Irina stood by the kitchen window, watching the janitor rake up the last of the yellow leaves. October was always a special month — her birthday fell in the middle of the month, and for a long time, she had dreamed of celebrating it properly. For the first time in seven years, they had the chance.
“Mish, what if we finally throw a proper party?” she asked her husband, who was reading the news on his tablet at the kitchen table. “We paid off the mortgage, so now we can actually afford it.”
Mikhail looked up from the screen. A shadow of worry flashed in his eyes.
“What kind of party do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve already thought it all through,” Irina turned to him, her face lighting up. “We’ll rent a boat for the evening, invite my friends, set the table nicely. Imagine how great it’ll be — Moscow River, city lights…”
“How much will that cost?” Mikhail interrupted.
“Not that much,” Irina hesitated. “Maybe one hundred and fifty, two hundred thousand rubles. But it’ll be unforgettable.”
Mikhail put down the tablet and rubbed the bridge of his nose — a gesture Irina knew well. He always did this before saying something unpleasant.
“Ir, you remember mom’s anniversary is in November? She’s turning seventy. If we spend all the money on your party now, what will we give her? And how will we celebrate?”
Irina felt something tighten inside. Always like this. There was always something more important than her wishes.
“Misha, but I’m turning thirty-five too. That’s an anniversary as well, by the way.”
“Of course, dear, but mom… she’s your mom. And she’s a different age. Maybe we should postpone your party until next year?”
“Until next year?” Irina’s voice rose. “And what if next year there’s also a reason to postpone? Your father’s birthday or something else urgent?”
“Don’t dramatize. We just need to set priorities.”
“Yeah, I see what our priorities are,” Irina snapped, turning back to the window. “For seven years we’ve been saving for the apartment, seven years I’ve given up everything. And now, when we can finally afford it, we have to wait again.”
“Ira, be reasonable…”
“Reasonable?” She turned around, and Mikhail saw her eyes shining with tears. “When can I be unreasonable? When can I want something for myself?”
The following days passed in tense silence. Irina pretended to have forgotten the conversation, but Mikhail saw her browsing websites with boat rentals and restaurants. He saw her texting friends, then suddenly closing the phone when he approached.
On Wednesday, Elena Nikolaevna, the mother-in-law, arrived. She appeared suddenly, as always, with a bag of homemade pies and plans for the evening.
“Irochka, how are you?” she kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek. “Misha told me you want to celebrate your birthday. That’s good, of course, but you understand…”
“What do I understand, Elena Nikolaevna?”
“Well, I have a serious anniversary this year. I’m already seventy, can you imagine? Relatives and colleagues will come… We need to celebrate properly. And you’re still young, you have many birthdays ahead!”
Irina slowly put down her cup on the table.
“So, my birthday can wait?”
“Well, not exactly wait… Maybe just celebrate more modestly? At some café with friends. And better to save money for my anniversary.”
“I see,” Irina said quietly.
Mikhail sat nearby, silent. Just silent, staring at his plate.
In the evening, after the mother-in-law left, Irina locked herself in the bedroom. Mikhail heard her talking on the phone but couldn’t make out the words. When he knocked, she said she was tired and wanted to sleep.
In the morning, he woke up alone. On the kitchen table was a note: “Flew to Turkey with Katya for the weekend. Don’t worry.”
Mikhail read the note several times, confused. Turkey? What weekend? They hadn’t planned any trips.
He tried calling his wife, but the phone was unavailable. He messaged her, but the messages didn’t go through.
The weekend dragged painfully long. Mikhail was restless, calling Katya’s mother to find out what happened. It turned out the girls had really flown to Antalya, buying a last-minute tour.
“Don’t worry, Mikhail Andreevich,” Katya’s mother reassured him. “The girls need to rest. You had some family problems going on…”
On Sunday evening, Irina returned, tanned, rested, and surprisingly calm. Mikhail met her at the airport with a bouquet of flowers and a bunch of questions.
“How could you just take off and fly away? I was worried!”
“I told you,” Irina replied calmly, pulling gifts from her bag. “Here, I brought you a T-shirt.”
At home, she started showing photos: the sea, palm trees, her and Katya in beautiful dresses against the sunset.
