“Honey, what do you mean, divorce? You’re in phase four! And the apartment? I won’t be able to inherit it!” Pavel ran hysterically around the room.
Elena slowly wiped the fogged-up bathroom mirror and froze, staring at herself. Her once-soft features had become sharp and angular. Her cheeks were hollow, her gaze dull; her eyes were dull and lifeless. The illness erased traces of her former life from her face, as if someone had erased her past with an eraser. “I need to call Katya,” she thought. Her niece should know, no matter how hard it was for both of them.
The muffled roar of a soccer game came from the living room. Pavel, as always, was sprawled on the sofa, his feet up on the table. There were probably crumbs of potato chips lying around, his usual companions in the evenings in front of the screen. Elena took a deep breath, feeling an invisible weight on her shoulders. She closed her eyes; at least for a moment, she wanted to escape reality.
That apartment was more than just a place to live. She bought it long before Pavel showed up, paying the mortgage for five long years. She worked two jobs, saved on everything, ate simple food, and denied herself even the smallest things. She came home in the evening, just to sleep for a couple of hours, and then went back to work. When she made the last payment, she couldn’t hold back her tears: these walls knew the price of her sleepless nights. All her work, her life, her perseverance were there.
She met Pavel by chance, in line at the cafe. He was charming, easygoing, attentive. Flowers, romantic dinners, affection… it seemed she’d finally found her man. But the illusion quickly faded. As if someone had flipped a switch. He stopped worrying about his own affairs, became distant, and became self-absorbed. Her feelings and desires ceased to matter. “Lena, have you paid for the internet? It’s not working properly today,” Pavel shouted from the living room.
“Yes, on Monday,” Elena replied calmly. “Restart the router.”
“It’s far away. Come here, you’re right here,” he said in a calm voice.
She didn’t object. She walked over and pressed the reset button. This would have irritated her before, but not now. After a visit to the doctor, even such trifles began to take on a different meaning.
“Stage four,” the doctor said without looking her in the eye. “Metastasis to the liver and bones. We can try treatment, but we have to be realistic.”
Elena nodded, as if she’d heard the weather forecast, not a sentence. She had always been rational. And now she simply started planning: a will, insurance, her niece Katya. Everything had to be clear. Everything had to be under control.
“Len, what’s for dinner?” Pavel’s voice came again. “I haven’t cooked. Order something,” she said calmly, sitting down in the chair.
“Spending money again? It’s your day off. You could have cooked,” he muttered, discontented.
She didn’t respond. From day one, Pavel considered money his responsibility. He scraped by with odd jobs, making grandiose plans that he never followed through on. At first, she paid no attention; she was used to relying on herself. But over time, it became clear: he wasn’t just lazy; he firmly believed he was entitled to that lifestyle.
“I saw the doctor today,” Elena said quietly.
“Hmm?” Pavel replied without looking up.
“I have cancer, Pasha. Stage four.”
He turned sharply, frowning, confused.
“What?”
“Metastasis. The doctor says I don’t have many months left.”
Pavel ran his hand through his hair, nervously.
“Well… medicine is very advanced now. Maybe abroad? Something experimental?”
“It’s possible, but it’s expensive,” she said attentively.
“You have good insurance, right?” Pavel jumped up and began pacing the room. “And we have savings. We’ll manage.”
That’s all. Even now—after those words—he wasn’t thinking about her, or how to get there, but about money. For him, it all came down to numbers and surviving at her expense.
“Yes, we have savings,” she nodded.
“Well,” he was pleased as if nothing had happened. “That means there’s hope. Everything will be all right. Hang in there.”
He hugged her for a second and then pulled away, as if afraid of something invisible.
“I’m going. I urgently need to meet with Dimon. To discuss some work. Hang in there. I’ll be back soon.”
The door slammed shut. Elena was left alone in the silence of the apartment. Where the only sound was the hum of cars outside the window. A week later, everything became more evident. Pavel started staying up late, mentioning meetings that never materialized. He smelled like someone else’s perfume and kept his phone screen down. Elena didn’t make a fuss. Why? After the diagnosis, it all stopped making sense.
But one day, waking up in the middle of the night, she heard a whisper on the balcony.
“Yes, it’ll be over soon.” The doctor

Part 1: The Weight of Silence

Elena had always been a woman of strength, or at least, she had prided herself on being one. Her life had been a constant balancing act—work, home, family—and she had always managed to keep it all under control. But that morning, as she stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at the reflection that now seemed like a stranger, she felt something inside her crack.

