Larisa stood by the kitchen window, watching the neighbor load a stroller into the trunk of her car. Forty-one years old, and still dependent on public transport and the rare chance to use her husband’s car. Design projects were scattered all over the city, clients wanted meetings at inconvenient times, and there she was, suffering in packed buses with her portfolio under her arm.
— Lar, what are you thinking about? — Igor came into the kitchen, sipping coffee from his favorite mug.
— Oh, nothing special. — She turned away from the window. — Just thinking about work.
Igor came closer and put an arm around her shoulders. Years of marriage had taught him to read between the lines.
— Thinking about a car again?
Larisa tensed slightly in his embrace. They had already discussed this more than once. His old Honda was always tied up — his job with a construction company meant constant trips to work sites.
— You can’t spend your whole life just dreaming, — she said, trying to sound carefree. — My birthday’s soon; maybe a fairy godmother will show up with a magic wand.
Igor kept silent, but something in his eyes changed. Larisa didn’t notice — she was already mentally plotting a route to yet another client with three transfers.
Over the next two weeks Igor behaved oddly. Long phone calls he’d cut short whenever she entered the room. Mysterious smiles and evasive answers to direct questions. Larisa started to suspect he was up to something.
— Igor, you do remember I turn thirty-five in a week? — she asked over dinner, studying his face.
— Of course I remember. What, you think I forgot? — He looked almost offended. — I’ve got a surprise for you.
— What kind of surprise?
— If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, — he winked. — But I think you’ll like it.
On Saturday morning Igor woke unusually early and spent a long time in the bathroom, humming in the shower. Larisa lay in bed, listening to his simple little melody, feeling her mood lift.
— Dress up nicely, — he said, coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. — We’re going on an errand.
— What kind of errand on a Saturday morning?
— You’ll see.
An hour later they were standing in a used-car lot. Larisa looked at the rows of cars and couldn’t believe her eyes.
— Igor, are you serious?
— Pick one, — he grinned. — From what we can afford, of course. But pick.
Larisa walked the lot twice. A red 2018 Mazda immediately caught her eye — compact, economical, but still roomy enough for work materials.
— This one, — she said, unable to hide her excitement. — Can we take a look?
The salesman turned out to be a pleasant middle-aged man, and he praised the car sincerely. The paperwork was in order, the condition excellent, one owner. Igor asked practical questions about gas mileage and parts; Larisa just sat behind the wheel and imagined driving to work, not depending on bus schedules, not jostling through rush hour.
— Deal, — Igor said, shaking the salesman’s hand. — We’ll pick it up Monday afternoon.
On the way home Larisa couldn’t stop thanking her husband. She planned where she would park in the courtyard, what music she would listen to, how surprised her colleagues would be. Her birthday promised to be truly special.
On Sunday evening Vika, Igor’s sister, called. Larisa didn’t like those calls — they usually meant Vika needed something. A loan, help with a move, solving yet another everyday problem. At thirty-five, Vika still hadn’t learned to handle difficulties on her own, preferring to turn to her older brother.
— Igor, I need to talk to you seriously, — Larisa heard from the hallway.
The conversation lasted about an hour. Igor spoke quietly, but Larisa caught the intonation — first surprise, then sympathy, then something like resolve. When he returned to the living room, his face looked troubled.
— What happened? — Larisa asked, tearing herself from the TV.
— It’s Vika’s problems, — he sighed heavily. — She… she’s pregnant.
— Pregnant? — Larisa stared at him. — And the father?
— She says it’s complicated. There’s no one to rely on. She’ll be raising the baby alone.
Larisa nodded, but something clenched inside. She knew Vika well enough to understand that any problem of hers sooner or later became Igor’s problem.
— And what does she want?
— Nothing specific yet. Just… support.
On Monday morning, her thirty-fifth birthday, Larisa woke with a sense of celebration. She was already picturing how, after work, they would go pick up the car, how she would drive it for the first time down familiar streets.
Igor was unusually quiet at breakfast. Several times he started to say something, then stopped.
— Why so gloomy on my birthday? — Larisa asked, pouring him coffee.
— Lar, I need to tell you something.
There was something in his voice that made her go cold inside.
— I’m listening.
— Vika called again last night. She… she’s really begging. She really needs a car. To take the baby places, to go to doctors. And she has nothing.
Larisa set her cup on the table and looked at her husband. In his eyes she saw guilt and a kind of painful resolve.
— And?
— I’m sorry, but your present will go to my sister—she needs to drive a child, — my husband decided to give away my car, but not so fast.
Larisa felt as if the world around her froze. Her husband’s words sounded unreal, as if she were hearing them through thick glass.
— Say that again, — she said quietly.
— Come on, Lar, try to understand. Vika’s in such a situation…
— Repeat what you just said.
Igor sighed and repeated it, less confidently this time:
— Vika will get the car. She needs it more.
Larisa rose from the table. Her hands didn’t shake; her voice was steady, but inside everything was boiling.
