“Are you seriously being stingy? It’s just tea, Ira! I asked for loose-leaf—what did you buy?” Egor shoved the box of tea bags away with open disgust.
“Yes, I am!” Irina snapped, spinning around from the sink with the dish sponge clenched in her fist. “I’m stingy about throwing money down the drain—especially when it’s my money! You live in my apartment on my dime, you eat my food, and you still think you can lecture me?”
Egor looked at her like it was all a joke.
“Here we go. You’re going to remind me again that you’re the breadwinner, right? Relax—soon I’ll start working again, and everything will be fine.”
“Of course you will,” Irina snorted and went back to scrubbing plates. “For exactly three months, until you pick a fight with someone.”
“What are you implying?” Egor got up and walked right up into her space. “That it’s my fault I get fired? You know what people are like out there…”
“I do,” Irina answered, exhausted. “Everyone’s terrible, and you’re the only saint. I’ve heard that story a thousand times.”
She dried her hands and walked into the living room. Numbers chased each other through her mind—ten days until payday, and her account was nearly empty. Egor’s latest stretch of unemployment had already lasted two months, and—as always—every financial responsibility had landed on her shoulders.
Egor appeared in the doorway.
“I’m meeting Vitaly today. He promised he’d help me find a job.”
“Yeah? And what is it this time?” Irina didn’t even lift her eyes from her phone. “Security at a supermarket again? Or a warehouse loader—something you’ll refuse because it’s ‘beneath your dignity’?”
“Could you believe in me at least once?” Egor’s voice took on a wounded tone. “You’re always criticizing and humiliating me!”
“And could you not disappoint me at least once?” Irina fired back.
She looked at him. Years ago, the dimples that appeared when he smiled had made her weak at the knees. Now she could barely remember the last time he smiled for real. Four years of marriage had turned into an endless war with imaginary windmills.
“By the way,” Egor said, folding his arms, “when we met, you liked that I wasn’t like everyone else. That I had principles.”
“I liked that you were interesting,” Irina sighed. “That we could talk for hours. Now we have one conversation on repeat—where to get money and why you’re not working again.”
Her phone buzzed: a message from her boss. Tomorrow she had to stay late—an important supplier was coming. She exhaled heavily.
“And why are you sighing now?” Egor tensed instantly.
“Because I have to stay late tomorrow,” Irina said, setting her phone down. “And I don’t know how to get everything done. The apartment is a mess, we’re out of groceries…”
“Well, you wanted to be an independent woman,” Egor sneered. “So be one.”
Irina studied him. In his T-shirt and sweatpants he looked almost the same as he had four years earlier, when they met at a factory’s corporate event. Back then he worked for an event agency and had organized the party. He’d been funny, attentive, curious about her work. He brought flowers, planned small surprises, sent playful messages. Where had all of that gone?
“I never said I wanted to be ‘independent,’” Irina said quietly. “I wanted us to be a team. And a team means both people try.”
“Don’t start again,” Egor waved her off and walked out.
Irina could hear him pacing and muttering to himself—his usual routine when he was irritated. In those moments she felt like she was living with a stranger.
Irina woke to the sound of running water. She reached for her phone—6:30 a.m. Her alarm wouldn’t ring for another half hour. Egor was in the bathroom, which was strange. Normally he didn’t wake up until lunchtime.
When she walked into the kitchen, he was already dressed in his one decent suit.
“Where are you going?” she asked, surprised.
“To an interview,” Egor said proudly. “At nine.”
“With what company?”
“Altair. Vitaly set it up,” Egor looked genuinely excited. “Good pay, room to grow. I tried to tell you yesterday, but you never listen—like always.”
Irina swallowed the jab. Over the years she’d learned not to expect much. Egor could catch fire over a “big opportunity,” but his enthusiasm usually burned out fast.
“I hope it works out,” she said, trying to sound sincere.
“Of course it will,” Egor said, turning in the hallway mirror. “But my shirt’s wrinkled. Can you iron it?”
