— Maxim, Dad called today.
Kristina said this just as he was lounging back into the soft cushions of their new sofa, scrolling through his phone with a satisfied expression. The warm evening glow from the floor lamp fell across his face, highlighting the smug, well-fed smile of a man who believed he had made it. Their living room, furnished to perfection, smelled of expensive leather and success. His success — and he was savoring it. He didn’t even look up, just gave a lazy chuckle, his finger gliding over the smooth glass.
— And what did Dad say? I hope he praised his son-in-law for his business breakthrough?
His tone was playful, but Kristina didn’t smile. She stood by the window, staring out at the lights of the night city, her reflection in the dark glass looking foreign and tense. She’d been waiting for the right moment all day, replaying her father’s voice in her mind — calm, polite, but carrying a note of weariness that had cut her to the heart. Now the moment had come, right in the center of this shiny new world they had built.
— He asked about the money. It’s been ten months. He very politely inquired when we’re planning to start paying it back.
Maxim finally set his phone down, placing it face-down on the leather armrest, as if to shield himself from an unpleasant subject. His expression shifted instantly from relaxed to irritated — like someone whose favorite toe had just been stepped on, or whose perfectly curated evening had been ruined. A shadow of annoyance crossed his face.
— Kris, why are you starting this again? It’s a beautiful evening, we’re relaxing. What money? Doesn’t your father have anything better to do than count days and months? We’re not strangers to each other to be measuring things down to the minute.
— He’s not counting days. He’s waiting for what was promised. You swore you’d start returning it in installments after six months. It’s been almost a year, Maxim. He only asked because he has his own plans and counted on those funds.
She turned to face him. There was no reproach in her voice, just a dry, stubborn statement of fact. But it was precisely that calm factuality that set him off. He sat up straight, his body tensing, his voice taking on the hard edge of offended righteousness. He looked at her as if she had tracked street dirt into their pristine home.
— Stop right there, my dear! And who told you I was going to pay your father back? I’m your husband! I assumed that was a gift from him to our family!
Kristina froze. The words fell into the middle of the room and exploded, sending shards through the new sofa, the expensive rug, and the very foundation of their marriage. “I assumed.” She slowly approached him, stopping directly in front of him, eyes locked onto his.
— A gift? she repeated, her voice now hard as tempered steel. There was no room for sentiment in it — only cold, clear anger. My father sold his car, Maxim. His favorite car — the one he drove every summer to go fishing — so he could give you that half a million. Because you stood in front of him, beating your chest and swearing you’d return every penny within a year. How exactly did you ‘assume’ that was a gift?
Maxim leaned back and laughed. It wasn’t a cheerful laugh — it was short, sharp, the kind meant to show someone just how ridiculous their argument was. He spread his arms, gesturing at the expensive living room as if presenting his star witness.
— A car! Kristina, are you serious right now? You want to reduce this to that old wreck? I’ll buy your father a brand-new one next year, straight from the dealership, any car he wants. You’re thinking in the past — I’m thinking in the future. Our future!
He got up and began pacing the room — his preferred tactic for difficult conversations, using movement to dominate the space and force the other person to track him. He stopped at the panoramic window, then at the shelf with his rare alcohol collection.
— You have to understand one simple thing. We are a family. What debts can there be inside a family? This is an investment. Your father, as a wise man, didn’t invest in me — he invested in his daughter’s future. He planted a seed, and look what tree has grown! Maxim theatrically pointed toward the glossy new kitchen cabinets. We live better than your father ever dreamed. Those are his returns. His dividends!
Kristina didn’t move. She looked at him without admiration, without doubt. Something else was building in her eyes — cold and heavy as a glacier. She saw not a husband, but a magician performing sleight-of-hand, hoping she’d be dazzled by the sparkle of cheap trinkets.
— His dividends, Maxim, are respect and keeping your word. That’s when you look a man in the eye and say: “Thank you. Here’s the first installment, just as I promised.” Not spinning tales about trees while sitting on a couch bought with the money from his sold car.
— Why are you so stuck on that car?! He exploded, his fake calm cracking. It’s just a thing — a piece of metal! I’m talking about principles! The principle of family is a shared pot. I took from that pot to grow it — and I did grow it! Or do you want me to pull half a million out of the business now, slow down development, maybe lose a big contract, just so your father gets his little papers and sleeps better at night? That’s petty, Kristina! That’s poor people’s thinking!
He stepped in close, towering over her, his face flushed with what he considered righteous anger.
— I’m building an empire. For us. For our future kids. And you’re dragging me back into this swamp of petty grievances and accounts. You should be my support, celebrating our success — not acting like your father’s debt collector. That’s not fair.
Kristina slowly raised her eyes to his. Her calm was more terrifying than any screaming fit.
— My father doesn’t live in this empire, Maxim. He lives in his old apartment and walks to the bus stop because he no longer has a car. Not because he’s poor, but because he trusted the man who became my husband. You talk about a “shared pot”? Fine. But the company is in your name. The bank accounts are yours. This couch and this apartment — all in your empire, not ours. And when you took that money, you didn’t take it from ‘the family’ — you took it from a specific person. My father. And you promised to return it. That was a simple man’s word. Apparently, you see that as another relic of the past.
Her words about “a man’s word” hung in the expensive air of the living room like toxic gas. They didn’t dissipate — they settled on the glossy furniture, the Persian rug, the leather upholstery… and on Maxim himself. For a moment, he froze, like someone punched in the gut. But then he pulled himself together. He couldn’t let her destroy the carefully constructed narrative in which he was the benefactor and the visionary.
