When Alexey uttered those words, my world collapsed in an instant. All my dreams, plans, and hopes shattered like the glass I dropped in shock. The red stain on the floor looked like the blood of my broken heart. How could someone betray me so cruelly? How could he give to a stranger what we had scraped together bit by bit for a whole year?
Our family life began modestly two years ago. We didn’t have a wedding celebration—money was catastrophically short. Alexey worked as a mechanic at a factory, and I cooked in a small roadside café. Our earnings were small because we had both just finished our training. After registering our marriage, we rented a small place. I turned a one-room apartment in a quiet neighborhood into a cozy family refuge with my own hands.
Miniature pots of colorful violets blossomed on the windowsills, and by the couch, a lush variegated ficus thrived in a large planter. I sewed sunny curtains for the kitchen window and soft cream ones for the living room. My husband highly valued my talent for creating a warm home and cooking appetizing meals. We hardly ever had serious conflicts, except for arguments about his mother’s influence over Alexey.
My mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, had a difficult character. Authoritarian and capricious, she dropped by regularly and constantly found fault with my behavior. One day my cooking wasn’t up to par, another day the house wasn’t clean enough, another time the profession of cook seemed unworthy of her precious son’s wife. What occupation would suit my “status,” she never specified. Pressing her lips in disdain, she would only remark, “You need something more prestigious.” But I sincerely loved my work, and besides, my pay was gradually increasing month by month. Management appreciated me, and the café’s patrons were always satisfied.
Valentina Petrovna was convinced I had taken away her only treasure—her son. She adored Alexey and had raised him alone. Her husband disappeared from their lives when the boy was still very small. My husband barely remembered his father, and my mother-in-law avoided any mention of him. Of course, she hadn’t had it easy. She worked tirelessly to clothe, feed, and educate her child. As a result, Alexey became a successful man. That was when she began to demand constant attention and care. Alexey tried to visit his mother as often as possible and help with “men’s tasks” around the house—fixing a cabinet, hanging a picture, changing a lightbulb.
He respected and honored his mother, and I understood what an important place she held in his heart. On many matters he consulted Valentina Petrovna and constantly took her advice. This often upset me, and I voiced my displeasure. My husband explained that he couldn’t upset his mother; it was easier to agree to her demands. Besides, she had a dacha (a summer cottage with a garden), and all through the warm season, instead of getting out into nature with Alexey, I was forced to stay in our stuffy city apartment while he spent time working the garden beds. He invited me along, but after a few trips to her dacha I flatly refused to go again. My mother-in-law turned into a real domestic tyrant there—ordering, grumbling, nitpicking over every little thing. Deciding it was calmer at home, I stopped those visits. I didn’t go out of my way to invite Valentina Petrovna over either.
Lately I felt more and more often that I occupied a secondary place in Alexey’s life. His attachment to his mother hadn’t weakened in the least, even after our wedding. And my mother-in-law, as if testing the limits of my patience, deliberately summoned her son every weekend, burdening him with contrived errands.
“I need Alexey to come and bring me a melon, tomatoes, and sweet peppers. I’ll be making lecho,” she would declare.
“Lecho with melon? Interesting recipe,” I couldn’t resist replying with sarcasm.
“Don’t be clever. Lecho is made from tomatoes and peppers, and I want to eat the melon before the season ends. Or are you suggesting I lug that weight myself? They sell them huge nowadays.”
Naturally, Alexey was expected to pay for the groceries as well. The question of reimbursement never even arose. And this despite the fact that she knew perfectly well we were saving for a car.
A car was our shared dream. We even decided to postpone taking out a mortgage for our own apartment. A car wouldn’t just shorten our commute to work, it would let us get out to the woods and lakes in warm weather and enjoy nature. Without our own transport it was hard—getting to remote places by taxi or public transport was expensive and extremely inconvenient. With our own wheels, we would be independent. We could drive out, relax, grill kebabs, and come home whenever we wanted.
Besides, it took Alexey two hours by public transport to get to work, and he had to wake up at four in the morning because the buses ran strictly on schedule. With a car, he could sleep two hours longer. So a car wasn’t a whim; it was a necessity. For twelve months we had been setting aside money every month for that cherished purchase.
“You’d be better off hurrying up with your own place! You’re living in a rental, paying strangers!” my mother-in-law fumed, and time after time I laid out arguments in favor of buying the car.
“Valentina Petrovna, Alexey and I have thought it all through. First the car, then the apartment, and then we can plan for children. And by the way, a car will be essential with little ones too.”
“Children? You should at least have one first. Two years married and you haven’t even gotten a pet,” she grumbled.
My vacation was approaching, and with my vacation pay I’d been promised a generous bonus for conscientious work all year. Of course, I wanted to go to the sea, but buying a car would make me even happier—come September we could head out for mushrooms. We’d wander through the golden autumn forest with a wicker basket, quietly hunting for big porcini, brown slippery jacks, and clusters of honey mushrooms on old stumps. I dreamed and made plans, eagerly sharing them with my husband.
“And we’ll definitely go for an overnight while the weather’s warm, right?” I would ask Alexey. “We’ve got that tent that’s been sitting unused for years—perfect time to put it to use. We’ll toast marshmallows over the fire, brew tea with pine sprigs, lie back and admire the starry sky. And during the day we’ll make shashlik!”