— I see. Then I have something to say too. — She leaned on the back of the chair. — If you’re set on arranging your little sister’s life, then move in with her. Out of my apartment. In my car you decided to give her.
— Lar, what are you talking about? I don’t understand…
— There’s nothing to understand. This is my late mother’s apartment; it belongs to me. And the car you promised me was supposed to be mine too. If you think Vika’s problems are more important than our relationship — be my guest. But then go live with her and solve her problems.
— You can’t be serious…
— I’m more than serious. — Larisa looked at him intently. — I’m filing for divorce. This isn’t a joke, and it’s not a bluff to scare you. I’m just tired of being in second place after your sister.
Igor went pale. Over the years of marriage he had seen his wife tired, upset, sometimes irritated. But he had never heard such cold resolve in her voice.
— Larisa, wait. Let’s talk this through…
— There’s nothing to discuss. You made your decision — I’ve made mine. You have until evening to decide what matters more to you.
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
— Where are you going?
— To work. On my birthday. By bus. As always.
The door closed with a soft click.
At work, Larisa threw herself into her projects. Colleagues congratulated her and asked about plans for the evening, but she answered curtly. By lunchtime her phone was blowing up with calls from Igor, but she didn’t pick up.
Around three in the afternoon Vika called.
— Larisa, what is this kindergarten? Igor says you’re making a scene over a car.
— Hello, Vika. Not over a car. Over the fact that my husband thinks it’s normal to give away other people’s presents without asking the person they were meant for.
— Oh, come on! Big deal, a car. I’m having a baby, I really need it more.
— Vika, have you thought about getting a job and buying a car yourself? Like adults do?
— I’m pregnant! It’s hard for me!
— I see. Maybe it’s time to grow up?
Larisa hung up. Her hands were shaking with anger, but she also felt a strange relief. For many years she had put up with Vika’s interests always coming first in their family. Today, her patience had run out.
She got home around seven in the evening. Igor sat in the kitchen, hair rumpled, staring at the wall.
— Well? Have you decided? — she asked, taking off her jacket.
— Lar, I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I mean, I thought you’d understand. Vika’s pregnant…
— Igor, I’m thirty-five. I’ve dreamed of having a car my entire adult life. You promised to give me one; I believed you and was thrilled. And then you decided your sister is more important than your wife. Do I have that right?
— It’s not like that…
— How is it then?
Igor was silent, then sighed heavily:
— I called the salesman. I said we’ll take the car as agreed.
— And?
— And I told Vika there won’t be a car. She… she’s very upset.
— I can imagine. What did she say?
— Called me… I won’t repeat it. Said I’m betraying my family for my wife.
Larisa snorted:
— Funny. So a wife isn’t family?
— Of course she is. Lar, forgive me. I caved to her tears; I didn’t think about you. Let’s go get the car tomorrow?
Larisa looked at her husband carefully. In his eyes she saw sincere remorse — and something else: fear of losing her.
— All right. We’ll go.
The next day they picked up the red Mazda. The salesman glanced at them with curiosity — yesterday’s phone negotiations must have seemed strange to him. Larisa got behind the wheel, carefully pulled out of the lot, and drove through the city, finally feeling truly free.
Vika didn’t call for three days. When she did, her voice sounded uncertain.
— Igor, I need to tell you something, — Larisa heard from the hallway.
The conversation was short. When Igor came back into the room, his face was both bewildered and angry.
— What happened? — Larisa asked.
— Vika admitted she isn’t pregnant. She said she lied because she figured if we were buying a car, she could ask for it.
Larisa set aside the magazine she’d been flipping through and looked at her husband:
— So she deliberately deceived you to get my present?
— Looks like it.
— And what did you tell her?
— That I don’t want to talk to her anymore. At least for a while.
Larisa nodded. She felt no triumph — only the fatigue of the pointless drama they had all gone through.
— Igor, do you realize that if I hadn’t issued an ultimatum, you would have given her the car? And we would never have learned she was lying?
Igor sat down on the sofa next to her:
— I do. And I realize I act like an idiot when it comes to Vika. She’s always known how to pressure me.
— That’s not an excuse.
— I know. I’m sorry. And… thank you for not letting me do something stupid.
Larisa took his hand:
— Next time, before you make decisions that affect both of us, consult me. Deal?
— Deal.
Outside, the evening city hummed. In the courtyard stood the red Mazda — not just a means of getting around, but a symbol that in a family there are boundaries that cannot be crossed. And that sometimes you have to be ready to defend them.
Larisa leaned back against the sofa and thought that her thirty-fifth birthday, even if a day late, had turned out special after all. Not only because of the car, but because she finally said what she should have said many years ago.
Vika never did congratulate her on her birthday. But Larisa wasn’t upset — some relationships are better left alone than maintained on false pretenses. And every morning the car waited for her in the courtyard, ready to take her wherever she needed to go, without a glance at bus timetables or other people’s plans.