“Egor, I’m late,” Irina pointed at the clock. “My meeting is at eight-thirty.”
“It’s always like this,” he grumbled. “When I need help, you ‘don’t have time.’”
“And your hands don’t come with an iron function?” Irina finally snapped. “I iron your clothes every day after work—can’t you do it yourself once?”
“Why do you even care whether it’s ironed or not? You just sit at home!” Irina blurted—then instantly regretted it.
“What if I need something decent for the interview?” Egor shot back. “And I have nothing to wear!”
“Then take the iron and iron it,” Irina said coldly. “It’s your shirt, not mine.”
“Fine—forget it,” Egor yanked off the suit jacket and stormed back to the bedroom. “I’ll wear a different one.”
A familiar pinch of guilt tried to rise in her chest, but Irina shoved it down. She’d noticed long ago how expertly he could make her feel responsible for everything.
That evening she came home exhausted. The day had been brutal—the supplier was late, and Irina had stayed two extra hours. On the way home she stopped by the store and spent almost every remaining ruble she had before payday.
The apartment greeted her with silence. Egor wasn’t home. A note lay on the table in messy handwriting:
“Interview went great. Celebrating with Vitaly. Don’t wait up.”
Irina sighed and began putting groceries away. Her phone rang—Mom.
“Hi, Mom,” Irina said, pinning the phone between her ear and shoulder as she unpacked bags.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you? How’s Egor?”
Tamara Sergeyevna had never hidden that she didn’t like her son-in-law, but she tried not to meddle.
“Same as always,” Irina answered. “He went to an interview today. Says it went well.”
“Again?” Her mother’s voice held pure skepticism. “And where is he now?”
“Out celebrating with a friend,” Irina said, forcing her tone to sound neutral.
Her mother paused.
“Ira, honey… when are you going to open your eyes?” she said at last. “He’s using you. Living in your place, spending your money, and he won’t lift a finger.”
“Mom, we’ve talked about this,” Irina said wearily. “He’s my husband. He’s just going through a hard time…”
“A hard time that’s lasted four years,” Tamara Sergeyevna cut in. “I’m coming next week. And don’t argue—I want to see with my own eyes how you’re living.”
After that call, Irina’s mood sank completely. She knew her mother was right, but admitting it meant admitting her own mistake—and she wasn’t ready for that.
To Irina’s surprise, Egor’s interview really did lead to a job at Altair. For the first two weeks things were almost… normal. He left earlier than she did and came home later. He was energized, talking about the company, new coworkers, upcoming projects. The apartment even looked slightly better—he started washing his own dishes, and he cooked dinner twice.
Irina was afraid to feel happy, but hope began to creep back in.
On Friday evening Egor came home with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
“What are we celebrating?” Irina smiled as she took them.
“My first paycheck,” Egor announced proudly. “Well—an advance. I figured we should mark the occasion.”
The evening was unexpectedly warm. They ate, drank wine, talked about the future. Egor was attentive in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time.
“I was thinking,” he said, “maybe we could go somewhere for the May holidays. St. Petersburg, for example. We’ve wanted that for ages.”
“That would be amazing,” Irina smiled dreamily. “But we need to start saving. I’ll get my salary this week—we can start with that…”
“Oh, here we go,” Egor interrupted. “Counting every last ruble again. You can’t live like that, Ira. Sometimes you just have to go for it.”
“With what money, Egor?” Irina felt the good mood slipping away. “You got an advance—it’s only part of your salary. We have utilities, the fridge loan…”
“You always ruin everything,” Egor grimaced and pushed his glass away. “I wanted to do something nice, and you immediately bring up problems.”
“I’m just being realistic,” Irina tried to soften it. “Of course we’ll go. We just need to save first.”
Egor didn’t answer. He turned on the TV and faced the screen, making a show of ignoring her.
The next morning, while getting ready for work, Irina noticed her emergency cash was missing—five thousand rubles she kept tucked behind a photo in her wallet.
“Egor, did you see the money in my wallet?” she called into the bedroom, where he was still in bed.
