Nikita asked as if it were nothing, “Can you transfer me some money—about eighty thousand?”
Sofia put her book down and raised her brows.
“What for?”
“Marina’s birthday is coming up. I want to get her a laptop.”
“That’s… an interesting choice of gift,” Sofia said, closing the book. She enjoyed giving presents to her husband’s relatives, but she also knew how to keep an eye on spending.
“That’s way too expensive for a birthday present,” Nikita said, lifting his own eyebrows now. “It’s not a milestone. For a regular birthday you should do something more modest—like a nice perfume. I can do five, maybe ten thousand at most.”
Nikita clearly hadn’t expected that. He made a childish face and grumbled:
“Fine. Then give me ten.”
“No,” Sofia replied. “You don’t understand perfumes at all. To you, deodorant and eau de toilette are the same thing. I’ll buy it myself.”
“So you don’t trust me?” Nikita muttered, offended.
Sofia didn’t answer. She opened her book again and kept reading.
The next day Marina—Sofia’s sister-in-law, the same Marina Nikita wanted to buy a gift for—dropped by Sofia’s office. A very peculiar woman, she showed up like clockwork every Monday, always claiming she was “just passing by.” But Sofia knew what it really meant: Marina wanted money. Sofia did give her some—never more than three thousand—and Marina had gotten used to that.
When Marina finally rushed off, Leonid—Sofia’s brother—looked up from the device he’d been adjusting and asked his sister:
“Why do you give her anything?”
He knew Marina had been working for ages, was married, and had a daughter. He’d even met her husband a couple of times.
“Jealous?” Sofia asked with a hint of amusement.
“No,” her brother replied calmly. “You’ve spoiled her. You’ve trained her to come begging. That won’t end well.”
Sofia walked over and tousled his hair. She remembered perfectly well how she’d started her business.
Back then, the city hall had announced a business-idea competition for students. Sofia didn’t think of herself as a “business person.” She believed business was something far away and boring, but she still wrote up a concept for developing tourism and attracting visitors to their city. She figured the key would be souvenirs—and she built her plan around that.
The jury liked her proposal, and Sofia received her first grant—a significant amount. With that money she bought a couple of wood-burning machines. She also connected with a group of people who worked with birch bark and carved children’s toys by hand. Before long, her souvenirs were in demand, which surprised Sofia herself.
Seeing that her daughter’s project was taking off, Sofia’s mother—Lyubov Vladimirovna—invested her own savings. A couple of years later, Sofia had a solid little factory producing souvenirs. Her products could be found in every hotel in the city.
She hired staff—artists and technicians—but the main burden still fell on her shoulders. Every day she signed contracts, driving around to schools, colleges, administrative offices, and sports organizations. With time the business flourished, and orders started coming in from other regions. Confidence in herself and her abilities pushed her forward. And now, when money was no longer scarce, Sofia shared it easily with her husband’s relatives. She remembered what it was like to count coins just to afford lunch, and that memory made her kinder and more generous.
Her phone rang. Sofia smiled and answered at once.
“Yes, Irina Pavlovna,” she said—her beloved mother-in-law. “All right, I’ll stop by this evening.”
She checked the time, got dressed, said goodbye to her brother, and left. Half an hour later she met Kira—her longtime friend—at the pool. They’d been in the same class at school: they’d fallen in love, fought, made up, but always stayed close. Three years earlier, Kira had been head over heels and the wedding was practically around the corner—until she got into an accident. No one expected her fiancé to turn around and vanish. Kira suffered for a long time: she’d injured her hip, and on top of that she’d been abandoned. She cried constantly, and Sofia barely had time to hand her tissues. But time passed, Kira recovered, and now the two of them had made swimming a routine again.
That evening, the moment Sofia arrived at her in-laws’ place, Irina Pavlovna sat her down in front of her and handed her a brochure.
“Boris Mikhailovich and I,” she said—meaning Sofia’s father-in-law—“looked at some land plots today. They’re absolutely lovely!”
