Roma, what did you do to my dresser?” Vika froze in the bedroom doorway, unable to believe her eyes. The old mahogany dresser, inherited from her great-grandmother, was gone, replaced by some modern minimalist cabinet.
“That?!” Roma didn’t even look up from his phone, sprawled out on the bed. “Threw out your junk. Ordered proper furniture. How do you like it?”
Holding back the emotions bursting inside her, Vika replied,
“That was Grandma’s dresser. An antique. How could you throw it away without asking me?”
“Oh, come on,” Roma finally looked up, “it was some old junk. It looks way better now, doesn’t it?”
Vika silently turned and left the room. This wasn’t the first time Roma had taken it upon himself to rearrange her things without asking. In six months of marriage, it seemed like he’d decided he had full right to reshape her life and her apartment to suit himself.
And it had started out so well. They met at a mutual friends’ party, and Roma charmed her with his wit, charm, and attention. Beautiful courtship, romantic dates, bouquets for no reason. After six months, he proposed, and Vika, uplifted by love, agreed. The wedding was modest but beautiful. Vika’s parents gave them a decent sum to set up their home, though housing wasn’t an issue — Vika owned a two-room apartment in a good neighborhood, gifted by her parents for her 25th birthday.
The first month of marriage seemed perfect. Roma was attentive, helped around the house, and asked for her opinion on everything. But gradually something began to change. First, he moved the coffee table in the living room, saying it was more convenient for watching TV. Then he shifted the sofa. Then he replaced all the light fixtures she had carefully chosen with new ones with motion sensors.
“Do you mind if I invite some guys over tonight?” Roma came into the kitchen where Vika was brewing tea, still upset about the dresser.
“What guys?” she looked up at him.
“Well, Seryoga, Dimon, Lyokha. Haven’t seen them in a while. Want to have some beer and play on the console.”
“Tonight?” Vika frowned. “I have a presentation at work tomorrow. I need to prepare and get some sleep.”
“Oh, come on,” Roma hugged her shoulders. “We’ll be quiet.”
“The last time your ‘quiet’ ended at 3 a.m.,” Vika reminded him. “Maybe another day?”
“Vik, why are you acting like a child?” Roma waved her off impatiently. “I already invited them. They’ll be here soon. You can sit in the bedroom with your presentations if we’re bothering you.”
Without waiting for an answer, he left the kitchen, leaving Vika alone with the boiling kettle and boiling emotions. She took a deep breath. Give in again? Stay silent again for the sake of peace? But how much longer?
The doorbell rang half an hour later. Vika heard Roma greeting his friends, their loud hellos, slaps on the back. Soon the apartment filled with men’s voices, laughter, and the smell of pizza.
Vika tried to focus on work in the bedroom, but the noise from the living room grew louder. Music, shouting, bottles clinking. When the smell of cigarette smoke reached her, she couldn’t stand it anymore and came out of the room.
Chaos reigned in the living room. Five men, including Roma, sat around the coffee table covered with beer bottles and shawarma in bags, along with some greasy food. Two were smoking right in the room, flicking ash into an improvised ashtray made from a beer can.
“Guys, please don’t smoke inside,” Vika tried to speak calmly. “If you want to smoke, go out on the balcony.”
“Oh, the lady of the house has arrived!” one of Roma’s friends, Seryoga, laughed. “Roma, your better half is unhappy.”
“Vik, don’t bother us, okay?” Roma didn’t even turn to her. “Go to your room, we’re relaxing here.”
“In my apartment, by the way,” Vika felt anger rising inside. “And I’m asking you not to smoke here.”
“Oh, come on,” Roma finally turned, irritation clear in his eyes. “Who do you think you’re bossing around? Guys, don’t mind her. Go smoke on the balcony if she wants.”
Vika stood, feeling her face flush. Roma had never spoken to her in that tone before, especially in front of others. Something inside her broke, but she silently turned and went back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
She couldn’t concentrate on work. The words on her laptop screen blurred, and from the living room came bursts of laughter and loud shouting. She tried putting on headphones, but even music couldn’t drown out the noise. When the clock showed eleven p.m., and the party showed no signs of stopping, Vika decided she’d had enough.
She came out of the bedroom and froze in the living room doorway. The room was filled with cigarette smoke despite her request. Empty bottles lay on the floor; pizza boxes were on the sofa. Someone spilled beer on the carpet, but no one even tried to wipe the puddle.
“Guys, it’s late,” Vika tried to speak firmly but calmly. “I have to get up early tomorrow, and I’d like you to wrap up the party.”
Roma, flushed from alcohol, looked at her with clear irritation.
“Vik, why are you ruining the evening? We’re just getting warmed up.”
“I asked you beforehand,” Vika reminded him. “I have an important presentation tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on,” Seryoga intervened, “the night is just starting! Join us, relax.”
