Galina stood in the middle of her tiny kitchen, where there was barely enough space for a table and two chairs. Her hands were trembling with anger, and tears glistened in her eyes, which she stubbornly held back. Kirill, her husband for the last three years, was leaning against the doorframe with the look of a man who thought he was doing her a favor just by being there.
“Here you go again,” he hissed through his teeth. “Always reminding me about this broom closet. You think I forgot that I live in your dump?”
“In MY dump,” Galina repeated, putting emphasis on the first word. “Which you despise so much, but somehow aren’t in any hurry to move out of.”
Kirill twisted his mouth as if he’d swallowed something bitter. His perfectly pressed shirt sharply contrasted with the worn wallpaper and old furniture. He always took care of himself — expensive watch, trendy haircut, cologne that gave Galina a headache. Only behind all that glitter there was… nothing.
“I told you we should move!” he flared up. “To my parents’ place, to a normal house. But you dug your heels in — NO, and that’s it!”
“To your parents’?” Galina gave a joyless little laugh. “The ones who, every time we meet, remind me that their precious son could have found himself a better wife? Who look at me like I’m the help?”
“Don’t make things up! Mom just wants us to live in decent conditions!”
“Decent?” Galina’s voice trembled. “What exactly is so indecent about my apartment? Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s on the second floor. Yes, the windows face the courtyard. But I EARNED it HONESTLY, every square meter!”
Galina remembered how she had saved up for this place. For five years she had put away every kopek, working as a nurse in two shifts. She denied herself everything — new clothes, entertainment, sometimes even proper food. But now she had her own place, however modest.
“Earned honestly,” Kirill mocked. “Who needs your honesty? Look at Alena, my friend Maxim’s wife. Now that’s a woman! Smart, beautiful, ambitious. And you? Always in your hospital gown, smelling like medicine…”
The words stung worse than slaps. Galina gripped the edge of the table so she wouldn’t collapse. Three years ago Kirill had sworn that her simplicity and sincerity were exactly what he needed. He said he was tired of pretentious beauties, that Galina was his salvation. And now…
“If I’m so terrible, why are you here?” she asked quietly.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Kirill snapped. “You know I’m having temporary difficulties with work right now.”
Temporary difficulties. That was what he called being fired for chronic lateness and neglecting his duties. Six months ago he’d been thrown out of the office where he worked as a manager. Since then, Kirill had been “finding himself,” lying on the couch with his laptop and criticizing everyone around him.
“Kirill, I’m tired,” Galina sank down onto a chair. “Tired of your contempt, of the constant reproaches. I work twelve-hour shifts, come home — and you’re unhappy with dinner. I clean on my days off — and you grumble that I’m making noise. I ask you for help — and you’ve got ‘important things to do.’”
“What important things can an unemployed man have?” she added bitterly.
Kirill’s face twisted with rage. He couldn’t stand being reminded of his situation. In his head, he was an unrecognized genius whom narrow-minded bosses had failed to appreciate.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” he roared. “I’m your husband!”
“Husband?” Galina lifted her head. “A husband is someone who supports, protects, takes care of you. And you? You’re just a boarder who doesn’t pay rent.”
“How dare you…”
“GET OUT!” Galina shouted. “Just get out. I need to be alone.”
Kirill slammed the door. Galina was left alone in the silence of her tiny kitchen. At last, the tears rolled down her cheeks. She cried from hurt, from disappointment, from exhaustion.
She remembered their wedding — modest, at the registry office, no fancy dress or limousine. Kirill had said back then that the most important thing was their love, not showing off. She’d been so happy. It seemed she had found a kindred spirit, a man who saw a person in her, not a wallet or a maid.
The first year had been almost perfect. Kirill was attentive and caring. He brought her flowers — simple daisies from a flower bed, but to Galina they were worth more than roses. He cooked breakfast while she slept after the night shift. He met her from work…
Everything changed when he met Maxim. The new colleague lived large — expensive car, apartment in the center, vacations abroad. And a wife to match — well-groomed, in designer clothes. Kirill started to compare. At first with little hints, then more openly.
“Why don’t you take care of yourself like Alena?”
“Why can’t we go to Turkey?”
“Why is our furniture so shabby?”
Galina tried to explain — she didn’t have money for beauty salons because they had to pay utilities. They couldn’t go to Turkey because she worked extra shifts on vacation so they’d have enough for food and clothes. The furniture was old, but solid — why throw out something that still served them well?
