— Kat, mom is sure that now is not the best time to buy an apartment. The market is too volatile, prices are clearly overinflated.
— Is her opinion expert? — Ekaterina looked up from her laptop, where she was reviewing another two-room option in a new building.
It was a Friday evening. Outside, the March snow was melting, turning the city streets into endless puddles. The one-room apartment seemed overcrowded with belongings and unfinished conversations.
For four years, Ekaterina and Andrey had been saving for a two-room apartment. Four years of making plans, imagining the future. And throughout all these years, Larisa Pavlovna’s advice had remained a constant background in their lives.
— No, but her colleague at work read analytical articles, — Andrey sat down beside her. — Maybe we should wait a little longer? For now, we can keep the money in the bank.
— We’ve been “waiting a little” for three years now, — Ekaterina snapped shut her laptop with a soft thud. — We’re living like students: no kids, no guests. There isn’t even room for a crib.
— We can have kids later, — he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. — Not everything happens at once. Mom says…
— Andrey, — she gently extricated herself from his embrace, — I don’t care about your mother’s opinion. There’s only one thing that matters to me — your own opinion.
He grew sullen. His mother’s subject was always a sore point. Tall Larisa Pavlovna with her cold gaze and commanding tone. Her phone calls during family dinners, endless advice on everything—from the color of the curtains to the choice of vacation.
— I believe she’s more experienced, Kat. She’s lived a life.
Ekaterina nodded, trying not to start another conflict. Yes, Larisa Pavlovna had lived a life—alone, without a husband, raising a son she now didn’t want to let go.
Ekaterina returned home from work tired but energized. It was March 8th. Colleagues congratulated her, gave her flowers, and spoke kind words.
At home she decided to create a festive atmosphere. Her husband was running late, but she had time to prepare. She brought out the tablecloth she had saved for special occasions. She ordered Andrey’s favorite rolls. In the wine cabinet, a bottle of champagne from New Year’s was found.
By eight o’clock everything was ready. The table was set, candles lit, Andrey’s favorite music was playing. Ekaterina put on that very black dress in which they had first met.
She waited.
At nine, the phone was silent. At ten she texted, “Where are you?” The reply was short and without explanation: “I’ll be there soon.”
At eleven, the candles were melting, the champagne warming up, and the appetizing rolls had turned dry. Ekaterina sat in the half-light, unable to take her eyes off the door.
The key turned in the lock almost at midnight. Andrey entered—reddened, exuding the smell of frost and someone else’s perfume. Seeing the set table, he froze.
— Why aren’t you sleeping? — he asked, as if not noticing the dress, the candles, or the food.
— I’m waiting for you, — Ekaterina replied, forcing a smile. — It’s a celebration.
— Ah, — he rubbed his forehead, — completely forgot. Sorry, Kat. Your mom and I went out for her gift. There are so many formalities—paperwork, a test drive.
— A gift? — Ekaterina felt a chill run down her spine.
— Yes, — Andrey smiled broadly. — Can you imagine how happy she was? She’d dreamed all her life about a car like that. A white Toyota Corolla with a leather interior. We then took it for a drive, celebrated the purchase at a restaurant. She kept thanking me, saying that I was the best son in the world!
Ekaterina’s eyes darkened. A car. A white Toyota. The money they had been saving for an apartment. The money she had set aside, denying herself everything. — With what funds? — her voice sounded dull.
— What do you mean? — Andrey frowned.
— The car. With what funds did you buy your mother a car?
— Well… — he looked away. — I took it from our account. It’s my mother, after all!
— From our account, — Ekaterina repeated slowly. — From the account into which we had been saving for an apartment for four years.
— Oh, come on, so what? — Andrey shrugged. — We’ll buy an apartment later. We can save up again. And mom needed it right now.
Ekaterina fell silent, looking at the man before her. Suddenly, she saw him from the outside—a pale face, evasive gaze, nervous movements. A boy who never grew into a man. — And what about me? — she asked quietly. — Today is March 8th. Women’s Day.
— Damn, — Andrey slapped his forehead, — completely forgot. Sorry. I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow.
— No need, — Ekaterina shook her head. — It’s too late already.
She slowly sat at the table, where untouched rolls and warm champagne still stood. The candles were nearly burned out.
— Listen, why are you being so dramatic? — Andrey moved closer. — You just forgot about the flowers. It’s just a commercial holiday.
— It’s not about the flowers, — her voice was astonishingly even. — It’s about priorities. I will never be your first priority. Never.
— Katya, what nonsense? — he sighed irritably. — Of course you’re important to me. But mom is mom. You understand.
— I understand, — she nodded. — That’s why I’m leaving.
— What? — Andrey stared at her. — Because of the car? Because of the holiday? Seriously?
— No, Andrey, — Ekaterina looked up at him. — Not because of the car, nor the holiday. It’s because, to you, I’m a nobody. In your life, there’s only one person—your mom. To her, the car comes out of our savings. All your attention, all your time is for her. And for me, just crumbs from your table.