“I don’t want to relax; I want to get enough sleep before work,” Vika felt her patience thinning. “And I ask you to respect my wishes in my apartment.”
“Our apartment,” Roma corrected her, and something in his tone made Vika tense. “I live here too, if you forgot.”
“I remember very well that you live here,” Vika replied. “But that doesn’t mean you can throw parties until morning when I ask you not to.”
“Don’t tell me what to do in my house,” Roma stood up, swaying. “I have the right to invite friends whenever I want.”
Vika felt everything inside turn cold. She slowly stepped closer.
“In your house?” she quietly asked. “Since when is this your house?”
“Since we got married,” Roma shrugged. “Everything is shared, remember?”
“The apartment belongs to me,” Vika crossed her arms. “Legally — only to me. You live here because I’m your wife, but that doesn’t give you the right to act like you own the place.”
The room fell silent. Roma’s friends exchanged looks, clearly feeling awkward.
“Wow,” Lyokha said, “looks like it’s time for us to go.”
“Stay,” Roma cut him off, not taking his eyes off Vika. “So that’s how you see it? Am I just a tenant to you?”
“No, you’re my husband,” Vika answered. “And I expected you to respect my requests and my personal space. Instead, you throw away my things, rearrange the apartment to suit yourself, and invite friends when I ask you not to.”
“That’s typical female logic,” Roma turned to his friends. “Gets married and then starts counting every penny and every square centimeter.”
“It’s not about money or space,” Vika objected. “It’s about respect. Which you don’t give me.”
“Do you show respect?” Roma raised his voice. “You embarrass me in front of friends like some squatter! Are we a family or what?”
“Family means considering each other’s opinions,” Vika also raised her voice. “Not one person doing whatever they want while the other silently endures!”
“You just want to control everything!” Roma slammed his fist on the table, making bottles jump. “Yours, mine… what difference? We’re husband and wife!”
“Husband and wife are partners, not master and servant,” Vika shot back. “And yes, this apartment is mine. I have the right to ask you and your friends to behave decently here.”
“Listen,” Roma suddenly smirked, “if you care so much about your property, I’ll find a way to claim part of this apartment. By law, what’s acquired in marriage is shared.”
“This apartment was mine before the marriage,” Vika shook her head. “And you won’t get anything.”
“We’ll see,” Roma stepped closer, looming over her. “I’ve been living here for six months, investing in repairs and furniture. Think the court won’t consider that?”
Vika felt anger boil inside. She didn’t recognize the man before her — the one who had sworn love and loyalty just six months ago.
“Are you threatening me?” she asked, looking straight into his eyes.
“I’m just explaining how things are,” Roma crossed his arms. “So don’t set conditions for me here.”
Roma’s friends started shifting uncomfortably. Dimon got up from the sofa.
“Listen, Rom, maybe we really should go? It’s late…”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Roma cut him off without looking. “We’re not done with the party.”
Vika looked at her husband, feeling something inside finally break. This wasn’t the man she married. Or maybe she just hadn’t seen the real him until now?
“Enough with this circus!” Roma raised his voice at Vika but looked meaningfully at his friends. “I won’t let my wife boss me around in my own house!”
Vika felt a wave of anger rising. Six months she had tolerated, given in, kept silent for family peace. Six months watching Roma take more and more space — not just physically, in her apartment, but emotionally. And now he was humiliating her in front of his friends.
“Repeat what you just said,” her voice unusually low and calm.
“What you heard,” Roma dramatically spread his hands. “I won’t let you boss me around in my house.”
Vika slowly exhaled, as if trying to release the accumulated irritation with the air.
“Where did you get the idea that you’re the owner here? You live here on borrowed time only because I let you! So you can be out of here in a moment!”
Roma paled, then his face twisted with rage.
“Ah, you…” He didn’t finish the sentence and took a sharp step toward Vika, looming over her.
“Hey, Rom, take it easy,” Seryoga stepped between them, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s calm down.”
“Back off!” Roma snapped, shaking off his hand. “She’s humiliating me in front of you! My own wife!”
“You’re the one humiliating me,” Vika didn’t back down. “You turned my home into a den, throw away my things, boss me around!”
“I’m your husband, not some tenant!” Roma punched the wall. “Everything that’s yours is legally mine too!”
“No,” Vika shook her head. “Not by law. This apartment was mine before the marriage and will remain mine after.”
“After?” Roma sneered angrily. “Are you planning to divorce over some drinking party?”
“Imagine that,” Vika crossed her arms. “Because of your attitude. When we married, I thought we’d be a normal family. But you decided to be the boss.”
Roma took another step forward, now they were almost face to face. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Remember, dear,” he hissed through his teeth, “I’m the boss here, and I’m not going anywhere. And if you think you can kick me out, you’re very wrong. I’m registered here.”