“What money?” he mumbled.
“The five thousand—behind the photo.”
Egor sat up.
“Oh… that. I took it. I wanted to surprise you, but you ruined the mood yesterday.”
“You took my money without asking?” Irina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Egor, that was the last of what I had until payday!”
“Come on, you’ll get paid Monday,” he waved it off. “Two days—just deal with it. Or are money more important to you than our relationship?”
“It’s not about the money,” Irina forced herself to stay calm. “It’s that you took it in secret. Where did it go?”
After a reluctant pause, Egor admitted it.
“I was going to take Vitaly and Max to bowling. To celebrate, you know. Make friends.”
Irina stared at him. In his mind, nothing about this was wrong.
“Fantastic,” she said quietly. “So I get to scrape by for two days, but you get entertainment with your buddies.”
“If you want, take some of my cash,” Egor pointed at the nightstand, where a few hundred-ruble bills lay. “Though that’s basically all that’s left of the advance.”
“And where’s the rest?” Irina asked, trying not to raise her voice. “You said you got fifteen thousand!”
“Well—wine, flowers,” Egor started counting on his fingers. “Then I went to the store. Bought a new T-shirt…”
Irina shook her head and left the room. She had to get to work—if she stayed, she’d say things she couldn’t take back.
Tamara Sergeyevna’s visit coincided with yet another collapse.
Egor had worked at Altair a little over a month when he came home in the middle of the day, face dark.
“What happened?” Irina asked, chilled at the sight of him. “Why are you home so early?”
Egor tossed his bag onto the floor.
“They fired me. Those idiots… sorry,” he glanced at Tamara Sergeyevna, who was sitting in the kitchen. “They just wanted me gone.”
“For what?” Irina felt something turn to ice inside her.
“For being late. Can you imagine?” Egor threw his hands up. “A couple times—thirty minutes. I have a reason! The transportation in this city is garbage!”
Tamara Sergeyevna snorted.
“And everyone else gets to work by helicopter?”
“You don’t understand,” Egor snapped. “The whole system was against me. The boss hated me from day one.”
“And why would that be?” Tamara Sergeyevna asked.
“Because I refused to crawl for him like everyone else!”
Irina listened to the familiar script. There was always someone to blame—bosses, coworkers, bad luck—never Egor himself.
“It’s fine,” Egor dropped onto the couch and switched on the TV. “I’ll find something better. With my experience and skills…”
“What experience?” Tamara Sergeyevna couldn’t hold it in. “You don’t last longer than a month anywhere! Who would hire someone with a track record like that?”
“Mom,” Irina said quietly. “Please… don’t.”
“No. I’m done being quiet,” Tamara Sergeyevna stepped closer to Egor. “I watched for four years while you destroyed my daughter’s life. She works herself to the bone, supports you, tolerates your stunts—and you don’t even say thank you.”
“It’s none of your business,” Egor snapped. “Irina and I will figure it out ourselves.”
“Figure it out?” Tamara Sergeyevna laughed without joy. “When? You’ve promised her for four years that things will change. And they never do.”
Egor stood up.
“Do you have nothing better to do than meddle? Don’t you have your own life?”
“Egor!” Irina protested. “Don’t talk to my mother like that!”
“And you don’t tell me what to do!” Egor shouted. “I’m the man of this house, and I—”
“A man?” Tamara Sergeyevna cut him off. “A man doesn’t let a woman carry him for years. A man doesn’t steal money from her wallet. A man doesn’t hide behind excuses for laziness and irresponsibility.”
Egor grabbed his jacket.
“I’m not listening to this. I’m going to Vitaly’s—at least people respect me there.”
The door slammed. Irina sank into a chair, drained.
“Why did you do that, Mom?” she whispered. “Now he’ll sulk for days.”
“Good,” Tamara Sergeyevna said sharply. “Maybe he’ll think for once.”
“He won’t,” Irina sighed. “He’s convinced he’s always right.”
Tamara Sergeyevna sat beside her.
