Natasha was sitting in her spacious studio, bathed in soft light. She had set the paintbrushes aside and had been trying for the second hour to figure out the baby monitor she had bought for her friend Irina. Irina had given birth to a girl named Sveta a couple of months ago, so Natasha wanted to give her a very unusual gift.
She only knew about the baby monitor by hearsay — it was a toy with a built-in camera, microphone, and speaker. A special app was installed on the phone, allowing one to monitor the baby from anywhere at any time.
“I did it!” Natasha exclaimed joyfully when the image appeared on her phone screen.
Quickly fumbling with her fingers and checking the instructions, she enlarged the image, then reduced it, and then turned on the microphone. Immediately, the voice of Marina Lvovna, her mother-in-law, came through the speaker.
“Wow,” Natasha marveled, “I feel like a real spy!”
Her eyes narrowed, and she looked closely at the woman on the screen.
“This is outrageous,” Marina Lvovna said in a grumbling voice, “this is a complete outrage,” she repeated, tapping her fingers on the armrest of the chair. “Where’s it ever been heard of that this little thing is driving such a big car?”
Natasha winced. Usually, her mother-in-law spoke sweetly and gently, but now there was such arrogance in her voice.
“I wonder who she’s talking about?” Natasha thought. The conversation between her mother-in-law and her husband intrigued Natasha. She set the instructions aside, turned off the speaker on the toy just in case they would hear her, and leaned in to listen closely to her phone screen.
“What’s your little one doing?” the woman asked her son.
Natasha couldn’t see him. She wasn’t trying to spy on anyone, she had simply placed the toy in the next room to set it up. But she could hear him perfectly.
“She’s drawing,” Vadim answered somewhat shyly.
“Is that work? How many years will it take for her to make a name for herself? And who even needs paintings now? There are posters everywhere, millions of times cheaper than this daub.”
“I think she’s doing well,” Vadim answered uncertainly.
“Yeah, what work is that? Now AI can draw wonderfully, I even mess around with it sometimes.”
“Natasha graduated from college, worked on cartoons, and now she decided…” He trailed off, probably thinking about what to say next.
“Such expenses,” Marina Lvovna looked around, clearly examining the huge studio. “Such expenses, and all you need is just 2 by 2 meters. Why do you need such a huge studio?”
“I don’t know,” Vadim replied, “and they offered it…”
“You could’ve lived in a shed!” Marina Lvovna grumbled. She started tapping her fingers on the armrest again. “Here’s what I wanted to talk to you about, son. Your Olezhenka, your little brother, has decided to get married.”
“He didn’t tell me about that,” Vadim said with a hint of offense in his voice.
“Mother finds out the news first. Here’s what I’m getting at,” she paused for a second, probably considering her proposal. “Tell me, why does your wife need such a huge car?”
“It was a gift from her father,” Vadim replied.
“Yeah, a gift could be a dump truck. But why? She only drives it once a week to go to nature with her easel. Why not paint here?”
“That’s what artists do,” Vadim tried to defend his wife.
“Fine, it’s not my concern. What matters to me is her car and my little son.”
“I don’t see how a car has anything to do with Oleg?”
“Try to connect the two. You’re married, you have a roof over your head. And what a mansion! You could fit five families in here, and you’re just two, idling about. And Oleg has nothing. So here’s my proposal: you talk to your wife and make her sell the car and give the money to Oleg.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Vadim replied confidently. “Why should she?”
“Because she’s part of the family,” Marina Lvovna countered. “And in a family, we help each other.”
“Yeah,” Vadim agreed with his mother.
“So, son, you’re the head of the house. You’re the man,” she added, likely seeing Vadim nod his head. A smile appeared on her face. “Talk to her,” she said firmly, “and make sure your Natasha sells the car. Oleg’s getting married soon.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Vadim confidently declared, as if the car belonged to him, not his wife. “Yeah, you’re right,” he repeated, and his shadow slid across the wall.
Natasha was listening to this conversation and couldn’t believe her ears.
“Some kind of secret conspiracy,” the girl muttered, and then immediately smiled.
