“Stephen, I don’t quite understand what it is you want,” uttered Catherine, her brow furrowed.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he replied with a hint of impatience. “I just want to be alone for a while, to have a bit of peace. Just go to the cottage, unwind, shed a few pounds. You’ve gotten quite soft around the edges.”

He cast a disdainful glance over his wife’s figure. Catherine was aware that she had put on weight due to her recent illness, but she chose not to argue.

“Where is this cottage?” she inquired.

“In a very picturesque spot,” Stephen smiled, attempting to lighten the mood. “You might actually enjoy it.”

Catherine decided against pressing the issue further. She, too, wanted some time to herself. “Perhaps we’ve simply grown tired of each other,” she considered. “Let him miss me. I won’t return until he asks.”

She began to pack her belongings.

“Are you upset?” Stephen asked, his tone softening. “It’s just for a bit, a chance to relax.”

“No, everything’s fine,” Catherine forced a smile as she reassured him.

“Then I’ll be off,” he said, kissing her on the cheek before stepping out.

Catherine sighed heavily. The warmth of their kisses had long since faded away.

The journey took far longer than she had anticipated. Twice, she lost her way — the GPS malfunctioned and there was no mobile reception. At last, a sign indicating the village came into view. It was remote, with wooden houses that, although simple, were well-kept, adorned with intricately carved trim.

“Clearly, there are no modern conveniences here,” Catherine mused.

Her assumption was correct. The cottage was a dilapidated old place. Without a car or phone, she felt as if she had stepped back in time. Catherine took out her mobile. “I will call him,” she decided, but connection was futile.

As the sun began to set, weariness crept up on her. If she didn’t step inside the cottage soon, she would have to spend the night in her car.

Returning to town was not appealing, and she certainly didn’t want to give Stephen a reason to say she couldn’t manage on her own.

Catherine climbed out of the car, her bright red jacket looking rather absurd against the rustic backdrop. She smiled to herself.

“Well, Cathy, we won’t perish,” she said aloud.

Morning came with the sharp crowing of a rooster that disturbed her in the car where she had fallen asleep.

“What a noise!” she grumbled, rolling down the window.

The rooster regarded her with one eye before crowing again.

“Why are you making such a racket?” Catherine protested, but then noticed a broom shooting past the window, silencing the noisy bird.

An elderly man appeared on the porch.

“Good day!” he greeted her warmly.

Catherine gazed at him in surprise. Characters like him seemed to have vanished — he looked as though he had stepped right out of a storybook.

“Don’t mind our rooster,” the old gentleman said. “He’s a good fellow, just gets a bit loud.”

Catherine laughed, feeling her drowsiness dissipate. The old chap smiled back.

“Are you here for long, or just visiting?” he asked.

“On holiday, for as long as I can manage,” Catherine replied.

“Come in, dear. We’re about to have breakfast. You can meet my wife. She bakes lovely pies… but there’s seldom anyone to eat them. The grandkids visit once a year, and the children, too…”

Catherine accepted the invitation. It would be nice to meet the neighbours.

Peter’s wife was indeed a delightful grandmother figure, clad in an apron and headscarf, with a toothless grin that was warm and endearing. The house was filled with cleanliness and comfort.

“How lovely it is here!” Catherine exclaimed. “Why do the children visit so infrequently?”

Anne waved her hand dismissively.

“We ask them not to come. The roads are terrible. After a rain, it can take a week to get out. There used to be a bridge; it was old, but it collapsed about five years ago. We live like hermits. Once a week, Peter goes to the shop. The boat isn’t reliable anymore. Peter is strong, but he’s getting on now…”

“These pies are divine!” Catherine praised. “Is no one concerned for the people here? Someone needs to take an interest.”

“Who would care about us? There are only fifty of us now. We used to have a thousand here. Now everyone has moved away,” Anne lamented.

Catherine pondered this.

“How peculiar. What about the local council?”

“It’s on the other side of the bridge. A detour is sixty kilometres. Do you think we haven’t tried? The answer is always the same: there’s no money.”

Catherine realized she had found a purpose for her holiday.

“Can you tell me where to find the council office? Or would you accompany me? The weather looks clear for now.”

The elders exchanged glances.

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

“Quite serious. Rest can take many forms. What if I come back and rain is upon us? I intend to make the most of my time here.”

The old couple smiled warmly.

At the town hall, she was met with a sigh of annoyance.

“Must we be bothered so often? You’re painting us as villains. Look at the town roads! Who, in your opinion, is willing to fund a bridge to a village with fifty residents? Seek a sponsor. Perhaps Mr. Sokolovsky? Have you heard of him?”

Catherine nodded. She certainly had — Sokolovsky was the owner of the firm where her husband worked. He was from the village but moved to the city with his parents when he was about ten.