The once-strong woman, the woman who had built a life from the ground up, was now tired. Tired in a way she couldn’t explain. Her skin, once glowing, was now pale, her cheeks hollow, and the lines on her face deepened every time she looked at herself. But it wasn’t just the physical changes; it was the invisible weight that had settled on her shoulders. The weight of everything she had been carrying in silence.

Her life, once so predictable, had become a blur. Every day felt the same: waking up early, going to work at the small clinic in the city, coming home to her apartment where she’d collapse into a chair and try to rest, but never really resting. She had always taken pride in her ability to handle things on her own. But today, as she looked at the woman in the mirror, she realized how much she had been holding in.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the counter, and she looked at the stack of papers that lay there—the biopsy results, the treatment options, the words that had turned her world upside down.

Stage 4.

The words echoed in her mind. The doctor’s voice had been impersonal, clinical. He hadn’t looked her in the eye when he spoke. He had gone over her options, but all she could hear was the finality of his words. Metastasis to the liver and bones. We can try treatment, but we have to be realistic.

She had nodded, as if she were agreeing to something trivial, something inconsequential. But inside, it felt like the world had shifted beneath her feet. Cancer. It wasn’t something she had expected. In a way, she had always thought it was something that happened to other people. People who weren’t strong enough, people who had some weakness in them. But not her. She had worked so hard for everything. She had earned everything she had—an apartment, a career, a life that seemed so secure.

But now, the diagnosis had shattered that sense of security. And worse, it had made her question everything. Her body, which she had always trusted to carry her through life, was failing her. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The tears came, unexpected and harsh, as she looked at herself in the mirror. She wanted to scream, to break something, to make sense of the chaos that had taken over her life. But all she could do was stand there, frozen, staring at her reflection, feeling the life drain out of her.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

It was Pavel, her husband. His voice echoed from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Lena, are you in there?”

She quickly wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. She couldn’t let him see her like this. Not now. Not with everything that was happening.

“I’m coming,” she called out, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

Pavel’s voice softened. “You okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m fine,” Elena said, stepping out of the bathroom, plastering on the best smile she could manage. “Just needed a moment.”

But as she walked past him, she couldn’t help but notice the distance between them. The way he barely looked at her, his eyes glued to the TV screen, his body tense as he sprawled on the couch. He had always been like this, even before the diagnosis, but now it felt like there was a rift between them—something that had grown over the years and was now impossible to ignore.

Pavel was not a bad person. But he was selfish. And lately, he had been consumed by his own needs, his own desire for a comfortable life. When they had first met, he had been charming, attentive, full of promises. But over time, those promises faded. The affection turned into neglect.

It was obvious now that he had checked out of their marriage, but she didn’t have the strength to confront him. The thought of adding one more fight to the pile was too much. He would be indifferent. He always was.

She tried to ignore the bitterness that bubbled up in her chest as she walked into the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice strained but trying to sound normal.

He barely looked up from the screen. “Yeah, yeah. I had something earlier.”

Elena nodded. She could feel the familiar sense of loneliness wrapping around her again, but she didn’t have the energy to fight it. She started preparing dinner, moving through the motions like she always did, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

The cancer had shifted everything, but it wasn’t just the disease. It was everything that had led up to this moment—the years of silent sacrifices, the years of taking care of everything while he stayed passive and uninvolved. She could feel herself resenting him more each day, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

As she stirred the pot on the stove, Pavel suddenly spoke, his voice loud and almost demanding.