“Ira… how much longer are you going to endure this?” she said softly. “He’s a parasite. Look at you—you’re exhausted, always tense, saving on everything…”
“I love him,” Irina whispered.
“You love the version he showed you before the wedding,” her mother said gently. “The attentive, caring man who brought flowers and made surprises. That man is gone. What’s left is selfish and irresponsible.”
Irina had no answer. Deep down, she knew her mother was right.
Egor came back the next day around noon—rumpled, unshaven, wearing wrinkled clothes.
“Where were you?” Irina asked.
“At Vitaly’s,” he muttered, walking into the bathroom. “Slept on the couch. Not comfortable, by the way.”
Tamara Sergeyevna gave Irina a look but said nothing.
All day Egor moved around the apartment with an offended expression, ignoring Tamara Sergeyevna and giving Irina one-word answers. That evening, after her mother left to visit a friend nearby, Egor finally spoke.
“I think we need to get away,” he said, sitting down next to Irina on the couch. “A little vacation. Reset.”
“With what money, Egor?” Irina asked, exhausted. “You don’t have a job. My paycheck isn’t for two more weeks. And I can’t even take time off right now.”
“But you have savings,” Egor shifted closer. “The vacation stash. You said there’s already around thirty thousand.”
Irina went cold.
“How do you know about that? I never told you.”
“I saw it by accident when I was looking for a phone charger,” he said, not embarrassed at all. “In the closet. In the shoebox. Clever hiding spot.”
“And you decided we can just… take it and spend it?” Irina stared at him. “Egor, I saved that money for almost a year—bit by bit from every paycheck!”
“But it’s for vacation, right?” Egor shrugged. “So let’s go. We both need it.”
“No,” Irina said firmly. “That money is untouchable. I already booked a trip for August.”
“Without me?” Egor pretended to be shocked.
“Would you even go?” Irina shot back. “You always find a reason not to. New job, no money…”
“Exactly!” Egor brightened. “Right now I don’t have a job, but we have money—perfect timing!”
“No,” Irina repeated. “I’m not touching it, and I won’t let you touch it.”
Egor’s expression hardened instantly.
“So now we have ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ in this family? Not ‘ours’?”
“And when you have money, do you share it with me?” Irina countered. “When you got your advance, you bought wine and flowers—and spent the rest on yourself and your friends.”
“That’s different,” Egor grumbled. “I wanted to make you happy.”
“And I want a real vacation,” Irina said. “Not a weekend trip that makes me live on pasta for a month afterward.”
“So you’re greedy,” Egor said and walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Irina stood up.
“To Vitaly’s. I can’t be around someone who counts every kopeck.”
After he left, Irina ran straight to the closet. The cash was still there—thirty-two thousand, all counted and intact. But her stomach twisted with dread.
The next day Egor returned in a surprisingly good mood.
“I got a job,” he announced proudly. “Manager at an electronics store.”
“Congratulations,” Irina said carefully. “When do you start?”
“Monday,” Egor opened the fridge. “So what do we have to eat?”
“There’s soup,” Irina answered. “Mom made it this morning.”
Egor pulled a face.
“Soup? Seriously? Let’s order pizza.”
“Egor, we don’t have pizza money,” Irina said, anger rising. “You’ve been jobless almost a month. Everything is on me.”
“But I told you—I’m hired!” he protested. “We can celebrate.”
“We’ll celebrate when you get your first paycheck,” Irina cut in. “Until then, eat what we have.”
“You always ruin everything,” Egor clanked his soup bowl onto the table. “Can’t you just be happy for me for once? Do you have to kill the mood?”
Irina didn’t respond. She felt like a squeezed lemon—arguments, his irresponsibility, money problems—everything drained her.
The next week a new employee joined Irina’s department: Maksim Vetrov. About forty, divorced, polite, with an easy sense of humor. Irina, a veteran at the company, helped him settle in.
“How long have you been here?” Maksim asked during lunch.
“Ten years,” Irina smiled. “Started right after university.”
“Doesn’t it get old?”
