Darya Nikolaevna was the last person to leave the public services center. The streetlights were already reflected in the windows of the neighboring tax office, and behind her, the security guard turned the key in the glass door.
Inside her handbag was the official order appointing her head of the department. The HR employee had congratulated her rather formally, while her supervisor shook her hand and immediately reminded her about her new responsibilities. Even so, Darya walked down the steps with her back straight and her head held high.
She was forty-two. For almost ten years, she had moved from office to office carrying folders, covered for sick colleagues, stayed after closing time, and dealt with visitors who appeared five minutes before the end of the working day. Now a plaque with her name would be placed on the office door.
The first person she wanted to tell was Roman. Not her sister, not her coworkers, and not the neighbor she exchanged messages with almost every evening.
Her husband.
The pastry shop near the bus stop was still open. Darya bought a honey-and-walnut cake, the one Roman usually chose for special occasions. The saleswoman placed the box inside a sturdy bag and warned her not to tilt it.
On the minibus, Darya balanced the cake on her knees and took out her phone. She began typing a message to tell Roman that she would be home soon, then deleted it without sending.
That was when she noticed a message from Margarita Lvovna, the owner of their apartment.
“Darya, please let me know by Friday whether you’re renewing the lease. I have other people interested.”
They had been renting the two-bedroom apartment for three years. Darya had found it, paid the security deposit from her own savings, and signed the lease in her name. Roman promised every month that he would transfer half the rent, but he did not always keep that promise. Whenever he had no work, Darya covered the entire payment herself.
Roman disliked the fact that his name was not on the lease.
“I live here with no rights at all,” he would complain after almost every argument.
Darya had offered to add him when they renewed the agreement. Roman always replied that he was not going to ask permission from some stranger who owned the apartment and that soon they would have a home of their own anyway.
A week earlier, he had left a bank advertisement on the kitchen table. A section about household income had been circled in pen. When Darya asked about it, Roman said he was only comparing interest rates.
The light above the entrance to their building flickered. The elevator was stuck on the ninth floor, so Darya took the stairs.
As she climbed, she imagined how she would announce her promotion.
She would put the cake on the table, take out the appointment order, and say:
“Well, looks like we finally have a department head in the family.”
Roman would joke about her strict managerial voice, make tea, and perhaps, just once, tell her that he was proud of her.
Lately, however, most of his questions had been about money. He wanted to know how much her salary would increase after the promotion and whether she would receive a quarterly bonus.
Darya tried to excuse it because of his problems. Orders for window installations had become rare, several clients were late with payments, and his mother had started yet another renovation. Roman seemed angry at everything at once and spent nearly every evening sitting at his laptop.
Her key turned quietly in the lock.
The hallway light was on. Roman’s jacket hung from a hook, and his shoes had been left in the middle of the floor.
Darya took off her boots and placed the bag with the cake on the hallway cabinet.
Then she heard Roman’s voice coming from the bedroom.
He was talking on the phone and had not heard her come in.
“They were supposed to sign her appointment order today,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll ask her for an income certificate. I’ll tell her we need it for something connected to Mom’s apartment.”
Darya stopped beside the mirror.
“She won’t check every little detail,” Roman continued. “I’ll tell her we’re dealing with a family matter. She’s easy to handle.”
He fell silent while listening to the person on the other end. Then he laughed quietly.
“No, Ksyusha. I don’t love her. It would just be stupid to destroy everything right now. Once we get approved and make the payment, I’ll sort everything out.”
The cake bag began sliding off the narrow cabinet. Darya caught it in time and pushed it closer to the wall.
Roman’s voice came from the bedroom again.
“We’re meeting at the bank tomorrow. After that we’ll go to the developer. They won’t hold the reservation past the evening.”
Darya picked up the cake and carried it into the kitchen.
She placed the box on the table, sat down, and removed her handbag from her shoulder.
Two cups stood beside the sink. An electricity bill Roman had promised to pay yesterday was still attached to the refrigerator with a magnet.
