Ksyusha, you won’t believe it! Mom’s decided to throw a huge birthday party!” Vitalya burst into the kitchen, waving his phone. “Fifty‑nine years old—quite a landmark!”
Ksenia didn’t so much as lift her head from the laptop as she sorted through work documents.
“What’s so surprising? She goes all‑out every year,” she said, sipping her tea. “Not even a milestone birthday, yet all this pomp!”
“That’s not the point!” Vitalya slid into the chair opposite her and leaned forward. “She’s actually drawn up a gift list for every guest. Can you imagine? A personal assignment for each relative so no one brings random junk like they usually do. Aunt Galya—gold earrings. Uncle Styopa—a top‑of‑the‑line sushi‑serving set. And so on!”
At last Ksenia shut her laptop and fixed her gaze on her husband.
“Vitaly, seriously? That’s not a birthday—it’s an auction. And what exactly has she ‘assigned’ to us?”
Vitalya drummed his fingers on the table, clearly anxious.
“See… she’s given me a special mission. She says her living room needs updating and it’s time to—well—replace the upholstered furniture.” He cleared his throat. “All of it.”
“All of it?” Ksenia snapped her laptop shut. “She’s got a three‑seat sofa, two armchairs and an ottoman. That’s a fortune!”
“I know, I know!” Vitalya threw up his hands. “But she’s already told everyone her son is giving her the set. She’s even found one in ‘Furniture Paradise’ for 150,000 rubles, and that’s just the sofa and one armchair. Another armchair and the ottoman have to be picked out separately.”
Ksenia set her cup down slowly and folded her arms.
“And what did you say to her?”
“Well… I told her we’d think about it,” Vitalya admitted.
“ ‘We’?” Ksenia arched an eyebrow. “Since when does my opinion count in your conversations with your mother?”
Vitalya shifted uneasily.
“Ksyusha, I’ve got fifty thousand saved up, but that’s not enough.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Could you put in the rest? You got that bonus… and you have some savings…”
Ksenia stared at him as if he’d gone mad.
“You want me to hand over a hundred thousand rubles to a woman who hasn’t called me by name once in three years of marriage? Who introduces me to her friends as ‘that girl’ and your ‘temporary fling’?”
“She’s just joking,” he muttered. “Besides, it’s not for her personally—it’s a gift…”
“Vitaly!” Ksenia leaned forward. “Last month at her dinner table she asked you—right in front of me—whether it wasn’t time to find a ‘proper wife who can give you an heir.’ Remember?”
“She was joking…”
“A week ago she called to say she’d seen me in a café with a colleague and that I, quote, ‘behaved like a street girl.’ Another joke?”
“Ksyusha, that’s all trivial—” Vitalya began pacing. “What matters is I’ve already promised! I gave my word!”
“You gave your word with your money, not mine,” Ksenia shot back. “You have fifty thousand? Buy her something within that limit.”
“Ksyusha!” His voice took on a begging note. “You don’t understand. She’s already ordered the catalog, picked the model, the fabric color— I can’t let her down!”
“But you can let me down?” Ksenia rose too. “For three years I’ve put up with her contempt without a word. Enough. I’m not giving a single kopeck toward a gift for someone who doesn’t respect me.”
“That’s selfish—plain female selfishness! I always congratulate your mother, by the way.”
“My mom doesn’t demand expensive presents and she never calls you ‘that man.’ She doesn’t ask for anything at all. In fact, my parents gave us a seaside vacation last time we visited.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Vitalya hissed. “But this is different. I need the money, Ksyusha! I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“No.” She grabbed her laptop and headed to the living room. “You want it—handle it. I’m out.”
“Is that how it is? Fine! I’ll find a way!”
“Threatening me?” She glanced back from the doorway. “Great. So your mom’s sofa means more than respecting your wife. Wonderful.”
The next morning
Tense silence. Vitalya sat at the kitchen table glued to his phone; Ksenia made breakfast without meeting his eyes.
“Ksyusha, can we talk this over again?” he ventured as she set down his plate of eggs. “I thought all night—we need a compromise.”
“What compromise? You promised your mother a gift you can’t afford. Your problem, not mine.”
“But we’re a family. Families solve problems together.”
“Exactly. Family. Is your mother part of our family? Has she ever treated me like family?”
Vitalya sighed, ready with another argument, when his phone rang. “Mom” flashed on the screen.
“Hi, Mom… What? Now? Okay, I’m waiting.”
He hung up, looking guilty.
“She’ll be here in half an hour—wants to show another catalog.”
