Margarita rushed into the apartment, barely able to catch her breath. Three years of marriage had taught her plenty, but she still could not understand how her husband managed to turn every ordinary situation into a full-blown circus.
Stanislav stood in the middle of the hallway with his arms folded across his chest, staring at her as though she had just committed an act of treason.
“Why haven’t you cooked anything? The guests will be here soon!” he demanded, his voice ringing with outrage.
Margarita slowly took off her coat and hung it on the hook.
One thought flashed through her mind: her husband’s former lover, now married to his friend, would be arriving in half an hour. And Margarita, his lawful wife, was apparently expected to prepare a feast for her.
The irony was almost impressive.
“Slava, did you buy the groceries?” she asked evenly.
“What groceries? You were supposed to cook! I told you we were having people over!”
“Yes, you told me. And I asked you to stop by the store. Remember?”
Stanislav shrugged irritably.
“I had things to do.”
“What things?”
Margarita walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door with a theatrical sweep of her hand.
“Take a good look. Your important business has left us with half a zucchini and a piece of dried-out cheese.”
“Are you making fun of me? People will be here in twenty minutes, and we have nothing to serve!”
“What an astonishing observation. Sherlock Holmes in house slippers.”
Stanislav’s face turned crimson.
He hated it when she spoke like that—calmly, with that faint note of mockery in her voice. As though he were not her husband, but a badly behaved child who had been caught causing trouble.
“You did this on purpose!” he burst out. “You didn’t want to cook because Katya is coming!”
“Oh, there it is. We’ve finally reached the real issue. Katya. Your ex-girlfriend, whom you so thoughtfully invited into our home.”
“She’s Dima’s wife now! There’s nothing strange about it.”
“What’s normal is a husband buying groceries when his wife is running late. What isn’t normal is standing in the hallway yelling at her instead of using his brain.”
“What gives you the right to speak to me like that?”
Margarita leaned against the wall and looked at him with genuine curiosity.
“What am I allowing myself to do? Refuse to dance to your tune? I know, it must feel unfamiliar. Go on. It’s your turn to say something insulting.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Stanislav froze.
Margarita glanced at the clock.
“Oh, look. Your precious guests are early. Go open the door, man of the house.”
Stanislav hurried to the entrance and pulled the door open, forcing a welcoming smile onto his face.
Dmitry and Katya stood outside.
Katya looked flawless: elegant dress, perfect hair, polished smile. Margarita noticed the way her husband immediately straightened his shoulders.
“Come in, come in!” Stanislav said quickly.
“We’re a little early. Sorry,” Dmitry said, handing him a bottle of wine. “We managed to avoid the traffic.”
“No problem at all. It’s great that you’re here.”
Katya stepped into the hallway and slowly looked around the apartment.
Margarita recognized that look immediately—assessing, faintly condescending. It was as though Katya were imagining herself inside those walls and deciding whether the place would have suited her.
“What’s that smell?” Katya asked. “Or rather, why doesn’t it smell like anything?”
An awkward silence fell over the hallway.
Stanislav opened his mouth, but Margarita answered first.
“That’s the smell of honesty, Katya. A rare fragrance these days.”
“Rita, stop it,” Stanislav said through clenched teeth. “We’re just a little behind with dinner.”
“We?”
Margarita raised an eyebrow.
“That’s an interesting way to put it. Slava, why don’t you tell our guests why ‘we’ are behind?”
“That’s enough!” he snapped. “Not in front of other people.”
“Then when? You’ve spent three days sitting on the sofa while I work enough for two people, and somehow I’m still expected to organize dinner parties for your friends?”
Dmitry and Katya exchanged a glance.
The tension in the hallway was becoming impossible to ignore.
“Slava, you told me everything was under control,” Dmitry said cautiously.
“It was under control!” Stanislav exploded. “If she had just done what she was supposed to do—”
“What I’m supposed to do?”
Margarita laughed.
“Slava, can you hear yourself? You’re talking about my duties as though I’m your servant. I have a job. Meanwhile, you work half-time and wait for the entire world to fall at your feet.”
“My hours were cut! You know that perfectly well!”
“I do. And I’ve spent six months waiting for you to do something about it. Anything. Find temporary work. Send out applications. Update your résumé. But no. It’s easier to invite your friends over and complain about how unfair life is.”
Katya shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Maybe we should come back another time.”
“No, no, stay!” Stanislav said, suddenly pulling out his phone. “I’ll order food. From a restaurant. Everything will be fine.”
Something clicked inside Margarita.
“Which restaurant, Slava? And with what money?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is my business, because you’re about to use the credit card. The same credit card we agreed not to touch.”
“Just shut up already!”
Dmitry lifted a hand.
“Guys, stop. Let’s not turn this into a disaster. I’ll order pizza. I have cash. We’ll sort it out.”