— A man’s word? he sneered, though now there was no superiority in his tone — only the weariness of a professor explaining civilization to a savage. You’re oversimplifying. My word was given under certain circumstances, and now we live in completely different ones. The business took off. This is a force majeure — in a good way. The rules of the game have changed. Smart people understand that and adapt.
He flopped back onto the couch, throwing one leg over the other in a pose of the undisputed master of the house. He picked up his phone again, signaling the discussion was over. In his mind, he had won. She simply couldn’t think on his level.
Kristina watched him, and in that moment, something inside her clicked. She realized she was playing chess with someone who only saw checkers — and thought he had already won. She sat in the armchair opposite, a strange, almost serene smile on her face.
— You know… you’re right. Absolutely right. I really do think too small. Cars, promises… such silly things. You’ve opened my eyes.
Maxim looked up, curious and a little wary. Her sudden shift in tone was puzzling — but pleasant. Finally, she was coming around.
— Exactly! he nodded approvingly. I told you — you need to think bigger.
— Of course, she continued in a light, businesslike tone. Everything you said about family, investments, the shared pot… it’s brilliant. And fair. My father invested in our venture when it was a risky startup. And an investor deserves not just repayment, but a share of the profits. That’s the foundation of any business.
She leaned forward, her eyes burning with a strange, sharp light. Maxim’s smile began to fade.
— So here’s what we’ll do, she clapped her hands lightly, as if making a final decision. Since we’re a family, and your business is our joint business, I’ll call my father right now and tell him he now owns half your company. I’m sure he won’t refuse such a gift. After all, it’s only fair, right? His five hundred thousand at the start — that’s half the success. So he gets fifty percent of the assets. No debts, no repayments. Just dividends.
Silence crashed into the room. Maxim stared at her, unblinking. He’d expected tears, shouting, maybe threats. But not this. Not his own logic turned into a weapon of mass destruction.
— You… what? he croaked, his voice hoarse.
— I’m saying it’s the perfect solution, Kristina said, pulling out her phone. It’s exactly your style. Bold. Visionary. You said it yourself — we’re family. And Dad’s part of that family. He’ll get his share, we’ll end this humiliating debt question, and you can keep building our empire. With a full partner this time.
She began scrolling through her contacts. Maxim shot up from the couch like it was on fire.
— Are you insane?! Put the phone down! Half my company?! I built this business with my own hands, my sweat and blood!
— And my father — with his money, she replied without looking up. Money from the car he rebuilt bolt by bolt in his garage. So yes, your hands, his capital. Classic partnership.
His face twisted — the relaxed master of life gone, replaced by a cornered animal. In a panicked, desperate move, he lunged to grab the phone from her hand.
— Put it down! Do you hear me?! Put it down! You idiot, you’ll ruin everything! Everything I’ve built!
Kristina yanked her hand back with surprising strength, her calm more unnerving than any scream.
— Me? I’m just following your logic, Maxim. You set the rules. Or do they only work in your favor? When you take — it’s an investment, but when someone asks you to do the same — it’s “ruining everything”? Interesting family math you have there.
— It’s not math! It’s my business! Mine! I stayed up nights, I put my whole soul into it while your father was out fishing on his old wreck of a car!
— And he’d still be fishing if he hadn’t given you the money for your “business,” her voice was cold and steady. Don’t want him as a partner? Fine. Then give him back the money. Right now. Transfer the five hundred thousand to his account, and we’ll forget this conversation. Your choice — either he’s an investor and co-owner, or you’re a debtor. There is no third option where you’re both owner and debt-free. That exists only in your head.
Maxim stepped back, breathing hard. This wasn’t blackmail — it was an ultimatum. And she meant it.
— I see it now… he hissed, venom and contempt mixing in his voice. This is all him. Your precious father put you up to this! That old loser who never achieved anything in life, now trying to grab a piece of my success through his daughter! And you’re eager to help, traitor! I pulled you out of your hole, brought you into this house, clothed you, fed you — and you’re robbing me for your pathetic family!
The words hit Kristina like a slap, but she didn’t flinch. Her face became a mask. Calmly, almost ceremonially, she slid the phone into her pocket. There was no need to call her father anymore. The decision was made.
— And now I see, she said quietly, each word dropping into the silence like a stone into a deep well. You’re not building an empire, Maxim. You’re just a petty swindler who started his career by cheating the person closest to him. You didn’t pull me out of a hole. You just found free seed capital conveniently packaged with a wife who was supposed to silently admire your genius.
Her gaze swept the room. The new sofa, the expensive curtains, the rare bottles. All of it now looked like a cheap stage set hiding a small, selfish, frightened soul.
— An empire? she gave a bitter little laugh. You don’t have an empire. You have a debt. And now it’s not just money — it’s property too. Because I’m filing for divorce, and everything bought during this marriage — including your “empire” — will be split in half.
He stared at her, and for the first time, it seemed to dawn on him what he had just destroyed. Not a deal, not a business plan — but everything that bound them together. In her eyes, he was bankrupt. Completely and irrevocably. There was no anger left, no pain — only emptiness.
They stood in the middle of a room meant to symbolize their shared success, now utterly foreign to them both. The fight was over not because someone had won — but because the battlefield no longer existed.
