We’ll soon start on the finishing touches. We’ve almost completed the construction,» my husband told me one evening as we were getting ready for bed.
«So, the renovation is up next?» I said as I rubbed cream on my hands, working it into my fingers and wrists.
«Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it?» Arkadiy settled more comfortably into bed, pulling up the blanket. «Alright, let’s sleep, we have work tomorrow.»
We lay down, but I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. Something vague and incomprehensible troubled me. Arkadiy and I had been married for three years. We hadn’t rushed to have children, as his father had just passed away, leaving him a half-built house with a large plot of land. We decided we would finish building it and live there, out in the fresh air, outside the city. Especially since the house was only a half-hour drive from the city, so commuting to work would be convenient. At that point, the construction was more than halfway done, but what remained required significant investment. Building is expensive, Arkadiy and I both understood this, so we didn’t rush into parenthood, focusing all our efforts on earning resources to soon acquire spacious living quarters.
I grew up in a family where trust and love reigned. My mom often joked that we were like the Rostov family from Tolstoy’s four-volume epic, only not as large. There were two of us kids—my brother Volodya was eleven years older than me. He left the nest early, and as a late child, I was adored, spoiled, and never denied anything. My dad was always ready to listen, and my mom called me nothing less than «my joy.» When I went to university, it was a bit sad to move to another city. But it was necessary; I understood that there was simply nothing for me to do in our tiny town. I graduated with a degree in economics, found a good job at a large construction company where the pay was above average.
Then I met Arkadiy. Our meeting was coincidental. He had just come to apply for a job at the same organization where I worked. The guy with golden hands and a bright mind was readily accepted, and we were colleagues for a couple of months. Then Arkadiy was transferred to another site, but by that time, we were already dating, and he would come over in the evenings. I earned enough to rent a spacious one-room apartment, decorated to my taste. Arkadiy still lived with his mom, whom he took me to meet after he proposed. Alevtina Dmitrievna turned out to be a quite friendly, pleasant-looking woman well into her fifties. Arkasha was her only son, and she loved him dearly.
When he was little, his father honestly told his wife that he had met someone else and left my young mother-in-law with a child in her arms. Relatives helped, of course, but Alevtina Dmitrievna had it tough. She didn’t break down, give up, or complain; she did everything to ensure her son was clothed, shod, and educated. Arkadiy understood how much his mother had done for him and respected her, never refusing to help. However, his mother rarely asked for help from my husband. She usually managed on her own. She didn’t visit us often. Arkadiy and I lived in a rental apartment, investing all our strength and money into building the house. My husband often told me that I was too gullible, trusting, and simple. I didn’t understand whom in our family I should distrust. My grandmother used to say that being married was like going to church. If you believe, it’s worth going, but if not, then there’s no point. And I trusted Arkadiy unconditionally, without a doubt that the same respect and love reigned in our family as had in my parents’.
But Arkadiy was not like my father. Dad was always straightforward, didn’t mince words, but also harbored no ill will. My husband was eloquent in words, behind which often lay something other than what he voiced. Arkadiy called this «the art of being pleasant.» So, he complimented our accountant Lenochka, although behind her back, he always told me she was unattractive and even silly.
Lately, my husband and I increasingly discussed what finishing touches we would choose for the house.
«I want a kitchen in yellow tones, with large windowsills. I’ll get some flowers, put in a good vent, order a kitchen set, I’ve been looking at options,» I said during dinner.
I decided to treat us today, having marinated a turkey overnight and all day in soy sauce and honey. The turkey came out with a flavorful crispy golden crust. For a side dish – stewed vegetables in sauce. Arkadiy always loved to eat well, which, given his active lifestyle, did not harm his figure.
«Look, I’m also constantly searching. I want the hallway in the corridor to be as compact as possible. Turns out, there’s so much furniture available now. I’m not a carpenter myself, but, I think, I can handle it. Ordering is very expensive,» my husband readily joined in the conversation.
We planned to start the renovation and furniture next month. The construction was practically fully completed, something was still being built in the boiler room, but these were minor things. The grand project was nearing its end, and I already dreamed of how we would move from the rental housing into our spacious home. It’s very important to have a home that belongs to your family. Yes, technically the house and plot were registered in my husband’s name, as he had inherited it all and even before our marriage, but between husband and wife, everything is shared. Thus, without a minute’s doubt, I invested so much in this house. My mother-in-law never tired of praising me to my husband, how great I was, how willingly I helped, how much I worked and earned.
Alevtina Dmitrievna had been inviting us for tea every weekend lately, baking pies, and with genuine interest, she inquired about our further plans.
«Arkasha, take another piece of pie, it turned out well this time,» cooed my mother-in-law.
«Alevtina Dmitrievna, you have a real talent for baking, your pies always turn out well,» I made a completely sincere compliment.
«Learn while I’m alive! It’s not that hard, I gave you the recipe,» the elderly woman smiled warmly at me.
«I’ve tried many times, even measured flour, salt, and sugar on scales. But… it’s not given to me.»
«You have other talents, Vera. Don’t worry. My son is happy and at peace with you, you built the house together. He couldn’t have managed without you. Building materials cost so much, and almost all were bought with your money.»
«Well, I never counted how much I invested there. It’s ours with my husband, our children will grow up in this house,» I responded.