“It’s just a joke,” she giggled.
She turned off the baby monitor, stood up, adjusted her dress, and, dismissing the conversation she had just overheard, walked to the door.
“Vadim!” the girl called out as she approached the door, behind which her mother-in-law and husband were sitting. “Vadim!” she repeated, trying to warn him of her arrival.
“What’s going on?” Vadim peered out from behind the door.
“Oh, there you are. We wanted to go to the hypermarket to buy some groceries. Are you ready?” she asked, glancing into her husband’s eyes. But they were expressionless, as if that strange conversation had never happened.
Marina Lvovna appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah, yeah, I need to go,” she said.
“We’ll give you a ride,” Natasha cheerfully said as she went to get dressed.
The woman took one last careful look at the high ceilings and quietly asked her daughter-in-law:
“How many meters?”
The short answer followed:
“Six. It’s a studio. You can live in it, there’s a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room. But it’s still a studio.”
“It must be cold in the winter, huh?” the woman asked as she put on her shoes.
“It’s hot,” the girl replied. She wanted to say that one could walk around naked, but she decided to stay quiet.
A couple of minutes later, they went downstairs. Natasha took the electronic key to the car. Vadim had never paid attention to how big the car was. His wife approached, but it turned out that she was shorter than the roof of the car.
“Holy cow,” he quietly said and opened the car door.
Despite her short height, Natasha confidently drove the car. She spent about twenty minutes driving around the city, weaving through traffic and skillfully avoiding potholes. The streets were filled with people rushing about their business, and shop windows were adorned with bright signs. Finally, Natasha carefully pulled into the yard and stopped in front of the entrance to the building where Marina Lvovna lived.
The yard greeted them with quiet and tranquility. The old poplars rustled in the breeze, providing pleasant shade on a hot summer day. On a bench by the entrance, elderly women were sitting, engrossed in lively conversation about the latest news.
Marina Lvovna, an elegant woman in her middle years, thanked her daughter-in-law for the ride. She was dressed in a strict suit that emphasized her status and refined taste. Just as she was about to get out of the car, she turned to her son:
“Think about my proposal,” she said mysteriously and, stepping out of the car, carefully closed the door.
Natasha immediately remembered the conversation between her mother-in-law and her husband. She looked at Vadim, hoping to catch his reaction. But he, always reserved and few of words, didn’t even raise an eyebrow, as if nothing had happened. His face remained impassive, as it always did when it came to family matters.
In the car, silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the faint hum of the engine. Natasha waited for her husband to say something, but Vadim remained silent, lost in thought.
In the evening, after finishing her chores, Natasha began preparing dinner. Vadim didn’t stay on the sidelines; he helped as well, peeling potatoes, slicing carrots, and washing fruit.
“How’s work going?” Natasha asked her husband.
“Not great,” Vadim answered dejectedly. “I’ve sent out so many resumes, and nothing.”
“But there are job openings?”
“Yeah, lots of them,” he said, staring out the window at the evening city.
“What’s wrong then?” Natasha asked, studying her husband’s face closely.
“I’ve got a degree, you know… I need a job that’s worthy and pays well,” Vadim said with a tone of irritation.
“Sweetheart,” Natasha stirred the soup, “generals don’t become generals overnight, it all starts small.”
“Well, you sound just like my mom,” Vadim replied a little offended.
“Don’t compare me to your mom, she’s a wonderful woman, but Vadim, what’s wrong with the offers you’ve already received?”
“A lot of things: too far away, too small an office, too little pay…”
He wanted to say more, but Natasha walked up to him and placed her hand on his chest.
“Just start with something, and money will come, then you’ll figure it out.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” Vadim muttered.
“No, it’s not easy for me to say, because since we got married, you haven’t worked a single day,” Natasha said, with a note of exhaustion in her voice.
“You’re blaming me?” Vadim asked, putting aside the washed potatoes.
“No, I’m not blaming you. I just want you to understand how hard it is for me. I’m paying for this studio, for gas, for groceries, I buy you clothes. It’s hard, and I wish you would help me.”
