Husband casts his wife aside like trash—a year later, he’s drowning in regret

A New Beginning“Elena Sergeyevna, I don’t know how we ever managed without you, Grigory!” The elderly woman beamed as she watched the young man expertly handle his tools.
Grigory chuckled, placing his screwdriver back into his bag. “Oh, come now, it’s nothing. Just a matter of shifting the latch a little. Five minutes of work.”
He gave the newly repaired gate a final check—it now swung open and shut with ease.
“For you, maybe. But for us? We’d spend the entire day and probably break something in the process. We women are clumsy, and even more so with age.” Elena Sergeyevna sighed, shaking her head.
Grigory grinned. “What’s this nonsense about age? I say we find you a husband yet!”
The woman burst into laughter. “Oh, you joker!”
Grigory had arrived in the village a year ago, buying an abandoned house and restoring it piece by piece. The neighbors, mostly retirees, watched curiously as he breathed life back into the worn-down structure.
The village had many such homes—empty shells left behind by those who had moved away, their elderly owners either passing on or struggling to maintain them. Watching their beloved town slowly crumble was painful, but no one questioned why a young man had chosen to settle in such a place. If he had decided to stay, then so be it.
“All right, Elena Sergeyevna, I should get going. I’ll stop by later to check your blood pressure.”
“Oh, nonsense! Worry about yourself, not me,” she waved him off.
“Right. And who nearly toppled over in the potato patch yesterday from dizziness?” Grigory teased.
“Was that me?” She laughed. “You really do notice everything. It was just a little heat exhaustion. What’s next, checking my pressure every hour?”
As Grigory stepped into the yard, a loud roar filled the air. He turned to see a car speeding down the dusty village road, scattering chickens and geese in its wake. Something was definitely wrong.
The vehicle screeched to a stop right in front of Elena Sergeyevna’s gate. A man jumped out, flung open the trunk, and unceremoniously dropped two heavy suitcases onto the ground.
“Sergey! What on earth is going on?” Elena Sergeyevna cried, clutching her hands in alarm.
The man barely acknowledged her. “I’m returning her.” His voice was ice-cold. “Second miscarriage. Who needs a defective wife?”
With that, he yanked open the passenger door, and a frail young woman practically collapsed into her mother’s arms. Slamming the door shut, Sergey got back behind the wheel and sped off, kicking up dust in his wake.
Elena Sergeyevna gasped, steadying the woman. “Liza, my child! Does it hurt?”
“No, Mama… just the drive… I was only discharged from the hospital yesterday. I need to lie down.”
“My God! How could he do this to you?” Elena Sergeyevna’s voice wavered with disbelief. She turned toward the road, shouting after the vanishing car, “You heartless fool!”
Grigory stepped forward, instinctively reaching for the suitcases but hesitated. Perhaps they didn’t want anyone to know.
That evening, as Grigory stood outside his home debating whether to visit, Elena Sergeyevna called out to him.
“Grisha, Grishenka!”
“Yes, Elena Sergeyevna?”
“Could you fetch the paramedic? My daughter’s in bad shape.”
“Of course.”
Grigory drove to the next village, but the local paramedic barely looked up from his drink. “Not my problem.”
Grigory’s patience wore thin. “A woman’s life is at risk! She’s suffered a miscarriage, endured a long journey, and has been thrown away like garbage. If she starts bleeding, she could die! And who will take responsibility? You?”
The paramedic muttered curses under his breath but begrudgingly grabbed his medical bag. “My mother always said I should’ve picked a peaceful profession. But no, I had to be stubborn and save people.”
Grigory smirked. “So, are we going or what?”
He drove back with the paramedic, waiting outside as the examination took place. When Petrovich emerged, his expression was grim.
“She needs medication, rest, and proper care. Ideally, hospitalization, but she refuses. If she doesn’t get these injections on time, she’ll end up in worse condition.”
Elena Sergeyevna paled. “But where will I find someone who can give injections?”
Grigory took the prescription list. “I will.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
That night, when Grigory entered the room, Liza turned away, unwilling to acknowledge him. The same happened the next day, and the day after that. On the fourth visit, when her mother was absent, she finally spoke.
“Are you a doctor?”
He smiled. “I used to be.”
After that, the silence between them softened.
Days passed, and one evening, Grigory sat beside her. “Liza, you need to live.”
“For what?” Her voice was flat.
“To start over.”
She met his gaze, her eyes hollow. “I’m thirty-seven, discarded after fifteen years of marriage. A failure as a woman. What’s the point?”
Grigory knew words alone wouldn’t be enough. So instead, he shared his own story—of betrayal, false accusations, and the life he had built from scratch.
Liza listened. For the first time, a flicker of emotion passed through her eyes.
When he finished, she hesitated. “Do you mean it?”
Grigory chuckled. “You think I made it up for fun?”
She looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Then he pulled out a set of papers. “Want to help me with my plans? I’m starting a farming business but can’t wrap my head around the numbers.”
Liza blinked. “I was an economist.”
“Really?” He grinned. “I thought you were a musician.”
Evenings at Elena Sergeyevna’s home became filled with animated discussions. The old woman sometimes worried when their debates turned heated, but she secretly delighted in seeing her daughter come alive again.
Then one evening, as they finalized their business plan, Grigory playfully tapped Liza’s nose. “We did it! Tomorrow, I’m heading to the city for supplies.”
Liza’s heart raced. Her mother noticed.
“You’ve fallen in love,” Elena Sergeyevna said softly.
Liza stiffened. “Mama, don’t be ridiculous.”
But the words stayed with her.
Three days later, Grigory returned, his face troubled. “Liza, I don’t know what to do.”
She frowned. “What happened?”
“I came here to forget love. But then you appeared. These past three days without you were unbearable.”
Liza’s breath caught. “I… I don’t know what to do either.”
He reached for her hand. “Then let’s figure it out together.”
Elena Sergeyevna found them in an embrace. Smiling, she quietly closed the door. “God willing… perhaps this time, it’s real.”
Months later, as the farm launched, news cameras captured the moment. Liza, now Grigory’s wife, cradled their newborn son, glowing with happiness.
Meanwhile, Sergey sat at a bar, watching the broadcast in stunned silence. His glass shattered in his grip.
“She lied to me,” he whispered. “She stole the life I was supposed to have.”
But life had already moved on—without him.