“Lena, about the money… we need to talk.”

Her body tensed. She had heard that tone before—the one that always turned the conversation back to finances. Money. That was always his concern.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low, resigned.

“I want you to help pay for Madison’s wedding,” he said, his voice casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Elena froze. Her blood ran cold.

“Pavel,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You know what I’ve been going through. How can you ask me for money right now?”

He didn’t look at her. He just continued to watch the game. “We have savings, right? It’s just for Madison’s wedding. She’s your sister, Lena. You should help.”

Her hands clenched around the spoon she was holding, the metal handle digging into her palm. She wanted to scream, to throw the pot at him. How could he ask her for money when she was facing something that was slowly, quietly, killing her?

But she didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She just stood there, staring at him, numb. And then she did something she never thought she would do.

“I’m not giving you any money for that wedding, Pavel,” she said, her voice hard. “I have my own problems.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her. The silence that followed was deafening. It was a silence that had been building for years—years of unspoken resentment, of distance, of expectations that she had never asked for. The weight of the silence pressed on her chest, and she couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not doing this anymore, Pavel,” she whispered, though she knew he wouldn’t hear her. She wasn’t talking to him anymore. She was talking to herself.

She grabbed her coat and left the apartment, stepping out into the cold night air. It wasn’t much of an escape, but it was enough for the moment.

Part 2: The Weight of Silence

Elena could feel the weight of the silence settle in the house like an oppressive fog. The apartment, once full of life and laughter, now felt empty—every creaking floorboard, every soft whisper of the wind outside, reminded her of the distance between her and Pavel. The man who had once filled her world with excitement had become a stranger, lost in his own world of indifference.

She sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea, staring at the warm liquid as if it held the answers to all her questions. What happened to the man she had married? Where was the passion, the tenderness they once shared? Now, he was distant, a shadow of the man he had been.

Pavel’s reactions to her diagnosis were the final straw. She had hoped for empathy, for a spark of care—anything to remind her that their bond was still there. But all he had done was shrug it off with a vague promise to help with medical bills, his focus quickly shifting back to his own life, his job, and his friends.

Her gaze wandered over to the living room, where Pavel had retreated yet again, his face illuminated by the glow of the television. The familiar sound of a soccer game echoed through the room, and she heard the faint rustling of potato chips as he absentmindedly snacked. His posture was slouched, his eyes glued to the screen, utterly unaware of her presence.

“Pavel,” she called softly, but he didn’t hear her.

Elena exhaled slowly, wiping the tears that had started to form. It was getting harder to hold onto hope. She had tried for so long to keep things together, to pretend that the love they once had could still save them. But it was slipping away, like water through her fingers.

Was she just a caretaker now?

“Pavel…” she repeated, this time louder, more demanding, as if to break the silence that had settled between them. His eyes flickered briefly to her, but there was no real recognition, no sense of urgency in his response. His disinterest made her feel smaller, invisible, and utterly alone.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked absently, not even looking at her.

Elena took a deep breath, steadying herself. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could live this way, with someone who didn’t truly see her anymore. Was this her fault? Had she failed him? Or had he failed her?

“I’ll just have some leftovers,” she said quietly, turning to open the refrigerator. But as she did, her hand faltered. She wasn’t hungry anymore. The thought of food felt distant, out of reach. The sickness that clung to her, that grew inside her day by day, had taken her appetite, but it had also taken her joy.

Pavel turned back to the game, barely noticing her silence.

That evening, after dinner, Elena’s mind continued to race. She tried to focus on something else, to distract herself from the gnawing emptiness inside, but nothing seemed to work. Her thoughts kept returning to the appointment with the oncologist, the devastating words of Stage 4 still echoing in her mind. She couldn’t pretend it was nothing. This wasn’t just a bump in the road; this was her life. And yet, here she was—alone, with no one to turn to.

