— Ninul, another croissant? — Kirill slid a plate with golden pastries toward her, the aroma filling the cozy kitchen with a feeling of home warmth. His voice was soft, almost tender, as if he were offering not just food, but a piece of his care.
— No, thank you, dear, — Nina smiled gently, taking a sip of her coffee. Her fingers wrapped around the cup as if seeking support. — We’re saving money, remember?
— You’re right, — Kirill nodded, carefully stirring sugar into his cup. — We need to tighten the belt a bit more. This project will take off soon, and we can pay off the mortgage. Then we’ll buy a house. With a big terrace, just like you dreamed. Can you imagine?
Nina imagined it. A spacious veranda with blooming geraniums, climbing plants, wooden chairs, and morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. A world where she could be herself, without counting every last penny, without sacrifices for someone else’s goals. She believed in this vision as one believes in love: without proof, without guarantees, but with all her heart.
And Nina was a convenient wife. Not because she wanted to be, but because she had once decided that this is what a family should look like. She had left a promising job, which, though time-consuming, she really enjoyed. She had a good salary, interesting projects, and career plans then. But Kirill gently yet insistently convinced her to quit.
— Ninul, why do you need that stress, business trips, those endless overtime hours, and nervous clients? — he said, hugging her shoulders after another hard day. — You’re a woman; you should be rested and happy.
— But it’s a good job, Kirill. Stable, — she tried to argue, though she already felt his confidence pressing on her like a cozy blanket that at some point starts to suffocate.
— Look, I found the perfect option, — he showed her a printout from a job site. — Secretary at the gymnasium. Think about it! The salary counts as experience, you’ll get home by three, no stress, weekends off, long summer vacations! You’ll be building our nest, creating comfort. And I’ll take care of the money part, don’t worry.
His words were wrapped in care, but inside was the certainty that he knew better. And Nina agreed. After all, it did sound like care. She worked as a secretary for a tiny salary that almost entirely went to utilities. She counted every kopek, denying herself new lipstick and hairdresser visits for their “common goal.”
She even agreed not to have children yet, though she had long wanted to be a mother. She didn’t know that her maternal warmth would be poured into emptiness, that instead of a child, long nights full of anxiety and doubts would settle in the house, that instead of family happiness there would be only an illusion of peace.
Kirill managed all the finances.
— Don’t clutter your bright head with numbers, I control everything, — he said with a patronizing smile, as if they were discussing the weather outside, not the family budget.
And Nina agreed with relief. Because if he didn’t care, would he so confidently take everything upon himself?
The only person who looked at perfect Kirill without rose-colored glasses was his mother, Ella Borisovna. A sharp, practical woman with a keen gaze and a voice that could cut through even the thickest silence.
Once, when they were alone in the kitchen after a family dinner, her mother-in-law suddenly said:
— Nin, you’re a good girl, but painfully trusting.
— What do you mean? — the daughter-in-law tensed, not expecting such a turn.
— About life, daughter. About life. A man must be not only loved but understood. Especially when it comes to money. My late husband dreamed beautifully too, but in reality, he left nothing but debts.
Nina politely remained silent then. Her Kirill was not like that. He couldn’t repeat his father’s mistakes. He was too smart, too responsible. He loved her. Could she really be that naive?
She had no idea their “quiet river” had long ago turned into a murky whirlpool, at the bottom of which lay his betrayal.
Nina’s world cracked on the seams on the most ordinary Tuesday.
Kirill had left for another “urgent business trip,” and, of course, the kitchen sink got clogged. Dirty water stood in it, giving off a sour smell, as if even nature itself protested what was happening. The woman sighed sadly. She had asked her husband to check the pipes last week.
— Ninul, what plumber? I’ll fix it myself on the weekend, don’t waste money! — he had waved her off, as always, lightly and confidently.
His “weekend” never came.
Searching for any tool, Nina broke a nail on a latch and opened an old cabinet on the balcony. Dust and cold air came from it. Old skis, cans of dried paint, a deflated football — a graveyard of useless things.
Irritated, she pushed aside a box with his fishing gear and felt under it a stiff blue plastic folder.
Curiosity is a terrible force. She pulled it out and opened it.
The first document was a bank statement for a savings account she had never heard of. And the amount — four and a half million!
The air seemed to be knocked out of her lungs. Nina mentally subtracted from that sum the price of the winter boots she didn’t buy to “not make a hole in the budget.” Subtracted the cost of a good face cream she refused in favor of a cheap pharmacy one.
But that was not the worst.
With trembling fingers, she pulled out the next sheet. An apartment lease agreement in a prestigious city district.
And beneath it — a receipt for payment to a private kindergarten.
In the name of Artyom Kirillovich. Age — three years.
Ki-rill-ovich.
Her world didn’t just crack. It crumbled to dust.
Her legs gave way, and Nina sank onto the cold balcony floor. Papers slipped from her hands and scattered. She stared at them, and one thought hammered in her mind: this is what her saved money had been going toward.
