Anna slowly raised her eyes. They held no tears—only the glimmer of the desk lamp and something new, something unfamiliar to Igor.

«I’m already managing,» she said softly but firmly. His laugh sounded as confidently as ever, yet now it carried a distinctly false note.

«Let’s see,» he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. «A month. I’m giving you a month. Then you’ll come running back to me.» The door slammed loudly, and the photograph in the frame on the shelf cracked right between their faces.

The first days after his departure felt like a strange dream. The silence in the apartment was so oppressive it seemed almost like physical pain—not calm and cozy, but rather like a taut string, vibrating with tension. Anna constantly found herself listening for every rustle in the hallway, every creak of the elevator, every turn of a key in the neighboring locks.

At the table, she mechanically prepared meals for two, pouring two cups of coffee every morning. Each time, as she became aware of it, her hands trembled treacherously.

«You are nobody without me»—those words haunted her everywhere: in the sound of the water, in the hum of household appliances, in the measured ticking of the clock. What hurt most was that there was a kernel of truth in them. Who was she, really? The wife of a successful man—how she was presented at business meetings. The owner of a flawless home—how the neighbors described her. But who was she without those definitions?

Her bank balance was rapidly melting away, frighteningly fast. Igor had «invested» their joint savings in his business six months ago. All that was left was her personal account—a very modest sum, enough for at most two or three months. After that, she’d have to ask to borrow money.

Her résumé looked pitiful: she had an education, but her work experience was minimal and outdated. Skills? What skills? «Professional shirt ironing,» «stain removal specialist,» «has access to her husband’s contacts»?

The phone remained silent. Not only did potential employers ignore her calls, but even her friends did. It turned out that most of her mutual acquaintances were, in fact, his acquaintances. They began to avert their eyes awkwardly during encounters, cancel scheduled meetings, and gradually vanish from her life.

In the evenings, Anna sat by the window watching passersby. They were all hurrying somewhere, knowing exactly where they were headed. They had goals, plans, dreams. And what did she have? Only emptiness.

One night, she went up to the attic and retrieved an old box. Inside were her college projects—interior design sketches, blueprints, drafts. Once, she had dreamed of creating spaces where people could feel comfortable. As she flipped through the yellowed pages, she felt something inside her begin to stir.

«This is all nonsense,» she muttered, slamming the folder shut. Yet the next day, she opened it again.

«Anna? Anna Sokolova? It can’t be!» In the supermarket, a familiar voice called her name. Marina, her university friend, looked almost the same as before—only with shorter hair and a newfound confidence in her eyes.

«How many years, how many winters! You’re still as beautiful as ever,» Marina embraced her. «How’s life? Still creating your magical interiors?» Anna shook her head, feeling awkward.

«No… I haven’t done that for a long time. There was a family…»
«Ah, I see,» Marina nodded. «You married that conceited lawyer from your third year. What was his name…»
«Igor. We… we broke up.» Anna surprised even herself by speaking those words aloud. All this time, she had lived in expectation of his return, but now, having said it, she realized the matter was settled.

Marina didn’t ask any further questions; she just looked at her carefully.

«You know,» after a pause, she said, «our studio is actually looking for an intern. Mostly paperwork, but it’ll help you get back into the profession. If you want, of course.»

Anna felt her heart begin to beat faster. Something akin to hope stirred in her chest—a cautious, barely noticeable movement.

«I… I’ll think about it,» she replied, accepting the business card. Back in the kitchen, while unpacking groceries, her gaze kept returning to the small rectangle of cardboard bearing the design studio’s emblem. It was a chance—a fragile and uncertain opportunity, but still a chance to change her life.

«You are nobody without me.»

She took a deep breath and dialed the number. Her voice trembled, but her words came out firmly:

«Marina? It’s Anna. I accept.»

The «Kontrast» studio was housed in an old building, yet inside the atmosphere was entirely different: high ceilings, huge windows flooding the space with light. Anna stood at the entrance, feeling her fingers grow cold. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed about to leap out of her chest. Behind the glass, people were bustling about in constant haste, voices could be heard, and the coffee machine murmured. It was a world that seemed distant and alien after so many years of domestic comfort.

«Be brave,» Anna ordered herself and pulled the door open.

The first week of the internship turned out to be a real trial. The computer seemed to mock her; programs refused to obey, and her colleagues embodied confidence and professionalism. She felt out of place among these young specialists, whose fingers flew over the keyboard faster than thought. Every evening, she returned home only to cry quietly, curled up on the couch.

«You are nobody without me.»

Those words still held power over her, though she despised herself for it.

On Friday, she was ready to run away. A mistake in a blueprint, the manager’s criticisms, mocking looks from colleagues—all of it weighed her down, draining her strength. But Marina stopped her at the door.

«Hey, where are you off to in such a hurry? We have a corporate event today. Come in, meet the team.» Anna wanted to refuse, but Marina had already pulled her out onto the street, chatting about the new place with great cocktails.