Ekaterina stood up and quietly went to the bedroom. She retrieved a suitcase from under the bed and began mechanically packing the essentials—only what she could carry with her. — Where are you going? — Andrey stood in the doorway, watching her.
— To Lena’s, — she said as she neatly folded the dress—the very one in which she had prepared today’s surprise. — She had offered me a place to stay for a while.
— So the escape plan was premeditated? — his tone took on an accusatory note.
— No, Andrey, — Ekaterina sighed wearily. — I planned to live with you. To raise our children together, to build a family. But apparently, you had other plans.
She snapped her suitcase shut and straightened up.
— Larisa Pavlovna will be pleased, — she said calmly. — She’ll have her son all to herself again.
— Kat, don’t go, — Andrey suddenly said softly. — Let’s talk.
— We’ve been talking for four years, — Ekaterina shook her head. — I can’t do this anymore.
— Did he call? — Lena set a cup of hot tea in front of Ekaterina.
Two weeks passed after that evening. Ekaterina lived at a friend’s place, sleeping on a sofa bed in the living room, and every morning she woke up feeling that it was all a terrible dream.
— Every day, — she said, clutching the cup with both hands for warmth. — Yesterday he even came, standing outside the windows.
— And?
— He said he realized his mistake. That he would change everything. That he loved me, — Ekaterina smiled sadly. — You know what’s the funniest part? When he left, I got a message from his mom.
— And what did she say?
— That I’m ungrateful. That Andrey is gold, and I don’t appreciate such a man. And that if I don’t come back, he’ll quickly find someone else, someone more worthy.
— By the way, — Lena sipped her tea, — I was talking with a colleague. Remember I mentioned Sergey? He’s looking for an interior designer for his new apartment. I gave him your number, if you don’t mind.
— Thank you, — Ekaterina gratefully squeezed her friend’s hand. — I definitely wouldn’t have managed without you.
That evening, Sergey called. His voice was deep, calm, and devoid of any obsequiousness. They agreed to meet the next day at the apartment that needed furnishing.
The new building in a prestigious area greeted her with the scent of fresh finishing materials and the steady hum of working elevators.
— Ekaterina? Very pleased to meet you, Sergey said, extending his hand. — Please, come in. I’ve been expecting you.
They sat opposite each other. Ekaterina subtly examined the new client—about forty, fit, with attentive eyes and a neatly graying beard.
— So, interior design, — Sergey said after taking a sip of his coffee. — Lena says you’re a professional.
— Lena has a knack for turning friends’ hobbies into global professions, — Ekaterina allowed herself a smile, feeling the tension of the past few weeks melt away. — But yes, design is my calling. I can’t imagine myself in another field.
They delved into the project discussion, and Ekaterina noticed that he listened without interruptions. The three-room apartment with panoramic windows required a special approach—the light was abundant, yet the space felt cold.
Sergey expressed his preferences without a condescending tone, without “I paid, so I decide,” and their visions for the layout almost completely coincided. Within an hour, her notebook was filled with sketches and notes, and ideas that tingled at her fingertips—a sure sign of inspiration.
— You know, Ekaterina, — Sergey said as they were about to part, — I have a friend who owns a design studio. If you’re interested, I can recommend you.
— I’d be grateful, — she nodded. — Thank you.
The week passed in a blur of endless work. Ekaterina poured all her energy into the project, immersing herself from morning until late at night. Andrey’s calls became increasingly infrequent. On Tuesday, she received a call from the design studio Sergey had recommended. After a successful interview, they offered her a position with a decent salary.
On Wednesday she discovered the perfect studio apartment—compact, yet cozy and clean. On Friday, she met with Sergey to present the finished project.
— How about dinner? — he unexpectedly suggested. — We can discuss the details in a more relaxed atmosphere.
Ekaterina hesitated. On one hand, it was a business dinner. On the other—there was something in his tone hinting at something more.
— Why not? — she finally decided.
The restaurant turned out to be intimate, with soft lighting and live music.
— To productive cooperation, — Sergey raised his glass of wine.
— To new perspectives, — Ekaterina replied, touching his glass with hers.
The conversation gradually shifted from professional topics to personal ones. As Sergey shared stories from his life, Ekaterina felt a special connection forming between them—as if they were opening the pages of their life stories to one another.
He talked about his furniture business: “I started with a little shop the size of a storeroom. My cousin was the first employee and still believes that she saved me from bankruptcy.” He spoke of his passion for restoring retro cars: “The hardest part isn’t finding the parts, it’s explaining to the housekeeper why a carburetor from a ‘Zhiguli’ belongs in the living room.” And of his travels through Tuscany: “Every village is convinced that the best wine was born there, and you know what? They’re absolutely right.”
— And what about people? — he looked up from his plate to her, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. — Lena mentioned that you recently… broke up?
— Yes, I left my husband, — she said calmly, as if referring to someone else. — I thought I could handle it, that I could endure… But I realized I couldn’t.
— I’ve had a similar experience, — he grimaced, as if wincing from pain. — A five-year marriage. The first three years were perfect, and then… it was like the person had been replaced. The realization that you’re moving in opposite directions doesn’t come immediately.