Irina Pavlovna shook her head dreamily.
“The prices are going up,” Boris Mikhailovich said gloomily. “Just a month ago you could buy a hundred square meters for fifty thousand. Now it’s seventy.”
“What will it be by the end of the year?” Irina Pavlovna sighed heavily.
Sofia studied the brochure. She’d been thinking about buying a plot herself for a while, but she’d never gotten around to it: she already had a good apartment, a car, and a business.
“Maybe you could contribute?” Irina Pavlovna asked, realizing Sofia wasn’t going to offer on her own.
“This year there aren’t many festivals in the city,” Sofia said, handing the brochure back. “Orders dropped sharply, so we have to economize.”
Her father-in-law let out a heavy sigh. He’d been counting on Sofia to meet them halfway, but he didn’t push. He put the brochure back on the shelf—maybe it would come in handy later.
When Sofia came home, Nikita approached her with a tragic, sympathetic look on his face. That expression always made Sofia laugh. She giggled and asked:
“So, what happened?”
“I had to take the car in for repairs,” Nikita whispered.
“But it’s still under warranty.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but how am I supposed to get to work now?”
His office was right in the city center—there were buses everywhere, and you could even walk there in about twenty minutes.
“Same way everyone else does,” Sofia answered.
“Then give me money. I’ll rent a car.”
“My dear,” Sofia said gently, trying not to hurt his pride, “my money doesn’t appear by magic. It comes from contracts and from my team’s work. I earn my cut from every souvenir we sell. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
A sad little smile flickered across Nikita’s face.
“So you’ll be taking the bus,” she said, and stroked his cheek.
On Thursday, thrown off her usual schedule, Marina ran into Sofia’s workplace again.
“Give me money!” Marina announced in her typical style.
“Not happening,” Sofia replied. “You’ve used up your limit.”
In truth, Sofia had money—but she remembered Leonid’s warning: freebies for her husband’s relatives wouldn’t lead to anything good.
Marina took offense, though she tried not to show it. She said a quick goodbye and hurried off.
That same evening, Stepan called. Sofia couldn’t say she adored her brother-in-law, but he was honest: if he borrowed money, he always paid it back—no handouts. This time he asked for just five thousand because he wanted to take his girlfriend to the movies and payday wasn’t until next week.
“Catch!” Sofia said, and transferred him a bit extra so they could stop at a café afterward.
“Whoa!” Stepan blurted when he saw the amount. “Thank you so much! I’ll return it next week for sure.”
“Don’t forget to kiss your girlfriend,” Sofia teased.
Stepan gave a little snort.
Nikita was still riding the bus. It felt strange to him—once you get used to having your own car, public transport is hard to tolerate. One evening he came home irritated.
“And why didn’t you give my mom money for the land?” he demanded, lifting his brows at Sofia in confusion.
“My dear,” Sofia replied, finishing dinner and setting her towel aside, “I have a family—that’s you and me. Your mother is not part of our household. I can’t support your parents. And I’ll remind you: before New Year’s I bought your mom a gorgeous sofa, and your dad a wonderful television.”
Nikita had been grateful for those gifts. Sofia really did buy things for his parents often—they needed help. A microwave had been followed by a coffee machine… and now his mother wanted a bed, and Sofia knew it.
“Don’t look so upset,” Sofia said when she saw him pouting. She wanted to hug him and kiss him like a small boy. She loved him—maybe not as fiercely as before, but she still did. “I’ll try to give money for the bedroom set soon.”
Nikita’s face lit up, like a child handed a giant ice cream.
A week later, new equipment arrived for Sofia’s business. Leonid was a capable guy—he was the one who always set up the machines. Now he sat reading the manual, twisting some knob. Sofia came closer and immediately noticed his sneakers were torn.
“Why don’t you buy new ones?” she asked.
“I’ll buy them after work,” Leonid replied without looking up.
“Let me give you money,” Sofia offered, hoping to help.
