Alka froze in the bedroom doorway, watching Misha hurriedly tie the laces on his scuffed sneakers. His movements were fussy, jittery—like he was trying to run from an inevitable conversation.
“So you’re going to an interview in a tracksuit?” There was no anger in her voice, only surprise.
Misha didn’t look up, still fussing with the laces.
“So what? Programmers can.”
“At the Lastochka Café? Do IT companies rent offices there now?”
His hands stopped. A split-second pause gave everything away.
“How did you…?”
“You forgot to log out of your account on the tablet. Your chat with Sveta is very enlightening.”
Three months earlier, Alka had sat at the kitchen table sorting through a stack of bills and statements. The numbers danced before her eyes—utilities, loan payments, overdue fines. Misha sprawled on the couch in the next room, glued to his phone.
“Mish, they’ll cut the electricity again if we don’t pay.” She set aside yet another bill stamped in red.
“Mmm,” came an indifferent grunt from the couch.
“Listen, maybe at least take that temporary job at the warehouse? You know, Sergei offered…”
Misha jerked upright as if shocked by a current.
“I’m a programmer! I’m not going to work as a loader! I have a university degree!”
“Which hasn’t been feeding us for a year,” Alka said barely audibly, but he heard.
“It’s temporary! You’ll see, I’ll find a proper job soon. The market’s just down right now.”
At that moment a sharp ring at the door cut their squabble short. On the threshold stood Misha’s parents—his mother wearing the triumphant look of a victor and his father with a stony face.
“Kids, we’ve come to see you!” His mother-in-law walked into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “Alechka, you look pale. Is Misha hurting you?”
“Mom, everything’s fine,” Misha grumbled, burying himself in his phone again.
“How can it be fine?” Misha’s father surveyed the modest furnishings. “You haven’t paid the loan for three months! We cosigned for you!”
Alka stood up, trying to keep calm.
“You insisted on that wedding! My mom suggested a simple civil ceremony, but you…”
“Oh, so we’re to blame for everything?” Her mother-in-law theatrically raised her hands to the ceiling. “We wanted our son to have a beautiful wedding! So people wouldn’t say we’re paupers!”
Misha’s father pulled out a calculator and started clicking the buttons with the air of a chief accountant.
“And how much longer to pay?”
“Four years. Thirty thousand a month,” Alka answered wearily.
“And how much do you make?”
“Fifty.”
“There, that’s enough!” His mother-in-law nodded with satisfaction. “Twenty thousand is plenty for food.”
“And utilities? Transport? Clothing?” Alka stared at them, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“Mishenka will find a job soon, right, son?”
“Of course, Mom. I just sent out my résumé the other day.”
Alka silently got up and headed for the bedroom. Through the not-quite-shut door came her mother-in-law’s loud voice:
“My friend Galina says her daughter-in-law supports her husband herself and she’s happy! And this one is always unhappy. Misha, you should take a look at other girls. Sveta’s still not married…”
Another month passed, and things only got worse. Misha had completely given up even pretending to look for work. Alka would come home and inevitably find him in the same position—stretched out on the couch, phone in hand.
“Mish, you could at least wash the dishes,” she said, kicking off her shoes at the door.
“I’m a programmer, not a housewife!” he snapped without even glancing her way.
“You’re unemployed! For a year already!”
“Not a year, ten months. And anyway, if you don’t like something, let’s get divorced!”
“And who’ll pay the loan? Your parents?”
Misha fell silent. They both knew perfectly well what the answer would be.
Over the weekend Alka’s mother came. She hugged her daughter and immediately noticed the changes:
“Sweetheart, you’ve lost weight. How are you two living here?”
“We’re fine, Mom.”
“Did Misha find a job?”
“He’s looking.”
“For a year? Alya, maybe you’ve had enough of carrying him? You’re wearing yourself out!”
“We’ve got the loan, Mom. The wedding loan. His parents arranged it.”
“Then let them pay it!”
“It’s been reissued to me. Mother-in-law said the bank would give a lower rate that way.”
Her mother shook her head.
“Ah, daughter. You’ve stepped in it. Does Misha at least help around the house?”
At that moment Misha walked into the room:
“Hello, Yelena Petrovna. Al, what’s for dinner?”
“There are cutlets in the fridge, heat them up.”
“Can’t you do it yourself? I’m tired.”
“Tired from what?” the mother-in-law couldn’t help blurting out. “From lying on the couch?”
“Yelena Petrovna, don’t meddle in our family!”
“What family? Where the husband has been hanging around his wife’s neck for a year?”
After her mother left, Misha threw a raging fit:
“You’re deliberately turning your mother against me!”
“Misha, she’s telling the truth. You can’t even heat up your own dinner!”
“I’m a man! That’s women’s work!”
“And a man’s work is earning money! Where’s yours?”
“It’ll come! Soon! I’ll get an offer from a serious company and then we’ll see who’s in charge!”