“It depends,” she shrugged. “But the work is interesting, and the team is good. What about you—where were you before?”
“At Merkuriy,” Maksim said. “But the company went bankrupt, so I had to look for something new.”
They talked a little more, and Irina was surprised by how pleasant it felt to speak with a calm, grounded man. No demands. No complaining. Just an adult conversation.
At home things worsened again. Tamara Sergeyevna—who was supposed to leave after a week—witnessed more ugly scenes. Egor started the new job, but within three days he was complaining about his boss and coworkers.
“Can you believe this?” he ranted over dinner. “Karpov expects me to show up at exactly nine. Not one minute later! Why does it matter what time I arrive if I hit my numbers?”
“Those are the rules, Egor,” Irina said tiredly. “Most jobs have fixed hours.”
“Slave conditions,” he scoffed. “And that girl Svetlana—always sucking up to management. Snitching on everyone.”
Tamara Sergeyevna kept exchanging looks with her daughter. The pattern was repeating.
One evening Irina came home later than usual—they’d stayed late with Maksim finishing a key report for leadership. Egor met her with a strange, suspicious look.
“Where were you?” he asked instead of hello.
“At work,” Irina said, confused. “We were finishing the quarterly report.”
“We?” Egor narrowed his eyes. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Maksim—the new employee,” Irina walked into the kitchen where her mother was cooking. “Hi, Mom.”
“And how often are you staying late with him?” Egor followed.
“What?” Irina stared at him. “Egor, what are you talking about?”
“Your Maksim,” he hissed. “Convenient. New guy needs help. And your eyes sparkle when you talk about him.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Irina was stunned. “We’re just coworkers!”
“Sure,” Egor folded his arms. “I can see you’ve changed lately. You used to cook real dinners, and now what is this?” he nodded at the soup pot. “Ugh. Impossible to eat.”
“I made that,” Tamara Sergeyevna cut in. “And it’s excellent. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to cook.”
“As if,” Egor snapped. “I’m tired after work.”
“And Ira isn’t?” Tamara Sergeyevna raised her voice. “She works and still cooks and cleans and does laundry!”
“Mom, please,” Irina pleaded.
“No. Enough,” Tamara Sergeyevna turned to Egor. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? My daughter doesn’t see daylight because of you. She spends everything on you—and you still have the audacity to accuse her?”
Egor flushed red.
“I’m sick of your lectures! I’m a man, I—”
“You’re not a man,” Tamara Sergeyevna said. “You’re a freeloader.”
At that exact moment the doorbell rang. Irina went to open it, assuming it was the neighbor.
It was Maksim.
“Sorry to barge in,” he said, embarrassed. “You left some documents at work—important contracts with stamps. I figured I’d drop them off since I was nearby.”
Irina took the folder, flustered.
“Thank you, Maksim. You really saved me.”
Egor appeared in the doorway and gave Maksim a hostile look.
“Some colleagues have been dropping by a lot lately.”
Maksim’s eyebrows rose.
“We haven’t been introduced. Maksim Vetrov,” he offered his hand.
Egor ignored it.
“It’s late for visits, don’t you think?”
“Egor!” Irina protested. “Stop it!”
“What did I say?” Egor spread his hands. “I’m just wondering why some man shows up at my wife’s door at nine at night.”
Maksim calmly lowered his hand.
“I brought important documents. And now I’ll go. Have a good evening.”
After he left, Egor exploded.
“So that’s your Maksim—making eyes at you!”
“What are you even saying?” Irina was shocked. “He brought documents!”
“Of course,” Egor drawled sarcastically. “Documents at nine p.m. Very urgent, huh?
“Enough!” Irina snapped. “I’m tired of your baseless accusations! Of your pointless jealousy!”
“Baseless?” Egor grabbed his jacket. “So that’s what it is. You really do have something going on with that pretty-boy! I knew it!”
“I have nothing with him!” Irina shouted. “You made it up!”
“I’m not blind!” Egor was already pulling on his shoes. “You know what? I’m not tolerating this. I’m leaving.”
