**The Runaway Groom**
The phone rang early in the morning. Still half-asleep, Nadia heard Viktor’s hoarse, nervous voice on the line.
“Nadia… I… I need to tell you something…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’ve thought it all over… I’m not ready. Do you understand? Not ready to get married. I’m lost. I… don’t even know what I feel for you anymore.”
Nadia froze. Her pulse roared in her ears. She forced out the words:
“You’re serious? A week before the wedding?”
“There won’t be a wedding,” he said sharply, as if he’d rehearsed it.
“What?!” she gasped.
“I want to start fresh—career, goals. And you… you’ll find happiness. You deserve better.”
A click. He’d hung up.
Nadia sat motionless. Then, as if in a trance, she stood, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of whisky. She drank from the glass. No chaser. No taste. No thoughts.
And then… she screamed, the sound tearing through the walls.
Their story had lasted four years. It had felt like love. Real love. A chance meeting—Nadia had brought her laptop to the repair shop; Viktor fixed it. When he returned it, he asked for her number. A few days later, he took her on a date. She said yes. And just like that, it began.
Six months in, he confessed: he wanted to move abroad. More opportunities, he said.
“Will you come with me?” he’d asked, as if doubting she would.
And she went.
Left everything behind—job, friends, family. Because she loved him. Because she believed. Because he was her world.
He went first, to “settle in.” Met her at the airport—no flowers, no smile, no spark in his eyes.
“Aren’t you happy?” she asked softly.
“Yeah, just tired. It’s been rough.”
He took her not to a flat but a hostel, to a room sectioned off by a curtain.
“I thought you’d rented a place…”
“I did,” he muttered. “Then the money ran out. Can’t find work.”
Nadia hugged him. “We’ll manage,” she said. And she went to work—not in her field, but wherever would take her. Cleaning, washing dishes, walking dogs. Hustling wherever she could.
She even found *him* a job. Talked to a client, pleaded his case. Viktor got his chance.
Things improved. They got back on their feet. Rented a proper place. Dreamt of the future. Talked about a family.
But Viktor never lasted long anywhere. He got fired quickly. Nadia carried everything alone. Back to hostels, back to scraping by. She worked. He “found himself.”
“Vik, maybe enough?” Nadia snapped one day. “We’ve been living like vagrants for two years. Back home, we had lives. Here, it’s survival. Let’s go back.”
He stayed silent. Then nodded. A month later, they were home.
Nadia returned to her old job. They welcomed her gladly. Viktor got hired on a trial—barely. He passed. Grinned like a schoolboy.
Two weeks later, he proposed: “Let’s register for the wedding.”
Nadia glowed. They planned it all. She stayed with her parents—living together before marriage wasn’t an option.
“My parents don’t approve of that,” she explained.
“And yet you flew abroad with me?” he smirked.
“I told them I was visiting a friend. Didn’t confess.”
He laughed. She dreamt.
Then he plunged into a new project. Two weeks without a call, without a text. And suddenly, he realised—he didn’t miss her.
“Funny… I was going to marry her,” he thought. “But why? Forever? Is that what I really want?”
He made up his mind. He called.
After that morning, Nadia took sick leave. Spent a week in bed. Cried. Didn’t eat. Didn’t *live*.
And then came the anger.
“So you’re *lost*? Don’t know what you feel?” she whispered to the silence. “And me? The one who followed you to a foreign country? Who worked for both of us? Couldn’t even say it to my face. Over the phone. Ran away. Coward.”
First pain. Then resolve.
“Thank God!” she told herself. “I didn’t leave him—*he* left *me*. And that’s even better! The groom ran off? Well, I didn’t lose him—*he* lost *me*! Now I know: I come first. No more sacrifices. Only forward. Only me.”
She stepped outside. The city was in bloom. Spring sang on every corner. Nadia walked—and for the first time in ages, she smiled. The sun shone just for her.
Yes, the memories lingered. The tears. The unanswered questions. But she didn’t call. Didn’t beg. Didn’t ask.
“Enough,” she repeated. “He was a lesson. Thank you. I’m stronger now. I’m beautiful, clever, my whole future’s ahead. All I have to do is walk. Without looking back.”
Months later, she gathered every gift, every photo, every little thing that reminded her of him. Packed it in a box. Took it to the bin.
“Time for a clean slate,” she told her mother with a smile.
And Viktor?
He’s just… living. Word is, he’s still job-hunting.
