“— What the hell is this nonsense?..”
On the laptop screen, casting a cold blue glow through the dim kitchen, the same red message popped up for the third time: Insufficient funds to complete the transaction.
Alina stared numbly at the blinking cursor, feeling the baby shift beneath her ribs like a heavy stone rolling inside her. The eighth month had not been easy. Her legs were swollen, her back throbbed whenever she sat too long, and now this ridiculous banking error had landed on top of everything else. She rubbed her temples, trying to chase away the wave of dizziness, then turned toward her husband.
Roman sat across from her, lazily scrolling through the news on his phone. A cup of half-finished coffee stood in front of him, and he looked completely at peace, as if the world around him were built from soft padding and permanent security.
“Rom, something’s wrong with the savings account,” Alina said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “I’m trying to pay for the crib and dresser delivery, but the bank keeps rejecting it. Transfer two hundred thousand to my card so I can place the order while the discount is still active.”
Roman did not look up immediately. He slowly slid his finger across the screen, paused for a second like a diver bracing himself before plunging into icy water, and only then set the phone aside. There was no fear in his eyes, no guilt either. Only the weary determination of a man who believed he was about to explain something complicated to a foolish child.
“I can’t transfer anything, Alin,” he said calmly. “The account is empty.”
Alina blinked. The meaning reached her slowly, as if through a wall of water.
“What do you mean, empty?” She turned fully toward him, and the chair creaked sharply beneath her. “There were eight hundred and fifty thousand in there. My maternity pay, your bonus, everything we’d been saving for half a year. Where did it go? Were we hacked?”
“No one hacked us. I moved the money,” Roman said, lifting the cup and taking a sip, even though the coffee had long gone cold. “Yana got her acceptance confirmed. Central Saint Martins. You know she’s dreamed about it since ninth grade. The deadlines were closing in. We had to pay the first semester and housing, or she would’ve lost her place.”
The kitchen fell utterly still.
The refrigerator hummed. Tires hissed outside on the road. But for Alina, all of that vanished. There was only her husband, sitting there in a T-shirt, speaking about a college in London as casually as if he were talking about buying bread.
“You gave them the money for college?” she repeated, feeling her fingers turn cold. “All of it? Roma, I’m giving birth in three weeks. We haven’t bought anything except one pack of diapers. We agreed on this: crib, stroller, maternity hospital contract. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about my daughter’s future,” he shot back, and a sharp, lecturing tone entered his voice. “Alina, try to understand. This is London. This is a chance that comes once in a lifetime. Yana is talented. I wasn’t going to let her rot here in some management department just because we need to buy another pile of plastic.”
“A pile of plastic?” Alina stood up. Her heavy belly made every movement awkward, but anger gave her strength. “You’re calling things for our son a pile of plastic? What exactly am I supposed to lay him in, a shoebox? How am I supposed to feed him if I can’t breastfeed? Do you even understand how expensive a baby is?”
Roman winced as if she had triggered a toothache.
“Stop dramatizing. A newborn doesn’t care what he sleeps in. People give this stuff away everywhere. Check the classified sites. There are tons of options. Strollers, tubs, all of it. People use those things for a few months and then sell them for next to nothing. Why would we need a brand-new Italian stroller for a hundred thousand when we can get a perfectly fine used one for five? That’s just vanity, Alina. Yana’s education is an investment.”
He said it with such conviction, with such holy certainty in his own righteousness, that Alina suddenly wanted to hit him. Not in the face. No. She wanted to strike something heavy against that smug, impenetrable shell of self-satisfaction.
“So this is how we live now,” she said slowly, bracing both hands on the table.
“Exactly.”
“You paid for your daughter’s education in London, and now you’re telling me to buy a stroller secondhand because the budget is gone? ‘That’s prestige, this can wait’? I’m not going to deprive my child of everything just to feed your ambitions over there! You’re bankrupt when it comes to us, but a millionaire when it comes to them? Get out of my house!”
