Abandoned on Their Anniversary: Natasha’s Unforeseen Journey
“Tolik, you’re picking me up from work, right? We’re going to the theater together tonight, remember?” Natasha glanced anxiously at her watch—only ninety minutes remained before the play. As if fate opposed her, a rain mixed with snow began to fall. She had spent her entire morning perfecting her hairstyle and purposely skipped wearing a hat to avoid ruining it. She felt foolish.
“I can’t, Natasha. I’m coming from the other side of the city. But please don’t be late; the traffic is terrible right now,” he answered before abruptly hanging up. Natasha didn’t have a chance to object. He had promised… so it must be urgent. Yet she couldn’t be angry—she was a woman who understood.
“Svetlova, report to the director’s office!” a voice called, confirming she wouldn’t be leaving early. The taxi was off the table; with the traffic jams, the trip home would take over an hour.
Walking down the office corridor, heels clicking on the floor, Natasha carried her bag, an umbrella, and her coat. The working day had stretched endlessly, yet she clung to a singular hope: she had to make it to the theater no matter what. Tolik was probably already on his way, but she couldn’t even hail a taxi in the snowy weather. The subway was her only option, and without a hat, balancing her high heels on the icy streets would be a challenge.
For nearly two years, they had been dating. Although they had yet to live together, Natasha dedicated herself each morning to curling her hair and selecting a special dress, eager to look her best for Tolik’s arrival after work—or occasionally, she would visit him. Tolik portrayed himself as a serious man who desired a well-groomed woman by his side. Natasha was determined to meet those expectations and not just be loved, but worthy.
Tolik was the ideal groom in many eyes: apartment, car, and a respected position. His aristocratic family background added to his allure. Natasha sometimes felt self-conscious in his mother’s presence. The way she looked at her—whether with suspicion or pity—was unclear. Nevertheless, Natasha did her best to fit in. She never refused to help; if she stayed overnight at his place, she would rise early to prepare breakfast and tidy the room while he slept.
When Tolik promised tickets to a play for their anniversary—a production Natasha had long dreamed of—tears of joy filled her eyes. Theater had captivated her since childhood. She remembered attending a performance of “The Three Little Pigs” with her father before he left.
Attempting to push away the sudden wave of memories, Natasha wrapped herself in her light, autumn-cold coat and stepped into the chilly October air. The walk to the subway awaited her.
Arriving punctually, she felt relieved not to have let Tolik down. At the entrance, she carefully gripped the door handle to avoid slipping and hurried into the lobby, hoping he was already waiting for her.
“Your ticket, please?” a security guard stationed at the entrance asked. Due to heightened safety measures, individuals without tickets were barred from entering to prevent overcrowding.
“My ticket is with the young man. He’s supposed to meet me,” Natasha replied nervously, rubbing her frozen hands. She had endured quite the cold—wearing no hat or gloves, a short dress, and sheer tights. Hopefully, she wouldn’t fall ill.
“Have your young man come to the entrance. Call him. Unfortunately, we can’t let you in without a ticket,” the guard insisted.
“Young lady, are you going to move?” an irritated woman in a hat shoved past Natasha impatiently.
The theater guard politely asked Natasha to wait outside. She didn’t argue, standing close to the wall and snugging into her coat, observing other theatergoers.
Tolik did not arrive and ignored her calls. Ten minutes before the play’s start, the electronic voice on her phone announced, “Subscriber is unavailable.”
Frozen at the entrance, Natasha realized her evening was ruined and that she would likely catch a cold. Increasing anxiety about Tolik mingled with her emotions; she feared something had happened to him since he neither came nor contacted her.
“Do you have a ticket to the performance?” a voice asked beside her. She turned to face an elderly man with a neat gray beard and kind, attentive eyes.
“Yes, but I was waiting for the person with the ticket, and he never showed,” she confided.
“I have an extra ticket. Come with me; you look quite cold,” he invited.
“An extra?” Natasha repeated, surprised. The walk to the subway was fifteen minutes away, and without a hat, her head couldn’t endure another outdoor stroll. Moreover, she dearly wanted to see the play.
“Yes… My wife and I planned to come, but she couldn’t make it… She passed away before the premiere,” the man said sadly.
Feeling overwhelmed, Natasha introduced herself. “I’m Natasha.”
“Fyodor Petrovich,” he responded with a gentle smile. “Let’s hurry; we’re running late.”
Sitting side-by-side, Natasha quickly immersed herself in the captivating performance. Moments after her earlier despair at the cold entrance, the theater’s warmth made her forget her troubles.
The time until intermission seemed to flash by. Natasha checked her phone but found no messages. Anxiety gripped her again.