The bank leaflet was lying on the edge of the table.
Now there were handwritten figures beside the circled section.
Darya pulled the paper closer.
The studio apartment cost 4.2 million rubles. Beneath it Roman had calculated the down payment and monthly installments. Next to the words “spouse’s verified income,” he had drawn a check mark.
A chair scraped against the floor in the bedroom.
A minute later Roman appeared in the kitchen doorway. He immediately slipped his phone into his pocket.
“You’re home already?”
“I am.”
“Why didn’t you call out?”
“I didn’t have time.”
He noticed the box.
“You bought a cake?”
Darya opened the lid. The honey cake was covered with crushed walnuts and decorated with a thin stripe of chocolate.
“I wanted to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
She took the appointment order out of her bag and placed it in front of him.
Roman read the first line. His eyes first stopped on the new job title and then dropped to the date.
Only then did he smile.
“That’s great, Dash. I knew they’d promote you. Now a lot of things can finally be settled.”
“What things?”
“Our problems.”
“Which ones?”
He pushed the document aside and sat opposite her.
“Housing, for example. We’ve been talking about it for ages.”
“Have we?”
“Don’t start picking apart every word. I wanted to arrange everything first and then show you the finished plan.”
Darya slid the bank leaflet toward him.
“A studio apartment for 4.2 million?”
Roman looked at his calculations.
“You were going through my papers?”
“It was lying on the table.”
“It’s just a preliminary calculation. I was looking at different options.”
“Who were you looking at a studio apartment for?”
“For us.”
“You promised it to Ksenia on the phone.”
He was silent for several seconds, then leaned his elbows on the table.
“You heard part of a conversation and decided you understood everything.”
“I heard about my income certificate, the down payment, and the reservation. I also heard you say that you don’t love me.”
“I only said that to calm her down.”
“Who is she?”
“She works for the developer.”
“Do employees at development companies normally ask whether you love your wife?”
Roman looked toward the window.
“We’ve known each other for a long time. She’s helping me move the deal along faster.”
“Is that why you call her Ksyusha?”
“Darya, stop interrogating me. I’ve had a terrible month. I barely have any work. I’m trying to find a way out while you go to your office every day and think every problem can be solved with paperwork.”
In the past, words like those would have made Darya defend herself. She would remind him how much she paid toward the rent, how much she spent on groceries, and why she could not simply take another shift.
This time, she said nothing.
Roman mistook her silence for agreement.
“I wanted to buy a home,” he continued more calmly. “I’m forty-three and I don’t even own a room. My mother keeps asking how long I’m going to live in someone else’s apartment. You transfer money to the landlady every month, and I feel like a tenant in my own wife’s home.”
“So you decided to buy a studio with Ksenia?”
“Not with Ksenia. She just found the place.”
“Then show me the documents.”
“What documents?”
“The bank application and the reservation agreement.”
“There’s nothing to see yet.”
“You planned to ask me for my income certificate tomorrow. That means there is something to see.”
“I only wanted to find out how much we might be approved for.”
“Without my consent?”
“You don’t sign anything during an initial consultation. You would have come, listened to the bank manager, and decided for yourself.”
“You told Ksenia I wouldn’t ask questions.”
Roman suddenly pushed his chair back.
“Because you normally trust me. I don’t see anything criminal about that.”
“Bring me the laptop.”
“Why?”
“I want to see where exactly you planned to put my income.”
He left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later.
Roman placed the laptop closer to himself. After turning it on, he spent an unusually long time searching for the email, even though Darya could see the correct tab at the top of the screen.
“Here,” he said. “It’s just a calculation. A normal consultation.”
The bank website showed a partially completed draft application.
Roman had listed himself as the primary borrower. In the section about marital status, he had entered Darya’s information. The fields for her passport details and workplace were still blank.
Beside them was a note from the manager:
“Bring spouse’s documents to meeting. Consider as co-borrower.”
“You already told them where I work,” Darya said.