“You’ve been saying the same thing for a year.”
“I’m sick of your whining! I’m going out for a walk!”
The door slam echoed through the apartment. Alka was left alone with a growing lump in her throat. Misha’s forgotten phone lay on the table—he’d left in such a hurry that he’d left it behind. The screen lit up with a new notification.
“Sveta: Tomorrow at 3 p.m. at Lastochka? Like old times ”
Alka’s hands trembled as she picked up the phone. She remembered the password—Misha’s birth date. The chat opened, laying bare a bitter truth.
“Misha: I miss you.”
“Sveta: Me too. When will we meet?”
“Misha: My wife’s on my back, she controls my every move.”
“Sveta: Poor thing. You need support.”
“Misha: You always understood me.”
“Sveta: I remember our meetups. Want to repeat?”
“Misha: Alia thinks I’m going to interviews.”
“Sveta: Smart boy ”
The correspondence had lasted three weeks. Three weeks of nothing but lies.
The next day Alka asked for time off from work, citing feeling unwell. At 2:50 she was already standing across from the Lastochka Café, watching the entrance. Misha showed up right on time, wearing a tracksuit—supposedly after a “morning run.” A few minutes later Sveta arrived in a tight dress.
Alka waited ten minutes, then marched inside. They were seated in the far corner. Sveta was gently stroking Misha’s hand while he whispered something in her ear.
“Am I interrupting?” Alka took the empty chair at their table.
Misha’s face went instantly pale.
“Alia… This isn’t what you think…”
“Is this an interview? For the position of lover?”
“Alia dear, we’re just talking,” Sveta put on an innocent smile. “Old friends.”
“Who meet in secret while the wife is at work earning money?”
“Alia, let’s talk at home…”
“No. We’ll talk here and now. I’ve been carrying you and your loan for a year. A year of listening to empty promises. And all the while you’re having fun with your ex?”
“Don’t shout! People are looking!”
“Let them look! Let everyone know what a parasite you are!”
Misha jerked to his feet.
“You have no right to talk to me like that!”
“I do! I’m supporting you!”
“It’s temporary!”
“A year is temporary? Misha, you haven’t even sent out your résumé! I checked your email!”
“You went through my private things?”
“Our tablet! Which I bought with my money!”
Sveta quietly stood up, trying to slip away unnoticed.
“I’ll just be going…”
“STOP!” Alka turned to her. “If you’re so understanding, take him! Along with his mommy and the debts!”
“Alia, you’re being too emotional…”
“I’m leaving. To my parents’. You can live how you want. Alone.”
“You can’t just up and leave! We have a loan!”
“Which your parents arranged! Let them pay it!”
Alka methodically packed the last of her things into a bag, each movement radiating steely resolve. The apartment that had once felt like home now seemed alien, like a stage set for a play in which she’d played the wrong part for far too long.
The sound of keys in the lock made her turn. Misha burst into the room, out of breath, disheveled.
“Alia, let’s talk calmly!”
She kept packing, not even looking at him.
“About what? About how you lied for a year? Or about how you and your mommy tricked me into that loan?”
“No one tricked you!”
Now she did turn, and Misha involuntarily took a step back—her gaze was that cold.
“No? Then why is the loan in my name while your parents spent the money?”
“They wanted a beautiful wedding for their son!”
“At my expense!”
The doorbell cut their quarrel short. Alka swore inwardly—she recognized that imperious ring. Familiar figures loomed in the doorway.
“We know everything!” The mother-in-law stormed into the apartment like a fury. “Sveta called! How could you disgrace our son like that?”
Alka slowly straightened to her full height. The patience she’d stored up for months had finally run out.
“I disgraced him? He was meeting his mistress!”
“They were just talking! And you threw a fit! The whole town is gossiping now!”
“I don’t give a damn about your town!”
Misha’s father, silent until then, stepped forward. His voice took on its usual bossy tone:
“Alëvtina, you must apologize to Misha and Svetlana.”
Alka almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Why, exactly?”
“You insulted them!”
“I told the truth!”
“Misha is your husband! You must support him!”
“I supported him for a year! Enough!”
The taxi’s honk sounded like a school bell—freedom at last. Alka grabbed her bags and headed for the door.
“If you leave, don’t come back!” her mother-in-law shouted after her.
“I don’t intend to!”
Alka’s parents greeted her in silence—sometimes words are unnecessary. Her father hugged her tight, her mother burst into tears, and in that embrace was more support than she’d felt in an entire year of marriage.
“You did the right thing,” her father said quietly. “Stop feeding that parasite.”
An hour’s respite—and then the doorbell again. Alka knew who it was even before her father opened the door.
“Is Alëvtina home?”
“For you she isn’t,” her father blocked the way.
“I’m her husband! I have a right!”
“What kind of husband are you? You’re a parasite!”
“These are our family matters!”
“Were. Now they’re over. Leave.”
