Back at the apartment she once shared with David, she packed her things in silence. When David walked in, surprised, she didn’t pause.

“You’re back?”

“No.”

He watched as she zipped the suitcase.

“This is about yesterday?”

“You’ve said it before.”

And then she left.

Six months passed. Life wasn’t easy, but she adjusted. Her new apartment was bare, the silence sharp, but it was hers.

One day, she walked into the office and was told she had a meeting with a new candidate.

David.

He froze upon seeing her.

“You work here?” he asked.

“I’m the managing partner,” she said.

Shock flickered in his eyes.

“It’s a family business. I own it.”

She closed his resume.

“Thank you. We’ll call you.”

Later, her colleague Mikhail asked, “He was your husband, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

“You could’ve hired him.”

“Why?”

“To see how he manages.”

“I already have.”

Outside, David waited.

“You really won’t hire me?” he asked.

She looked at him.

“If the roles were reversed—would you hire me?”

He stayed silent. Linda walked away.

That evening, wind flowed through open windows. On the table lay a contract for a new project. Her phone buzzed—Mikhail’s message: Dinner at eight. No refusal.

She smiled, closed her laptop.

Somewhere behind her, the Linda who waited, tolerated, and tried to meet expectations was gone.