I let him into the house. He walks inside quietly, as if afraid to disturb something important. We both remain silent for a few seconds. I feel the space tense up — as if the air has grown heavier, like something significant is about to happen.
Sitting on the couch, I clench my palms between my knees and feel an internal shiver run down my spine. My body seems to refuse to obey. There is too much accumulated tension, too many foreign and my own words echoing simultaneously in my head.
Vlad sits down opposite me, on the edge of a chair, still not quite understanding why I called him. He looks at me with slight bewilderment, but without judgment. That is important. I need precisely that silent calmness beside me, even if just for a couple of hours.
"Want to earn some money?" I ask, as if it's a trivial favor. The words sound sharp, clipped, deliberately emotionless. I can't afford to say it with a tremble in my voice. Otherwise, I'll break down.
He slightly raises his eyebrows.
"Depends on what needs to be done," he answers calmly. His tone is neutral, even slightly ironic, but I feel him starting to tense up.
I take a deep breath and say:
"Nothing complicated. Just kiss me... and pretend you came here to fuck me."
He is a bit taken aback. His face grows more serious. Even his features seem to sharpen.
"Pretend... in front of whom?"
"In front of Max."
Vlad falls silent. For a moment, a ringing silence hangs in the room. Only the old clock on the wall marks the seconds like gunshots. I look straight at him. With a challenge. With pain. With despair.
"Why do you need this?" he finally asks cautiously, as if afraid to hurt something fragile inside me.
"Because otherwise, he won't let me go. I need to break up with him. This... is not the best way, but not the worst of those that come to my mind," I speak as if explaining something logical and ordinary. But inside, everything tightens into a knot. I feel a lump rising in my throat. I can't allow myself to cry. Not now.
"And what about just... telling him off? Or being honest: 'Let's break up.' Have you thought about that?"
I smile bitterly, with a break in my voice.
"I need him to hate me and let me go, not to remember me kindly. In short, to forget me forever, got it? So, are you in?"
He looks at me for a long time. I see a struggle within him. But he nods.
"I'm in. But if he hits me — the price goes up," he says with a smirk, but there is a serious warning in his eyes.
"I agree," I nod. We both know this scenario is real.
"What do we do? What's the plan?"
I sigh, get up from the couch, and go to the window. A light breeze stirs the curtains. The day is gloomy, gray, as if reflecting everything happening inside me. Even the sky is on my side.
"I'm sending the boxes with his stuff now. After that, we'll have about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. He'll have to come."
"Why are you so sure?" Vlad asks.
"Because Dimka is in the dorm right now. As soon as he gets the boxes, he'll call Max immediately. And Maxim will come to find out what's going on. To look me in the eye and hear everything himself."
"And what if Dimka's not home? Or he doesn't notice right away? Did you plan for that too?"
I turn and look at him, squinting.
"Vlad... Who's smarter here? Yes, I've thought it through. Otherwise, we'll wait for Max after classes. He'll come here today anyway, just a bit later."
He chuckles, shakes his head, but without irritation. On the contrary — with a slight grin. I know he respects my thoroughness. Even if at this moment it smells like betrayal.
"All right, genius. So, what now?"
I don't have time to answer — someone rings the doorbell. My heart clenches, as if squeezed by an invisible hand. The courier. Damn it. Already. So fast.
I go to the door and open it. A man in uniform, with polite tiredness in his eyes. He holds a paper and asks me to sign. And I look at the boxes he is supposed to take away. The very ones where I packed not only Max's things... but an entire life. All the fragments, smells, pieces of what we built. I don't want to give them away. It hurts my chest, a sharp pang inside. I want to cling to them. I want to take everything back. Want him to come, hug me, hold me close, and say: "Enough. Stay. Everything will be fine."
But I hand them over. Silently, as if surrendering a weapon. Vlad watches this, silent, tense. He already understands how far I am willing to go.
I close the door. Lean my back against it, closing my eyes. A few seconds. Just to hold back tears.
"That's it," I exhale. "Now we just wait."
Vlad nods. He understands. And stays.
"Keep an eye out the window, don't miss him," I say to Vlad with cold certainty, and my voice carries not a request but an order. Sharp, honed like a blade ready for the final strike. My fingers tremble, but my voice is calm — the only thing still under control. Everything inside burns, blazes, tears apart like silk in the wind — heart, mind, memories. Everything.
