Veronika closed the bathroom door and pressed her back against it. She squeezed her eyelids shut and took a deep breath. Five minutes. Just five minutes of silence before the inevitable chaos.
— Mom, Dad’s here! — Timofey’s piercing voice, filled with excitement, broke through the barrier.
She ran her palms over her face and looked at her reflection. Nothing remarkable—an ordinary thirty-two-year-old woman with chestnut hair tied in a messy ponytail, her face without makeup. It was exactly in that state that he hated her the most.
— Coming, dear!
When she entered the living room, Boris had already settled on the new sofa, legs crossed as if it were his rightful place, while she was just a casual visitor. Timofey fidgeted nearby, proudly showing his father a new toy.
— Hi, — Veronika tossed out coldly.
Boris gave her an appraising look from head to toe.
— You’ve settled in nicely! — he said with overt mockery as he stroked the sofa upholstery. — Not bad for getting used to things. And you’re still whining about alimony.
Veronika clenched her teeth. Not now. Not in front of her son.
— Tim, pack your things, — she said, striving to keep a steady tone. — And don’t forget your reading book.
The boy nodded and dashed off to his room. Boris watched him and immediately returned to his favorite subject.
— You complain about not having enough money, yet you buy furniture yourself. Curious, who’s paying for it? — he said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
— That’s none of your business, — Veronika snapped. — Five thousand a month isn’t alimony; it’s humiliation. And you know it perfectly well.
— You won’t get any more. You wanted the divorce—so deal with it yourself, — he shrugged. — I warned you.
Veronika turned away so he wouldn’t see the tremble in her hands. Three years had passed since the divorce, and he was still out for revenge. Every meeting, every conversation turned into a trial.
— Let’s skip this today, — she said quietly. — Timofey was looking forward to spending the weekend with you.
Boris rose from the sofa and approached. He exuded expensive cologne and self-satisfaction.
— What did you expect? That I’d act like a happy ex? — he hissed, lowering his voice. — You destroyed the family. You ruined everything.
— The family? — Veronika bitterly smiled. — The one where you showed up at dawn? Where my opinion meant nothing? Where you controlled my every move?
— I loved you! — he burst out with such fury that she involuntarily recoiled. — And you threw it all away. And you know what? I’ll remind you of that again and again.
The door to Timofey’s room swung open, and the boy ran out with his backpack slung over his shoulder.
— I’m ready, Dad!
Boris’s face instantly transformed—the anger melted away, replaced by a beaming smile.
— Excellent, champion! Today is going to be an unforgettable day!
Timofey ran over to his mom and hugged her tightly.
— Bye, Mommy.
— See you tomorrow, sunshine, — Veronika said as she kissed her son on the crown. — Listen to your dad.
She saw them off at the door and waved at Timofey. Boris, without looking back, took his son’s hand and headed for the elevator. At the last moment, he glanced back and shot her that same look—it wasn’t over yet.
The door slammed shut. Veronika slowly sank to the floor, pressing her back against the wall, and buried her face in her hands.
— He’s just unbearable, — Anna said irritably, stirring her coffee with a spoon. — How did you ever live with him?
They were sitting in a cozy café not far from Veronika’s house. Timofey was with his father, and she could afford a few hours of freedom.
— He wasn’t always like this, — Veronika said, gazing thoughtfully out the window. — In the beginning, everything was different. Then… everything changed gradually. Day by day. And I didn’t even notice how I was sinking into that quagmire.
— But you found the strength to leave, — Anna said, placing her hand on her friend’s shoulder. — Many never dare to.
— For Timofey’s sake, — Veronika nodded. — I didn’t want him growing up in a family where the father thinks he can dictate his mother’s life. Where yelling and control are the norm.
— And now he’s taking revenge on you with these pathetic gestures, — Anna shook her head. — But can you apply for increased alimony? Legally, he’s obliged to pay more.
Veronika took a sip of her coffee.
— I can. But he works off the books, officially earning peanuts. Lawsuits can drag on for months, and the outcome is the same. Besides, he threatened that if I did, he’d demand equal custody of Timofey.
— He’s a blackmailer, — Anna said sharply.
— He’s the father of my child, — Veronika replied quietly. — One way or another. And Timofey adores him.
Anna looked intently at her friend.
— Ver, be honest—are you afraid of him?
Veronika wanted to protest, but the words stuck in her throat. Was she afraid? Not physically—Boris had never raised his hand against her. But the way he could get under your skin, knock the ground out from under you with one word, one look…
— Probably, yes, — she finally admitted. — I’m afraid he’ll never let go of the past. That this war will never end.
