They lived together for sixty years—Valentina and Sergey. You know, like in old films—they were the kind of couple about whom you could tell a romantic story: they met in their youth, loved each other, built a house, and raised children. But in their case, the children were strangers. Valentina never found out.
When they first got married, she was no longer young—she was twenty-seven, and he was five years older. He had his own life. He mentioned the past more than once, but always somehow in passing, and Valentina did not ask questions. He was reserved but caring, and most importantly, honest. Or so she thought—until this day came.
That evening, two days before his death, she was nearby as always, sitting in a chair and reading a newspaper when Sergey suddenly spoke. His voice was weak, his breathing ragged, but she noticed something different in his tone. It was as if he had decided to reveal something he had kept hidden all these years.
“Valya,” he began, his eyes avoiding hers, “I need to tell you something. You remember how we met, right? How it all started… But you don’t know the whole truth.”
She looked at him in surprise. There was very little time left, and this conversation became especially important to her.
“You don’t talk about your past,” she said. “All this time, I thought everything was simple, that you had no secrets.”
He was silent for a long time, seeming to choose his words carefully, as if he was afraid. Then he continued:
“I have children. Children you don’t know. You haven’t seen them. And I didn’t tell you about them. Because you weren’t supposed to know.”
Valentina couldn’t believe her ears. She didn’t immediately understand what he meant.
“Children? But you’ve never been married before me, have you?”
“No,” he said, and there was uncertainty in his voice. “I had a different life. Once, before you, I was married. And I had children—three. A boy and two girls. But they’re gone, Valya. Gone. They… died when I was about thirty years old.”
Sergey, as it turned out, never managed to tell her everything. He could not explain how hard it was for him to survive the loss of his family, how he buried them, and how, unable to bear the pain, he decided to start over—with her, with Valya. He had always feared his past would be a heavy burden for her, so he built his life as if it had all begun with her.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why were you silent?” she asked.
“I thought you wouldn’t understand. I was afraid this would alienate us. You were so bright, so good… And I didn’t want this pain, this shadow, to lie on you. So I just left it in the past.”
Valentina sat in silence, trying to comprehend his words but failing. Everything they had built together seemed to lose its meaning—or perhaps she just couldn’t believe that Sergey had such a difficult story hidden within him.
“Did you know them?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I knew them. And losing them was the worst moment of my life. I didn’t want to lose again. I was afraid that if you found out, you would leave. You were like a new chance for me.”
She noticed how his face radiated anxiety, and his eyes reflected such melancholy that she felt sorry for him. Not for the fact that he had hidden the truth from her, but for the way he had lived with this burden, giving himself neither peace nor the chance to be truly happy.
“Why couldn’t you at least tell me? I would have understood. I would have supported you,” she said.
Sergey sighed, closed his eyes, and seemed to find peace.
“I wanted you to remain mine, Valya. And it was too hard for you. I couldn’t force you to share my pain.”
Quietly, he added, “Goodbye. I didn’t have time to tell you everything, but you have always been the best thing that happened in my life.”
Valentina sat motionless, looking at him—his old but so familiar face. Her heart sank as she felt the huge, invisible wall he had built around himself finally crumble. It was too late. Too late to understand everything. Two days before his death, on the threshold of their sixty-year journey, she learned not only of his past but also of the most important thing: that he had never been able to overcome his pain and loneliness.
Sergey quietly fell asleep, leaving her alone in the room filled only with the sounds of her heartbeat.