“I’ll be working in the bedroom,” Ksenia said, collecting her cup. “Deadlines. No time for Svetlana Mikhailovna.”
“That’s rude—you’ll hide?”
“Rude is how she treats me. My absence is self‑defense.”
Exactly thirty minutes later the doorbell rang. Svetlana Mikhailovna swept in like royalty on inspection.
“Vitalik, darling!” She kissed both his cheeks, ignoring her shoes. “Catalogs—three stores, but the best is still ‘Furniture Paradise!’ ”
She laid glossy booklets on the kitchen table.
“And where’s… that one?” She waved vaguely. “Your…”
“Ksenia’s busy with work, Mom. Let’s look at what you found.”
“Work,” she echoed with sarcasm. “What could be more important than meeting your husband’s mother? Never mind. Look—this set is perfect!”
She jabbed a photo of a lavish sofa and two matching chairs.
“Mom, it’s… pricey,” Vitalya ventured.
“ ‘Pricey’?” She frowned. “I’m hardly asking much from my only son. At your age your father had already given me an apartment! Don’t look at the price—take it in installments.”
“But 190,000…”
“And? You and that… wife of yours have two salaries. Can’t you spoil your mother once a year?”
The bedroom door opened; Ksenia entered, got water from the fridge, and said without looking up, “Hello, Svetlana Mikhailovna.”
“There you are!” The older woman gave her a once‑over. “Care to join us? Family business.”
“Thanks, but I’m not involved in choosing the gift,” Ksenia replied calmly. “That’s Vitaly’s affair.”
“How can you not be involved—you’re his wife!”
“Exactly,” Ksenia met her gaze. “His wife, not your ATM.”
“Ksyusha!” Vitalya gasped.
“Truth, dear,” she said, and walked out.
Svetlana Mikhailovna sighed theatrically. “See how she speaks to her husband’s mother? Vitalik, this won’t do. Explain to your… I can’t even call her that… wife that family values are sacred.”
“Yes, Mom,” he muttered, doubt flickering in his eyes.
After she left, oppression settled over the apartment. Gathering his courage, Vitalya knocked on the bedroom door.
“You’ve put me in an awkward spot with Mom,” he began.
“With the facts,” Ksenia corrected. “She disrespects me, and you let her.”
“She doesn’t despise you—you just see life differently.”
Ksenia laughed without mirth. “Calling me ‘temporary,’ insulting my looks, work, family—that’s a different outlook? Your mother hates me and wants our marriage destroyed.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m done. Buy her the sofa yourself—but not with my money.”
“Where will I get 140,000? I only have fifty!”
“Your problem. Buy something cheaper, borrow from friends, take a loan.”
“A loan…” He paused. “Actually, that’s an idea.”
The next day
Vitalya came home triumphant: he’d taken out a 200,000‑ruble consumer loan. Ksenia listened silently, then said:
“Hope you realize you’ll repay it alone. We now have separate finances.”
“But we’re a family—our budget is joint.”
“No, Vitaly. You took that loan without my consent; you shoulder it.”
One week later – the birthday
Ksenia decided attending would cause fewer waves. She brought a modest but lovely bouquet. The apartment teemed with guests bearing lavish gifts. Vitalya proudly handed over a certificate for the new furniture. Svetlana Mikhailovna beamed.
“That’s my son—he knows how to make his mother happy!”
When Ksenia’s turn came, she offered the flowers. Svetlana picked them up as if they were something distasteful.
“That’s all? No real gift?”
“The flowers are my gift,” Ksenia answered evenly.
“How sweet,” Svetlana sneered. “A real daughter‑in‑law brings gold, not roadside weeds.”
Some guests tried a joke, but the hostess pressed on: “See what luck I have? My son buys furniture; she brings a bouquet. And who’s family here?”
Vitalya stared at the carpet in silence. Ice solidified inside Ksenia. The marriage was over—not because of his mother or the loan, but because of his cowardice.
Back home
Taxi silence. City lights streaked by; Ksenia’s decision crystallized.
Next morning, after Vitalya left, she phoned a lawyer. In under an hour she learned everything about divorce and asset division.
“The loan’s solely in his name?”
“Yes—he signed alone.”
“Good. If you prove the money was a gift to a third party without your consent, the debt stays his.”
She moved her savings, copied documents, photographed valuables. Vitalya, drowning in loan payments, noticed nothing.
Three weeks later she served dinner, wine—then:
“I’m filing for divorce.”
He leapt up. “You’re serious?”