He looks at me like he wants to say something. Something important. Maybe to talk me out of it. Maybe to save me. But I know — there is no salvation, not now. I have gone too far. Too much pain has already been caused.
"Why do you want to break up with him?" His voice is quiet, almost cautious, as if treading on thin, treacherous ice. "He's such a good guy... I think he's right for you."
And at that moment, something inside me cracks. His last phrase... pierces me like a knife in the very heart. Deeply, without warning. I didn't even expect it to hurt so much. That phrase — so simple, so naive — is more painful than any reproach. Because he really is good. Yes, damn it, good. Maybe even too good. But it's not enough. It's catastrophically insufficient when you're just not perfect and don't deserve him.
"Sorry, but I can't tell you," I look away, unable to meet his eyes. There is honesty there. And I have nothing to answer with. No truth. Only fragments of feelings, knots of fear and guilt. "You won't understand."
More than fifteen long minutes pass. Time seems to stop. My pulse pounds in my ears, I feel every breath, every spark of adrenaline in my blood. Vlad calls out to me:
"That's him, right?"
I slowly approach the window, holding my breath. And yes — there he is. My Max. His steps — familiar, beloved, and now so alien. He is entering the entrance calmly, unsuspecting. And I stand like an executioner, ready to condemn my own love.
"Yes... We don't have much time. Take off your sweater and sit on the couch."
To my surprise, Vlad reacts immediately. No questions. Probably nerves. Or maybe he just understands there is no turning back. I sit on his lap, like I did in carefree times with Max — but now it is a weapon. Cold, calculating, ruthless.
I hear the key scrape in the lock. Each second stretches into an eternity. And then — a click. The door opens. I turn to Vlad and kiss him. Passionately. Deeply. With force and despair. With a desperate attempt to show what isn't really there. Only pain, only anger, only hopelessness.
"Katrin?! What does this mean? Why are my things…" His voice. Familiar. Confused. And so broken. My heart clenches in horror, but I don't stop. Don't dare.
Vlad, as if sensing the moment, puts his hands on my hips and begins to stroke me. Boldly. Brazenly. In another situation, I would slap him without thinking. But now… now it is part of the act. Part of my great betrayal. I hate myself in that second. Trembling. Wanting to disappear. But I continue.
Then Max bursts in. His hands, hot with rage, pull me off Vlad's lap. He shakes me as if trying to shake off the lie. Puts me on the ground. Our eyes meet — and I see everything in his gaze. Love. Pain. Betrayal. Madness.
"Katrin!" His voice cuts the air. Like a wounded beast's cry.
"Could you leave? You're disturbing us," Vlad says calmly, almost lazily. And I want to scream. He just pours gasoline on the fire.
"Shut your mouth while you still have something to say!" Max shouts. His fingers clutch my shoulders, painfully, desperately. I feel my body respond to the pain, as if only it can remind me now that I am still alive.
"Max, leave. Didn't you hear what my new boyfriend said?" I say it. Mechanically, not believing my own words, because they are lies. My voice trembles. But I play the part. To the end.
"What? What are you talking about? I'm your boyfriend!"
I see his heart break right before my eyes. Shards — in his voice, in his face, in his breath.
"Long-time ex," Vlad adds, as if driving the last nail into the coffin.
"I'll kill you if I hear another word!" Max hisses, and his hands squeeze harder into my shoulders. The pain intensifies. But I don't resist. I deserve it. This pain. This anger. This moment.
I stand between two men — one I love, and the other who helps me destroy everything. And the scariest part is that I can't stop this train anymore. We are rushing toward disaster, and I am the engineer.
"We're breaking up, so leave. What's unclear about that?" I say coldly, distantly, as if everything inside me has already died. My voice rings with emptiness, where once a fire burned. I look at him as if a stranger stands before me. Though in reality, he is my whole world. My most beloved. My closest.
"Why?" His voice trembles, bewildered, still warm. It carries no anger, no resentment, only one terrible thing — hope. Small, helpless, like a bird trapped between palms. And I shatter it.
"I'm tired of you. And sex isn't as interesting as it was at first."
The words slip from my lips like poison. I poison myself with them in that very second. That isn't me. That is my pain, my rage, my inability to explain what I don't fully understand myself. I want to disappear. Disappear in his arms. To apologize. To beg him to stay. But instead — I play a part. They should have given me an Oscar. For this role. For this soulless, rehearsed phrase. Then I would have stopped playing.
