Are you serious right now?” Nastya’s voice cracked. “Take out a loan in my name for your mom?”
“Nastya, don’t start,” Alexey sighed tiredly, tossing a folder of documents onto the table. “It’s not for Mom. It’s for all of us.”
“All of us?” she gave a bitter smirk. “Me, you, and your mom—who lives like she’s starring in a never-ending tragedy series? Well, spoiler: I didn’t sign up to be the heroine of season three.”
Silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the annoying ticking of a cheap clock above the fridge. October—damp, cold, puddles by the entrance, and that nasty wind that cuts straight to the bone. Nastya stood by the window, watching the last few leaves spin under the streetlamp.
Alexey said nothing, scraping his spoon around an empty cup.
“Mom’s just tired,” he finally muttered, as if defending himself. “The neighbors are loud, the roof leaks, the building’s old. She’s all alone.”
“She’s not alone, Lyosha,” Nastya snapped, turning to him. “She has you. And now, apparently, me too—as a loan donor.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” he frowned. “It’s just help.”
“Help is carrying groceries or fixing an outlet. Not putting your wife on the hook for a mortgage for someone else’s apartment,” Nastya spoke calmly, but every sentence landed like a slap.
Alexey leaned back in his chair.
“You just don’t want to help. You’re stingy.”
“Stingy?” She laughed—short, bitter. “I feel sorry for myself, Lyosha. Sorry I got involved with a man who can’t tell the difference between love and convenience.”
He was about to answer when the doorbell rang—long and brazen, like a debt collector, not a relative. Nastya didn’t even ask who it was. She already knew.
“Mom,” Alexey grunted, heading to the hall.
“Surprise,” Nastya muttered under her breath. “A bag of drama has arrived.”
Nina Petrovna walked in like she owned the place, carrying a plastic supermarket bag that clinked with jars and containers.
“Hello, my dears,” she drawled, as if she’d popped in for tea with school friends, not into an apartment where an argument had just been boiling. “I brought cutlets. Homemade.”
Nastya barely held back the sarcasm.
“Thank you, Nina Petrovna. We were just discussing a mortgage in my name. Enjoy your meal.”
“Oh!” her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes, pretending she didn’t understand. “Alexey, you already told her? You’re quick.”
“Mom, I wanted us to decide together…” Alexey started, but his mother was already steering the conversation.
“Nastenka,” she began softly, but there was steel in her voice, “this isn’t just an apartment. It’s stability. Family should help each other.”
“Family—yes. But I’m not sure you and I are the same family,” Nastya said coldly.
“Oh, what words!” Nina Petrovna threw her hands up theatrically. “Go on then, say it in front of everyone: are you really too stingy to help your husband’s mother?”
“I’m too tired to lose the last of my nerves,” Nastya cut in. “Especially when I wasn’t even told my husband was already getting ready to sign me up as a debtor.”
“Oh, stop it!” Nina Petrovna waved a hand. “Paperwork is nonsense. What matters is attitude.”
“Exactly,” Nastya stepped closer. “Attitude. And yours is: take what’s not yours, act like you ‘borrowed’ it, then get offended when you’re not given more.”
Alexey jumped up, trying to save the situation.
“Enough! You’re both emotional right now. Mom, sit down. Nastya, calm down.”
They both ignored him.
“You know, Nastenka,” her mother-in-law said, looking her straight in the eyes, “if you don’t want to help—don’t interfere. Some women are proud to hold on to their husbands instead of nagging them.”
“And some women are proud to climb into their son’s life and then play the victim,” Nastya shot back.
Alexey raised his hands.
“That’s it—stop! I’m asking you, no insults!”
“No insults,” Nastya repeated evenly. “Fine. Then I’ll say it without emotion: I will not take out a loan. Ever. Under any circumstances.”
Nina Petrovna pouted like a child whose toy had been taken away.
“Well then I don’t know…” she sighed dramatically. “Maybe you could at least lend me a little? Just for a while.”
