Go to Him, If You Love Him…
Bright and lively Tonya fancied the handsome Yaroslaw—his wild charm, his careless independence. She loved how every girl in school pined for him, yet he singled her out, Tonya, the girl with the old-fashioned name.
As often happens, quiet Andrew secretly adored her. The very opposite of Yar—reserved, gentle. Tonya never noticed him.
The last school bell rang, exams were done, and graduation night arrived, swinging open the door to adulthood.
In their small provincial town, everything followed the usual script. Certificates handed out in the assembly hall. A banquet in the canteen, dancing in the gym, then wandering the streets under the stars.
When the graduates spilled into the cool night air, flushed with wine and dancing, Yar and Tonya slipped away from the crowd. The night was warm, poplar fluff settling on dew-damp grass. Nightingales sang sweet, piercing songs of love. Sweeter still were Yar’s kisses—until he lost control, grew insistent, even rough.
“Stop—don’t,” Tonya pleaded, pushing against him. But her resistance only spurred him on. Trapped like a bird in the snare of his hands and lips, she couldn’t escape.
June nights are short. The eastern sky blushed orange when Yar finally let her go. She stood on the riverbank, shaking out her crumpled dress.
“How do I go home like this? Mum’ll kill me. What if I’m pregnant?” She scrubbed at the grass stains, only smearing them deeper.
“Leave it, it’ll be fine.” Yar tried to kiss her again, but she wrenched free.
“That’s enough,” she whispered, voice trembling. She turned away, walking fast.
“Wait—I’ll walk you.” He caught her wrist.
“Let go! I don’t want to see you.” She shoved him.
“Fine then, go. You’ll come crawling back,” Yar called after her.
Tonya walked home swallowing tears, praying her mother was asleep. Arms wrapped around herself, shaking—from cold, from what had happened by the river. Nearly there, Andrew startled her.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Waiting for you.” His gaze flicked over her tangled hair, her ruined dress. “Was it Yar?” His voice hardened.
“None of your business.” She pushed past him, running the last steps home.
Her mother stirred at the click of the latch but didn’t rise. “Everything all right, love?”
“Fine. Just cold and tired. Go back to sleep.” In the bathroom, Tonya flung off the hateful dress, scalded herself under the shower, choking on silent tears. Her own fault, playing with fire. Yar had tried before—she hadn’t minded, but she’d wanted it different. Romantic.
She hid the dress deep in her wardrobe. Tomorrow, she’d bin it. Sleep came as the sun climbed over the rooftops.
She braced for consequences, but none came. Mediocre grades kept her from university; their town had colleges enough. Railways, agriculture, teaching held no appeal. She enrolled in accounting. She avoided Yar, and he didn’t seek her out—until his army conscription. He came to say goodbye, and she let him kiss her. After all, he might not return. Yar and Andrew left in the same draft.
Resentment didn’t stop Tonya loving him. She waited for letters. None came. Too proud to ask his mother for his address, she refused to chase him.
A year flew by. Andrew returned first, marching straight to her door. Army life had hardened him; he no longer blushed in her presence. “I’m leaving soon,” he said. “Friends in London want me. Come with me.”
“What about college?”
“Finish first, then we’ll go. I might enrol at the polytechnic. Army lads get priority.”
Tonya stayed silent.
“He’s not coming back,” Andrew said quietly. “He’s got a girl there. Stop waiting.”
“I’m not!” she flared. “I don’t care.”
“He bragged to the lads. About you.”
She hadn’t known Andrew could fight. Fancy that—standing up for her. He wasn’t bad-looking either. She didn’t know the boys had settled things on the train to their posting.
“Meet tomorrow? Cinema, or just a walk?” Andrew asked at the door.
“All right,” she agreed.
People noticed them together. A handsome pair. By spring, Andrew proposed. The wedding was set for August. Two weeks before, Yar returned—with a fiancée. They bumped into each other. Tonya’s heart hammered; Yar greeted her stiffly, eyes sliding away.
“Who’s that?” his girl asked.