— How did you cope with it? — the question slipped from her lips.
— Honestly? — he swirled his glass, leaving traces on its surface. — At first, it felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Emptiness inside, phone in hand—who to call in the evening? With whom to discuss the news? Even the smell of an empty apartment felt wrong.
— And now you don’t regret it?
— Not for a minute, — he smiled. — Sometimes you have to lose something to find yourself. It may sound cliché, but it’s true.
Ekaterina laughed—a genuine laugh, the first in a long time. She noticed that with this man, she felt comfortable. No tension, no need to be someone else.
Summer slowly overtook spring. Ekaterina stood by the window of her new apartment, watching the city awaken. It had been two months since she left Andrey. Two months of a new, free life—her own life.
Her phone vibrated softly. Andrey continued to text every day—first insistently, then pleadingly, now almost conciliatorily.
“We could meet? Just talk. Like normal people. Please.”
Ekaterina hesitated. Maybe, after all, she should meet? To settle all the loose ends.
Deciding, she arranged a meeting.
The café was half empty. Andrey was already waiting at a far table—emaciated, pale, with shadows under his eyes.
— Thank you for agreeing, — he said, rising to meet her.
— You wanted to talk, — she replied as she sat opposite. — I’m listening.
— Katya, — he swallowed, — I’ve understood a lot. A true enlightenment. How blind I was, letting my mother control my life. Our life.
Ekaterina silently looked at him. Once, that face meant the world to her. Now, before her was just a tired, confused man. — I had a serious talk with my mom, — he continued. — A hard talk. I told her that she needs to respect my choice, my wife. Your rights.
— Ex-wife, — she corrected softly.
— No, — he shook his head. — We never finalized the divorce. Formally, we’re still…
— Andrey, formalities don’t change anything. I’m gone. And I won’t come back.
— But I’ve changed! — his voice trembled with desperation. — I really understand now! I won’t let my mother interfere anymore!
— It’s not about her, — Ekaterina sighed. — Actually, it’s not just about her. It’s about us. We’re no longer a couple, Andrey.
He lowered his eyes. Then he pulled an envelope from his pocket.
— This is your share of the money, — he placed it on the table. — For the car. I sold it and added my savings. It’s exactly half the sum we had saved for the apartment.
— Thank you, — she took the envelope. — That’s fair.
— I want you to know, — Andrey looked up, — I’ll wait. As long as it takes. A year, ten years…
Ekaterina looked at him with both sadness and warmth. This man had been an important part of her past, but not her future.
— Don’t wait, Andrey, — she said softly. — Just live your life. Find your own happiness. I’ve already found mine.
He lowered his eyes again. Then he asked quietly, — Is there someone in your life?
— Yes, — she admitted honestly. — There is.
— I see, — he murmured, looking down. — I hope he appreciates you more than I did.
— He’s different, — she shook her head. — And I’m different with him. It’s not a comparison, Andrey. It’s just life.
They sat in silence for a while. Then she stood up, gathering her things to leave.
— Thanks for the money, — she said. — And… good luck. Sincerely.
— May everything work out for you, — he said, looking at her with acceptance. — You deserve it, Kat. Truly.
Outside, it was warm. The phone in her bag vibrated. A message from Sergey.
“I hope everything went well. I’m home, waiting for you. I’ve prepared dinner.”
She smiled and replied,
“Everything’s perfect. I’ll be there in half an hour. Miss you.”
March 8th, two years later. Maternity Hospital No. 17, Ward 306. Ekaterina lay on a hospital bed, cradling a tiny bundle. Her daughter slept, softly sniffling in her sleep. — She’s amazing, — Sergey sat beside her, not taking his eyes off the child. — Just like her mom.
— What shall we name her? — Ekaterina asked with a smile.
— I was thinking of Alice, — he gently stroked the baby’s hand. — But it’s up to you.
— Alice, — she repeated, tasting the name. — I like it.
Her parents peered into the ward—anxious, with a bouquet of flowers and a huge plush teddy bear.
— Katyonka! — her mother rushed to the bed, embracing the daughter. — Congratulations! What a beauty!
— A spitting image of her mother, — Sergey proudly declared, shaking hands with his father-in-law. — Both her eyes and her nose.
Ekaterina watched the scene as if from afar—her husband, her parents, her newborn daughter. Her family. Her real, strong family.
A year ago, on this very day, she had sat alone in a dimly lit apartment with almost-burnt-out candles and warm champagne. A year ago, her world was falling apart, her heart shattering into pieces.
And today she was happy—deeply, fully, without a single doubt.
— Happy holiday, my love, — Sergey tenderly kissed her on the forehead, then on the lips. — You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Both of you.
Alice stirred and let out a soft cry. Ekaterina pulled her daughter close, soothing her.
— You are the best gift, — she whispered to the little one. — The most important thing in my life.
Sergey embraced them both, creating a small circle of protection and love.
— Happy holiday, — he said softly. — You will always be my first priority. Both of you.
And Ekaterina knew she could trust him. For true love requires no sacrifices. True love gives strength rather than taking it away. True love sets you free instead of imprisoning you.