“Good riddance,” Tamara Sergeyevna muttered.
“Mom!” Irina looked at her, torn.
“Oh, what?” her mother shrugged. “Let him go. Maybe you’ll finally breathe.”
Egor glared at his mother-in-law.
“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? You set it all up.”
“Nobody set anything up,” Irina said, worn down. “You invented it.”
“You’ll regret this,” Egor spat, and slammed the door.
A week passed. Egor didn’t return, didn’t call. At first Irina worried. Then she got angry. Then she felt something she hadn’t expected—relief. Tamara Sergeyevna stayed longer to support her.
“I don’t understand why you’re still worrying about that loafer,” her mother said whenever she caught Irina checking her phone. “Four years he sucked you dry, and now he accuses you of cheating.”
“He’s still my husband,” Irina replied softly. “You can’t just erase everything.”
At work Irina tried to keep it together, but colleagues noticed something was off. Maksim, especially, was quietly attentive—never prying, always offering help if he saw she was struggling.
One day at lunch he sat down across from her.
“Ira, I want to apologize if my visit caused trouble,” he said. “Your husband seemed… unhappy.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Irina shook her head. “Things with Egor have been hard for a long time.”
“If you need help—or even just someone to talk to—I’m here,” Maksim said simply, then shifted the conversation back to work.
Two weeks after Egor left, the doorbell rang. Irina opened the door and saw him—unshaven, thinner, in wrinkled clothes.
“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.
Irina stepped aside without a word.
“I wanted to apologize,” Egor stared at the floor. “I acted like an idiot.”
“Where have you been?” Irina asked.
“At Vitaly’s,” he shrugged. “But I can’t stay there anymore. His place is small, and now his relatives came…”
Irina suddenly understood: he hadn’t come back because he missed her. He’d come back because he had nowhere else to go.
“Egor,” she said firmly, “answer honestly. Did you come back because of me—or because you don’t have a place to live?”
He hesitated.
“Because of you… but also, yeah, I need somewhere to stay…”
“Right,” Irina exhaled. “In these two weeks, I’ve thought a lot. We need to separate, Egor.”
“What?” he stared at her. “But we’re married! We can fix this!”
“No,” Irina shook her head. “We tried for four years. Nothing changed. You don’t change—and I’m tired.”
“This is your mother!” Egor snapped. “She turned you against me!”
“Don’t drag my mom into it,” Irina stayed calm. “This is my decision.”
“And your Maksim isn’t innocent either,” Egor added bitterly. “Hovering around you, and you love it.”
“There’s nothing between me and Maksim,” Irina said, drained. “But even if there were—what would it matter? We’re done, Egor.”
“You can’t kick me out!” he shouted. “This is my home too!”
“No,” Irina said evenly. “This apartment belonged to my grandmother before we were married. It isn’t marital property.”
“You talked to a lawyer?” Egor squinted. “So you planned it all.”
“Yes,” Irina nodded. “I spoke to Karina.”
“Your lawyer friend?” Egor scoffed. “And what did she poison you with?”
“The truth,” Irina replied. “Property inherited by one spouse isn’t shared. This apartment is mine, Egor. And I want you to move out.”
“So you’re throwing me onto the street?” he roared. “After everything?”
“I’m not throwing you onto the street,” Irina said, controlling her voice. “You have friends. You have parents. I’m giving you a week to find somewhere to live.”
“A week?!” Egor punched the wall. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” Irina met his eyes. “And if you start threatening me or making a scene, I’ll call the police.”
Egor stared like he didn’t recognize her.
“You’ve changed,” he said at last. “You wouldn’t have done this before.”
“True,” Irina nodded. “I’ve changed. I finally started respecting myself.”
The divorce wasn’t as smooth as Irina hoped. Egor dragged it out, skipped hearings, demanded “compensation for emotional damage.” But with Karina’s help, the paperwork was eventually finalized.