“An old classmate,” Tonya heard as she walked off.
“They were dress-shopping,” her friend Kathy gossiped later. “What does he see in her? You’re prettier. Imagine if your weddings were the same day!”
“They won’t be,” Tonya said.
Hers came first. Andrew’s eyes shone with love; Tonya resolved to love him back. After the honeymoon, he left for Surrey, returning fortnight later.
“Sorted! Got us a flat. Pack your things—you’ve a job too. Lovely town, twenty minutes to London. New life!”
Packing, Tonya found the graduation dress—forgotten, never binned. She shredded it, dumped the scraps. No dragging old ghosts into her new life. She longed to leave, to stop glancing over her shoulder for Yar.
“Tiny place, but furnished. Kitchenette’s cramped, but we’ve our own. Shared bathroom, but a laundry room! Salaries are triple home. Save for a deposit—first-time buyers get help. Dad’s chipping in.” Andrew’s excitement was contagious.
Tonya grew to love keeping house—choosing curtains, cooking supper. Andrew was tender, attentive. Yet Yar haunted her. Andrew’s careful embraces only made her recall rougher hands.
His endless agreeableness grated. She blew her wages on a designer coat, expecting a row.
“You like it?” was all he asked.
“Why won’t you shout? Other men would!”
“Why? You’ve bought it. It suits you.”
Another woman might’ve rejoiced. Tonya seethed. Soon, everything about him irritated her. She realised she couldn’t love him. Pregnancy dismayed her.
Andrew redoubled efforts to buy a flat. Tonya brightened, nesting, buying trinkets to make life prettier.
He brought her home to a tiny flat, their daughter in her arms. Andrew doted, waking nights so Tonya could sleep. The moment he came home, she’d hand him the baby, fleeing to chores. Even this annoyed her. “Why won’t he snap, like other men? Just takes her, never complains.”
Kathy visited once, gushing over the flat. “Lucky you. Saw Yar last week—visiting his mum. Alone. Wife must be pregnant. Asked after you.”
“What’d you say?” Tonya tensed.
“The truth. Married, happy, lovely baby. He’s in London now.”
Tonya dyed her hair lighter, got a chic cut. Just in case. Andrew noticed, said nothing.
Then, carrying groceries, someone grabbed her bag. She spun—Yar. Broader, handsomer. Her heart lurched.
“Scared you? Heavy bags—husband not helping?” He took it, falling into step.
“Where’d you come from? Kathy blabbed, didn’t she?”
“I asked her. Wanted to see you. Why’d you marry him? I came back—you were engaged.”
“You brought a fiancée! You never visited. What was I supposed to do?”
“Bored with him?”
“He’s a good father. Our girl adores him.”
“Wife and I couldn’t have kids. Split up,” Yar mused.
At her doorstep, Tonya hesitated. “Meet tomorrow? Where d’you work? I’ll pick you up.”
“I’m married.”
“Come on, just a walk.”
She reached for the bag. Yar caught her wrist, pulled her close. She wrenched free. “Someone might see!”
Home, she hid her giddiness. That night, she turned from Andrew’s touch, aching for Yar’s crushing embrace. Next morning, she lied: “Late tonight—colleague’s birthday.”
“Need a lift?”
“No. Fetch Amy from nursery.”
At work, she glowed all day. Even tricky tasks clicked.
“Win the lottery?” a colleague teased.
“Jealous?”
Leaving work, Yar waited. “Thought you’d stood me up.”
“Get in. Colleagues’ll talk.”
“He doesn’t spy. Where to?”
“Where d’you want? Mine.”
“No—stop the car!”
“I missed you.”
Tonya stared ahead. She’d known this wasn’t about books. His flat was sleek, stylish.
“Cosy,” she said.
“Enough for one.”
“And if a wife or kids appear?”
“I’ll”And if a wife or kids appear?” she pressed.
Yar just grinned, pulling her close again, and in that moment, Tonya finally understood—she didn’t want chaos, she wanted the quiet steadiness she’d left behind.