Nastya was just approaching the café when she heard familiar voices:

“Forget about that anniversary,” a quiet, slow-murmuring Zhenya said into the ear of Nastya’s best friend. “Let’s go to your place. Or mine. Nastya isn’t coming back,” he added with a dismissive snort.

“Of course,” Lilia replied hesitantly. “I’m coming to you now, but when she returns, then what? Jump out the window.”

“Why jump out the window?” he countered confidently as he grabbed Lilia by the waist. “If you agree, I’ll show Nastya the exit.”

Nastya didn’t wait to see what would happen next. She knew Lilia well—especially her free spirit. But Zhenya… They had been together for three years. All this time she had been waiting for an official proposal. They had spent a year living in Zhenya’s new apartment, which he had bought on mortgage and was now renovating. The expenses were high, so all the household costs fell on Nastya. She believed that the civil registry was just a formality.

Now it was as if a veil had lifted from her eyes. It was all a lie—everything false. They would never have a family. For that role, he would find someone else, and she was nothing more than a convenient girlfriend during his financial hardships.

Six months ago, Nastya’s mother had died. Even then, she had been struck by Zhenya’s callousness. He didn’t go with her to the funeral, didn’t help with the arrangements. He had said in a businesslike, cold tone:

“Sell something over there. You know I have a mortgage, renovations. Maybe your relatives can lend a bit. And when we sell the house, you’ll pay it off.” He said it as if “paying it off” meant nothing to him at all.

That expression had cut her deeply. Yet later, Nastya had justified him—he was mistaken, had chosen his words poorly. Zhenya was never one for long conversations. That gloom and taciturn nature had even appealed to Nastya. “He keeps everything to himself,” she had boasted to her friends, “he wouldn’t betray or hurt me. It takes talent to cheat; you have to coax a girl.” Her friends had laughed, and even Lilia had joined in.

Not knowing what to do next, Nastya began waving frantically at a passing taxi. The car stopped, and she got in as inconspicuously as possible—as if she were being watched. She patted the driver on the shoulder:

“Faster, faster.”

Before she had even gotten far, her phone’s bright screen demanded her attention. It was Zhenya calling:

“Where are you? I’m here alone like an asshole, and everyone’s asking about you. You were supposed to have arrived by now—did something happen?”

Nastya disconnected the call and hurled the phone out the window. Then she burst into tears like a small child whose favorite toy had been snatched away, crying long, bitterly, with heart-wrenching laments.

All the while, the car continued moving. Gradually coming to herself, Nastya suddenly remembered that she hadn’t given the driver an address.

“Where are we going?” she asked cautiously.

“Home,” the driver replied. And Nastya saw that the car was speeding along a country road.

“Home? Where?”

“Should I tell you the address?” the driver answered rudely and insolently, or so it seemed to her.

“Stop immediately, stop,” Nastya shouted.

“In the middle of a field?” the driver laughed. “What are you going to do there?”

“I’m calling the police right now,” Nastya blurted out—the first thought that came to her. Then she realized that she had thrown out her phone and could no longer call. She’d told everything to a stranger, and now he knew she had no one. He’d just abandon her somewhere in the woods, and no one would come to her rescue.

Nastya wanted to jump out of the moving car and even tried to open the door, but in the darkness and with trembling hands she couldn’t find the handle. She let her arms drop and began to cry again—this time quietly and hopelessly. Let things be as they are. Some bastard would take her away now, and there would be no more suffering or betrayal. It seemed that was her fate.

The car suddenly braked sharply. The driver silently approached the door.

“Get out.”

“I won’t,” Nastya declared suddenly with a strong will to live. She decided she wouldn’t give up so easily—she would fight.

“Don’t be foolish, Nastya,” the driver said calmly. “We’ve arrived.”

For the first time, Nastya lifted her head and looked at the driver standing beside her.

“Sergey?” she asked softly.

“And who did you expect it to be?” Sergey replied. Nastya looked at her old classmate as if she were seeing him for the first time. Fragmented memories flashed through her mind—after school, he had gone away somewhere, had made a career.

“You’re a taxi driver?” she asked in disbelief.

Sergey laughed with a familiar, warm laugh.

“What taxi driver?”

“Then why did you give me a ride?”

“You were waving—I thought you were about to jump in front of the car.”

“I…” Nastya began to excuse herself.

“I know everything,” Sergey said as he embraced her by the shoulders. “It was a very useful ride. You’ve never been so candid before.” Nastya laughed, and a sense of lightness and calm filled her heart. She was standing on the threshold of her home.

“I came because of you,” he said as he fiddled with her little fingers in his big hand. “How nice that you never got married.”