“No,” Leonid cut her off. “They’re my sneakers and they’re fine.”
Sofia instantly thought of Marina. Marina would’ve borrowed at least fifteen thousand from her—maybe thirty. But her brother would never ask her for anything.
After work Sofia decided to drop by her friend Nadia. She liked visiting that home: Nadia’s husband Vadim always greeted Sofia with a smile, and their little daughter Nastya—an energetic whirlwind—ran around the room. There was something wonderful about it. Sofia felt life in that house—heard laughter, saw warmth. And she loved that Vadim could kiss his wife in front of guests without any embarrassment.
When Sofia returned home, she found her husband in a chilly mood. Nikita just waved and went back to his computer game. Sofia had adored him once—but that had been a long time ago. Now their marriage was mostly habit: a peck on the cheek, “hi,” “bye,” maybe dinner together—rarely—and then they’d split to different rooms.
“This isn’t the family I dreamed of,” Sofia thought with a quiet sadness. “It’s just a routine. People live like this and don’t even notice the grayness they call a family.”
“It’s completely dead!” Nikita snapped, shaking the mouse angrily.
“Totally?” Sofia asked, raising an eyebrow.
He’d complained about his computer before—weak video card, not enough disk space, the monitor size…
“I need a new one,” he’d grumbled.
“Then buy one,” Sofia said, taking a book from the shelf and settling onto the sofa.
“Give me three hundred thousand,” Nikita asked.
Sofia stared at him. It was a serious sum, and in her mind she wasn’t seeing expenses—she was seeing how many souvenirs would have to be sold to earn that money.
“Buy it,” she repeated, keeping her face calm.
“Will you give it to me?” he asked with a note of contempt. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“And why did you decide I have ‘spare’ money for your computer?” Sofia shot back. “Do you think I open a drawer, take out cash, close it—and overnight the drawer magically refills? No, my dear. If you want a computer—earn it.”
She already knew what would happen next: he’d pout, go to the kitchen, pour coffee, mumble something under his breath, and return to his old computer.
Sofia reached for her notebook from the shelf. She tracked all her spending there. A minute later she realized it was only the twentieth of the month and she’d already blown past the limit she allowed herself for helping relatives. The lion’s share of those expenses went to Nikita’s family.
“You gave my sister one hundred and fifty thousand last month,” Nikita reminded her, lips pinched.
“Oh?” Sofia looked at him coolly. “You’re counting my money now?”
“No, I just mean… one hundred and fifty.”
“How interesting,” Sofia said sharply. “And what business is it of yours how much I gave my sister? For your information, my mother is on a pension and Alisa is paying for university. I paid her tuition. Any objections?” she asked, throwing him a pointed look.
Nikita turned away. He huffed for a few minutes, then blurted:
“So I come second?”
Sofia rarely yelled—but that day she did. She raised her voice, and Nikita, feeling his financial weakness, yelled back.
The next day turned into a disaster. Sofia’s car was parked properly, exactly where it should be—but another driver decided to swing into the spot at speed. Impact. A flash. Fire. By the time firefighters arrived, there was almost nothing left of Sofia’s car. The only thing that comforted her was the insurance. The agent from the insurance company said the payout would take time—and warned that the assessed value would be reduced due to wear.
Without a car Sofia felt helpless. She drove to clients like a sales rep: showing catalogs, samples, signing deals. When she got home, she asked Nikita to lend her his car for a while—but he refused. He was still sulking over the computer and claimed he now had to drive to a job site, and it was far away.
That evening, after estimating the cost of a new car and checking her savings, Sofia realized she didn’t have enough. So she went to her mother-in-law for help. But neither Irina Pavlovna nor her father-in-law lent her money—they claimed they had emergency expenses. Marina said the same. Only Stepan, hearing what happened, offered Sofia fifty thousand. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it warmed her heart.
The very next evening, Sofia came home in a new car. Seeing it, Nikita turned red with rage.
“And you said you didn’t have money!” he snapped, barely holding his temper.