“Let’s have some coffee, Natasha,” Fyodor Petrovich offered. “Valentina, my wife, and I loved eclairs.” His face darkened when mentioning her. “Do you like sweets?”
“Very much,” Natasha admitted, unable to refuse despite many diets.
“May I offer you something else besides coffee?” she asked.
“I would never let a lady pay,” he said, setting a plate of assorted pastries on the table.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called, “Natashka?” Natasha looked to see Tolik’s colleague in line at the buffet.
Her heart pounded as she swallowed her pride and asked, “Do you know what happened to Anatoly? I can’t reach him. We were supposed to go to the theater…”
“He changed his plans tonight. I bought the tickets from him so they wouldn’t go to waste. I assumed you knew,” Masha answered. Natasha felt as if doused with ice water; everything became clear.
“I misunderstood him,” she attempted a forced laugh. Luckily Fyodor Petrovich was there. He invited Masha to join them, but she left abruptly.
“So, the young man stood you up?” Fyodor Petrovich inquired quietly.
“Don’t dwell on it,” Natasha replied.
“I was young once. Strange things happen,” he said thoughtfully. “But I doubt I would leave my fiancée alone in the cold without a ticket.”
He nodded, reflecting seriously. “I would never have made Valya wait…” His expression turned melancholy again.
While people queued at the buffet discussing the show, Fyodor recalled with Natasha their shared memories. She asked him to tell more.
Fyodor Petrovich was a retired teacher. He and Valentina shared forty joyful years until her passing late summer, which devastated him.
“We had planned to attend this play together. She wanted to so much. We bought the best seats early. I didn’t want to go at first but thought Valya wouldn’t want the tickets wasted. And look, Natasha, fate brought me to you,” he said.
“Everything happens for a reason, as my grandmother used to say,” Natasha consoled him. “Thank you for the eclairs and for rescuing me from the cold and loneliness.”
That evening’s surprises continued. Fyodor Petrovich turned out to be her neighbor, and they traveled home together. Days later, they coincidentally met by a pastry shop.
“Here for eclairs?” he smiled. “To remember Valya.”
“I’d love to come by for tea,” Natasha blushed.
“I know young folks are always busy, like my son. Here, take these pastries home,” he offered her a box. Feeling pity for the solitary old man, she accepted.
“Let’s go. I can stay for half an hour. Show me pictures—I’d love to see how your wife looked,” Natasha smiled. In that moment, a tear shimmered in Fyodor Petrovich’s eyes.
Inside, the cozy apartment welcomed her. The cat, Senka, greeted her.
“Valentina insisted we keep him. We found him by the house in May. She passed in August, leaving this little one with me. Without him, I might have given up,” Fyodor shared quietly.
Natasha, not usually sentimental, was deeply touched by his words.
“Let’s put the kettle on. I have some mysterious tea—Puer, something like that. My son brought it as a gift,” he said.
Pouring strong tea, he brought out a photo album. As Natasha turned each page, her politeness blossomed into genuine curiosity. The family’s history traced back to imperial times. Their conversation paused only when her phone rang.
“Where have you been for the past two days? I’m supposed to be chasing after you,” Tolik texted before hanging up.
“I should go. May I visit again?” Natasha asked softly.
“Anytime,” Fyodor nodded, closing the album. She glanced at the curled-up cat and the warm lamp light, sensing a rare peace she had long yearned for.
Natasha’s own childhood was shaped by a strong, strict mother after her father left early. Men were distant figures. Her mother played all family roles, offering no hugs or secrets.
From a young age, Natasha sought to be agreeable and obedient, desiring not to hinder her mother’s care. Memories of her father remained only in childhood dreams. Perhaps Fyodor Petrovich reminded her too vividly of him.
After that evening, Natasha and Anatoly distanced themselves. He grew annoyed, not comprehending why she changed; he was to blame for her coldness.
Later, Masha told Tolik she’d seen Natasha at the theater with an older man. Tolik called, furious:
“So you found an old man and will be with him now? You’re greedy. Mom was right—you were with me for money only. Now I see why you stopped visiting. You found a better match!”
“Stop this nonsense!” Natasha exclaimed, shocked. “You left me that cold night at the theater. He just saved me from freezing!”
“And how often does he ‘save’ you? He’s old. Doesn’t it disgust you?”
“He has respect and manners! Don’t judge people by your standards, Tolik. I even considered giving you another chance, but now it’s clear.”
“Fine. Go to your old man!”
They never spoke again. Meanwhile, Natasha grew a neighborly friendship with Fyodor Petrovich. They attended theaters, concerts, and once watched an old film Valentina loved. Fyodor often spoke of his son, missing his granddaughter, and the daughter-in-law who planned to move north with their grandson.
“Does he visit?” Natasha asked.
“He came to Valentina’s funeral,” Fyodor said.
“Does he send money?”
