Nothing can be settled in an instant—you have to do everything gradually… Get prepared, so you don’t lose half of everything you’ve earned.”
I was walking home, a small box tucked in my bag. Inside lay a watch for Kostya—elegant and expensive, chosen with special care.
For months I’d been setting aside money from every paycheck to give him a truly special gift.
Tomorrow is my husband’s birthday. Forty‑two—not a milestone, but I want to make the day unforgettable. We’ve been together fifteen years.
I remember meeting at a friend’s party, how we talked late into the night, standing by the entrance to my building.
The elevator in our house has always been temperamental—an old Soviet model with plywood walls scribbled over with graffiti.
I pressed the call button. The car creaked down as though hauling a terrible weight.
At last the doors opened; the light inside flickered. I stepped in and pressed the worn “8.”
The doors slid shut, and the elevator inched upward.
I pictured how we’d spend tomorrow together. Friends and parents would gather in the evening.
Suddenly the elevator jolted and stopped.
I pressed eight again, then tried other buttons—nothing.
“Just what I need,” I muttered, sighing. “Perfect.”
I hit the intercom. Static crackled, then a young woman’s voice:
“Dispatcher speaking.”
“I’m stuck in the elevator between the first and second floor.”
“I’ve notified the technician. Help is on the way.”
“When exactly?” I asked, but the line went dead.
My phone had only one bar.
I called Kostya, but he didn’t pick up—probably in a meeting or the metro. He usually heads home around this time.
About twenty minutes passed. I crouched, leaning against the wall.
The phone battery was almost gone, so I turned it off.
Voices drifted through the door—one female, bright, a little husky.
It was Inna, the neighbor from the second floor—young, striking, always in high heels. We said hello, nothing more. Once I helped her carry bags; she treated me to tea—that was it.
“You promised!” she pressed. “How long can you stall? I can’t stand it any longer!”
A male voice answered, too softly to catch the words—just an apologetic, slightly irritated tone.
“Your promises mean nothing!” Inna went on. “I’m done listening to them! You’re a grown man but act like a child!”
I couldn’t help eavesdropping—bored and helpless as I was.
“What do you want from me, Innochka?”
The male voice grew louder—and I froze.
That timbre, that cadence… Kostya?
I pressed closer to the elevator door. Impossible.
Kostya should be at work—or at home—but not in our neighbor’s flat.
“I want you to tell her the truth,” Inna’s voice trembled with anger. “You must divorce her. How long will this drag on?”
“Nothing can be settled right away—understand,” my husband’s voice, unmistakable now. “We have to plan. In a divorce I’ll lose half the assets: the apartment, the car, the cottage…”
“And what about our son? Have you thought about him at all?”
The world lurched; the floor vanished beneath me. Son? What son?
“He’ll be a year old soon,” Inna said, accusing. “He sees his father only on weekends, and not even every time. How can you call yourself a dad if you’re never there?”
I wanted to pound on the door, scream that I heard everything. But my body refused to move, as if turned to stone.
I sat frozen, plunged into an icy void while thoughts and memories collided in my head.
“Just wait a little longer,” Kostya sounded drained. “I’ve figured it all out. It’ll be resolved soon.”
“Figured what out?” Inna snorted. “You always say the same. Always excuses.”
“I’ve started transferring money to another account,” he replied matter‑of‑factly. “Put the car in my brother’s name. Soon I’ll say I’m going on a business trip and file for divorce. It’ll be easier for everyone.”
“Why not now?” Skepticism sharpened her voice.
I slid to the elevator floor, clutching the watch box as if it could keep me from plunging further.
My mind churned. When had it started? We’d been so happy—planning to build a new sauna at the cottage this summer.
Kostya always seemed attentive and caring. Was it all an act?
My mother’s warning echoed from before the wedding:
“Kostya’s a noticeable man. Women flock to men like him. Be careful not to let him wreck your marriage.”
I’d laughed then, finding her warning silly. How wrong I was…
The voices outside faded and the whole building seemed to sink into silence, leaving me alone.
A thousand questions whirled: How long has this been going on? Do the neighbors know? And most of all—what now?