He’d already calculated that the car had to cost at least five million. He walked around it, openly irritated, jealousy swallowing him whole: how could his wife earn that kind of money while he made only eighty thousand at his job?
Sofia spent most of that day at home, on calls with agents and clients. In the evening Nikita came back from work—and twenty minutes later her mother-in-law showed up too. Irina Pavlovna brought a box of chocolates and wanted to invite Sofia to tea, but Sofia got a phone call. She apologized and said she urgently had to leave.
When she stepped outside, Sofia realized she’d forgotten her bank card at home. She went back upstairs. In the hallway she paused and listened.
“Your wife,” Irina Pavlovna said with dislike, “has stopped giving money.”
“She’s gotten greedy,” Nikita agreed.
Sofia, standing there, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother-in-law had always seemed kind—even affectionate. Now her voice sounded harsh and creaky.
“This can’t go on,” Irina Pavlovna muttered.
Sofia realized neither of them had heard her come in. Curiosity flickered—she wanted to know what else they thought of her.
“Disgusting little witch,” the older woman snarled. “Here’s what you’re going to do…” Irina Pavlovna paused. “Your father will sell his car and give you the money. You’ll pay off your car loan. Then you’ll take out a new car loan—under your father’s name.”
“Mom,” Nikita protested, “what, did Grandpa suddenly become a millionaire?”
“Quiet. Listen,” his mother snapped, laying out her scheme.
Sofia stood in the hallway and caught every word. Anger flared inside her—not only at her mother-in-law, but at her father-in-law, her sister-in-law, and of course her husband. When she’d heard enough, she carefully opened the door a crack, then slammed it loudly. A few seconds later Nikita appeared in the hallway.
“I forgot my card. Bring me my case—it’s on the little table,” Sofia said, as if nothing had happened.
Nikita’s pale face immediately regained color. He hurried into the room and brought the case. Sofia took out her card, shut the case, spun the combination locks, and left it on the cabinet.
Only when she reached the first floor did she let her anger out—she shouted once or twice, then noticed an old woman staring and forced herself to calm down.
What did she feel for her husband now? Probably nothing. Once her feelings had been warm, tender, passionate. Now they were neutral. Her attitude toward Nikita was like the way you look at an expensive thing you don’t need anymore—but can’t quite bring yourself to throw away.
She sat in the car and thought. What her mother-in-law had suggested would work—and Sofia would be the one left holding the bag. So she decided to strike first. A plan formed immediately.
The next day Sofia wrote letters stating that she—Nikita Leshchev’s wife—did not give consent for him to take out any loans. Yes, it was “just paper,” a formality, but she stopped by Sberbank and placed a notarized copy in her case. Then she went to VTB, Gazprombank, Rosselkhozbank, Alfa-Bank, Promsvyazbank. There were more banks in the city, of course, but those were the major ones.
The following day, toward evening, she drove to see her father-in-law.
“Boris Mikhailovich,” she said, “how are those plots of land you were looking at?”
“Oh, they’re rising in price,” he replied, reaching for the shelf where the brochures lay.
“I think,” Sofia said with a slight squint, “that by spring my situation will improve.”
“That’s good,” he nodded, supportive.
“Maybe you could take care of those plots for now,” she continued. “You know what I’m suggesting? Maybe not just one—three, or even four. Nikita and I want to build a house too. We’ll live right near you.”
Her hint that her finances would soon get better inspired Boris Mikhailovich. He started calculating: why not buy several plots at once? It was pricey, but profitable—and Sofia would pay for it later.
Her father-in-law was delighted. He thanked Sofia, hugged her, and shook her hand for a long time. As soon as she left, he called the seller.
When Sofia got home, she pulled out a bottle of wine.
“Is there a reason?” Nikita asked suspiciously.
“Yes!” Sofia exclaimed. “I’ve got a ton of contracts—starting in spring—but they’re big ones!”