After a night of contemplation, Catherine was determined. She had the number for Sokolovsky — her husband had dialed it from her phone before. She decided not to mention that Stephen was her spouse, calling instead as an outsider.

Initially, she couldn’t reach him, but the second time, Sokolovsky listened, paused, then chuckled softly.

“You know, I’d almost forgotten I was born there. What’s it like now?”

Catherine felt a rush of excitement.

“Beautiful and calm; the people are wonderful. I’ll send you photos and videos. Igor Borisovich, I’ve approached all the relevant authorities, and no one wishes to help the elderly. You’re our last hope.”

“I’ll think it over. Send me the photos; I’d like to reminisce.”

Catherine devoted two days to capturing videos and photographs for Sokolovsky. Although her messages were seen, no reply came. Just as she was about to lose hope, Mr. Sokolovsky called her himself.

“Catherine, could you come by the office on Lenin Street tomorrow around three? And please prepare a preliminary plan.”

“Of course, thank you, Igor Borisovich!”

“Honestly, it feels like a trip back to my childhood. Life is such a race; we scarcely have time to pause and dream.”

“I understand. However, you should visit personally. I’ll be there without fail tomorrow.”

Once she hung up, Catherine realized that the office he had mentioned was where her husband worked. A smile spread across her face; it would certainly make for a surprising encounter.

Arriving early with an hour to spare, she parked and headed toward her husband’s office. The secretary was absent, so she entered and heard voices coming from the break room. She walked in to find Stephen with his secretary.

They both looked taken aback at her appearance. She froze in the doorway as Stephen jumped up, hurriedly adjusting his trousers.

“Cathy, what are you doing here?”

Before she could respond, Catherine turned on her heel and fled from the office. In the corridor, she bumped into Igor Borisovich, thrusting the documents into his hands and, unable to hold back her tears, bolted for the exit. She had no recollection of how she made it back to the village. She collapsed onto her bed, weeping.

Morning came with a knock on her door. On her doorstep stood Igor Borisovich along with a group of people.

“Good morning, Catherine. I see you weren’t prepared to talk yesterday, so I’ve come myself. Would you like to make some tea?”

“Of course, come in.”

Igor didn’t mention yesterday’s events. As they sat with tea, nearly all the village residents gathered at the house. Igor looked out the window.

“Goodness, a delegation! Catherine, isn’t that old Peter Ilyich?”

Catherine smiled, “Indeed, it is.”

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

The man glanced at Catherine with concern, and she quickly reassured him, “Annie Matveevna is alive and well, still baking her famous pies.”

The day passed in a flurry of activity. Igor’s team measured, noted, and counted.

“Catherine, may I ask you something?” Igor spoke up. “Regarding your husband… will you forgive him?”

Catherine contemplated for a moment, then smiled gently, “No. You know, I’m even grateful to him for how everything unfolded… And why should I?”

Igor fell silent. Catherine stood up and surveyed the house, “If a bridge were built, this could become a remarkable place! We could restore the houses and create spots for recreation. The nature remains untouched, truly beautiful. But no one seems to care. And what if you didn’t wish to return to the city…”

Igor regarded her with admiration. She was a remarkable woman, determined and intelligent. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was all so clear to him now.

“Cathy, may I visit again?”

She looked at him thoughtfully, “Do come. I would be pleased to see you.”

The construction of the bridge progressed swiftly. The villagers expressed their gratitude to Catherine, and the younger generations began to return. Igor became a frequent visitor.

Stephen attempted to call a few times, but Catherine ignored the calls, eventually blocking his number.

One early morning, a knock echoed at her door. Sleepily, Catherine opened it, anticipating bad news, only to find Stephen standing there.

“Hello, Cathy. I’ve come for you. It’s time to stop sulking. I’m sorry,” he said, his tone reflecting an attempt at sincerity.

Catherine chuckled, “Sorry? Is that all?”

“Alright, fair enough… Get ready; we’re going home. You wouldn’t turn me away, would you? And this house isn’t yours — have you forgotten?”

“Let me show you away!” Catherine exclaimed defiantly.

Then the door creaked open, and Igor emerged from the room in casual attire. “This house was purchased with funds from my firm. Unless you, Stephen, think me a fool? There’s a review happening at the office, and you’ll have to answer quite a few questions. As for Catherine, I’d appreciate if you didn’t agitate her — it’s not healthy for her at this stage…”

Stephen’s eyes widened in shock. Igor embraced Catherine, “She is my fiancée. Kindly vacate the premises. The divorce papers have already been filed; await the notification.”

They held the wedding in the village. Igor confessed that he had fallen in love with the place all over again. The bridge was constructed, roads were repaired, and a shop was opened. People began purchasing houses as weekend getaways. Catherine and Igor decided to renovate their home so there would be a place to return to when children came into their lives.