“I don’t accept it; my pension suffices,” Fyodor looked away.
“Why don’t you visit him?”
“I’m too old for such trips. And the daughter-in-law wouldn’t welcome me,” he sighed, and Natasha sensed the discomfort talking about it.
“I saw an ad for the circus… Shall we go?” she suggested.
“Let’s,” he replied.
That evening, three hours before the show, Fyodor called: “Sorry, Natasha, I’m unwell and can’t make it. Give my ticket to someone else.”
Worried, Natasha brought medicines and treats. Fyodor lay resting as he recounted meeting Valentina, renovating their home, and celebrating the birth of their son, Zhenya.
“Then Zhenya married and moved away. Career, family, worries. I wasn’t upset. Valya worried more. Now I’m just an old man inconvenient to visit. But you’ve heard all my complaints. Tell me about you,” he smiled weakly.
Listening closely, Natasha realized how easy it is to turn away from someone while they live—and regret it too late.
Fyodor seemed to recover somewhat. They never made it to the circus, but he gave her tickets to her beloved theater for New Year’s—though he didn’t live to see it.
One day, when Fyodor became unreachable, Natasha knocked repeatedly. A neighbor with spare keys eventually helped.
Paramedics arrived too late. Shaken, Natasha collected documents and contacted law enforcement and Zhenya, Fyodor’s son, who had been unaware of his father’s heart issues.
“I had tickets for my flight! Why didn’t father wait for me?” Zhenya asked bitterly.
“He was waiting for you,” Natasha whispered.
At the funeral, she met Zhenya in person. He was polite and reserved, yet his demeanor reminded her of Fyodor.
“Father rarely called me, but recently when I called him, he spoke about you. You were the only person who brought him peace after mother’s death,” Zhenya said. “I don’t understand how a stranger could charm him so.”
“We were neighbors. I just listened. Elderly people need someone to talk to. Sometimes that’s all they want,” Natasha explained.
“I want to thank you. It was father’s wish.”
“No need. Warmth and friendship aren’t commodities sold for money.”
“Then what can I do?”
“Your father left a cat. I’ve been caring for him, but my ex has allergies.” Natasha looked at Zhenya with a silent plea—perhaps he would assume some responsibility, at least for the cat.
“I can’t take him north but promise to find a solution. Please keep him a couple more months. I’ll provide food,” Zhenya asked earnestly.
“Alright,” she consented.
On the ninth day, Zhenya invited her to a memorial and brought an envelope.
“I told you I wouldn’t accept…” Natasha urged.
“These are tickets. Father bought them, intending to invite you to the theater. Sadly, he didn’t make it. They rightfully belong to you: the New Year’s show. I think you’ll like it,” Zhenya offered sadly.
“Really? I’ll accept. Thank you. Though I have no one to accompany me—except Senya,” she joked.
“I would go with you—if you allow.”
“And your wife?”
“We’ve been divorced a month. Sorting out property and custody,” Zhenya admitted. “If not for the divorce, I’d have reached my father sooner.”
She hesitated but agreed, honoring the memory of someone she respected.
Initially, Natasha avoided Zhenya’s gaze, seeing him as selfish. Eventually, he confessed:
“I know you think I abandoned my father. It’s true, but not from indifference. I didn’t handle adulthood or responsibility well. I made mistakes. Then constant fights with my wife, trying to save our family. Our daughter was hospitalized… Work was stressful; mother died. I hid. Now, I regret wasting part of my life on the wrong things.”
His words revealed not a man to blame but one also feeling pain. Gradually, distrust faded.
Two months later, Zhenya moved back home and picked up the cat.
“My daughter promised to visit during the holidays. We think we’ve resolved things,” he said, smiling at Natasha.
“I have some pastries. Your parents loved eclairs,” she smiled.
“Yes,” Zhenya smiled. “That last barrier between us is gone.”
- Together, they fell in love slowly and carefully, two adults choosing to start anew despite past mistakes.
- After a year, they married quietly. Natasha moved in, and her apartment was rented out.
- The cat, Senka, became their beloved ‘Ginger Cupid,’ the reason Zhenya returned home.
- Natasha would always remember the night at the theater, thinking she was alone—but discovered every ending is a beginning.
Looking up at the evening sky, Natasha felt certain that Fyodor Petrovich smiled joyfully from the clouds, watching over them.
Conclusion: This heartfelt story reveals the unexpected paths life may take when plans shatter. Natasha’s experience highlights resilience, newfound friendships, and the healing power of compassion. Abandoned on a night meant for celebration, she found solace in an unlikely companion, forged deep connections, and ultimately embraced a fresh start. It teaches us that even in moments of loneliness and betrayal, new beginnings are possible, and human kindness can illuminate the darkest times.