“Why are you twisting this?” Roman sighed, putting on the face of a man burdened by the difficulty of talking to her. “Yana is my daughter. I’m responsible for her. She’s nineteen, this is the start of her life. And our little one, for now, only needs your breast and your warmth. We’ll manage. I’ll get paid next month and we’ll buy the basics. We just need to set priorities.”
“Priorities?” Alina laughed, and there was something frightening in the sound. “You stole money from your unborn son so your ex-wife could brag to her friends that her daughter studies in England. Did you even ask me? That money was mine too, Roman. My maternity pay!”
“I’ll pay back your maternity pay!” he shouted, losing his composure for the first time. “Why are you counting pennies? Are we a family or a corporation? Yes, I made the decision. A man’s decision. I’m not going to deny my child a future because of your fantasies in your head where everything has to be ‘proper’ and labeled and look perfect!”
He jumped up and began pacing the cramped kitchen.
“You’re selfish, Alina. All you care about is dressing up a baby nicely. Over there, a person’s future is being decided! Visa, plane ticket, dorm room, do you even realize how much all that costs with the exchange rate now? I drained everything. I even maxed out my credit card so she’d have enough for the beginning.”
Alina looked at him and saw a complete stranger.
This man she had lived with for three years, waited up for, ironed shirts for, had turned into a grotesque parody of a benefactor. He felt like a hero, a savior, a patron of the arts.
“You’re bankrupt for us, but a millionaire for them,” she said quietly, clearly. “You didn’t just empty the accounts. You emptied out every bit of respect I had left for you.”
“Oh, spare me the drama,” Roman waved it off. “You’ll cool down. We’ll have the baby, raise him, and later we’ll laugh about this. So he wears hand-me-downs for a couple of months, he won’t fall apart. But his sister will have a European diploma. You should be proud your husband has children like that instead of making a marketplace scene in here.”
“A scene?” Alina straightened to her full height. Her skin stretched tight across her belly, itching from the strain, but inside she suddenly felt cold and sharp, as if she were standing in an operating room. “Fine. If you think leaving your wife penniless right before childbirth for the whim of a grown woman is something to be proud of, then there is nothing left for us to discuss.”
“And what exactly are you going to do?” Roman folded his arms across his chest, looking down at her. “Ban me from the bedroom?”
“No.” Alina walked to the window and yanked the handle, letting in a blast of freezing air to clear out the smell of his expensive cologne, which, apparently, he had managed to find money for. “Get out of my house.”
“What?” Roman nearly choked. “Are you serious? Over money?”
“Get. Out. Of. My. House,” she said, each word clipped and hard as she turned toward him. There were no tears in her eyes, only steel. “Pack your things and go to your London. Or your ex. Wherever you want. But in one hour, you’re gone.”
Roman did not move. He only gave a crooked smile and reached for his phone again, as though his wife’s words were a buzzing fly he could simply wave away. His confidence in his own indispensability was so enormous that even a direct order to leave failed to crack it.
“Alin, stop the hysteria,” he drawled lazily without looking at her. “You shouldn’t be getting worked up. You’ll raise your blood pressure. Go lie down instead. I’ll wash the dishes. We’ll talk in the morning after you calm down and stop talking nonsense about throwing me out.”
Without a word, Alina walked past him into the bedroom.
A minute later, sounds came from there that were impossible to mistake: the rustle of the overhead storage being opened, then the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Roman stiffened, set his phone aside, and slowly followed her.
In the middle of the bedroom, on the plush rug, lay his huge travel suitcase, the same one they had taken to Turkey last year. Alina was methodically opening closet doors and taking out his belongings. Shirts from one section. Jeans from a shelf. Underwear from a drawer. She was not throwing anything, not tearing it, not crushing it. She was simply transferring his possessions from the closet into the suitcase with the efficiency of a sorting machine.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Roman froze in the doorway, a chill running down his back. “Alina, put that shirt down. It’s Henderson. It’ll get wrinkled.”
“You can iron it in your new place,” she said calmly, never interrupting her work. “Or ask Marina. According to you, she’s practically a saint. I’m sure she’ll understand and appreciate your heroic sacrifice. Let her take care of your domestic needs too.”