“We stayed at a five-star hotel,” she said, scrolling through pictures on her phone. “Spa, massage, restaurants… You know how long it’s been since I felt this happy?”
“How much did it cost?” Mikhail asked cautiously.
Irina pulled out the credit card statement and handed it to him.
“You wanted to save money on my birthday to celebrate mom’s. I hope now you’re satisfied,” she said, giving him the bill.
Mikhail stared at the numbers, unable to believe his eyes. Two hundred and fifty thousand rubles for three days.
“Ira, have you gone mad? Where do we have that kind of money?”
“Credit card,” she shrugged. “Big limit, no problem.”
“No problem?” Mikhail felt a chill run down his spine. “Ira, I already paid a deposit for mom’s restaurant, ordered flowers, invited the toastmaster… And now I have to pay off your debt too!”
“My debt?” Irina raised her voice for the first time that evening. “It’s our joint debt. Or do I not have the right to spend our money?”
“You do, but you should have consulted me!”
“How did you consult me when you decided that mom’s anniversary is more important than my birthday?”
Mikhail sat on the couch and held his head.
“Ira, how are we going to pay off the credit?”
“How did we pay off the mortgage for seven years?” his wife sat next to him. “We’ll find a way. But now you understand that I’m a living person with needs too.”
“But two hundred and fifty thousand…”
“Mish,” Irina’s voice softened, “I didn’t want to punish you. I just… I’m tired of always being second. Tired that my wishes can be postponed, and others’ can’t.”
Mikhail looked up at her. There was no challenge or aggression in her face. Only fatigue and some vulnerability.
“For seven years we saved for the apartment,” Irina continued. “I gave up vacations, nice clothes, meeting friends. And never complained, because I understood it was important for us. And when there was finally a chance to treat myself, it turned out we could postpone it. That there were more important things.”
“But mom…”
“Your mom lived seventy years and celebrates her birthday every year. And me? When was the last time I celebrated my birthday the way I wanted?”
Mikhail thought. Indeed, in recent years, Irina’s birthdays had been modest: dinner at home, a small gift, sometimes a café visit with friends. She never complained, took everything as it was.
“I didn’t think,” he admitted.
“You didn’t think because you’re used to me understanding and agreeing with everything. But I want to be spoiled sometimes too, want my wishes to matter. I’m tired of just being convenient.”
A week later was Elena Nikolaevna’s anniversary. The restaurant was decorated with flowers; relatives and friends gathered. Irina came in a new dress from Turkey, tanned and beautiful.
Elena Nikolaevna approached her during the banquet.
“Irochka, Misha told me about your trip. It didn’t look very good, did it?”
“What exactly didn’t look good, Elena Nikolaevna?”
“Well, spending that kind of money… And flying off without asking…”
“Mom,” Mikhail interrupted, coming up with glasses, “no need. Ira had every right to rest.”
“But the money…”
“We’ll earn the money. But my wife’s trust is more valuable to me than any money,” Mikhail said firmly.
Elena Nikolaevna looked surprised at her son.
“But I didn’t want…”
“Mom, I understand. We’re family, and in a family all wishes are equally important.”
Irina took her husband’s arm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I’m the one who should thank you,” Mikhail replied. “For opening my eyes.”
That evening, when they returned home, Mikhail took out his laptop and started looking something up online.
“What are you doing?” Irina asked.
“Looking for where to rent a boat next year. For your birthday. A real, beautiful one with panoramic windows.”
“But we have a credit…”
“If we book early, it’ll be much cheaper. And we’ll save a little at a time. By next October, you’ll have the best birthday ever.”
Irina hugged her husband from behind, burying her face in his shoulder.
“You know, the boat isn’t that important to me anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because now I know my wishes matter to you. And that’s worth more than any party.”
Mikhail turned to her.
“Forgive me for not understanding this sooner.”
“The important thing is you understand,” Irina smiled. “Better late than never.”
The next day they made a plan to pay off the credit together and started saving for future celebrations — her birthdays and his, their anniversaries, and spontaneous joys. Because they realized the main thing: happiness cannot be postponed; it must be created every day, respecting each other’s wishes.
And the credit card statement that caused their first serious quarrel in years now lay in the family archive — a reminder that in a family there are no important or unimportant wishes. There are only loving people learning to listen to each other.