Irina felt as if a boulder had been lifted off her chest. For the first time in years she could spend money without bracing for a tantrum over “unnecessary purchases.” She signed up for dance classes and refreshed her wardrobe. She did a small renovation—new wallpaper and a new sofa to replace the old sagging one.
Work went well too. Irina was promoted to head of the procurement department—higher salary, more responsibility.
Maksim remained respectful, kind, and careful not to cross lines. One evening after a corporate event, he offered to walk her home.
“How are you?” he asked as they walked through the evening streets. “Is everything finalized?”
“Yes,” Irina smiled. “Finally. Freedom.”
“I’m happy for you,” Maksim said sincerely. “You deserve better.”
They reached her building and stopped.
“Thanks for walking me,” Irina said. “And… for being there.”
“I didn’t do anything special,” he shrugged. “I was just nearby.”
“Sometimes that’s the most important thing,” she said softly.
Maksim paused, then spoke with quiet resolve.
“Ira, I’d like to invite you to the theater this Saturday. They’re staging The Seagull—I’ve heard it’s excellent.”
Irina blinked.
“Is that… a date?”
“If you’re ready for it—yes,” he said seriously. “If not, it’s just two good friends going to the theater. You decide.”
Irina hesitated. After Egor, the thought of new relationships scared her. But Maksim was different—steady, respectful, safe.
“I’ll go with you,” she said finally. “And we’ll see.”
He smiled.
“Deal. Good night, Ira.”
“Good night, Maksim.”
Six months passed.
Irina stood by her window, looking out at the spring city. A bouquet of tulips sat on the sill—yesterday had been her birthday, and Maksim had brought the flowers along with tickets to a concert by her favorite band.
Their relationship grew slowly, without pressure. Maksim didn’t rush to move in, didn’t demand her time, respected her space. With him, Irina felt safe.
Her phone rang—Mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetheart! How are you? How was your birthday?”
“Wonderful. Maksim gave me tulips and concert tickets.”
“He’s a good man,” Tamara Sergeyevna approved. “Caring. Not like certain people.”
Irina smiled.
“Mom, let’s not talk about the past. It’s over.”
“All right, all right,” her mother agreed. “But listen—news! A neighbor told me she saw your ex at the supermarket working the register. Fell pretty low, she says.”
Irina exhaled.
“Mom, that’s his life. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”
In truth, Irina already knew. She’d run into Egor two weeks earlier at that exact supermarket. He’d been behind the register, tired and drawn. When he saw her, he tried to look confident—but it didn’t land.
“Hi,” he’d said. “How are you?”
“Good,” Irina replied. “You?”
“Fine,” he’d gestured around. “Just temporary, of course. Soon I’ll move into management.”
Irina nodded, not believing a word.
“Listen,” Egor had leaned closer, “maybe we could meet sometime? Talk? I’ve rethought a lot.”
“No, Egor,” Irina had said calmly. “I have a new life—and I’m happy in it.”
“With that Maksim?” bitterness flickered in his voice.
“Yes,” Irina answered simply. “Goodbye, Egor. And good luck.”
She had paid at another register and walked out feeling oddly peaceful. No anger, no bitterness—just relief that he no longer had any power over her.
“Ira, are you listening?” her mother’s voice brought her back.
“Yes, Mom—sorry, I spaced out,” Irina smiled. “What did you say?”
“I asked when you and Maksim are coming to visit us.”
“Next weekend, like we planned,” Irina said. “Maksim took two days off, so we’ll come for the whole weekend.”
After the call, Irina returned to the window. In the reflection she saw her own face—calm, rested, with a light smile. Four years of misery were behind her. Ahead was a life without accusations, without manipulation, without that constant ache of guilt.
She was finally free.
Her phone buzzed: a message from Maksim.
“Booked a table for seven. I’ll pick you up at 6:30. I love you.”
Irina smiled and typed back:
“I’ll be ready. I love you too.”
And this time, it was true. Now she knew what real love felt like—without conditions, without games, without manipulation. Love built on respect and care.
She deserved it. And now she finally believed that.