Hours later, when she couldn’t take the oppressive quiet anymore, she found herself pacing back and forth in the apartment. Her feet carried her to the balcony, where she stepped out into the cold night air, desperate for something—anything—to break the silence.

The city lights twinkled below, but all she could hear was the distant hum of traffic and the echoes of her own breathing.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned to find Pavel standing in the doorway, his face blank, his posture stiff. He was dressed for bed, his clothes sloppily thrown on, his hair unkempt.

“I’m going out for a while,” he said, his voice flat.

The words stung, but she couldn’t let him see that. She stood still, unsure of how to respond.

“Okay,” she finally said.

And just like that, he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone in the emptiness of the apartment.

As she stood there, the cool breeze against her skin, a thought occurred to her—she had been fighting alone for too long. She had been carrying the weight of this relationship, of this life, by herself. And it wasn’t just Pavel. It was everyone. Her family had been distant, her friends had their own lives to live, and now she was left with a sickness that threatened to steal everything from her.

But as much as she felt betrayed, as much as she wanted to break down and scream, Elena knew one thing for sure: she had to fight. She had to fight for herself. She couldn’t depend on Pavel anymore. She couldn’t wait for him to care. She had to find her own strength.

Part 3: The Breaking Point

Weeks passed, and Pavel’s absence became a constant presence in the apartment. His late nights grew longer, his excuses more frequent. Elena spent more time in the clinic, going through rounds of chemotherapy that left her drained, empty, and still unsure of what would happen next.

But as the days dragged on, she began to feel a shift. It wasn’t the treatment that was killing her—it was the emotional toll of her isolation. She had spent so much of her life trying to please others, trying to meet expectations, but now she was tired. And when she looked at Pavel, she saw nothing but a stranger who had long since checked out of their relationship.

One evening, as she returned from another round of treatment, she found the apartment empty again. No Pavel. No explanation. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

She sat down on the couch, the weight of her illness pressing down on her shoulders like a boulder. The coldness of the apartment seemed to reflect her life, and the loneliness that filled her chest felt suffocating.

It was in that silence, that stillness, that Elena made a decision.

She couldn’t wait for Pavel anymore. She couldn’t wait for the world to come around to her. She had been holding on for so long, trying to make it work, trying to keep her marriage intact, but there was nothing left to salvage.

And so, with quiet determination, Elena began making plans. She reached out to her niece Katya, her only real support system, and began writing the letter that would change everything. It wasn’t a letter to Pavel. It wasn’t even to her family. It was a letter to herself.

She wrote about the years she had spent trying to meet expectations, about the battles she had fought silently, and about the love she had given, even when it wasn’t returned. But most importantly, she wrote about the future she had yet to build. She wasn’t going to let her illness define her, and she wasn’t going to let the failure of her marriage be her final story.

The night she finished the letter, she looked up at the ceiling and whispered a prayer. It was simple, but it was all she had left.

“God, help me. Help me find peace.”

She folded the letter carefully and placed it in her drawer.

That night, Pavel returned late, stumbling through the door. But this time, Elena didn’t let his presence disrupt her. She wasn’t going to pretend anymore. She wasn’t going to beg him for attention or affection. She wasn’t going to wait for him to decide if she was worth his love.

“Pavel,” she said quietly, her voice steady, “we need to talk.”

He looked at her, confused, his eyes heavy with alcohol. But this time, Elena didn’t care. This was the conversation that needed to happen.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice strong, unshaken. “I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay. This marriage, this life—it’s not what I want anymore. And I’m not going to wait for you to decide if I’m worth fighting for.”

Pavel stood there, silent for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he walked out of the room, leaving Elena standing alone.

But this time, it didn’t feel like failure. It felt like freedom.

The next morning, Elena stood by the window, staring out at the city below. For the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of peace. The apartment felt lighter, the silence not as suffocating. And as she thought about the future, about the days she still had left, she realized something that took her by surprise: she was free.

Pavel didn’t come back. And Elena didn’t wait for him to.

She had made her choice, and it was the first time in years that she had chosen herself.

The End.