In the quiet solitude of her apartment, Elena took a clean sheet of paper and began to draw—not for work, not for a task—just for the pleasure of it. For the first time in many years.

The first independent order came unexpectedly. It was an ordinary workday, an ordinary Tuesday. Elena had been working as a junior designer for a month.

“A client is here for you,” Marina announced, peeking into the room. “A café on Sadovaya. They want a renovation. Can you handle it?”

The café was very small—six tables in a former bakery space. The owner, a young man with a beard, seemed vaguely familiar to her.

“We went to school together,” he explained, noticing her confusion. “Only you were in design, and I was in economics. I remember us dancing at one of the university celebrations.”

Elena blushed. She didn’t remember him at all.

“I always thought you were talented,” he continued as they inspected the space. “I saw your work at the student exhibition. So when I learned you were back in the profession, I immediately decided: my interior will be done only by you.”

“You are nobody without me,” Elena recalled Igor’s words, but now they were just sounds, stripped of any power over her.

She worked day and night. She drew, created plans, selected materials, negotiated with suppliers. For her, it became a challenge, a starting point for a new life.

When the project was completed, even the stern Arkady gave an approving snort:

“Not bad, Elena. Could have added a bit more audacity, but for a first time—it’s commendable.”

It was the equivalent of applause.

The “Sadovoye” café opened in the fall. Dmitry insisted that Elena’s name be credited as the interior designer. It was elegantly displayed in small, refined letters on the glass door next to the logo.

It was a moment of triumph. Elena watched from the shadows as people admired her work, not suspecting who the true creator was. She felt the special joy of a creator.

“Let me offer you a share in the business,” Arkady said three months later, when “Sadovoye” had become one of the city’s most popular spots and a line of clients had formed for Elena. “Five percent. You attract customers, you have your own vision, and you’re effectively leading the department. It’s time to formalize our relationship.”

Elena studied the contract carefully. Owning her own studio—even under the aegis of “Kontrast”—exceeded all her expectations from a year ago.

As she signed the document, she felt her fingers tremble.

“Congratulations, partner,” Arkady extended his hand.

That evening, she and Marina spent time in the same bar where they once celebrated small victories.

“I always knew you would achieve this,” Marina toasted. “You’ve had potential since the very first year. It’s just a pity it took ten years for you to uncover it.”

Elena shook her head.

“No regrets. This journey was necessary. Every step, every mistake made me who I am today.”

She didn’t mention the most important part: all these months she had been waiting for a call from Igor. First, she was afraid of him, then she hoped, and then she just waited, as if expecting some ordinary natural phenomenon—without much excitement. But the call never came.

At home, she walked through the rooms that now felt different. Not because she had renovated, but because the space was no longer shared. Now it was her territory—with her own scattered belongings on the table, her shoes in the hallway, her favorite cup that was no longer hidden in the far corner of the cupboard.

In the bathroom, a photograph from grateful clients of the “Sadovoye” café hung on the mirror. In it, she smiled, holding a glass, in front of her first successful project.

“You are nobody without me.”

Elena looked at her reflection and smirked.

“I am somebody without you,” she said aloud. “And that’s all that matters.”

A bright spring noon. A light office filled with the scents of fresh coffee and blooming plants. Elena sat at the desk of her very own studio “ESdesign,” now separated from Arkady. Before her lay the sketches for a new project—a restaurant in a historic riverside building. It was one of the most large-scale and prestigious orders of her career.

The studio thrived. In two years, Elena had set up a modern office overlooking the city center, assembled a team of seven talented specialists, and built a portfolio that evoked envy even among competitors. Of course, not everything went smoothly—failed projects, financial difficulties, conflicts with clients did occur. But each trial only strengthened her character.

“Elena Sergeyevna,” Svetlana peeked into the office, clutching the doorframe, “a candidate for the manager position has arrived. A tall man in a blue jacket.”

“Very well,” Elena finished the final touch on her blueprint without looking up. “Please take him to the meeting room and offer him some coffee.”

She checked her appearance in the mirror and walked downstairs. The position required the perfect candidate—a person capable of managing all projects, finding an approach to even the most capricious clients, and ensuring deadlines were met. After the previous manager left, the team was operating at full throttle.

When she opened the meeting room door, Elena froze on the threshold.

Sitting at the table was Igor.

His reaction was just as astonished. His face revealed a whole gamut of emotions: from shock to embarrassment.

“Elena?” His voice sounded different, stripped of its usual self-assurance. And he himself looked different: his suit no longer fit perfectly, his hair was beginning to gray, and wrinkles had become more noticeable.

“Good afternoon,” she calmly took her seat. “Are you here for an interview?”

Igor nodded, still unable to hide his astonishment.

“I… I didn’t know this was your company. The ad just said ‘ESdesign.’”

“My initials,” Elena smiled. “Elena Sokolova. So, are you interested in the project manager position?”

“Yes,” he replied, gradually regaining his confidence. “I have extensive experience managing teams…”

“Tell me about your last job,” she interrupted, opening the folder containing his résumé.

It turned out that his business had collapsed like a house of cards.