“Mom!” Alexey yelled. “We agreed—no money!”
Nastya laughed softly, but with that sound that always made his stomach tighten.
“Got it. So you knew she’d ask again.”
“Nastya, I—” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.
“Don’t.” She cut him off. “You knew—and you still called her over.”
Nastya picked up her phone, opened her call list, and tapped the screen.
“What are you doing?” Alexey tensed.
“Calling Lena,” Nastya said calmly. “I’m staying with her tonight. And you two can… figure out who owes whom what, and how much.”
“Nastya, wait—” he stood up and grabbed her arm. “Why go straight to that?”
“Because it’s too late for ‘not straight away,’” Nastya yanked her hand free. “I’m not a bank, Lyosha. And I’m not your mother’s collateral.”
She put on her jacket, zipped it up, and walked out into the dark stairwell without looking back. The door slammed, echoing through the landing.
Alexey stood there with his arms lowered, staring at the door, while Nina Petrovna whispered behind him:
“It’s fine, son. She’ll cool off. All women are like that. The main thing is—don’t give in.”
But he didn’t answer. Because for the first time in a long while, what he felt wasn’t victory—just a deep, sticky collapse, like mud after rain.
The next days dragged on slowly. Nastya rented a room from a friend, carried her laptop to work and back, lived on autopilot. Morning—coffee, metro, reports, calls. Evening—silence, tea, and thoughts that made her want to scream.
Alexey didn’t call for the first three days. Then he started texting:
“Sorry. We need to talk.”
“Mom didn’t mean it.”
“You misunderstood everything.”
She didn’t reply.
On the fourth day he called himself.
“Nastya, please. I don’t want it like this. Come back. We’ll fix everything.”
“We?” she repeated. “Or you and your mom?”
“Me. Really. I get it—I went too far.”
Nastya was silent for a long time.
“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll come tomorrow. But not to you—for my things.”
He wanted to say something, but the connection cut off. Even the dial tone sounded like a full stop.
“Oh, you’re here,” Alexey stood at the door like a mall security guard, “as if you’re not a wife, but an inspector.”
“Relax,” Nastya pulled down her hood, shaking raindrops from her hair. “I’m here for my stuff.”
The hallway smelled like fried onions and perfume that gave Nastya a headache. She understood immediately—Nina Petrovna was here again. And not just visiting.
“Mom, please step out,” Alexey asked, but her voice was already coming from the kitchen.
“I’m not hiding. Let her come in. I’m not the enemy.”
Nastya walked into the kitchen slowly. On the table—two plates with dinner, a third covered with a lid. A table set for three.
“Cute,” she smirked. “A family dinner without half the family.”
“Nastya, don’t start,” Alexey said wearily, sitting back down. “I just asked Mom to help me with some things.”
“Yeah—help. Meaning: live here. In my rented apartment.”
Nina Petrovna didn’t even blink.
“It’s temporary. Until the repairs are done.”
“Repairs?” Nastya raised an eyebrow. “Oh—those repairs I was supposed to take out a loan for. So now you’re doing it without it?”
“Don’t be snide,” her mother-in-law said sharply. “We found a cheaper way. Alexey made a deal with a handyman.”
Nastya shook her head.
“Alexey, tell me honestly—do you understand I’m not coming back?”
He snapped his gaze up.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Of course you’re coming back. This is all emotions.”
“Emotions?” Nastya scoffed. “When my husband runs to banks behind my back—is that ‘emotions’? When your mother discusses my ‘greed’ with her friends? I’m allergic to the word ‘family’ now.”
“Who asked you to dramatize it?!” Alexey finally exploded. “We just wanted to help Mom!”
“Exactly,” Nastya lifted a finger. “Mom. Not ourselves. Not us. Don’t you think you’re always living for someone else’s needs?”
He jumped up.
“I’m just a good son!”