“That’s general information.”
“And you told them about my new position before it was even official.”
“I assumed you were going to get it.”
Her eyes moved to the list of open files.
At the bottom was one titled:
“Reservation, Zarechnaya, Apartment 116, Ksenia.”
“Open that file.”
Roman immediately closed the folder window.
“That’s Ksenia’s contract with the developer.”
“Open it.”
“You wouldn’t understand it anyway.”
“Then you can explain it.”
Roman slammed the laptop shut and placed his palm firmly on the lid.
“Enough. I showed you the documents, and now you’re just searching for an excuse to start a fight.”
There was no wedding ring on his finger.
A pale strip of skin showed that he had removed it recently.
Darya stared at his hand.
“Where’s your ring?”
Roman pulled his left hand beneath the table.
“In the bedroom. It was getting in the way while I worked.”
“While you were using a laptop?”
“What difference does it make?”
His phone vibrated briefly inside his pocket.
Roman took it out, read the message, and immediately turned off the screen.
“Show me,” Darya said.
“It’s a client.”
“Ksenia?”
“Don’t start.”
Instead of reaching for his phone, Darya picked up her own.
She found a message Roman had sent that morning. It contained the phone number of a bank manager with the note:
“Save this. You’ll need it tomorrow.”
Darya pressed the call button.
“Who are you calling?” Roman asked.
“The bank manager.”
“Hang up.”
A woman answered.
“Good evening. My name is Darya Morozova. My husband told me there’s a meeting tomorrow regarding a housing loan. He listed me as his wife and a possible co-borrower.”
Roman stood up.
“Darya, stop this.”
She turned toward the window.
“I have not agreed to participate in the application, and I have not provided any documents. I will not attend tomorrow’s meeting. Please make a note that my income cannot be used. Yes, that’s correct. No, I haven’t signed an application.”
The manager asked several more questions and confirmed that without Darya, the bank could assess Roman only on the basis of his own income.
The amount he could borrow would therefore change.
Darya ended the call.
“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” Roman demanded.
“Yes.”
“We could have been approved for the apartment.”
“Not we.”
“There you go again!”
“Tell me whose name is on the reservation.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Tell me.”
Roman looked away.
At that moment, his phone vibrated again. He glanced at the screen but was not quick enough to hide it.
“If you don’t have the income certificate and the money tomorrow, they’ll give the reservation to someone else. You promised me.”
The sender was saved as “Ksenia Apartment.”
Darya had already read it before Roman placed the phone face down.
“She’s talking about the down payment,” he said. “She needs to close the deal.”
“Why did you promise her my documents?”
“I promised to solve the problem.”
“At my expense.”
“At the family’s expense.”
“Whose name will the apartment be registered under?”
Roman said nothing.
“Ksenia’s?” Darya continued.
“It’s complicated.”
“Whose name?”
“Hers at first. The developer gives employees a discount. We could have transferred it later.”
Darya closed the cake box.
Neither of them had touched it.
“You wanted me to become a co-borrower on a loan for an apartment that would initially belong to another woman?”
“Don’t twist it. It would only have been temporary.”
“Why couldn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have refused immediately.”
“So you knew exactly what you were doing.”
Roman walked to the window and pulled the curtain shut.
“I was trying to get us out of this rented dump. Ksenia found an option, arranged a discount, helped with the bank manager. Yes, there was something between us. But that isn’t the most important thing right now.”
“It is to me.”
“We’re almost finished.”
“Today you told her you don’t love me.”
“I was angry.”
“At whom?”
“Everyone! You, my mother, myself. You got promoted while I’ve gone two months without decent work. And now the loan is ruined too.”
Darya opened her conversation with Margarita Lvovna.
“I won’t be renewing the lease for next month. We’ll vacate the apartment by the end of the paid rental period. I’ll return the keys personally.”
She reread the message and pressed send.
“What did you write?” Roman asked.
She turned the screen toward him.
He read it twice.