“Well, I’m trying!” Vadim raised his voice. “I’m trying! What, do you want me to beg?”
“Don’t be silly,” Natasha patted his chest with her hand. “Just find a job, whatever you can in your field, and start working. We need money, understand? We need money.”
“Alright, I’ll try again tomorrow,” Vadim said, trying to calm his wife down.
Natasha smiled back at him, kissed him on the cheek, and went back to finishing the soup. Outside, the twilight deepened, and the city slowly settled into its evening bustle.
The next day, Vadim’s younger brother Oleg came to visit. Natasha was working in her pavilion at the time. She didn’t like to be distracted from her work, and even more so, she didn’t like when anyone watched her paint. So, after greeting Oleg, she returned to her room, closed the door behind her, and sat down in front of the canvas.
Natasha’s pavilion was a spacious room with high ceilings and large windows filled with light and air. The walls were covered with her paintings – bright, expressive canvases reflecting the inner world of the artist. In the corner stood an easel with an unfinished painting, and beside it, a table with paints and brushes.
Unintentionally, Natasha remembered the conversation between her mother-in-law and her husband about the car. Automatically, the girl took her phone and turned on the baby monitor.
In the living room, the brothers settled into comfortable chairs. Oleg, a lively young man with a bright gaze, was inspecting the spacious room.
“You’ve really set yourself up well,” Oleg said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, cool studio, huge. You could even play football in here,” Vadim replied, adjusting his glasses.
“Mom said you decided to get married.”
“Ha!” Oleg exclaimed. “You got it right. That’s exactly why I stopped by.”
“Well, out with it,” Vadim said, sitting down across from his brother.
“You talked to your wife?” Oleg nodded in the direction of the wall behind which Natasha’s pavilion was.
“No, not yet,” Vadim answered curtly.
“I’m getting married in three months. Mom said she has no money.”
“Why are you bringing up Mom?” Vadim asked, getting upset, and stood up, heading toward the window.
“You know Mom helped with your wedding, and now she has no money. I need it…”
“And I don’t have any,” Vadim said, looking out the window.
“But your wife does. In a family, we help each other, you know that.”
“You’re talking about the car?” Vadim asked, turning to his brother.
“Yeah, exactly about the car. What the hell does she need it for? Let her sell it. That’s 3-4 million! Wow! You could not only throw a wedding with that money, pay off a mortgage, or even buy a small apartment.”
“Well, we don’t have an apartment either,” Vadim countered.
“Yeah, but you’ve got a roof over your head. Look at those huge ceilings!”
“But it’s not ours, we’re renting it.”
“I know, I know,” Oleg said, “but still, what about the car?”
“I’ll talk to her, I will,” Vadim promised.
“Convince her. I’m getting married soon,” Oleg repeated, leaning back in his chair, dissatisfied.
Natasha felt disgusted. She turned off the video connection, glanced at the wall behind which her husband was saying those disgusting words. Tears ran down her cheeks. Natasha blinked, her fingers touched her cheek, and she felt the urge to burst into tears from the betrayal in Vadim’s words.
The autumn days dragged slowly, wrapping the city in a golden haze of falling leaves. Natasha, lost in thought, wandered through the apartment, stopping occasionally at the window to watch the passersby outside. Several days had passed since the strange conversation about the car, but Vadim hadn’t brought it up once.
Natasha returned to the thought that it could have been some stupid joke by her mother-in-law and Oleg. She felt sick inside, the bright colors she usually used for her paintings now seemed foreign and out of place. Taking a new canvas, she began working on an unusual painting.
Vadim entered his wife’s pavilion. He stopped at the entrance, watching her work confidently on the canvas.
“Something new?” he asked, stepping closer.
Putting down the brushes, Natasha turned to her husband. Her face was focused, and there was exhaustion in her eyes.
“It’s a man,” she began explaining, “he has two faces. They call him two-faced: one side smiles, and the other — lies.”
Vadim carefully examined the painting. The dark, contrasting colors highlighted the duality of the image.
“Beautiful,” he said thoughtfully, “keep in mind, the painting is impressive.”
