"I am modest, not poor. Modest, with a light suitcase. I live with little, with what is necessary, and I do not attach myself to material things. Why? So that I can have more free time. And what will I do with that free time? Whatever I want. Freedom is having time to live," — José Mujica.
She had just woken up when a faint tick-tick reached her ears, and she jumped as if burned.
"There it is again," she thought, something inside her stirring instantly.
She rushed toward the shelf where she had left her phone, but the message wasn't from him.
With little interest, she opened it anyway.
An unknown sender.
Someone was inviting her to a session on interpersonal relationships—recognizing and dealing with troublesome people — at 3:30 near her apartment.
She finished reading and carelessly tossed the phone onto the bed.
But after taking just two steps, something made her stop.
She turned back.
A frightened, tired face was staring at her from the mirror.
She returned slowly and looked at herself.
"Do something for yourself," she said out loud.
Her own voice startled her—but also grounded her.
Under the shower, the warm water felt soothing.
Steam blurred the mirrors and tiles around her.
She wiped the mirror with her hand and, for a moment, allowed herself to admire her own body.
She loved it.
Her slender waist. Her long hair fell down her back, carried by the water, covering her rounded hips.
The reddish glow under the neon light made her feel desirable again.
Not always, of course.
Most of the time, she moved through life disconnected from herself, unaware of her own femininity.
Her fingers slowly traced her warm skin.
The touch felt wonderful.
She sank under the stream of water.
And then—her body convulsed.
Out of nowhere, a wave of sadness crashed over her.
She began sobbing uncontrollably.
Loudly.
Uncontrollably.
As if something inside her had finally broken.
Tears poured endlessly.
Loneliness had finally done its work.
It was as if someone had pressed a hidden button—releasing everything at once: fear, anxiety, dissatisfaction, emptiness, and the terrifying realization that she had lost her way…and didn't know where she was going.
The water kept running.
Now lukewarm.
Almost cold.
Almost shocking.
She trembled so hard she could barely stand as she stepped out of the tub.
Wrapping herself in a robe, she strolled into the living room.
Gradually, her body calmed.
She chose grey trousers. And a white shirt. Quickly fixed her hair. Perfect makeup. She smiled. The dark circles were gone. The traces of tears disappeared. Her hazel eyes—just moments ago dull and wet—now shone again, curious, alive. Ready for something new. She picked up her phone. She checked the messages - nothing from him. The intensity of her feelings had softened. Her appearance, the upcoming session, the idea of focusing on something new—it all cleared her mind. Before putting the phone into her bag, she looked at it through half-closed eyes and said out loud:
"Ida is going into a new life. And she will no longer think about you." She smiled. It was a victorious smile. Then she let the phone slide into her bag and zipped it shut. With that gesture, it felt as if she had said goodbye to him. Forever. In that moment, it felt that way, at least. Strong.Decisive.Unshakable.
—
She hurried, not allowing herself time to reconsider.
"This is an excellent decision," she reassured herself.
She didn't even know what the session was really about—but somehow she felt hope.
Something might change. She found the building easily. Climbed the stairs. Opened a heavy white door. As she walked up, texts written on the walls caught her attention.
"Someone really put effort into this," she thought, smiling.
Someone had handwritten the letters—imperfect, but they conveyed enthusiasm and belief.
"A mind once enlightened cannot again become dark." — Thomas Paine
She smiled wider.
Then another quote caught her eye:
"Education breeds confidence. Confidence breeds hope. Hope breeds peace." — Confucius
Something shifted inside her.
A quiet realization.
Maybe things weren't as hopeless as they seemed.
"Perfect," she whispered.
Her phone vibrated in her bag.
She felt it.
But ignored it.
"This is my time," she told herself.
And walked inside.
The space surprised her.
Bright, well-arranged, filled with certificates, photos, and flowers.
It radiated calm.
Order.
Harmony.
Something she couldn't quite name—but it felt good.
After filling out a form, she entered a large room.
Approximately ten women were already occupying the seats.
She chose a chair and remained silent, observing.
She didn't want to talk.
A blonde woman sat beside her.
Forties.
Tired eyes.
Gentle presence.
There was something fragile about her.
Ida felt no need to defend herself around her.
She followed the quiet rhythm of the woman beside her.
Suddenly, movement.
Everyone hurried to take a seat.
The lecturer had arrived. The door was wide open, and a woman stepped in—sharp posture, steady gaze, controlled energy. Petra.
No introductions needed. Her presence alone imposed structure.
A sharp voice cut through the room.
"Good afternoon. I hope you're all feeling well." No small talk. Straight to the point. The session began. Introductions. One by one. Names, lives, fragments of stories. Ida barely processed them. She was too tired. Too overwhelmed. Then the woman beside her spoke. She took her place at the front, setting down a folder with precise, almost mechanical calm. The session began.
"Veronica Belich."
Her voice was soft. Melodic.
"I'm 42. Psychologist. Currently unemployed. Divorced. I have a ten-year-old son."
She hesitated.
"I came here because a friend insisted. She thinks I need help."
Ida listened carefully.
There was something about the way Veronica spoke—slow, uncertain, exposed.
Petra leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with interest.
"How long have you been in a relationship?"
Veronica turned, surprised.
"Four years."
A brief pause. Petra smiled. But something was unsettling about it.
"Then your friend must care deeply about you…—or you may have crossed certain boundaries."
The room tensed.
Ida watched.
Analyzing.
Aggressive. Dominant. Sharp, she thought. Too sharp.
She didn't like her. It was her turn.
Finally, she spoke.
"I'm Ida Gavrilova."
Her voice cut through the room. Confident. Clear.
"I'm 53. A widow. Mother of three. I don't know who found me, but I believe it came at the right moment."
A faint, ironic smile. A slight pause.
"I have situations I cannot resolve alone."
Silence followed—brief, but noticeable.
Petra studied her for a second longer than necessary.
She was the last one in the row. The mentor gave them a pause. Something shifted in the room. People relaxed. Later, during the break, Veronica turned to her.
"I don't understand any of this."
Ida smiled.
"What exactly don't you understand?"
And just like that — a conversation began. A connection. Maybe the beginning of something new.
She surprised herself with the ease of her own tone.
Quiet. Unexpected.
But real.
As if they had known each other much longer.