“No!” Stanislav said, already tapping furiously at the screen. “I’ll order proper food. The way it should be. Dima, Katya, go sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”
Margarita watched her husband frantically scroll through the menu.
Shame was driving him now.
Not concern for his guests. Not a desire to calm the situation. Shame in front of his ex-girlfriend. Shame in front of Katya, who was watching him with mild confusion.
“Slava,” Margarita said quietly. “Don’t.”
“I said I’ll handle it!”
Forty minutes later, a courier arrived carrying three large bags of restaurant food.
Stanislav paid by card, and Margarita saw his throat move as he swallowed.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the debt would have to be repaid. But he could not bring himself to stop.
The evening passed in painful tension.
Katya pushed pieces of salad around her plate. Dmitry tried to lighten the mood with jokes. Stanislav drank wine and avoided looking at his wife.
Margarita barely ate. Every bite seemed to stick in her throat.
When the guests finally left, she slowly closed the door behind them.
“Well?” Stanislav dropped heavily onto the sofa. “Are you satisfied now? You put on quite a show.”
“I put on a show?”
Margarita sat down opposite him.
“Slava, let’s be honest. You used the credit card. How much did you spend?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is. In a week, I have to pay the rent. Tomorrow I need to buy household supplies while they’re discounted. And I have to pay half the utility bills. Your half, by the way.”
Stanislav turned his face away.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“How? How exactly are you going to figure it out? You’ve been saying that for three months, and nothing has changed.”
“Stop nagging me!”
“I’m not nagging you. I’m stating facts. You’re not working full-time. You aren’t looking for extra work. You refuse to save money. But you invite guests and order expensive food on credit. I’m not the one creating a spectacle. You’re the one living in some imaginary world.”
Stanislav jumped to his feet.
“Oh, go to hell!”
He stopped immediately, but the words had already been spoken.
Margarita did not flinch.
“Fine. At least now we understand each other. You know what, Slava? I’ve been patient. I’ve been patient for a very long time. I kept telling myself these were temporary difficulties and that we would get through them. But you don’t want to change anything. You’re comfortable like this—sitting around, waiting, pushing responsibility onto everyone else.”
“I’m not pushing responsibility onto anyone!”
“Really? Who just yelled at me because I failed to cook a meal out of thin air? Who spent our last available money on restaurant food to impress Katya?”
“What does Katya have to do with this?”
“Everything. You spent the entire evening trying to impress her, just like in the good old days. Except now you’re married, Slava. To me. And instead of building a life with your wife, you waste money putting on a performance for your ex.”
Stanislav clenched his fists.
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“Nonsense? All right. Then tell me why you refused to let Dima order pizza. He offered to pay. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You needed restaurant food. Beautiful packaging. Something that would make Katya believe you were successful.”
“Be quiet!”
“No. Tonight, I’m going to speak, and you’re going to listen.”
Margarita stood and walked over to the window, staring into the darkness outside.
“Tomorrow, you will give me money for the household supplies. The day after tomorrow, you will pay your half of the utilities. And you will repay the credit card yourself. Not with my money.”
“And where am I supposed to get it?”
“I don’t know. Work as a courier. Clean streets. Walk dogs. I don’t care. But if you don’t do it, then we need to have a serious conversation about what is happening to our marriage.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m warning you.”
Stanislav opened his mouth, but Margarita raised her hand.
“Stop. If you say anything else right now, we’ll both regret it. You’ve already said enough. Go to your mother’s house. Spend the night there and think about your behavior.”
“To my mother’s? You’re throwing me out of my own home?”
“I’m asking you to cool down. We both need some distance. Otherwise, we’re going to destroy whatever is still possible to save.”
Stanislav grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the apartment.
Margarita sank onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands.
Three years.
For three years, she had believed he would change. She had believed the difficult period would end and they would eventually build a normal life together.
Her phone vibrated.
It was a message from Dmitry.
“Rita, I’m sorry about everything. I had no idea things were this bad between you two. If you need help, message me.”
She gave a bitter smile.
So that was how things stood: her husband’s friend could see more clearly than her own husband.
Stanislav returned two days later.
He was quiet and subdued. He brought the money, though he had borrowed it from his mother.
Margarita accepted the bills without saying a word.
“Rita,” he said, standing uncertainly in the doorway. “I understand now. I really do. I have a job interview tomorrow. Dima told me about an opening.”
“Good.”
“Will you forgive me?”
Margarita looked at him.
The young man she had once fallen in love with was still there somewhere. He had not disappeared completely.
But someone else had grown beside him—someone immature, cowardly, and convinced that every problem would eventually solve itself.
“I don’t know, Slava,” she said honestly. “I truly don’t know. We’ll see.”
He nodded and quietly walked into the room.
Something between them had cracked.
It had not shattered completely, but the fracture remained.
Only time would reveal whether it could heal—or whether it would continue to widen until it became an unbridgeable divide.