“Step, I’m not quite grasping what you want,” Claire said.

“Nothing much, really,” replied Stephen. “I just need some time alone to unwind. Why don’t you head to the country house, relax a bit, shed a couple of pounds? You’ve become rather uncomfortable to look at.”

He cast a disapproving glance at Claire’s figure. She was aware she had gained weight due to her treatment, but she didn’t argue.

“Where is this country house?” she inquired.

“In a very picturesque spot,” Stephen smirked. “I think you’ll like it.”

Claire chose not to contest this. She, too, yearned for a break. “Perhaps we’ve simply worn each other out,” she mused. “Let him miss me. I won’t return until he asks.”

She began packing her things.

“Are you upset?” Stephen asked. “It’s just for a short while, only for a bit of rest.”

“No, it’s fine,” Claire forced a smile.

“Alright then, off I go,” Stephen pecked her on the cheek and left.

Claire sighed heavily. Their kisses had long since lost their warmth.

The journey took much longer than expected. Claire went off course twice — the navigation system was playing up, and there was no mobile signal. Eventually, she spotted the sign for the village. It turned out to be quite remote, with wooden houses that were neat, albeit simple, with intricately carved door frames.

“Clearly, modern conveniences are a rarity around here,” Claire thought.

Her assumption proved accurate. The house resembled a run-down cottage. Without a car or a phone, she felt she had stepped back into a different time. Claire pulled out her mobile. “I’ll call him now,” she thought, but still, there was no signal.

The sun was setting, and Claire was exhausted. If she didn’t enter the house, she would have to sleep in the car.

She didn’t want to return to the city, nor did she want to give Stephen any excuse to say that she couldn’t cope.

Claire stepped out of the car. Her bright red jacket looked absurd against the rural backdrop. She smiled to herself.

“Well then, Claire, you’ll manage,” she said aloud.

The next morning, she was awakened by the raucous crowing of a rooster outside the car window, where she had fallen asleep.

“What’s all that noise?” groaned Claire as she rolled down the window.

The rooster eyed her with one beady eye and crowed again.

“Why do you keep squawking?” Claire complained, but then she noticed a broom flying past the window, and the rooster fell silent.

An elderly man appeared on the porch.

“Good morning!” he greeted her.

Claire looked at him in surprise. People like him seemed to have vanished, like a character from a storybook.

“Don’t mind our rooster,” the old man said. “He’s a good lad, just shouts like he’s being butchered.”

Claire laughed, instantly wide awake. The old man smiled back.

“Are you staying long, or just visiting?”

“For a rest, as long as I can manage it,” Claire replied.

“Come in, dear. Have breakfast. You’ll meet my wife. She makes pies… but there’s hardly anyone to eat them. The grandkids visit just once a year, and our children too…”

Claire accepted the invitation. She figured it was good to meet the neighbors.

Peter’s wife turned out to be a genuine fairy tale grandmother — in an apron, a headscarf, with a toothless smile and kind wrinkles. The house was immaculate and inviting.

“It’s lovely here!” Claire exclaimed. “Why do the children come so seldom?”

Anna waved her hand dismissively.

“We ask them not to come. The roads are terrible. After it rains, it takes a week to get out. There used to be a bridge, though old. It collapsed about five years ago. We live like hermits. Once a week, Stepan goes to the shop. The boat can’t handle it. Stepan’s strong, but he’s getting on….”

“Those pies are heavenly!” Claire praised. “Doesn’t anyone care about the people? Someone has to look after this.”

“Who would care about us? Just fifty residents now. There were a thousand before. Now they’ve scattered.”

Claire pondered this.

“How very strange. Where’s the local council?”

“On the other side of the bridge. To divert is 60 kilometers. Do you think we haven’t tried? The answer is simple: there’s no money.”

Claire realised she had found a purpose for her break.

“Could you point me to the council? Or will you come with me? There’s no rain expected.”

The old folks exchanged looks.

“Are you serious? You came here to relax.”

“Absolutely serious. A break can take many forms. What if I come back, and it’s raining? I’ll do my best to help.”

The old couple beamed at her.

At the town council, they told her:

“Will you ever stop pestering us? You’re turning us into villains. Look at the town roads! Who would allocate funds for a bridge for a village of fifty people? Find a sponsor. Someone like Sokolovski. Heard of him?”

Claire nodded. Of course, she had — Sokolovski was the owner of the firm where her husband worked. He was originally from this area, but his parents had moved to the city when he was about ten.