— It will end when you stop being afraid, — Anna said, squeezing her friend’s hand. — I went through it, remember? With Igor it was the same. As long as I trembled at every word he said, he felt in control. And then I just… stopped reacting.
— Easier said than done.
— Not easy. But possible, — Anna smiled. — And you know where to start? With that very sofa that hurt him so much.
— What do you mean? — Veronika didn’t understand.
— Start living for yourself, — Anna explained. — Not to prove something to him, but for yourself. Buy that lamp you’ve dreamed about. Get a new haircut. Sign up for courses. You’re free, you know? And he’s not. He’s stuck in the past, and you’re not.
Veronika thought about it. In some ways, her friend was right. For three long years she had lived in constant tension, scrimping on everything so that Boris couldn’t find fault.
— Three years, — she whispered. — Three years I’ve been looking over my shoulder at him.
— It’s time to stop, — Anna said firmly.
The doorbell rang exactly at seven. Veronika opened the door, and Timofey immediately clung to her, hugging her legs.
— Mommy! We went on rides! And Dad bought me a huge toy car!
— Great! — she said as she ran her hand through his hair. — Go on, show him.
The boy dashed off to his room, and Boris remained in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyes immediately caught the new lamp in the living room.
— Extra money? — he asked sarcastically.
Veronika suddenly felt something shift inside her. The exhaustion from constant defense, from endless barbs, overwhelmed her. How much longer could it go on?
— You know, — she looked him straight in the eyes, — you’re right. I’m living fabulously. And I’m going to live even better. Because I deserve it.
Boris clearly hadn’t expected such an answer. He froze, as if not understanding what was happening.
— You…
— Thank you for picking up Timofey on time, — she interrupted him, maintaining her composure. — See you in two weeks.
And she closed the door right before his astonished face.
Timofey burst into the room, waving a huge red fire truck.
— Mommy, look at this! It has a real siren and an extendable ladder!
Veronika smiled as she crouched down beside her son.
— An amazing truck! Dad picked a wonderful gift for you.
The boy’s face lit up with excitement, and something in Veronika’s chest clenched painfully. No matter how difficult her relationship with Boris was, moments like these were worth enduring everything—for that pure, unreserved child’s joy.
— Dad said you don’t work enough, so we don’t have much money, — Timofey suddenly announced, pressing a button as a deafening siren filled the room. — And that if we lived together, we’d have a big house and lots of toys.
Veronika froze. A chill ran through her fingers instantly.
— What… exactly did he say?
Timofey shrugged, enthusiastically spinning his new toy in his hands.
— He said that if you weren’t so stubborn, we’d live together. And we’d even get a dog, — he looked up at his mother with wide eyes. — Mommy, really, can we have a dog?
Veronika took a deep breath, trying to steady a sudden surge of anger.
— Tim, dear, go wash your hands and change. I’ll heat up dinner, — she said as calmly as possible.
When her son disappeared into the bathroom, Veronika grabbed her phone and quickly sent a message to Boris: “We need to talk urgently. This is serious.”
The reply came almost instantly: “Nothing to talk about.”
She squeezed the phone so hard that the plastic cracked. “You use our child to pressure me. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m just telling our son the truth. You ruined our family.”
Veronika hurled the phone onto the sofa. Tears welled up in her throat, but she gritted her teeth. No, she wouldn’t cry for him anymore. Enough.
— I’m not going to Dad’s! I don’t want to!
Timofey stood in the middle of the hallway, stubbornly crossing his arms. Veronika sat in front of him, trying to look into his tearful eyes.
— Sweetheart, but why? You always look forward to seeing Dad.
— He said we’d go to Grandma Zina’s, — the boy sniffed. — And she… she doesn’t love me. She says I’m all you, and that’s why I’ll never amount to anything.
Veronika felt a fury boiling inside her. Boris’s mother had always treated her with cold disdain, but to take that out on a child…
— Tim, you and Dad have plans to visit the museum today, — she gently reminded him. — You’ve been dreaming of seeing a T. rex skeleton.
— I don’t want to go anywhere, — the boy stubbornly shook his head. — Can I stay with you? Please.
The door rang. Veronika straightened up, took a deep breath, and opened the door to see Boris in a crisp suit, his usual self-assured smirk in place.
— So, champion, ready? — he glanced over Veronika’s shoulder and frowned upon seeing his son’s tear-swollen face. — What happened?
— Timofey doesn’t want to go to your mother’s, — Veronika said evenly. — And I completely understand him.
Boris’s face contorted.
— Oh, so you’re turning him against my family? — he hissed. — Excellent work.