“And a bad husband,” Nastya finished calmly. “And it doesn’t balance out.”
A pause fell. Even Nina Petrovna couldn’t find words. Only a spoon clinked against a plate.
“You know, Nastenka,” she said quietly, with that tone that always tightened Nastya’s chest, “you just don’t know how to forgive.”
“No,” Nastya stepped closer. “I just know how to remember how people behave.”
“Who needs you with a character like that?” her mother-in-law blurted. “Couldn’t keep a husband—destroying your home with your own hands!”
“Home?” Nastya smirked. “Homes aren’t destroyed by women. They’re destroyed by the people who slide loan contracts across the table instead of flowers.”
Alexey tried to intervene.
“That’s it—enough! Mom, go to the room.”
“No,” Nastya raised her hand. “Let her stay. It’s even easier for me.”
She walked to the table and set down a bunch of keys and a bank card.
“Here, Lyosha. Pay the rent yourself. Tomorrow I’ll transfer the lease into my name. You can stay here until the end of the month—after that, figure it out.”
“Are you serious?” Alexey went pale. “But we were together…”
“Were,” she corrected him. “Until you decided that living together means a shared debt for thirty years.”
Nina Petrovna leaned forward.
“Who do you think you are?! Without him you’re nobody! On one accountant’s salary you won’t get far!”
“At least I’ll go on my own,” Nastya snapped back. “Not with you as a trailer.”
She went to the bedroom and packed a bag without looking around. Simple: clothes, laptop, documents, charger. No sentiment.
Alexey stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Just like that? You’ll leave and not even try to talk?”
“We are talking,” she answered, not looking up. “You just don’t like what you’re hearing.”
“Nastya,” he stepped closer, “don’t go. I’m trying so hard—for you.”
She turned to him.
“For me? No, Lyosha. You’re just used to having me nearby—wipe up, cover for you, fill out forms. And when I stop being convenient—you call your mom.”
He fell silent, eyes darting like someone caught in a lie.
“You know what hurts most?” Nastya continued. “I really loved you. I thought we’d grow together, learn to be a team. But it turns out you and your mom are on one team, and I’m on the bench.”
Alexey lowered his head.
“I didn’t want it to be like this.”
“Whether you wanted it or not doesn’t matter anymore,” Nastya zipped her bag. “What matters is what you did.”
From the kitchen, Nina Petrovna’s voice rang out again:
“Let her go! She’ll crawl back anyway. Women like her always come back!”
Nastya glanced toward the kitchen door and smirked.
“Check in a couple of years. But honestly—I wouldn’t recommend waiting.”
She put on her coat, pulled a ring from her pocket, and set it on the dresser by the mirror.
“It’s not for you to return,” she said quietly. “I gave it because I believed.”
“Nastya…” Alexey stepped toward her.
“Too late,” she cut him off. “When a woman leaves not with a scandal, but quietly—that’s the end.”
The door slammed.
Outside, a fine drizzle was falling. Nastya walked down the avenue without opening an umbrella. She breathed in the cold air and, for the first time in a long time, felt light. The future was uncertain—but at least it was honest.
She stopped at a kiosk, bought coffee in a paper cup, and pulled out her phone.
A message from Alexey blinked on the screen: “Sorry. I understand everything. Come back. We’ll start over.”
She stared at the words for a long time. Then she simply tapped “delete.”
The coffee was hot—unbearably bitter—and exactly what she needed.
People walked toward her—some with flowers, some with shopping bags, some with faces that said “everything’s fine” while a storm raged inside. Nastya thought: everyone ends up at that kind of crossroads at least once—between “endure” and “live.”
And for the first time, she chose the second.
She headed toward the subway, leaving behind a home where there would no longer be her mug, her laughter, or her fears.
Only someone else’s cutlets, someone else’s plans, and someone else’s certainty that she’d “come back anyway.”
But she wouldn’t.
Because now she didn’t just have a new life.
She had her own.