“You can’t cancel the apartment on your own.”
“The lease is in my name.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“To Ksenia. You two have a studio on Zarechnaya.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There isn’t any apartment yet.”
“Then go to your mother.”
Roman sat down again.
“Dash, calm down. We’ll talk normally in the morning. You’re angry right now, and you’re making decisions you’ll regret.”
“I’m going to work in the morning.”
“And then what?”
“After work I’ll collect the rest of my things. You have until the end of the month to find somewhere else to live.”
“I’m registered here.”
“No, you’re not. Your permanent registration is at your mother’s address.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded toward her appointment order.
“So you got a promotion and immediately decided you can order everyone around?”
“This has nothing to do with my job.”
“Of course not. The convenient wife finally decided to show some attitude.”
“You already explained what the convenient wife was useful for.”
Roman pressed his lips together and looked away.
Darya took a travel bag from the wardrobe.
She packed her passport, work folder, two suits, a sweater, and a charger. From the bathroom she brought her hairbrush and a small cosmetics bag.
Roman followed her from room to room.
“You’re seriously going to a hotel in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“Because of one conversation?”
“Because of the application, the reservation, Ksenia, and your calculations.”
“You didn’t even let me explain.”
Darya zipped the bag shut.
“You did explain. The apartment would be registered in her name, the loan was supposed to rely on my income, and you planned to bring me to the bank without telling me the details.”
“I would have explained everything there.”
“After the manager put the papers in front of me?”
Roman had nothing to say.
Darya returned to the kitchen for her phone.
The closed cake box was still on the table.
She pushed it toward Roman.
“Take it to your mother tomorrow. It’ll go bad here.”
“You’re leaving the cake too?”
“I bought it for a different kind of evening.”
In the hallway, Darya put on her coat and ordered a taxi.
The car would arrive in four minutes.
Roman remained standing by the kitchen doorway.
“At least tell me which hotel you’re going to.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m your husband.”
“That didn’t stop you today.”
The elevator was already on the first floor.
Darya stepped inside, placed the bag at her feet, and pressed the button.
Just before the doors closed, Roman stepped out of the apartment.
“Dasha, let’s start over in the morning.”
She pressed the close-door button.
Outside, a light rain was falling.
The taxi was waiting beside the neighboring entrance. The driver got out, opened the trunk, and helped her put the bag inside.
Her phone rang before the car had even left the courtyard.
Darya silenced it.
A minute later, her sister sent a message.
“Are you still awake?”
Darya typed back:
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
Her sister called immediately.
“Of course. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. Do you want me to make up the bed in the room or unfold the sofa in the kitchen?”
Darya looked at her work bag lying beside her.
“The room. I have to get up early.”
Half an hour later, her sister opened the door wearing a robe and silently took Darya’s coat.
Two cups and a plate of sandwiches were already waiting on the table.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Later.”
“Then go wash up. There’s a towel on the hook. The bed is ready.”
Darya placed the appointment order on the dresser and took off her watch for the first time that evening.
Roman kept calling, but she did not answer.
Her alarm went off at half past six the next morning.
Her sister was still asleep.
Darya got dressed, put the appointment order back into her folder, and left as quietly as she could.
Her supervisor met her at the public services center.
“Darya Nikolaevna, you’re early. I thought today you might at least allow yourself to come in at opening time.”
“I wanted to get the office organized before the visitors arrive.”
Her supervisor handed her a key.
“They’ll put your nameplate up after lunch. Until then, settle in.”
The new office contained two desks, a cabinet with empty shelves, and a computer covered by a protective cloth.
Darya opened the blinds, turned on the light, and hung her coat on the rack.
Her phone showed another missed call from Roman.
Then a message appeared.
“Ksenia canceled the reservation. Happy now?”
Darya read it, blocked his number, and placed the phone inside the desk drawer.
Then she switched on the computer, placed her appointment order in the top folder, and opened the visitor register.
Voices of the first people arriving for the day were already beginning to fill the corridor.
