Taisia always woke up before the alarm, as if she had an inner clock ticking inside her. She rose, washed her face, and made breakfast. When her husband walked into the kitchen, clean-shaven and smelling of cologne, a plate of scrambled eggs or soft-boiled eggs, sliced bread, cheese and ham, and a cup of strong coffee waited for him. Taisia herself settled for just coffee and a few pieces of cheese.
They had been married for thirty years. By now, they knew each other so well they hardly needed to speak, especially in the mornings. “See you tonight,” “I’ll be late today,” “Thank you.” They could read each other’s moods by glances, footsteps, even silence. What use were unnecessary words?
“Thank you,” said Nikolai, finishing his coffee before pushing back his chair.
When they were newlyweds, he had always kissed her cheek before leaving for work. Now, he simply thanked her and left. He worked as an engineer at a railway factory, leaving early to beat the rush-hour traffic across town.
Taisia cleared the table, washed the dishes, and got ready for work. She taught at the university, just two bus stops from home. She always walked, no matter the weather—even in rain or biting wind. Tall and lean, she wore dresses only in summer. At the university, she stuck to grey pinstripe trouser suits, pairing them with pastel blouses.
Once dark, her hair had long since turned silver. She never dyed it, just braided it loosely and pinned it up at the nape. No makeup, no jewellery save for her wedding ring.
Lecturing meant talking all day. At home, she preferred silence. Nikolai didn’t mind—he liked the quiet too. To outsiders, they seemed the perfect couple. No arguments, no fights.
Nikolai was two years older and still a handsome man. Taisia was used to women noticing him. She had been jealous once, but with time, she grew indifferent. “Where would he go? No one would feed him like I do,” she told herself. And she cooked divinely.
They had a daughter who had married an army officer and moved away after university.
Students were wary of Taisia. She rarely smiled, always composed and serious—but never unkind. She’d help struggling students during exams if they admitted they didn’t know the answer but had studied. Cheaters, though, got no mercy.
She kept to herself in the faculty, never joining in gossip.
Once, in the canteen, she overheard two first-years chatting behind her back.
“What do you think of the chemistry lecturer? A real bluestocking. If it weren’t for her wedding ring, I’d think she was a spinster,” one said.
“She’s got a husband, actually—a really good-looking bloke. And a married daughter,” the other replied.
“What does he see in her? And how do you know?”
“I live in her neighbourhood. She seems alright.”
“Alright? Dresses like a man. I doubt she even has—”
Taisia finished her meal, stood, and met their eyes.
“Sorry,” they squeaked, flushing red.
*Bluestocking. Spinster. So that’s what they think of me.* In the staff room, she studied herself in the mirror. *God. What did Nikolai ever see in me?* The bell rang, and she headed to class.
At home, she started dinner—pot-roasted meat, timed for his return. When everything was ready, she glanced out the window. His car wasn’t in its usual spot. Then the front door clicked open.
“Did the car break down?” she called out.
“No, parked it somewhere else.”
She didn’t ask why. She went back to the oven. Nikolai followed and sat at the table.
“Taisia, sit down, please.”
She set aside the oven glove and sat opposite him, hands clasped. Something was wrong. He avoided her gaze, tense and distant.
“Here’s the thing. I love someone else. I’m leaving you for her.”
Her fingers tightened painfully.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go pack.” He stood and walked out.
She stayed at the table. *Go after him. Stop him.* But she didn’t move. She heard the wardrobe door open, hangers clinking, drawers sliding. His shoes on the tiles. The long silence as he hesitated by the door. *He’ll come back. Say he’s changed his mind.*
The door shut. The lock clicked.
She sat for a long time, staring at nothing. Then she covered her face and cried.
So that’s why he hadn’t parked outside—so the neighbours wouldn’t see. Or maybe *she* had been waiting in the car. Taisia splashed her face with water. *The meat.*
Her first thought was to throw it out, pots and all. Then she remembered the elderly couple downstairs. She wrapped the still-warm dishes in foil and knocked on their door.
A young woman opened it.
“Hello. Are the—?” Taisia stopped. She didn’t even know their names.
“The Sinitsyns? Oh, they sold the flat. Their son took them in. We just moved in yesterday—I’m Sasha, my husband’s Ivan. That smells amazing!”
“For you. A housewarming gift.” Taisia tried to smile but failed. She handed over the pots and left.
She didn’t sleep that night, crying or pacing, arguing with Nikolai in her head. *Why now? Why not when we were younger? What am I supposed to do?*
Morning came. She rose before the alarm, as always. Drank coffee and walked to work. That evening, for the first time, she didn’t cook. She turned on the TV and stared blankly.
A knock startled her. *Nikolai?* But he had a key. She opened the door to find Sasha smiling, holding a plate of pie.
“You treated us yesterday. That meat was incredible! My husband insisted I get the recipe. Thought I’d return the favour—my first pie.”
“Come in,” Taisia said. “We’ll try it.”
They sat in the kitchen, the kettle boiling.
“Are you alone? Husband still at work?”
Taisia shrugged.
“Ivan and I just married two months ago. I’m thirty-six—first time! Almost missed the boat. Lived with my mum till then, so I can’t cook. Ivan’s divorced.”
Sasha caught the sharp look Taisia gave her.
“You think I stole him? No. His wife left him three years ago—ran off with someone else, took their daughter. He was devastated. Drank himself ragged. I felt sorry for him. Mum warned me off, but he’s kind. Quit drinking. Handy with repairs, too—let us know if you need help.”
“The pie’s too sweet,” Taisia said.
“I know. Maybe you could teach me to cook? And—well, I’m a hairdresser. I could give you a proper cut and colour. A short style would suit you.”
“No,” Taisia said firmly.
Sasha left. Taisia studied herself in the mirror. *Maybe I should cut it. Haven’t changed a thing in years.*
Days later, she stopped Sasha outside. “I’ll take you up on that haircut.”
“Brilliant! You won’t regret it.”
On Saturday, Taisia baked another pie—she hadn’t eaten properly in days. The doorbell rang just as she slid it into the oven. Sasha burst in, carrying a case.
“Ready?”
Taisia had forgotten.
“It smells amazing in here!” Sasha chattered on, but it didn’t grate.
“I put the pie in,” Taisia said.
“Perfect. I’ll colour your hair while it bakes, then we’ll have tea, and I’ll cut it.”
Taisia sat before the mirror. Before she could protest, Sasha unclipped her coiled braid and snipped it off.
“Trust me. Your hair’s thin and grey—you won’t miss it.”
She surrendered, sitting still, avoiding her reflection. Later, they ate pie with tea, Taisia’s head wrapped in a towel. Then the scissors flashed again.
*What if I’d met Sasha earlier? Changed sooner? Maybe Nikolai wouldn’t have left. No—he didn’t leave over my hair. I just stopped being a woman to him.*
“Done! Open your eyes.”
Taisia didn’t recognise herself. The stylish, younger-looking woman in the mirror—was that her?
“Just need to shape your brows, maybe a touch of mascara, the right lipstick—”
“Now?” Taisia was exhausted.
“Tomorrow!” Sasha laughed. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? Sasha, you’re a miracle.”
They became friends, spending evenings together. Taisia taught her to cook; Sasha took notes. Taisia had never had close friends—she’d met Nikolai young. Now Sasha filled the void he’d left.
Taisia loved her newMonths later, as autumn leaves drifted past her window, Taisia realised she no longer flinched at the sound of Nikolai’s key in the lock—she simply sipped her tea, turned a page in her book, and let the quiet settle around her like an old, familiar shawl.