But that didn’t suit Kirill. He wanted the good life NOW. No matter the cost.
The door opened again. Kirill came in looking guilty — his signature move after every fight.
“Gal, I’m sorry,” he started his usual song. “I lost my temper. It’s just… it’s all piling up. You know how hard it is for me without a job.”
Galina was silent. She’d heard these apologies dozens of times. After every humiliation, after every insult. And every time she believed him, forgave him, hoped.
“I really do love you,” Kirill went on, coming closer. “It just drives me crazy sometimes, this unfairness. Why do some idiots have everything, and we…”
“You don’t,” Galina corrected him. “I do. An apartment, a job, self-respect.”
Kirill flinched.
“There you go again. Fine, I get it, you’re offended. Let’s talk tomorrow, when you’ve cooled down.”
He went into the room and turned on the TV. For him, the incident was over. But Galina sat in the kitchen and wondered: how much longer was she going to endure this?
In the morning, noise woke her. Kirill was rummaging around, banging drawers.
“Where are my documents?” he asked when he saw she was awake.
“What documents?”
“For the car. I told you, Maxim offered me a deal. I’ve got to go, quick.”
Galina sat up in bed. A “deal” from Maxim was always something shady. Last time it had been reselling some goods that ended in a loss.
“Kirill, maybe you shouldn’t? Remember how it ended last time?”
“Last time was just bad luck!” he waved her off. “This time it’s a sure thing. We’ll be selling apartments. Maxim made a deal with a developer, the commissions are huge!”
“But you don’t have experience…”
“What’s there to know?” Kirill finally found the documents. “I know how to talk pretty, don’t I? That’s all it takes. All right, I’m off.”
“What about breakfast?”
“No time! Money doesn’t wait!”
He rushed out, leaving Galina puzzled. Apartments… She didn’t like the sound of it.
Work was brutal that day. Two surgeries, triage in the ER, an evening round. Galina was dead on her feet. At home, a glowing Kirill with a bottle of fairly expensive champagne was waiting for her.
“Galka, I did it!” he shouted from the doorway. “First deal! Well, it’s just a deposit for now, but Maxim says it’s only the beginning!”
He spun her around the room, telling her about his bright prospects. Galina only half-listened — she was starving and wanted to sleep. But Kirill looked so happy that she forced herself to smile.
“Now we’ll really live!” he dreamed aloud. “I’ll buy you a fur coat, a car, we’ll go to the Maldives!”
Galina nodded, not believing a word. She knew her husband too well — he caught fire quickly and cooled just as fast.
But this time, things turned out differently. Kirill really did start making money. Though he came home late, often drunk. He smelled of someone else’s perfume, and Galina would find traces of lipstick on his shirts. He brushed it off — clients, nothing personal.
The money went straight to his head. He bought an expensive suit, a watch, the latest model phone. He didn’t offer Galina ANYTHING. When she hinted that the washing machine had broken, he waved her away:
“Later, later. Right now it’s important for me to look presentable.”
Presentable. As if the fact that his wife was doing laundry by hand after a twelve-hour shift didn’t matter.
One day Galina came home early — a surgery had been canceled. There were voices inside. She froze in the hallway.
“…stupid sheep,” Kirill was laughing. “She really thinks I’m going to buy her a fur coat! I’d rather buy you diamonds, kitten.”
“You’re such a bad boy,” a woman purred. “What if she finds out?”
“Where’s she gonna go? She’ll put up with it. She loves me,” Kirill’s voice held such contempt that Galina’s breath caught.
“And the apartment? You promised…”
“You’ll get your apartment. I’ve already found a place. We’ll just have to trick that fool, but that’s no problem.”
Galina swayed. Trick? Her?
“How?”
“Easy. We’ll draw up a sales contract for her dump, supposedly as an investment in the business. She’ll sign without looking — she trusts me. And then — goodbye, honey, the apartment isn’t yours anymore. Let her try to prove anything!”
The woman burst out laughing. Shrill, nasty.
“You’re a genius! Is she really that dumb?”
“Not dumb, just naïve. She believes in love and all that crap. The perfect victim.”
Galina slipped out of the apartment without a sound. Her legs were barely holding her. She went down into the courtyard and sat on a bench. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she’d heard. Kirill, her Kirill, the man she’d trusted, loved… A traitor. A thief. A bastard.
What to do? Run? Scream? Cry?
NO. Galina clenched her fists. Anything but that. She would not let him see her weakness.