Natasha stepped aside, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze was fixed on her husband, who was still standing in front of the painting, lost in thought.
“This is horrible,” she replied quietly, “it’s horrible when a person is two-faced.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Only the sound of passing cars outside interrupted this tense stillness. Natasha continued to stare at Vadim, as if trying to solve a riddle in his face.
Natasha stood at the easel, lost in her thoughts. The autumn wind outside rustled the leaves, creating an intricate pattern of shadows on the studio floor. Vadim was still examining the painting, his face showing deep contemplation.
Then a question arose in Natasha’s mind, one she didn’t dare to say out loud: “Who are you?” This question was directed at her husband, the man she thought she knew so well.
The girl looked at the man she had kissed in the morning, the one whose touch had made her heart stop just yesterday. But now she looked at Vadim as if he were something foreign: seemingly familiar, yet not. She walked up to him and, as usual, touched her palm to his chest, but didn’t feel the flutter she used to. Something was wrong. Actually, everything was wrong — he had changed, and changed quickly.
Natasha wondered what love was. Yes, she knew about hormonal surges, she had studied them in college, but still…
“What is love?” she quietly asked herself, studying her husband, who was still walking around her two-faced painting.
“This isn’t the one I loved. This isn’t him,” the thoughts appeared treacherously in her head. She sighed deeply and turned to the window, not wanting to look at her husband anymore.
Outside, yellow leaves were falling, swirling in a slow dance. The city was preparing for the evening, the first street lamps flickered on. The studio was filled with heavy silence, interrupted only by the occasional rustling of the brush on the canvas as Natasha, without turning around, added new strokes to her painting.
All evening Vadim fidgeted. He walked from one corner to another, several times approached his wife, seemingly wanting to say something, but, not daring to, he went back to another room. His nervousness was almost tangible.
After dinner, Natasha, as usual, washed the dishes, set the plates in their places, wiped down the table. She went back to the pavilion to check on her painting, «The Two-Faced.» The canvas she had been working on for the past few days seemed to reflect her relationship with Vadim — outwardly smooth, but full of contradictions inside.
Vadim hesitantly approached his wife and, gathering his courage, blurted out:
“Oleg is getting married.”
“I’m happy for him,” Natasha replied calmly, not taking her eyes off the painting.
“He needs help,” Vadim said cautiously.
“Help him,” came the short reply.
“I was thinking…” Vadim paused for a second, “You work from home, in this pavilion, and you only use the car to go to the hypermarket…”
Natasha smiled sadly. She looked at her husband, the one she had loved, the one she had pressed against her heart, the one who swore to her that he loved her. But now, she looked at him as if he were a stranger.
“Go on,” she asked Vadim.
“Sell it and give the money to Oleg,” he exhaled.
“Hm…” the girl quietly hummed.
“Who are you?” she asked herself for the hundredth time, examining her husband’s face. There was no trace left of the sincerity she once knew. Natasha bit her lip, feeling the pain — it gave her time to calm down a little, not to scream at that very moment. Finally, she composed herself. Turning to her husband and trying to speak as calmly as possible, she began:
“We got married. I always worked, but you didn’t want to.”
“You know!” Vadim yelled.
“Don’t raise your voice,” Natasha said as calmly as she could. “You simply didn’t want to work. You were looking for excuses not to do it.”
“That’s not true!” Vadim said angrily.
“It is the truth. I looked at your email — you got 25 job offers, and you didn’t respond to a single one. You just didn’t want to work, while I worked day and night, 12-16 hours, paying for the pavilion, for food, for your clothes. And now you come to me and tell me I have to help your brother?”
“In a family, we all help each other,” Vadim said somewhat embarrassed.
“Yeah, in a family,” Natasha said slowly. “Exactly, in a family. But we don’t have one. There’s me, and there’s…” she shrugged, afraid to call the young man her husband, “you.”
“I’ll find a job! I’ll find a job tomorrow!” Vadim said uncertainly.
“You said that yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. I’m not going to help your brother or your mother. I’m not selling my father’s car, do you hear me? Not selling!”