While she bought chicken on sale, he paid for a private kindergarten. While she dyed her roots herself to save on the salon, he was building another life.
All their “we,” all their “plans,” all her faith — it was fuel for his real happiness. And she was… a functional addition.
The first impulse was to pack his things into garbage bags and throw them out the door. But then what? Without a proper job, without savings, with a mortgage that was also on her name. She felt cornered, stupid, deceived, and humiliated to the core.
And then she called her.
— Hello, — came the sharp voice on the line — her mother-in-law.
— Ella Borisovna… — Nina’s voice broke into a choked whisper. — He… Kirill… — she couldn’t put the words together, her throat constricted with a spasm. — The folder… There’s… a child…
An icy silence fell on the other end. Then a firm, steel voice sounded:
— Don’t touch anything. Sit and wait. I’m coming now.
Ella Borisovna entered the apartment like a mistress, kicked off her shoes in the hallway, and went to the kitchen. She saw Nina curled up like a ball on the cold balcony, and her usually stern face twitched for a second.
Near Nina, on the dusty concrete, lay sheets — evidence of someone else’s comfortable and happy life.
— Now, get up. There’s no need to sit on the floor, you’ll catch a cold, — her mother-in-law’s voice was even, without a hint of hysteria. She extended her hand to Nina. — Come on, I’ll put on the kettle.
Nina, staggering, got up and let herself be led to the kitchen. She sat at the table, hugging herself and staring blankly at the dirty dishes in the sink.
Ella Borisovna silently gathered the scattered papers from the balcony and laid them out on the kitchen table like a solitaire game. She put on her glasses.
The elderly woman’s face hardened like stone.
— So, the father’s genes won after all, — she quietly said, without taking her eyes off the lease agreement.
Nina lifted her tearful eyes to her.
— Ella Borisovna, I… I trusted him. I economized on myself, remember you gave me money for boots for my birthday? But I didn’t buy them, I put it aside… for the “common goal.” And he… he bought a crib for another bedroom!
— I remember, — her mother-in-law nodded briefly. — Now forget it. Tears won’t help. We’ll cry later. When it’s all over. Now we must act.
She took off her glasses and looked Nina straight in the eyes.
— He thinks you’re a house chicken who only knows how to cook borscht. He didn’t consider one thing: his mother is an accountant with forty years of experience. And I’ll teach you how to count. Got it?
Nina weakly nodded.
That evening, the naive, in-love girl inside her died. In her place was born a woman with a calculator in her head and ice in her heart.
A few months later, Nina sat in a courtroom, feeling the eyes of others on her. Her ex-husband, hunched, sat opposite with his lawyer. He threw angry, hunted looks at Nina, as if she were to blame for his downfall.
Nina’s lawyer methodically, point by point, dismantled the arguments of his defender. On the judge’s desk lay photos of receipts from jewelry stores, bank transfers to Oksana’s card, a bill from an expensive restaurant where Kirill had never been with Nina.
But the strongest blow was the expense table Nina had made at night. Next to each Kirill’s expense was a note: “– 1 pair of winter boots” “– 3 hairdresser visits” “– 1 massage course for a bad back”
The judge, an elderly woman with tired eyes, looked up and stared at Kirill for a long time. Then at Nina. In her gaze, Nina saw not just formal sympathy but genuine female understanding.
The court’s decision sounded like a sentence for Kirill’s old life and an anthem for Nina’s new life. Half of the money from the secret account, plus the apartment, with the obligation for him to pay 70% of the remaining mortgage as the party who hid income.
Kirill went pale. He looked at the judge, then at Nina, and in his eyes was not remorse but fierce, helpless rage. He felt sorry neither for the family nor for Nina. He felt sorry for the money.
Now his new, “real” family would have to tighten their belts. Now Oksana would have to economize, just like Nina once did for him.
Today, Nina lives in the same apartment. But it’s no longer a “cozy nest.” It’s her fortress. She returned to work at the very company where she once worked and confidently climbs the career ladder. In the mornings, she brews expensive, aromatic coffee and drinks it in blessed silence.
On weekends, Ella Borisovna visits. They cook lunch together, discuss Nina’s work projects and new gossip about the neighbors.
— I baked your favorite pie, with cabbage, — Ella Borisovna says, taking out the still-warm treat from her bag.
— Mom, why do you go to all this trouble? — Nina smiles, calling her that out of habit, like family. — Let me order pizza for us, and you rest.
—I’ll still be eating your pizza, — the former mother-in-law grumbles, but warm, happy sparks gleam in her eyes.
— Tell me, how’s your blood pressure? Are you taking the medicine I brought? — Nina asks Ella Borisovna with care.
— Of course, dear, all is under control! — she replies.
Nina looks out the window at the city that no longer frightens her. She understands: Kirill didn’t destroy her with his betrayal. He, unintentionally, made her remember who she really is.
And this victory — loud, honest, and absolutely real — was much sweeter than any fresh croissants.