When she came back an hour later, Kirill was alone — the lover was gone. He was watching TV, looking pleased.
“Hi, honey,” he tossed over his shoulder without turning. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Galina tried to keep her voice steady. “Kirill, how’s it going with the apartments?”
“Great! Speaking of apartments. There’s a great opportunity — to invest in a new development. We’ll get about two hundred percent back. But we need start-up capital.”
“And where would we get that?”
“Well…” Kirill finally turned around. “We could mortgage your apartment. Just for a while, six months at most. Then we’ll buy it back and get two more on top!”
There it was. Galina braced herself inside.
“Mortgage it? But that’s risky…”
“What risk?” Kirill jumped up and started painting rosy prospects. “Maxim’s checked everything, the developer’s solid, the paperwork is fine. All we need is your signature on the contract.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“What is there to think about?” Kirill began to get angry. “It’s because of people like you that others stay poor!”
“I SAID I’LL THINK ABOUT IT,” Galina cut him off.
Kirill snorted resentfully but didn’t press. Apparently he decided he’d have time to work on her.
Over the next few days he bombarded her with persuasion. He painted bright futures, promised her the moon, even tried to act affectionate. But Galina could see right through him. Every tender word, every smile was fake.
On the weekend, Polina, her cousin, came over. A lawyer by training, she now worked at a real estate agency.
“Polina, I need advice,” Galina waited until Kirill left. “Professional advice.”
After listening to her, Polina frowned.
“Whatever you do, don’t sign anything! This is a classic fraud scheme. They’ll mortgage the apartment, never repay the loan, and you’ll end up on the street.”
“But Kirill is my husband…”
“So what?” Polina asked sharply. “You think husbands don’t cheat their wives? Galya, open your eyes! He’s using you!”
Galina lowered her head. She knew that. But admitting it to herself was terrifying.
“What should I do?”
“First, find out what he’s already managed to do. Then — protect your property. And then think about whether you even need a husband like that.”
After Polina left, Galina sat alone in the empty apartment for a long time. Kirill didn’t come home that night again — he was probably at his mistress’s place. Maybe that was for the best.
On Monday morning, Galina took a day off from work. She called in sick — for the first time in five years. She started with the banks — to check if Kirill had taken out any loans in her name. Thank God, everything was still clean. Then she went to the registration office. The apartment was still hers.
“But there was an inquiry,” the clerk said. “A week ago. Someone was asking about encumbrances.”
So he’d been preparing. Galina thanked her and stepped outside. The autumn sun hurt her eyes. Or maybe those were tears.
She had to decide. She couldn’t go on living with a traitor. But how to get rid of him? He wouldn’t leave voluntarily.
That evening Kirill came home with an enormous bouquet of roses. Expensive, gaudy ones.
“For my beloved!” he declared theatrically. “I’ve been thinking — you’re right, we should be careful. Let’s go on vacation first, and then we’ll decide about the apartment.”
Galina took the roses. Thorny, cold, with no scent. Just like their relationship.
“Kirill, we need to talk.”
“Later, later!” he brushed her off. “I’m exhausted. Clients wore me out.”
He went into the room and turned on the TV. Galina stood there with the roses in her hands, then dropped them straight into the trash.
She didn’t sleep that night. She lay next to the snoring Kirill and thought — how could she have been so wrong? The signs had been there — little lies, disdain, selfishness. But she had closed her eyes, made excuses, hoped.
In the morning, the decision came on its own. Galina got up earlier than usual and packed Kirill’s things into bags.
“What are you doing?” he woke from the noise.
“Packing your things. GET OUT of my apartment.”
Kirill sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.
“Are you crazy? Galka, what happened?”
“I know about your lover. I know about the apartment scheme. I know what you really think of me.”
Kirill’s face stretched out. But only for a second — he quickly pulled himself together.
“I don’t know who’s been filling your head with—”
“I heard it MYSELF. On Friday. ‘Stupid sheep,’ ‘the perfect victim.’ Those were your words, right?”
Kirill turned pale. Then red. Then he started yelling:
“How dare you spy on me! I’m your husband! You’re supposed to trust me!”
“I WAS supposed to. Not anymore. Take your things and go. Or I’ll call the police and tell them about the attempted fraud.”
“You have no proof!”
“I have a witness,” Galina bluffed. “The neighbor heard everything. And she’s ready to testify in court.”
Kirill jumped up and came right up to her.
“You’ll regret this, you bitch! You’re nothing without me! A cleaning lady, a little grey mouse! Living in a hole!”