She took out a corkscrew, opened the bottle, poured two glasses, and handed one to her husband.
“Congratulate me,” she said brightly.
“Congratulations,” Nikita replied, pleased.
“And if you want, you can buy yourself a new computer,” Sofia added with a smile. “But for now—only with your own money. Get the best one. The biggest, the coolest. If you’re going to live, live large!”
With that, she drained her glass.
The next day her mother-in-law appeared again. Like a fox, Irina Pavlovna narrowed her eyes and watched Sofia for a long time, then said:
“Boris Mikhailovich told me your finances will improve in spring.”
“Oh yes,” Sofia answered instantly. “I’ve got wonderful contracts!”
Irina Pavlovna had no idea what Sofia actually did in her business—and, to be honest, she didn’t want to know. She only cared about one thing: the money Sofia used to hand over.
“Don’t put off that bedroom set,” Sofia went on. “And don’t penny-pinch. Get the best one you want—something that’ll last for generations, something you can pass down to your grandchildren. Do a renovation…”
Sofia paused meaningfully, then added:
“Just—on your own money for now. Mine won’t be free until spring.”
Her mother-in-law was thrilled. She was delighted to have such a “wonderful” daughter-in-law. Thanks to Sofia, she’d managed to replace an old car, then upgrade the kitchen… and now it was time for renovations and new furniture.
A couple of days later Sofia noticed Leonid was still wearing torn sneakers.
“I gave you money—what did you do with it?” she asked, puzzled.
“Bought books,” Leonid replied calmly. “These sneakers will do. But books…”
That was what Sofia respected about her brother: he loved reading. He could wear holey socks and faded jeans, but he’d always buy good books.
A month passed. Leaving Nikita’s parents’ place one day, Sofia said to her husband:
“I see your father has a new car. If he has that much money, why am I supposed to help him buy land?”
Nikita froze.
“Where did he get money for a car?”
It was an expensive car—especially for a pensioner—and cost around four million.
“Dad took out a loan,” Nikita mumbled.
“What?” Sofia feigned surprise. Nikita’s face turned pale. He realized his father had shown off too soon.
“But your father only has a pension and a small salary,” Sofia continued. “How is he going to pay off a loan?”
Nikita said nothing. Sofia walked in silence for about a minute, then spoke again:
“So Boris Mikhailovich will ask me for money, not you—because you don’t have any. And I’ll end up paying for his car.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Then I’m not giving anyone money.”
To Sofia’s surprise, Nikita didn’t argue. He acted offended—but he didn’t protest.
A couple of days later Nikita came home and announced:
“I’ve been summoned to court.”
“So have I,” Sofia replied, forcing herself to stay calm.
“What for? Why you?”
“Because I filed for divorce.”
Sofia watched him closely. In normal circumstances, any husband would’ve thrown a fit—“Why? What did I do? Do you have someone else? Everything’s fine! I love you!”—all that nonsense. But Nikita only looked at her coldly and muttered about how unnecessary it was, whether she was rushing it, how he’d “given her” two years and now she wanted to leave. Sofia barely listened.
The first hearing was routine. The judge immediately said he was required to grant three months for reconciliation. Nikita didn’t object. Sofia agreed—she needed those months.
After the first hearing Nikita tried to return home, but Sofia didn’t let him in. By then the locks had been changed, and she didn’t give him a key.
“If we’re divorcing, then we’re divorcing,” she said. “Go live with your mother.”
So he wouldn’t follow her around, Sofia went to stay with a friend. Nikita had no choice but to leave.
The next hearing—three months later—was where the real game began. Of course, her mother-in-law called, and her father-in-law tried to reconcile them, but Sofia didn’t want it. In truth, Irina Pavlovna didn’t want it either—she had her own cunning plan.
“I demand a division of property!” Nikita declared, glaring at Sofia.
Sofia was ready. She produced documents showing the apartment had been purchased before the marriage.
Nikita frowned but continued:
“And the furniture? The household items?”
