The queue at the clinic inched forward at a glacial pace. Elderly women entered the ENT doctor’s office and seemed to vanish into thin air for nearly an hour. Alex fidgeted, glancing nervously at his watch. His job wasn’t the kind to overlook long absences, and this was already pushing it. He strategically stood closer to the door now—no chance he was letting another spry old lady sneak past him like that one just did.

Thankfully, she didn’t stay long. And finally, it was his turn.

The nurse looked up, recognized him, and smirked as she began filling out the chart. The doctor, a graceful woman in her early forties with no makeup, a ponytail, and a cool, collected presence, smiled warmly.

“So, what hurts today, young man?” she asked, amused.

“My ear has sharp pain,” Alex replied, taking a seat.

“Well then, let’s take a look at that ear.”

Dr. Elena Morozova approached, and for a second, Alex hesitated, forgetting which ear was supposedly hurting. Truth be told, neither did. Nothing hurt. It never had. They both knew it.

This was his third visit that week alone.

The reason? Simple: Elena wouldn’t agree to go to a café with him. She wouldn’t even let him walk her to the bus stop. But Alex was nothing if not persistent. Dr. Elena Morozova—whom he already referred to as Lena in his mind—had taken up residence in his heart. He came to the clinic like one comes to work—consistently, stubbornly. He sat through endless waiting hours just to catch a glimpse of her. In the evenings, he lingered near the clinic gate, hoping she'd pass by.

Elena noticed, of course. She'd frown slightly, her brows knitting together, and walk briskly away.

“Your ear is perfectly fine, Alex,” Elena finally said after a brief examination. “You're a very persistent young man. Alright. After work, we’ll go get coffee. But only because you’re taking up my time—and more importantly, that of my actual patients.”

Alex lit up.

“I promise not to waste anyone’s time again,” he said, grinning. “I’ll wait by the gate at six.”

At 6:15, Elena stepped outside. She smiled slightly when she saw him waiting, tall and awkward but endearing. He was a good guy, probably—but young. Far too young.

“Where to, Alex?” she asked, slipping into a formal, businesslike tone.

Alex offered his arm, which she accepted without hesitation. They strolled slowly down the street.

“I know a place,” he said. “Great food, good coffee. I go there sometimes after work.”

It turned out the place was as he’d described. Elena ordered a large portion of Uzbek pilaf and a vegetable salad. She ate with gusto, laughing freely.

“Yes, I eat a lot,” she chuckled. “Like they say—‘never enough to feed a horse.’ I don’t gain weight.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Lena,” he said softly—calling her by name for the first time.

He took her hand, cautiously. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked at him, amused.

“Alex, how old are you?”

“Twenty-three,” he replied. “Why?”

“Nothing. That’s a lovely age. It’s just… unfortunate you’ve decided to chase a woman twice your age. I’m forty-three.”

Elena said it with a teasing smile, expecting him to flinch. But Alex didn’t move. Though his blinking betrayed the shock, he held her hand tightly.

He had guessed she was older, yes—but not by twenty years. Ten, maybe. Fifteen, at most. She looked incredible: smooth skin, no wrinkles, strong presence, and a body like a college athlete’s. The revelation shook him, but what shook him more was the thought of losing her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alex said quietly. “It really doesn’t scare me.”

“Oh, please,” Elena laughed. “You blinked like I just told you I was an alien.”

“I was surprised,” he admitted. “But scared? Never. I’d be more scared if you had a husband. You don’t, right?”

“I had one,” she said softly, withdrawing her hand. “Didn’t work out.”

“Then he wasn’t the right man,” Alex replied. “But I am.”

She laughed again—surprised, flattered—and let him walk her home. That night. And the next. And again.

And over time, she realized something unexpected: Alex wasn’t going away.

He wasn’t just persistent—he was genuine. She, who hadn’t been loved in years, found herself beginning to feel something again. So did he. Raised by his grandmother, who passed away two years before, Alex had known loneliness intimately.

The two fit together, strange puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Within months, they were inseparable. Walks turned into dinners, then weekends together. Her colleagues whispered, some even scoffed. When Elena finally announced she was marrying him, the judgment intensified.

“Dr. Morozova, he could be your son,” a nurse remarked once.

“So what?” Elena replied calmly. “It’s my problem, not his.”

Alex’s colleagues were harsher. “What, lost your grandma and decided to marry your mom?”

One guy got a black eye for that.

They married without guests. No ceremony. Just them. They didn’t need applause—they had each other.

Elena welcomed Alex into her apartment. He hadn’t yet saved for his own place. She tried to conceive, knowing time was against her. For three years, she tried. At forty-six, she gave up. But Alex never once blamed her.

Their love endured for ten quiet years. Until Elena fell ill.

It began with mild back pain. It ended with her bedridden. People whispered again. How long would the young husband stay?

Alex stayed. One year. Two. Three. He learned injections, IVs. Carried her to the hospital. Carried her out. He became her caregiver, her strength.

And slowly—she recovered.

But illness left marks. Elena no longer looked youthful. Her hair grayed. Her slim figure withered. Her eyes seemed tired. On the street, people mistook her for Alex’s mother. She noticed. Every time.

And it broke her.

“Alex,” she said one day, “maybe I don’t want you around anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” he said. “Nothing’s changed.”

“But it has,” she replied. “I’ve stolen your best years. You’re still not forty. You should have children. You deserve that.”

She’d made up her mind. Quietly, she filed for divorce. She planned to return to the countryside where she’d grown up. A rural clinic needed a paramedic.

When Alex came home one day, he found the apartment deed signed over to him and a note:

“My dear Alex,
Thank you for the best years of my life.
You gave me love, dignity, and strength when I had none.
But now, it’s time for you to have your own family.
I want you to be happy. I will always love you.”

She was gone.

Alex searched for months. Visited village after village. Nothing. The divorce went through without her. Devastated, he fell apart. Lost his passport. Got into a fight with a colleague. Changed jobs. Changed cities. Started over.

A year and a half later, Alex met Kristina.

She was five years younger than him. She reminded him of Elena—not in looks, but in the warmth of her voice and depth of her eyes. Within months, she was pregnant with twins. Maybe it was planned, maybe not. But Alex married her.

He never told her the full story. Just that he’d been married before.

Seven months after the wedding, she gave birth—a boy and a girl. Holding them, Alex realized he was happy again. Kristina never asked questions, and he never volunteered them.

Years passed.

One Sunday, while at an amusement park with the twins, now five, Alex saw a familiar silhouette hidden behind a tree. His heart stuttered. He approached quietly.

It was Elena.

Gray hair pinned back, body thinner than ever. She looked like a real grandmother now.

“I'm sorry,” she said, seeing his shock. “I just wanted to see you. And your children. They’re beautiful.”

“I never told Kristina about you,” he whispered. “I said the apartment was from my aunt.”

“Well,” Elena smiled gently. “Let me be your aunt then. Just for a moment. I’d love to meet your kids.”

Kristina welcomed her with open arms. By the end of the meal, Elena had been invited to stay the night. Before leaving, she offered:

“Next weekend, come visit me in the village. The kids should know what real milk tastes like.”

Kristina loved the idea. Alex, not so much. But he agreed.

That Saturday, the twins ran around a garden bursting with strawberries while Kristina picked fruit, laughing.

Elena stood beside Alex, quietly. “I know this is awkward for you,” she said. “But we’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t see a husband in you anymore, and you don’t see a wife in me. But I still love you—differently now. I love Kristina, too. I just want to be a part of your life. Even if only as a friend. Or a memory.”

Alex took her hand, gently. “You’ll always be part of my life,” he said.

And he meant it.