"Please, leave… It already hurts me to do this…" I whisper in my mind, unable to say it out loud. I feel my lungs tighten with every second of silence. From betraying not only him — but myself as well.
And he comes to me. Hugs me. So tenderly, so truly, as if I haven't broken his heart, but rather — put it back in place. I press against him. Want to cry. Want to drown in sobs right on his shoulder. Want to cling to him like a lifebuoy. But instead, I stand frozen, as if paralyzed. The ice inside me holds tight. But I know — it will melt as soon as I am alone. And then it will break through me with such force that I might never stand up again.
"I won't let you go," he whispers into my hair. "You will be with me. No matter how long it takes me to get you back. My beloved Rebel… Know that I don't believe a single word you say. Not yesterday, not today. Not a single one."
My soul sobs. I feel something alive inside wanting to break free — to scream, to hug him, to confess every millimeter of fear, pain, guilt. But I hold back. Because if I say even one true word — I would surrender. And everything would collapse.
"Get out of my life," I say with effort. As if pulling a nail from myself.
He looks at me with such love, such faith, that it seems one more second and I would fall into his arms forever.
"I'll leave. But only today," he smiles faintly, bitterly. "Soon I'll bring you back again, my dear. I don't know why you're doing this, but it won't work on me. I see right through you. And you know it."
Max comes closer, cups my face with his palms. His fingers tremble. His lips, warm, gentle, touch mine in a kiss. Unbidden, farewell. I do not respond. Though every atom of my body screams: respond!
When he finishes — he strokes my head like he did on the best evenings when I fell asleep on his chest to the sound of rain. As if nothing has happened. As if everything will still be okay.
"Leave," I breathe, barely audible, because otherwise my voice would betray me.
"I love you. More than anyone in this life. Know that, my love," and turning away, he walks to the door.
He stops. Glances at Vlad. His eyes darken, but his voice remains calm, with a shade of icy irony:
"Not bad acting, Vlad. I might have even liked it if it wasn't her. Here, take it. You earned it."
Max puts a bill on the table. Like payment for a role in a cheap play. And kisses me on the forehead. Tenderly. With love. With farewell. He leaves. And with him goes that part of me I will never find again.
I collapse onto the couch. The sobs burst from me like a flood. Without pauses. Without rescue. I cry as if I am tearing apart. Leaving inside no pride, no strength. Only tears, only hysteria, only cold, only emptiness.
Vlad sits beside me. Hugs me. Says something. Whispers. Tries to lull me. But he doesn't know how. No one does. Except him. Except Max. He knows how to hold my shoulders to ease the pain. He knows what to say, knows when to be silent. He knows me better than I know myself.
I fall asleep in tears. Face in the pillow. With a broken heart. Vlad leaves. Doesn't even take the money. Just leaves. Quietly. As if understanding — his role is played out. End of the scene. I am left alone. No — not alone. I am left with a baby. One on one with a new life growing inside me from the love I myself destroyed.
I pack my things. And leave. Forever — so I think then.
Away from this city.
Away from memories.
Away from his life.
Away from myself.
To start over. Or at least try to survive.
And it lasts three years and six months. Almost four years of loneliness — heavy, muffled, almost hopeless. Four years of tears shed in silence, when no one sees. When it seems even the walls know how I cry. But there are bright moments. The joy of my little girl's first steps — timid, unsure, but so significant. The giggles in her voice, her first words, her tiny hands reaching for me — they save me. And still, deep inside lives guilt. Guilt that her father is not near. That she doesn't know what it's like to feel his hands, to hear his voice.
So many years of talking to myself. Sleepless nights when I hold mental dialogues, argue, justify, forgive — him, myself, life. Three years of hope I try to kill. Uproot from my heart, make disappear. But it stubbornly lives. Somewhere under my skin, beneath ribs, breathing like a dim flame that doesn't go out even in the wind.
And then one day… He returns, as promised. Not suddenly — but as if by fate's command, as those who cannot not return do. He comes not just for me. He comes for us. For me — and for our daughter.
Mary. That's what I name her. After a love that does not die. Even when the heart thinks it's dead. Because love is not something you can forget or replace. It's like breathing. It's always alive. Even through pain. Even through years.