.”
At home, Oliver became increasingly distant: “She’s like a ghost, a grey shadow,” he thought. During one argument, he exclaimed:
“I saw a beautiful flower in you! And now? I’m living with a frozen bud…”
That day, Helen cried for the first time in months.
That fateful day, when everything finally fell apart, Oliver quietly uttered:
“Helen, I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?” she asked.
“Of this life, the endless routine.”
Helen picked up her bag and left. Oliver hoped she would come back and ask him to stay, but she left calmly:
“Perhaps it’s best for you to live on your own awhile. Move out.”
Oliver exploded:
“I will not leave!”
“This is my parents’ house,” Helen said coldly. “And I no longer want to live with someone to whom I’m just a burden.”
Oliver had no other option but to leave. A few weeks later, their divorce was officially finalized.
A Meeting That Changed Everything
Three years went by. Oliver still lived with his parents, trying to start anew, but luck didn’t seem to favor him. His job paid poorly, and only minor joys increased. One spring evening, while strolling down the street, he passed by a café and, glancing inside, suddenly froze. Helen stood at the door.
But it wasn’t the Helen he remembered. Before him stood a confident woman with a neat hairstyle, an elegant coat, and a set of car keys in her hand.
“Helen?” Oliver said in surprise.
She turned, recognized him, and smiled.
“Oliver? Hi! How are you?”
“Uh…fine,” he mumbled, unable to take his eyes off her.
“Are you doing well?” she asked calmly.
“And you, it seems, are doing even better… Work as usual?”
“No, I opened my own floral studio. It was scary, but… someone supported me.”
“Who was it?”
A tall man in an expensive coat approached the café table and gently hugged Helen by the shoulders:
“Darling, a table just freed up, shall we?”
“Oliver, meet Adam,” Helen said, addressing him. “We’re happy to see you.”
“I’m glad for you,” Oliver said quietly, feeling the harsh pang of envy inside.
“Thank you,” Helen responded calmly.
Adam nodded, and together they entered the café, leaving Oliver standing on the cold pavement. Once, he had said, “I’m living with a frozen bud.” But the bud had indeed bloomed, just not with him.