“You’ve completely lost it because of your hormones!” he roared, lunging toward her and trying to yank a stack of T-shirts from her hands. “This is my apartment too! We’ve lived here for three years! You can’t throw me out into the street like a dog!”
Alina jerked backward, instinctively shielding her stomach with both arms so he would not brush against it by accident. Her expression turned heavy and sharp.
“Your apartment?” she repeated in a voice of ice. “Roman, let’s not indulge in fantasies. This apartment came from my grandmother. Are you registered here? No. Did you contribute to the renovation? No. You were always saving for your ‘safety cushion,’ the same one that flew off to London today. You’re just a guest here. A guest who overstayed. And who stopped paying for the stay.”
“Oh, so that’s how you want to speak now?” Roman’s face flushed a blotchy red. “So what was I to you then? Just a tenant with a breeding function? All those words about love and family were lies? The minute things got hard, the minute I acted like a real man and helped my older daughter, you showed your true face. Greedy. Calculating.”
“Be quiet,” Alina cut him off. “I’m not the greedy one here. You are. You solved your psychological problems at my expense. You bought yourself the title of ‘Father of the Year’ by robbing me and your second child. You’re desperate to look good to the people who already crossed you out once, and you spit on the people who stayed beside you. This isn’t hardship, Roma. This is betrayal. And I do not live under the same roof as traitors.”
She threw the pile of T-shirts straight into the open belly of the suitcase.
“You have ten minutes. If you don’t finish packing on your own, I’ll call movers and have them dump your things by the trash bins. Believe me, there may be no money on my card, but for that I’ll borrow some from the neighbors, and I’ll do it gladly.”
Roman stared at her and realized she was not bluffing. In this small woman with the huge belly, a steel force had suddenly awakened, something he had never suspected existed. His eyes stung with wounded resentment. He was the victim here, wasn’t he? He had given away everything. He had acted nobly. And now he was being dragged through the mud over a stroller.
“Fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth, righteous fury boiling inside him. “Fine. I’ll go. But you’ll regret this, Alina. You’ll come crawling back when you realize you can’t survive alone with a baby. And I won’t forget how you threw me out at night.”
He began grabbing things frantically, no longer caring whether they got wrinkled. His expensive laptop, chargers, razor, favorite cologne, everything went flying into the bag in a chaotic pile. He packed loudly and theatrically, slamming drawers, hoping she would stop him, cry, apologize. But Alina stood at the window, staring into the dark courtyard without even turning her head.
“Leave the keys on the dresser,” she said when he zipped the suitcase shut.
Roman threw the key ring onto the cabinet with a crash. Metal clanged and scratched the polished surface, but he did not care.
“I’m going to Marina’s,” he announced loudly as he pulled on his jacket in the hallway. “To people who understand gratitude. Yana appreciated what I did. Marina will too. And you…” He gave a contemptuous laugh. “You’re just petty, Alina. Narrow-minded and greedy. Stay here with your strollers.”
“Goodbye, Roma,” came her voice from the bedroom. No anger. No regret. Only exhaustion.
He dragged the heavy wheeled suitcase out onto the landing. The door slammed behind him immediately, and then the lock clicked twice. That dry metallic sound sliced into his pride harder than any words she had spoken.
Outside, Roman inhaled the cold autumn air. His phone vibrated in his pocket with notifications about the taxi fare being charged. He had almost no money left, but he had still ordered Comfort Plus. He was not about to show up at his ex-wife’s place like some beaten stray. He was arriving as a victor, a savior of the family, only temporarily misunderstood by his current partner, but certain that there, where he had invested so much money and hope, he would be welcomed with open arms.
It’s fine, he thought, watching the approaching headlights. I’ll get there and tell Marina everything. She’s a smart woman, experienced. We’ll laugh together about that idiot. Maybe I’ll even stay with them for a couple of days until I rent a place. After all, I paid for Yana’s London. They owe me for life now. I’ve earned a little hospitality.