After a night of contemplation, Claire decided to take the leap. She knew Sokolovski’s number — her husband had called him a few times from her phone. She decided not to mention that Stephen was her husband and to reach out as an outsider.

The first call didn’t connect; on the second, Sokolovski listened to her, paused, and then laughed.

“You know, I’ve almost forgotten where I was born. How is it there now?”

Claire felt a rush of enthusiasm.

“It’s incredibly beautiful, peaceful, and the people are wonderful. I’ll send photos and videos. Igor Borisovich, I’ve reached out to everyone — no one wants to assist the elderly. You’re our only hope.”

“I’ll think it over. Send the photos; I want to reminisce.”

Claire spent the next two days diligently capturing videos and photographs for Sokolovski. The messages were read, but there was no response. Just when she thought all was in vain, Igor Borisovich called her himself: “Claire Vasilyevna, could you come to the office on Lenin Street at three tomorrow? Please prepare a preliminary work plan.”

“Of course, thank you, Igor Borisovich!”

“You know, it’s like diving back into childhood. Life races by — one rarely stops to dream.”

“I understand. But you really should come in person. I’ll definitely be there tomorrow.”

Only after hanging up did Claire realise it was the same office where her husband worked. She smiled; it would be an amusing surprise.

She arrived early with an hour to spare. After parking, she headed towards her husband’s office. The secretary was absent. Stepping inside, she heard voices from the break room and made her way there. Stephen was in there with his secretary.

They clearly panicked upon seeing her. Claire was frozen in the doorway while Stephen jumped up, trying to pull on his trousers.

“Claire, what are you doing here?”

Claire dashed out of the office, bumping into Igor Borisovich in the hallway. She shoved the papers at him, and, unable to hold back her tears, fled towards the exit. She couldn’t recall how she made it back to the village. She collapsed on her bed and wept.

The next morning, a knock on the door stirred her awake. On the doorstep stood Igor Borisovich with a group of people.

“Good morning, Claire Vasilyevna. I sensed you weren’t prepared to talk yesterday, so I came myself. Would you like to make some tea?”

“Of course, come in.”

Igor didn’t mention yesterday’s encounters. Over tea, almost all the villagers gathered at the house. Igor peered out the window.

“Wow, quite the delegation! Claire Vasilyevna, is that old man Ilyich?”

Claire smiled, “That’s him.”

“Thirty years ago, he was already a grandfather, and his wife fed us pies.”

The man glanced uncertainly at Claire, and she quickly clarified, “Anna Matveyevna is alive and well and still bakes her famous pies.”

The day passed in activity. Igor’s team measured, recorded, and counted.

“Claire Vasilyevna, can I ask something?” Igor queried. “Will you forgive your husband?”

Claire contemplated for a moment before smiling, “No. You know, I’m even grateful to him for how things turned out… Why’s that?”

Igor stayed silent. Claire rose, surveying the house, “If a bridge is built, we could transform this into a stunning place! Repair the homes, create resting spots. The nature here is untouched, genuine. But no one seems to take on the task. And if you don’t want to return to the city…”

Igor admired her. She was remarkable, resolute, intelligent. He had never noticed it before, but now he saw her true beauty.

“Claire, may I come again?”

She looked at him closely. “Please do; I’d be glad.”

The bridge construction progressed rapidly. The villagers expressed their gratitude to Claire; the youth started returning. Igor became a frequent guest.

Stephen attempted to call several times, but Claire ignored the calls and eventually blocked his number.

One early morning, there was a knock. A sleepy Claire opened the door, bracing for trouble, but found Stephen standing there.

“Hey, Claire. I’ve come for you. Enough sulking. I’m sorry,” he said.

Claire chuckled, “Just a simple ‘sorry’? Is that all?”

“Well, come on now… Get ready, let’s go home. You wouldn’t turn me away, would you? Besides, the house isn’t even yours; have you forgotten?”

“Just wait till I kick you out!” exclaimed Claire.

The door creaked open, and Igor appeared from the back in casual wear. “This house was purchased with funds from my company. Do you really think, Stephen, that I’m foolish? There’s an audit going on at the office, and you’ll have many questions to answer. And I’d ask Claire not to worry — it’s unhealthy for her condition…”

Stephen’s eyes widened. Igor embraced Claire. “She’s my fiancée. Please vacate the house. Divorce papers have already been filed; expect a notification.”

The wedding took place in the village. Igor confessed he had fallen in love with this place all over again. The bridge was built, the roads were repaired, and a shop was opened. People began buying houses for holiday retreats. Claire and Igor also decided to renovate their home — a place to come back to when they had children.