«Of course, Vera, of course. You’re thinking correctly. We once dreamed of this house with Pyotr, but he’s gone, and I need nothing. At least you young ones will live, and I’ll visit you, babysit the grandchildren.»
«Oh, mom, it’s still a long way to grandchildren! We now need to do the renovation,» Arkadiy chimed in, conquering another piece of pie.
The pie was extraordinary. The flaky pastry just melted in the mouth, the cod filet with rosemary inside perfectly baked through. I savored every piece, sincerely regretting that I didn’t have the talent to bake such delicious treats.
«I found some very beautiful wallpapers and a sofa. I spent a long time browsing various interior design websites, here’s what I drew up,» I opened a picture of our bedroom design on my phone.
My mother-in-law continued to smile broadly, somewhat unnaturally. But then my husband’s face suddenly turned to stone, and he declared:
«Hold on a second, Vera, this house is mine only. It came to me from my father. So why are you interfering with the finishing now?»
I was stunned by such a response.
«But we built it together, and I wanted the interior and decoration to suit my taste…»
«You have no taste. I’ll figure out what and how it will be, understood?»
I fell silent, staring into my already cold, unfinished cup of tea. It suddenly became very chilly, hurtful, and bitter that my husband suddenly seemed so unappealing.
«Arkasha, what are you saying? Vera is your wife, son, of course, you’ll discuss everything and choose together later,» Alevtina Dmitrievna tried to defuse the situation.
I apologized and got up from the table. My husband said nothing more sharply and hurried home. As I got into the car and buckled up, I looked out the window. The evening city passed by with flickering lights, a fine unpleasant autumn rain falling. The charm of autumn had already disappeared, the torn leaves from the trees had turned into dirty mush underfoot. My husband and I drove in silence, and just as silently, we entered the apartment. I awaited a conversation, an apology, but Arkadiy, keeping silent, went to take a shower.
He left his phone, out of habit, on the kitchen table, and I couldn’t resist, I took it in my hands. No, I had never snooped there before, as I had never suspected my husband of anything. Trust was above all, but just now, my anxiety had grown so much that I quickly entered the password with my fingers. I immediately saw my husband’s conversation with his mother.
«Mom, I can’t stand her anymore. She’s dull, uninteresting, she can’t string two words together, just looks at me with the loyalty of a dog,» Arkadiy wrote to his mother, «I’ve endured enough, now I want to separate from Vera.»
«Endure, your little wife will finish building the house for us, and then you can leave,» I read the letter from his mother.
I nearly dropped the phone from what I saw in the conversation. Tears clouded my eyes. I pressed the lock button on the gadget, hastily wrote to my father that I was coming to them. My parents lived in a small town, four hours’ drive away. Luckily, I had money. I called a taxi while my husband was still showering, quickly dressed, and hastily threw the essentials into a travel bag. I didn’t want to explain anything to my husband. Everything was crystal clear—I had indeed been too trusting. The trip cost me a tidy sum, and I tried to doze off in the car, but it was impossible as I was too upset.
My parents hadn’t slept, although it was long past midnight. They waited for me, anxiously studying my face.
«Did he hurt you?» my father immediately asked.
«Let me change, we’ll pour some strong tea, and I’ll tell you everything,» I said, shivering.
I was shaking from the excitement, wanting something hot, wanting to throw on my mother’s cozy shawl, which she immediately handed to me.
We talked until morning. I honestly told my parents everything, and they listened without interrupting. My father’s friend was a top-notch lawyer, and it was him my father called in the morning.
«Savelyevich, hello! It’s Gena. My daughter came from her husband’s. You wouldn’t believe…»
Dad explained to Ivan Savelyevich what had happened with Arkadiy and me. The next day, I filed for divorce, writing to my husband about it. Arkadiy didn’t even bother to respond, which I found rather relieving. I didn’t want any arguments or fights.
My father’s friend managed to prove that I had invested in the house. By law, my now ex-relatives were ordered to pay back all the sums I had spent on construction. My husband sent me long insulting SMS, which I ignored. Mom and dad were by my side, supporting me. For a while, I stayed with them, changing my job, my social circle, and something inside myself. I wouldn’t trust so easily again. Arkadiy had taught me a very valuable lesson—to trust, but verify.
I wasn’t in a hurry to start new relationships. With the money paid by my ex-husband, I bought an apartment—the down payment to the bank was just enough, and my parents also contributed to the furniture and minimal renovation. I joyfully furnished my cozy female nook. Whatever happened, I would now have my own apartment, which I would slowly pay off, and no one but me would have rights to it. Even if I were to remarry, meeting a good person, I would always have a way out. I didn’t label all men as dishonest misers, but now I didn’t look at people with a child’s trust that they were all good. As it turned out, people are different. And you have to keep your ear sharp.
A couple of months after all the settlements and payments, Arkadiy disappeared from the radar completely. My mother-in-law didn’t show up at all. Now I understood how falsely she had smiled at me, expressing feigned sympathy. She needed my money, for which her son lived with me, endured me. This, for a while, undermined my confidence—could someone love me just because I’m me? Here too, my parents helped me.
«Do you need love, daughter, from such a vile, two-faced person?» my father asked me, thereby saving me from doubts and self-destruction.
I didn’t need it. Now I understand that very clearly and move forward, taking into account the experience of the past marriage.