He got into the car, gave the driver the address he had not visited in five years, and leaned back into the seat. Ahead of him loomed a meeting with the past, a past he was certain had been waiting eagerly for his return. After all, he had bought himself the right to love with a check covered in zeros. How could it be otherwise?
The taxi stopped in front of a tall brick building inside a gated complex, the very same place where Roman had once left behind his first family, his apartment, and, as he had believed then, a piece of his heart. After paying the driver, he pulled the suitcase from the trunk and confidently rolled it toward the entrance. He still remembered the intercom code by heart. His fingers dialed the familiar sequence automatically. The lock buzzed, and the heavy door opened obediently, as if inviting the prodigal father home.
In the elevator, Roman smoothed down his rumpled hair while looking at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, but there was still a spark of anticipation in his eyes. In a moment he would see Yana, see the gratitude in Marina’s face. Living with his ex-wife was not ideal, of course, but after a gesture as grand as paying for college, they simply would not be able to refuse him shelter for a little while. After all, he was now the chief sponsor of their bright future.
He pressed the doorbell and prepared a triumphant smile. Footsteps sounded inside the apartment, heavy and confident, unmistakably male. Roman frowned. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and the smile slid off his face like old paint.
A strange man stood in the doorway. He looked about Roman’s age, but far more polished: expensive lounge T-shirt, athletic pants, soft slippers on his feet. In one hand he held a half-eaten apple, and he looked at the suitcase-carrying visitor with polite confusion.
“Yes?” the man asked, making no move to step aside.
“I’m here for Marina. Or Yana,” Roman muttered, suddenly feeling like a salesman who had knocked on the wrong door. “I’m Yana’s father. And who exactly are you?”
“Igor,” the man replied shortly, taking another bite of the apple. Then he called into the apartment, “Marin, someone’s here for you. Looks like the ex.”
Marina appeared in the bright hallway beyond, where the air smelled of expensive perfume and fresh coffee. She looked flawless: silk robe, perfect hair, calm well-fed expression. When she saw Roman standing there with a suitcase, she merely lifted an eyebrow. There was not the slightest trace of the warmth he had expected.
“Roma?” She folded her arms. “What are you doing here at eleven at night? People are trying to relax.”
“I wanted to see my daughter,” Roman said, trying to move past Igor, but the man stood in the doorway like a wall. “And talk to you. It’s urgent.”
“Say it here,” Marina replied coldly, making no gesture to invite him in. “Yana is busy packing. Her flight is the day after tomorrow. You understand, she’s stressed, there’s a lot to do. She doesn’t need your surprise visit right now.”
Roman felt humiliation rise in his throat like a lump. He stood on the doormat outside the door he had once bought himself, in front of the woman to whom he had given half his life, and he was being kept in the hallway like a delivery man.
“Marin, you don’t understand,” he lowered his voice, glancing at Igor chewing the apple. “I’m in trouble. Alina and I… we had a huge fight. I left. I need somewhere to stay for a couple of days until I find an apartment. I thought that since I paid for Yana’s education—”
Marina cut him off with a short, barking laugh. She exchanged a look with Igor, and there was so much patronizing contempt in it that Roman wanted the floor to split open beneath him.
“Wait,” she said, stepping forward but still staying behind the threshold. “Are you serious? You showed up with a suitcase because your pregnant wife threw you out, and you expect me to make up the couch for you? Roma, did you hit your head?”
“I gave all my money for Yana’s college!” Roman exploded, his voice echoing through the stairwell. “I’m left with nothing because of our daughter! I sacrificed my family for her future! Don’t I at least deserve basic human decency? Just let me stay the night!”
Igor stopped chewing and looked at Roman carefully. There was no aggression in his eyes, only the kind of disgust people reserve for a drunk who has fallen face-first into a puddle.
“Listen, friend,” Igor said calmly. “Giving your own child money for school is your duty. By law and by conscience. You didn’t perform some heroic feat. You finally did your job as a father, one you’d been forgetting for the last three years. That doesn’t give you the right to burst into someone else’s home and demand a bed. My family lives here. And there is no place for you in it.”