— No, Boris, — Veronika shook her head. — It’s your mother who’s turning him against me. She says he’s a loser because he takes after me.
— Nonsense, — Boris sharply cut in. — Mom adores Tim.
— Dad, I don’t want to go to Grandma’s, — Timofey repeated quietly yet firmly, hiding behind his mother.
Boris frowned, shifting his gaze from his son to his ex-wife.
— You just scared him…
— Boris, stop, — Veronika raised her hand. — Not in front of the child. Timofey, go to your room; I’ll talk to your dad.
The boy dashed off, clearly relieved. Veronika folded her arms across her chest.
— What kind of games are these? — she asked. — Why do you imply that we could live together? Why give him false hope again?
Boris squinted.
— And why not? It’s true. If you hadn’t created that circus with the divorce…
— Circus? — Veronika bitterly smirked. — For you, was our marriage that perfect?
— Yes, damn it! — he raised his voice. — We had a normal family. I provided for you. What more did you want?
— Freedom, — she replied firmly. — Respect. The ability to breathe. You controlled my every move, every penny, every word. This wasn’t a family, Boris. It was hell.
— I loved you! — he shouted with such fury that Veronika involuntarily recoiled. — And I still love you, despite everything you’ve done!
She stared at him, stunned. She hadn’t expected that confession.
— If this is love, — she said slowly, — then I prefer solitude.
Boris ran his hand over his face, and suddenly his confidence evaporated.
— I don’t understand where I went wrong, — he said quietly. — I tried. I thought I was doing everything right.
For the first time in years, Veronika saw in him not an enemy but a broken man.
— Boris, — she sighed, — you’re trying to bring back a past that no longer exists. And you’re dragging Timofey into it. It’s cruel to him.
— And is it not cruel to destroy a family? — his voice again carried the familiar notes of bitterness.
— Our family died long before the divorce, — Veronika shook her head. — We were just pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t take it anymore.
They stood in a heavy silence, as if there weren’t three years of enmity between them but a vast chasm. Finally, Boris spoke:
— I want to be a good father. I really do.
— Then start by listening to our son, — Veronika said softly. — Today he doesn’t want to see your mother. Respect his choice.
Boris clearly wrestled with himself. Finally, he nodded.
— Alright. Let him decide.
Veronika called out to Timofey, and he hesitantly peeked out from his room.
— Tim, — Boris sat down before his son, — we won’t go to Grandma’s if you don’t want to. How about the museum with the dinosaurs?
The boy’s face lit up.
— Really? — he looked at his father skeptically. — And you won’t be angry?
— I won’t, — Boris extended his hand. — I promise.
Timofey looked questioningly at his mother. She smiled and nodded.
— Go on, dear. Dad will keep his word.
Boris took his son’s hand, and they left. As they reached the elevator, he turned and looked at Veronika with a long, scrutinizing gaze—without the usual malice, as if trying to understand something.
— I’ll call if we’re delayed, — he said unexpectedly.
When the elevator door closed, Veronika leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Something had changed. A slight change, but a change nonetheless.
A month later, Veronika was surprised to realize that she now looked forward to the weekends when Timofey would go with his father—without the usual anxiety. Boris no longer used his son as a weapon. He refrained from his biting comments about her life. He was still far from perfect, but the war, it seemed, was subsiding.
On a Friday evening, when he came for his son, his gaze caught the new curtains in the living room.
— Planning some renovations? — he asked, but without his habitual venom.
— Gradually, — Veronika nodded. — Step by step.
Boris awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
— Listen… I’ve been thinking. We both want Timofey to have everything he needs.
Veronika looked at him warily. What was he getting at?
— I’ll increase the alimony, — he managed to say. — Up to fifteen thousand. I can’t do more right now.
She stared at him in astonishment.
— Why?
— Because he’s my son, — Boris shrugged. — And… I was wrong. In many ways.
Those words—a confession of his wrongs—were something Veronika hadn’t heard from him in all their years together.
— Thank you, — she said sincerely. — It means a lot for Timofey.
Boris nodded and looked away.
— I don’t want a war, Ver. I really don’t.
She felt a warm sensation spreading inside her— not love, no, but something akin to relief. Peace after a long, exhausting battle.
— Me too, — she replied quietly. — I never wanted any of this.
When she and Timofey left, Veronika approached the window. Down below, on the playground, her son was showing his father a new trick on the climbing frame. Boris laughed and applauded. She smiled.
Luxury isn’t a new sofa or a lamp. Luxury is peace. The ability to breathe deeply. And she finally began to understand that she deserved that luxury.