“I have to talk to Alia!”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Let her say it herself!”
Alka understood—she’d have to end this herself. She stepped into the hall, looking at the man who had once seemed like a prince.
“Leave, Misha.”
“Alia, let’s talk! I’ll explain everything!”
“Explain what? That you lied for a year? Met with your mistress? Didn’t look for work?”
“I did look!”
“You’re lying! I checked your browser history. You only played games and watched porn!”
“You’re snooping through my things!”
“On the computer I bought!”
He shifted to the offensive, as he always did when cornered.
“Let’s start over! I’ll change!”
“No. I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.”
“And the loan?”
And there it was—the main question. Not “How do I live without you,” not “I love you,” but “the loan.” Alka gave a mirthless smile.
“That’s your problem. I’ve got the documents—your mommy’s messages where she admits she tricked me into reissuing the loan. And receipts showing where the money was spent. All on your family.”
Misha’s face turned ashen.
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“I would. Leave.”
Her father silently took Misha by the shoulder and escorted him to the door.
A week flew by in a flurry of paperwork and lawyers. The final act of the drama played out at her parents’ house—the enemy delegation arrived in full force.
“We’re prepared to forget this whole story,” the mother-in-law announced grandly, as if granting an incredible favor. “If Alëvtina comes back and apologizes.”
Alka’s mother rose from her chair—a small, delicate woman who suddenly looked like a formidable Amazon.
“Apologize to whom? To your freeloader son?”
“He is not a freeloader! He’s in between jobs!”
“A year in between? Any real man would have changed ten jobs by now just to feed his family!”
“Misha is not just anyone! He has a university degree!”
“Which has been lying on the couch for a year!”
“How dare you!”
Alka’s father, who had been restraining himself, couldn’t hold back:
“And how did you dare to trap my daughter in bondage? To hang a loan on her by deceit?”
“We wanted a beautiful wedding!”
“You wanted it at someone else’s expense! Now let your darling boy figure it out himself!”
“He can’t! He doesn’t have a job!”
“Then let him go to work!”
“Where? Who will take him?”
“Construction! A warehouse! As a janitor! There’s plenty of work!”
The mother-in-law flared up like a match:
“My son will not be a janitor!”
“Then let his mistress support him!”
“Svetlana is a respectable girl! Not like your daughter!”
“Who meets with another woman’s husband? Very respectable!”
Misha, who had been sitting in the corner the whole time, suddenly came to life.
“Alia, please forgive me! I won’t do it again!”
Alka looked at him with curiosity, like at a strange animal.
“You won’t do what? Lie? Cheat? Live off me?”
“I’ll find a job!”
“When?”
“Soon!”
“You’ve been saying ‘soon’ for a year. Enough. Divorce.”
“You’ll regret this!”
“Not anymore.”
Her mother-in-law jumped to her feet:
“We’ll sue you! We’ll make you pay the loan!”
Alka smiled—calmly, almost friendly.
“Go ahead. I have all the evidence. And witnesses. The café was full.”
“What evidence?”
“That you tricked me into reissuing the loan. That you spent the money on yourselves. That Misha hasn’t worked for a year. And that he’s cheating.”
“Lies!”
“The truth. And the court will confirm it.”
The family exchanged glances. The father-in-law, clearly realizing their bluff had failed, backed down.
“Fine, get divorced. But the loan is split in half.”
“No. You took it—you pay it.”
“That’s illegal!”
“And tricking someone into reissuing it—is that legal?”
There was nothing left to say. They left, slamming the door with a crash—the final chord in the symphony of their outrage.
A month later life began to fall into place. Alka was on her way home from work when she saw a familiar figure. Sveta looked nothing like before—fatigue lay on her face like heavy shadows.
“Hi,” her voice sounded uncertain.
“Hi.”
“Listen… Can I ask you something? Did Misha really not work for a year?”
Alka stopped, studying her former rival’s face.
“True. Why?”
“He moved in with me. Promised to find a job. But he just lies around and whines. And his mother keeps calling, demanding that I support him.”
“My condolences.”
“I didn’t know… He said you didn’t understand him…”
“Now you know. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Alka walked on without turning back. Behind her stood Sveta—a girl only beginning to grasp what she had gotten herself into.
The house smelled of celebratory cake. Her parents sat at the table with mysterious smiles.
“What are we celebrating?” Alka asked, surprised.
“Your freedom, sweetheart!” her mother hugged her tight. “And your new job!”
“How do you know?”
“They called to congratulate you. Good for you for accepting!”
Alka laughed. A new position, a new salary, a new life—without parasites, liars, and other people’s ambitions.
Her phone pinged. A text from Misha: “Alia, let’s meet. I feel awful.”
She deleted the message, blocked the number, and set the phone aside.
Enough. She’d fed the parasite for a year. Not one second more.
Evening was falling outside the window, but for the first time in a long while it didn’t feel like an ending—it felt like a beginning.