“My mother, Lyubov Vladimirovna, bought all of that. I have every receipt,” Sofia said confidently.
The judge listened and agreed with Sofia’s argument. Then Nikita tried to claim part of the business.
“This is absurd!” he shouted. “I’m entitled to my share!”
But he got a surprise: the souvenir company belonged to his mother-in-law, not Sofia. Nikita had no legal connection to it.
It was a serious blow. So he played the final card he’d planned with his mother.
“Loans taken during marriage are split fifty-fifty!” Nikita yelled, convinced it would save him.
The judge nodded—it was true in principle. But then Sofia pulled out the bank-stamped letters and said:
“I only gave consent for one loan—the car loan. And Nikita has already paid that off.”
Then she produced calculations of Nikita’s salary and showed what he had contributed to the household. It turned out he’d spent his entire paycheck on himself—more precisely, on his own loans.
“How can that be?” Nikita spluttered.
The judge delivered his decision:
“I deny your request that your wife, Sofia, be responsible for repaying the loans you took out.”
Nikita jumped up and started shouting. His face went white, he was breathing hard. The judge finalized it: the debts would not be split.
When Sofia received the enforcement order, her ex-husband walked up to her.
“Why did you do this to me?” Nikita asked, his voice shaking.
“Do what?” Sofia asked calmly. “What did you want to do to me?”
Nikita stared at her, confused.
“You conspired with your mother to dump your expenses on me,” Sofia said. “First you took out loans and paid off your parents’ debts. Then I mentioned that things would improve for me financially by spring—and you all short-circuited. Your father took out a three-million loan to buy land, your mother—out of greed—took at least as much for renovations and furniture. And you’re no better—you racked up four million in loans. How exactly were you planning to pay it all back?” Sofia asked. “And don’t forget—the court awarded me half the value of the car.”
Nikita understood that perfectly—and it made him hate her even more. Instead of gaining anything, he’d lost everything: his wife, his home, his car. Now he’d earned only his parents’ hatred.
“Bye,” Sofia said, waved lightly, and walked away.
About a month later Stepan—her former brother-in-law—came to visit. He looked awkward: after all, his brother and mother had started the entire loan fiasco.
“Come in,” Sofia said, opening the door wide. Stepan stepped inside.
She invited him to the kitchen and brewed fragrant tea.
“Mom doesn’t speak to Nikita,” Stepan sighed. “Dad… he didn’t have enough money, so he had to sell the car and his land plots. But it still wasn’t enough to cover all the loans. Looks like Mom already found buyers for the apartment.”
“And what about you?” Sofia asked, knowing Stepan lived with them.
“I’ll have to move out. Probably for the best—it’s time I learned to live on my own,” he said.
Sofia left the room and returned a minute later with an envelope.
“Thank you for helping me back then,” she said, handing it to him.
He opened it, pulled out the cash, and immediately counted it.
“Why so much?” he asked, thrown off. “I only gave you fifty.”
“Let’s call it interest,” Sofia smiled.
“No,” Stepan protested, almost offended. “I only lent you fifty thousand when you were buying the car. You paid back the rest. I helped because it was hard for you.”
Sofia thought again how different people could be, even in the same family—some greedy, some decent.
They drank tea for a while, and then Sofia suggested:
“Want to go watch satellites?”
“Satellites?” Stepan blinked.
“You’ve never seen them?” Sofia asked. Stepan shook his head. “Then let’s go. I’ll show you.”
An hour later they were outside the city. They wandered a bit through a field, then Sofia pulled a large blanket from the trunk, spread it on the grass, and lay down.
“Look,” she said, pointing at the sky. “They’re drifting. See? Don’t blink—pick one spot and stare. You’ll notice one of the ‘stars’ moving. That’s a satellite.”
Stepan lay down beside her, focused—and soon he burst out, delighted:
“There! I see it!” He pointed into the darkness.
“And there’s another!” Sofia said, pointing to a different part of the sky, where a tiny “star” glided across the night.