“No,” Vika smiled. “You’re not registered. Remember, you kept postponing the trip to the registry office? We never went.”
Roma’s face tightened. He clearly didn’t expect that twist.
“You… You deliberately delayed the registration?” he spat out.
“No, you delayed it,” Vika shrugged. “I suggested it several times, but you always had more important things to do. Turns out, that was for the best.”
Roma looked at his friends, as if seeking their support.
“Did you hear that? She planned everything!”
“I didn’t plan anything,” Vika sighed wearily. “I just see now how lucky I am that we didn’t register you.”
“Enough,” Dimon stood up from the sofa. “Rom, let’s get out of here, it’s time.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Roma grabbed a beer bottle. “This is my house, and I’m staying here!”
“This is my house,” Vika said firmly. “And I want all of you to leave. Right now.”
“You can’t kick me out!” Roma almost shouted. “I’m your husband!”
“I can,” Vika took out her phone. “And if you don’t leave peacefully, I’ll call security. Our building has great security, they’ll come quickly.”
“You’re bluffing,” Roma nervously smiled. “You won’t dare.”
Vika silently dialed a number and put the phone to her ear.
“Good evening, this is apartment 47,” she said calmly. “I have a problem with unwanted guests. Could you please come up?”
She put down the phone and looked at Roma.
“You have five minutes to pack and leave.”
Roma’s friends exchanged looks and started getting up from the sofa.
“Come on, Rom,” Seryoga tugged his sleeve. “No point in making it worse.”
“Don’t you understand?” Roma shrugged off his friend’s hand. “She’s kicking me out of my own house!”
“This is not your house,” Vika repeated tiredly. “It never was and never will be. Leave, Roma. We’ll talk tomorrow when you sober up.”
Roma looked at her, a strange mix of rage, surprise, and fear in his eyes.
“You’ll regret this,” he finally spat out. “I promise, you’ll regret it.”
“Maybe,” Vika remained firm. “But now leave.”
As the door closed behind Roma and his friends, Vika immediately dialed a number.
“Hello, Kostya? Sorry for the late call. I urgently need to change the locks. Yes, right now. It’s really urgent.”
The locksmith, whom Vika knew from work at the real estate agency, arrived in forty minutes. During that time, she managed to gather Roma’s scattered belongings into large bags.
“Complicated situation?” Kostya asked while changing the locks.
“Ex-husband,” Vika answered briefly. “Or soon to be.”
Kostya nodded understandingly and worked silently.
When he finished, he handed her a bunch of new keys:
“All done. Now only with your permission.”
“Thank you, Kostya. You really helped me out.”
After the locksmith left, Vika sat in her favorite chair and, for the first time that evening, allowed herself to relax. The apartment was unusually quiet. She took out her phone — ten missed calls from Roma. Several messages:
“Open the door!” “You can’t do this to me!” “This is my house too!” “I’ll call the police!”
Vika smiled and blocked his number. In the morning, first thing, she would file for divorce.
The doorbell rang around six a.m. Vika, who had not slept, approached the door.
“Vika, open up!” Roma’s voice was hoarse. “I know you’re home!”
“Go away, Roma,” she answered calmly. “You have nothing to do here anymore.”
“This is my house!” he started banging on the door. “Open up immediately!”
“No, it’s not your house. It never was. I’ll pack your things and leave them with the concierge. Pick them up by evening.”
“You can’t treat me like this!” His voice had hysterical notes. “We’re family!”
“We were family,” Vika corrected him. “Until you showed your true face. Now leave before I call security.”
“Go to hell!” Roma shouted. “Think you’re the smartest? I’ll make your life miserable! You’ll regret this!”
Vika silently stepped away from the door and called security. Within five minutes, Roma’s yelling stopped — they escorted him out of the building.
She looked out the window and saw him staggering across the yard. He stopped, turned around, looked up at the windows. Vika stepped back into the shadows — she didn’t want him to see her.
Later, packing his things, she felt no regret or sadness. Six months of marriage had taught her one thing: sometimes it’s better to stop in time than to continue down the wrong path.
She methodically folded his clothes, books, and small things. Everything that reminded her of their life together fit into four large bags. As if those six months never happened.
By evening, the concierge called and said Roma had picked up his things. He didn’t make a scene, just quietly took the bags and left.
Vika sat in her favorite chair — the very one Roma wanted to throw out, calling it old junk. She poured herself a glass of wine. Outside, it was getting dark, and the city lights gradually lit up, creating a cozy atmosphere.
She took out her phone and sent a message to her parents: “I’m filing for divorce. I’ll tell you when we meet. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”
Setting the phone aside, Vika looked out the window. Somewhere out there, in this huge city, awaited a new life. Without Roma, without his claims of dominance, without constantly having to defend her boundaries. She smiled and took a sip of wine. Sometimes an ending is just a new beginning…