“Yes, the apartment is small, but it’s MINE. And what do you have?” Galina looked him straight in the eye. “A beat-up car? Go live in it.”
Kirill raised his hand, but Galina didn’t even flinch.
“Go ahead, hit me. I’ll head straight to the ER to get the injuries documented. And you know what my colleagues are like? You’ll be missing some of those pretty teeth.”
Kirill’s hand dropped. He realized Galina wasn’t joking.
“Fine,” he spat. “But this isn’t over. I’ll—”
“GET OUT. RIGHT NOW.”
Galina flung the door open. The neighbors were already peeking out — the shouting could be heard all over the stairwell.
Kirill grabbed his bags and stormed out. He turned back:
“You’ll crawl back to me on your knees!”
“Highly unlikely,” Galina slammed the door and locked all the locks.
She howled like a wounded animal. She cried out all the pain, the hurt, the disappointment.
An hour later, Polina called.
“Galya? What happened? Your neighbor rang me, said there was a scene.”
“I kicked him out,” Galina sobbed.
“Good for you! I’m coming over.”
Polina showed up with a thermos of coffee and a box of pastries. She hugged her, listened, wiped her tears.
“You did great. Do you know how hard it is to admit you were wrong? And even harder — to fix that mistake.”
“I thought he loved me…”
“Men like Kirill only love themselves. But you’ll be fine, you’ll see. You’re strong.”
The next few weeks were hell. Kirill called nonstop, sometimes threatening, sometimes begging. He showed up under her windows, made scenes. Galina changed the locks and her phone number. At work she asked security not to let him in.
Eventually he quieted down. Through mutual acquaintances, Galina found out — his lover had kicked him out when she realized there’d be no apartment. Maxim had been jailed for fraud, and Kirill was unemployed again. As usual.
And Galina kept living. She worked, met up with friends she’d barely seen while she was with Kirill. She bought a new washing machine — herself, with her own money.
One evening the doorbell rang. Galina looked through the peephole — Kirill. Crumpled, unshaven, in a dirty jacket.
“Galya, open up! I need to talk!”
“Go away, or I’ll call the police.”
“Galya, please! I’ve got nowhere to live! My lover kicked me out, my parents won’t take me… I’m sleeping on the street!”
Galina was silent. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of pity stirred, but she crushed it.
“That’s not my problem, Kirill.”
“But we were a family! How can you just—”
“And you could. You could betray me, humiliate me, rob me. So yes — I can.”
“Bitch!” Kirill howled. “Heartless monster!”
Galina stepped away from the door. Let him yell. The neighbors would call the police if it came to that.
Half an hour later it was quiet. Galina looked out the window — Kirill was shuffling across the courtyard, dragging his feet. Pathetic, broken. The great “unrecognized genius” had turned out to be nobody.
Galina made herself some tea and turned on her favorite TV series. The little apartment was warm and cozy. Her apartment. Where she was mistress. Where no one would humiliate her.
A month went by. Galina was promoted — she was now head nurse of the department. The raise was small, but nice. She celebrated with her colleagues at a café — they just sat, talked, laughed.
“You’ve really blossomed,” remarked Marina, one of the doctors. “You used to be so closed off, and now you’re glowing!”
Galina smiled. Yes, she felt alive. Free. Real.
She was walking home on foot — it was a warm evening, and she wanted some fresh air. Kirill was standing by her building. But what a sight! In an expensive suit, wearing a tie, holding a bouquet of orchids.
“Galina!” he rushed toward her. “I’ve been waiting for you!”
“Why?”
“I’ve understood everything. I get it now. I was wrong, I was a bastard. But I’ve changed! Look — I got a job, I’m renting an apartment, I’ve started a new life!”
Galina looked him over more closely. The suit was expensive, yes. But obviously someone else’s — too big in the shoulders. The shoes were polished, but worn down. A performance, nothing more.
“Don’t, Kirill,” Galina said wearily. “I can see right through you. You borrowed that suit or rented it, you don’t have a job, and you came here because you’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Kirill’s face contorted with rage.
“To hell with you, then! You’ll rot alone in your little hole and die there in loneliness, you old hag!” He threw the orchids at her feet and, cursing her with every filthy word he knew, disappeared around the corner.
Galina picked up the flowers, brushed the dust off them, and went up to her small apartment — that same “hole” which was her fortress, her freedom, her happiness. And for the first time in many years, she felt truly at home