Natasha sidestepped Vadim. She stopped for a second at the door, looked at the man she no longer recognized. “Who are you?” she asked herself again. She walked into the bedroom, took out a suitcase, and started packing her things. Ten minutes later, Natasha wheeled the suitcase into the hallway.
“These are all your things,” she said to her husband. “Everything that was yours and everything I bought. Now please leave.”
“Are you mad about the car?” Vadim asked, rushing to his wife.
“Go away, two-faced,” Natasha said coldly, pointing to the door. “Go away!” she screamed so loudly that her ears rang. “Get out!” she shouted, no longer holding back her emotions. “Get out!” she kicked the suitcase with all her strength. “This is my home, I pay for everything here! This is my home, my studio! This is my home, I bought everything here! Get out to your mother!”
Vadim screamed, he tried to say something, to convince her, even tried to hug her, but Natasha couldn’t hold back and bit him. The man recoiled, staring at the woman who had always been his — yes, his property — he could do anything he wanted with her, she was his obedient toy. But at that moment, Natasha turned into an enraged fury. She screamed at him, kicked and shoved him toward the door.
“This is my home too!” Vadim tried to object one last time, but was immediately slapped.
“Don’t you dare say that!” Natasha growled, and, opening the door, literally shoved Vadim outside. “Get out, two-faced!” she said one last time and slammed the door shut behind him.
Natasha spent a sleepless night reflecting on the situation. By dawn, she came to the only decision that seemed right to her — to divorce. Yes, once she loved Vadim, and maybe he had loved her too, but his betrayal had wiped everything away.
Early in the morning, after gathering the necessary documents, the girl headed to the registry office. The streets were just waking up, and a few pedestrians hurried about their business. Natasha walked, not noticing anything around her, lost in her thoughts.
Vadim probably still didn’t know about her decision. He called, knocked on the door, begged for a chance to fix things.
“Natasha, please open! Let’s talk!” his voice came from behind the door.
But the girl remained firm. Even when Marina Lvovna came, Natasha didn’t let her in.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she said firmly through the closed door.
It was decided, the period in their relationship had ended.
Natasha felt empty. She couldn’t paint, spent whole days sitting on the couch, hugging her knees, staring at the painting of the two-faced figure.
One evening, Boris Yurievich, the owner of the pavilion, came to visit her. He had been her professor in college and had once suggested renting her this space. Natasha made him some tea, and during their conversation, the man mentioned his intention to leave the country.
“I’ve had the pavilion up for sale for a while,” Boris Yurievich said, looking around the studio. “But no one wants to buy such a place, you understand.”
“Yeah, it’s not really suitable for a regular apartment,” Natasha agreed.
“That’s right,” Boris Yurievich answered sadly. “Here’s what I thought, Natasha. Maybe you’d buy it from me?”
“I don’t have that kind of money,” Natasha answered regretfully, though she really liked the pavilion: huge windows, spacious 4×4 meter bathroom, and a large kitchen. She knew that it was originally designed for sculptors, with wide doors and passages.
“I still don’t have that much,” Natasha repeated.
“I’ve already dropped the price by 50%,” Boris Yurievich noted.
“I still can’t afford it.”
“Think about it,” the man wrote down a figure on a piece of paper, which he wanted for his property.
After thanking her for the delicious tea, he left.
In the evening, Natasha called her father. They did the math and decided that they could manage the purchase. She had to sell her car, the dacha that had been lying idle for years, and the old house in the village that had been on the market since last year. When her father gave a discount, it was immediately bought.
Natasha was happy. She bought the pavilion from Boris Yurievich and now began thinking about how to remodel it. She decided to leave the hall with high ceilings and make a second floor in the other rooms. It would turn into a wonderful apartment, the kind any person could dream of.
Somehow, Vadim found out through friends that Natasha had sold the car and bought the pavilion. He immediately rushed over, begging for forgiveness.
“Natasha, please! Give me one more chance!” he pleaded.
But seeing him, Natasha only shook her head and firmly said:
“I can’t love a two-faced man. Go away.”
She closed the door in his face, returned to the living room, and looked at the two-faced painting that gave her the strength to part with Vadim.