If Kostya intends to do this to me, I’ll make the first move. I’ll expose him on his own birthday. Let him see what his lies cost.
Minutes later came a rap on the elevator door.
“Hey, anyone in there?” a man called.
“Yes, I’m here!” I answered, struggling to stand—my legs numb.
“Hang on, I’ll get you out!”
Tools scraped; after a couple of minutes the door finally yawned open.
An elderly repairman in a blue coverall with the building‑management logo stood there—gray hair, lined face, work‑worn hands.
“There you go—freedom!” He smiled. “Long stuck?”
“I’m not sure. My phone died and I don’t have a watch,” I said, stepping out.
Relief loosened the tension in my shoulders.
“These old elevators are useless,” he sighed. “But nobody rushes to replace them—no money, they say.”
I thanked him and climbed the stairs to the eighth floor.
I opened our door. Kostya was already home, sitting on the sofa with his laptop. Glasses sliding down his nose, hair tousled—his usual “deep‑focus” look.
“Oh, you’re back!” he greeted with that warm familiar smile. “I called but you didn’t answer.”
“I got stuck in the elevator,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Phone nearly dead.”
“That elevator again.” He shook his head. “We should file a group complaint already.”
I watched him, baffled at how skillfully he lied. Every gesture, every tone rang false now.
“Hungry?” I asked, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll make pasta.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Need help?”
“No, I’ve got it,” I waved him off and began pulling food from the fridge.
The evening passed as usual—dinner, news, a TV series. Kostya talked about work; I nodded, laughed at his jokes.
Meanwhile, my plan took shape.
Next morning I chirped, “Happy birthday, darling!”
Kostya stretched and smiled. “Thank you, love.”
“I have a surprise,” I said slyly. “But you’ll have to close your eyes.”
“What are you up to?”
“You’ll see.” I grabbed his dark‑blue tie. “Turn around—I’ll blindfold you.”
Obediently he turned; I tied the knot, making sure he couldn’t see.
“Where are we going?” he asked as I guided him out. Curiosity and a hint of worry edged his voice. “Hope it’s not sky‑diving—you know I hate heights.”
“You’ll find out—just trust me.”
We took the elevator to the second floor. I led him to Inna’s door and rang the bell.
Every second dragged.
I pictured Inna’s shock, her confusion.
The door finally cracked open. Inna stood there in a bathrobe, towel around damp hair, mild puzzlement on her face.
“Here—he’s all yours,” I said, gently nudging Kostya forward.
“What?” Inna stared in bewilderment.
I steered my husband inside. He still had no idea, but followed.
“You can take off the blindfold,” I said firmly.
Kostya removed the tie, blinked, and looked around.
“Where are we? What’s happening?” He glanced from me to Inna, plainly at a loss. “Whose apartment is this?”
Arms folded, I braced for the showdown.
“Ask your dear Inna,” I snapped coldly.
Kostya gaped at the neighbor in genuine confusion.
“What on earth are you talking about?” he asked. “Vika, please explain.”
Inna looked equally mystified. “Have you two gone crazy?” she said.
“Stop pretending,” I hissed. “I heard you talking outside the elevator yesterday.”
Inna frowned. “What conversation? Yesterday I was at work all day—didn’t get back till nine. I have a shop shift till eight.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but then a man came from the kitchen carrying a toddler who munched on a cookie.
“What’s going on?” he asked—and I froze.
That voice… The timbre, the intonation… Almost identical to Kostya’s. Even the speech rhythm matched.
Heat flooded my face. The man looked nothing like Kostya, yet their voices were practically twins.
I laughed, grabbed Kostya’s hand, and hurried toward the door.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I told the neighbor. “Huge misunderstanding. We’re leaving.”
Back home I told Kostya the whole story. He listened rapt, as if watching a movie unfold.
Then he shook his head and hugged me.
“Vika, how could you think I’d do that after fifteen years? You know how much I love you.”
“You’ll understand when you’re in my shoes,” I smiled wryly. “Forgive the spectacle.”
“No harm done,” he smiled back. “Now we’ve got a great story for family dinners.”
Finally I took the box from my bag and handed it to him.
Kostya was thrilled with the watch, slipped it on at once, and spent the whole day admiring it.