“Your family?” Roman nearly choked with outrage. “That’s my daughter! My ex-wife!”
“Ex,” Marina repeated pointedly. “That’s the important word. Roma, I have my own life. Igor has his. We’ve been living together for a year. Did you really think we were just sitting here waiting for you to ride in like some knight on a white horse, except without the horse and without the money?”
“But I helped… I fixed everything… Yana dreamed of this…” Roman began to stumble over his own words, losing his footing. The heroic glow he had wrapped around himself was dissolving right in front of him, turning into a miserable puddle.
“You gave money because you wanted to stroke your own ego,” Marina said harshly, looking him straight in the eye. “You were always like this. You care about looking important, being the ‘millionaire’ in everyone’s eyes, throwing dust around to impress people. That you abandoned your pregnant wife with a belly and no money, those are your problems. They have nothing to do with me. And don’t drag Yana into this. She needs positivity before London, not the sight of her loser father begging for floor space.”
“Yana!” Roman shouted past Marina’s shoulder, hoping his daughter would hear him. “Yana, come out! Tell them!”
“Don’t yell,” Igor stepped forward and shoved him lightly with his chest. Roman staggered and nearly tripped over his own suitcase. “You’ll wake the neighbors. We told you clearly: leave. We’re not giving your money back, it’s already been sent to the college. And you are not staying here. This is not a shelter for ex-husbands.”
“You… you’re all monsters,” Roman whispered, his hands trembling. “I came to you with all my heart… I gave my last—”
“You didn’t give your last,” Marina said coldly, taking hold of the doorknob. “You gave away something that wasn’t yours. Something that belonged to your future child. And you thought we were going to kiss your feet for it? Wrong address, Roma. Go to a hotel. Oh right, you have no money. Then go to the station. It’s warm there.”
“Get lost, hero,” Igor added.
The door slammed in Roman’s face. The lock clicked. He remained standing in the bright empty hallway, staring at the expensive upholstery on the door. From inside he could hear Marina say something, and Igor laughed quietly.
Roman punched the wall. Pain shot through his knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation burning inside him. He stood alone with a massive suitcase full of useless things in the stairwell of a building where no one was waiting for him. All his fantasies about gratitude and reunion had shattered against the ordinary reality of people for whom he mattered only as a living ATM. The ATM had dispensed money and broken down. Broken machines get thrown away.
Roman did not leave. He simply could not make his feet move, as if the soles of his shoes had fused to the tile floor. Humiliation rang inside his skull, but even louder was the voice of his wounded pride. He could not believe his “investment” had ended like this. It had to be a misunderstanding. Marina was upset. Igor was jealous. But Yana… Yana was his blood, his pride. She could not do this to him.
He pressed the bell again. Long and hard, keeping the button crushed into the wall until it nearly cracked. Then he started pounding on the metal door with his fist.
“Yana!” he shouted, no longer caring about the echo in the stairwell. “Yana, come out to your father! I know you’re in there! Have some conscience, I lost everything for you!”
There was movement behind the door, muffled voices, and a minute later the lock clicked again. The door opened only a crack, just enough for him to see his daughter’s face. Yana stood in the gap wearing a stylish sweatshirt he had paid for the month before, and she held a smartphone in her hand, its screen glowing with an unfinished chat. There was no joy in her eyes, no sympathy. Only irritated disgust, the expression one gives to an obnoxious drunk on the subway.
“Dad, why are you yelling?” she said through her teeth, without even lowering her phone. “Do you know what time it is? The neighbors are going to call the cops. Do you really need that?”
“Yana…” Roman stepped toward her, stretching his hands out like a beggar asking for alms. “Sweetheart, do you even understand what’s happening? Alina threw me out. Completely. Because of the money I transferred to you. I’m out on the street, Yana. With a suitcase. Let me stay the night, just on the kitchen couch. I have nowhere to go.”
Yana let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes, making it clear just how exhausting this conversation was for her.
