“I’m almost ready,” Natasa replied, barely audible. “And I haven’t seen Lyuda in so long… I thought maybe now…”“Let’s stop with the sentimentality,” Andrei cut in impatiently. “I’ve said everything already. You’ll stay home alone on New Year’s. I’m ashamed to be seen with you.”
As he spoke, he irritably adjusted his tie and studied his reflection in the hallway mirror for a long moment. Then he glanced sideways at Natasa.“Have you looked at yourself lately?”Natasa stepped toward the window.
Her fingers mechanically adjusted the wig, as if it didn’t belong to her at all. Her hands were trembling; a sharp pain shot through her joints—the side effect of the treatment, which never asked whether she was ready for yet another day.
“I understand,” she finally said quietly. “You really do need a break. The last six months… have been very hard.”“Hard?” Andrei turned sharply. “That’s an understatement. I can’t even remember the last time we were around people. Just hospitals, waiting rooms, pharmacies… it’s like our life stopped.”
“I’m sorry,” Natasa whispered.“What good is your apology?” Andrei ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Sometimes I look at our wedding photos and I can’t believe that woman is you. Where did she go? Where is that beautiful, radiant, full-of-life Natasa?”
Natasa remained silent. What could she say? Yes, five years ago she had been different—slimmer, more confident, with long dark hair that reached her waist. Back then, the mirror didn’t show a stranger. Now it reflected a woman with a swollen face and tired eyes, whose smile looked like an effort.
“Fine,” Andrei said, pulling on his coat. “I’m going to the Mikhailovs’. Don’t forget to take your medication.”When the door closed, silence settled over the apartment. Natasa slowly sat down on a chair.
She felt as if all her strength had drained away—the last treatment had completely exhausted her. But she was still alive. And as long as she lived, she had to hold herself together.Outside the window, festive lights flickered.
The whole city was preparing for the New Year: decorated trees, glittering shop windows, laughing people carrying gifts. She used to love this holiday. She and Andrei always went together—loudly, with friends, with plans.
Six years earlier, on a similar New Year’s Eve, they had met. Natasa was then an editor at a major publishing house; Andrei, a rising young lawyer. The Mikhailovs were hosting a house party. Andrei hadn’t taken his eyes off her all evening, then offered to walk her home. They talked until dawn, strolling through snow-covered streets, laughing, dreaming.
A year later—wedding. Everyone envied them. A beautiful couple, people said. A happy family. A future filled with children, travel, shared mornings.But a year and a half ago, everything changed. A routine checkup. A doctor’s somber face.
One word that split her life in two. At first, Andrei stayed strong: hospitals, sleepless nights, encouraging smiles. Then slowly, he grew tired. First emotionally, then physically distanced as well.At first it was small things. Sighs. Silence. Coming home late. Later came looks without tenderness. Remarks about her appearance. Evenings together quietly disappeared.
The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts.“Natasa, darling,” Lyuda’s voice said. “Andrei told us you weren’t feeling well. Should I come over?”“He said I wasn’t feeling well?” Natasa repeated hollowly.
“Yes. That’s why he came alone. What happened?”And then Natasa began to cry. She didn’t feel ashamed. Her tears finally said what she could not.“That’s not why he came alone… He’s just ashamed of me. Of how I look.”
“Ashamed?!” Lyuda’s voice hardened. “I’m coming. Right now.”Half an hour later, Lyuda was already in the kitchen, making tea, silently watching her friend.“Tell me.”“Tell you what?” Natasa laughed bitterly. “I’m no longer his ‘chocolate bar.’ Remember? That’s what he used to call me. Dark hair, brown eyes… Now he just grimaces.”
Lyuda pulled a bar of chocolate from her bag and placed it in front of Natasa.“You know what I see? A woman who survives. And that is far more beautiful.”Five years passed.Natasa walked confidently through the shopping mall.
She wore an elegant coat, her short haircut carried with pride. Long ago, she had decided: she would no longer hide herself.“Excuse me,” a woman stopped her. “Where did you get your hair cut like that?”
Natasa smiled. No one could guess what she had been through.A message arrived from Lyuda: “Meeting at six!”The old friends gathered again. Andrei was there too—no longer as a husband, but as someone from the past. And that was okay.
“Natalya Sergeyevna,” a young woman addressed her outside the café. “May I speak with you?Natasa recognized the look in her eyes. It was the same one she herself had worn years earlier.“Of course,” she said. “Sit down.”
Life hadn’t turned out the way she once dreamed.But it had become real.And at last—it was hers.