“Dad, what do you mean stay the night? I have suitcases all over the apartment, tomorrow I’ve got a farewell party with friends, there’s no room to breathe here. Mom is already stressed. Why did you even tell Alina you gave away all the money? You could have made something up. You’re a grown man. You’re supposed to know how to handle your own family problems.”
Roman froze. Her words lodged in his throat like barbed wire. He looked at his daughter, the very one for whom he had betrayed his pregnant wife, and saw a completely alien, cynical person staring back.
“I couldn’t hide it… The card is empty, Yana! I gave you everything! Eight hundred thousand! I left your brother without a stroller, without a crib, so you could live in London like a human being!” His voice broke into a shrill cry. “And all you can say is ‘handle it’? I sacrificed everything for your dream!”
“Don’t make yourself into some martyr,” Yana said with a grimace. “You paid for school. Thanks, I guess. But that’s your job. You’re my father. For ten years you paid tiny child support from your ‘official salary’ while Mom carried everything. And now you splurged once and expect us to build you a monument? By the way, that money barely covers it. Mom says I’ll only just scrape by over there, so I’ll have to be careful. So don’t stand here talking like you spent millions.”
“I’m out on the street…” Roman whispered, feeling the ground give way beneath him. “Yana, I’m your father. I’m standing here in front of you with a suitcase. I’m cold and I have nowhere to go. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”
Yana looked at him, then at her phone screen where a new message had appeared.
“Dad, that’s your choice,” she said coldly. “You chose that woman. You chose to have a child with her. You mismanaged your own budget. Why should I sacrifice my comfort because of your mistakes? If your wife threw you out, then you must have put yourself in that position. A man is supposed to solve problems, not dump them on his daughter right before her flight. Go to a hostel. What’s the issue?”
At that moment Igor appeared behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her farther inside.
“That’s enough. Audience over,” he said harshly. “Yana, go to your room. And you, hero, grab your junk and disappear. Ring this bell one more time and I’ll throw you down the stairs along with that suitcase. Believe me, I’ll enjoy it.”
“Yana!” Roman shouted one last time in desperation.
But she did not even turn around. She was already typing something into her phone as she walked away into her bright, carefully paid-for life. The door slammed shut for good. The heavy clang of metal cut Roman off from the past into which he had so foolishly poured his present.
He remained alone in the echoing stairwell. The silence pressed against his ears. Slowly, Roman walked to his suitcase and took hold of the telescoping handle. It felt icy in his hand. He dragged himself to the elevator, feeling like an empty mannequin someone had scooped out from the inside.
Back outside, he sat down on the bench in front of the building. The autumn wind cut straight through him, but he did not feel the cold. With trembling fingers he took out his phone. One unread notification from the bank glowed on the screen: Transaction declined. Insufficient funds.
He opened his messenger and found Alina’s contact.
There was no profile picture anymore. Instead of the happy photo of the two of them smiling by the sea, there was only a faceless gray silhouette. Her “last seen” status was gone too. He tried calling. A few short rings. Rejected. He called again. Rejected again. Then, finally, the mechanical voice: “The subscriber is temporarily unavailable or has blocked you.”
Roman lowered the phone.
He looked at the dark windows of his ex-wife’s building, where only one room still had a light on, Yana’s room. They were probably talking about his visit in there now, laughing at how pathetic he had looked, packing fresh new branded clothes into suitcases just like his. He pictured Alina lying in the dark of what had been their bedroom, one arm wrapped around her belly, hating him with every cell in her body.
He had been certain he was buying love and respect.
Instead, all he had bought was a one-way ticket to loneliness.
Roman sat on the bench staring at the wet asphalt. Beside him stood the giant suitcase stuffed with expensive shirts, now the only home he had left. In his pocket were two hundred rubles in loose change. And in London, at a prestigious college, a semester had already been paid for in full for the daughter who would not even let him cross her threshold.
He covered his face with both hands and went still. He did not want to scream. He did not want to cry. Inside him there was only scorched emptiness.
He had received exactly what he had paid for.