“Yes, wonderful,” my husband replied, yawning. “But you’ve planned so much—don’t rush things. Remember the saying about ‘hop’?”
“Yes, yes—don’t say ‘hop’ before you jump. But we’ll be buying it very soon, Alexey!”
I fell asleep happy, dreaming of an ancient pine forest whispering in the wind. I walked through it with a basket full of milk caps and slippery jacks. The milk caps formed white islands everywhere, and I cut them one after another, laying them cap-side down in a huge wicker basket…
“Well then, Petrova, here’s your pay slip,” my boss winked, handing me the document.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the size of the bonus.
“Oh, thank you, Konstantin Mikhailovich! I’ll never forget your generosity and kindness!” I even hopped in place from joy.
“So, will you be off to get your car now?” he smiled.
“Yes! I’m going home, and my husband and I will start choosing right away.”
I could barely wait for the shift to end. Every free minute I pored over the car models I’d already shortlisted for the final choice.
Tomorrow was Saturday, and we could easily go to the dealership. I rushed home after reading a message from my husband saying he was stuck in traffic and running late. I quickly marinated the fish and started chopping vegetables. I wanted to set a festive dinner to mark the happy occasion. I bought gorgeous salmon steaks, rubbed them with spices and ginger and drizzled them with lemon juice. For sides I made stewed green peas and “home-style potatoes.” Alexey simply adored them, and I didn’t spare the effort to cook that dish tonight. I even managed to prepare a sauce with garlic, herbs, and sour cream. By the time my husband came in, I was already setting the table and pouring a cherry drink into pretty glasses.
“Hi. Why are you glowing?” my husband asked as he sat down at the table.
“Because…” I paused theatrically, “I got such a bonus that now we definitely have enough for the car, and tomorrow we’re off to the dealership for our dream. By the way, did you wash your hands?”
“I did. Oh, you made fish? And home-style potatoes? You’re a wonderful wife!” He stood and kissed me on the forehead, and I smiled at him with joy.
“That’s me. Here, take my phone while I put on the finishing touches—look at the bookmarked models and colors. I’ve been choosing for two months already. Let’s discuss everything tonight so tomorrow we can just go and buy.”
“Olya, I… asked you not to rush the plans,” Alexey said sadly.
“What do you mean? Why put it off? I got so much money for vacation that we can buy it without any trouble.”
“I gave our savings to my mom so she could pay off her debts,” my husband declared.
From the shock I knocked the glass of cherry drink off the table; it shattered with a crash, scattering shards. The drink spread across the kitchen tiles in an ugly red puddle. I stood there staring at Alexey in disbelief.
“What do you mean, you gave it away? Most of that was from my salary, and we were going to buy a car—we discussed it so many times, you wanted it yourself. How could you, Alexey?” I asked hoarsely.
“I couldn’t refuse. She was doing renovations, and it ended up costing more than planned. She fell into debt, and it’s hard for her to repay. You know my mom’s salary is small.”
“I don’t care how big her salary is. Her debts are her problem. I worked like a dog for a year, pinched every penny, denied myself everything. All for the car I thought we’d be buying tomorrow. And now you tell me you handed all our savings to your mother, who can’t stand me and constantly humiliates me.”
“Olya, don’t get heated, please,” my husband begged.
“What do you mean? I’m perfectly calm—calm as Arctic ice. Pack your things and go to your mommy. I don’t want to see you here. I paid the rent this month too, if you remember, so leave. Now.”
My husband didn’t argue. He packed his personal things and left. I called my parents and cried for a long time into the phone, telling them what Alexey had done. Mom put me on speaker so Dad could hear everything too.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Dad said seriously. “Your mom and I are alive and well, both working and able. We have savings. We’ve been putting money aside for a long time—you know how cautious we are. Looks like it’s time to spend it. Your mom and I will buy you the car, and you can use your bonus to go on vacation, all right?”
“Dad, how can I take that much from you…” I began.
“You just will. Your birthday is in winter, sure, but consider this your present. That’s it—we’ve discussed it and decided.”
I ended the call, hardly believing my ears. My parents are golden. So I would have a car after all. On Saturday, my father and I stood in the dealership paying for a brand-new domestic car. I already had my driver’s license, so I could drive myself. On Monday I filed for divorce. I had no intention of forgiving Alexey’s actions and couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. He hurt me too deeply by giving our savings to his mother.
Since we had no joint property and no children, the divorce went quickly and easily. And I, free as a bird, went on a rafting trip down the river. Our group was made up of cheerful city folks yearning for adventure on the whitewater of a mountain river surrounded by picturesque forests and hills. For two weeks I rested both body and soul. My body got so tired that in the evening I would crawl into my sleeping bag and fall asleep instantly. But in the morning the fatigue vanished, and I woke up refreshed, ready to conquer the world.
When I returned to the city, I got in the car and drove out for mushrooms. Just like in that dream on the eve of buying the car, I wandered through an old, creaking pine forest. Huge trees brushed the high, autumn-blue sky with their dark, fragrant needles. My basket felt heavy, more than half full of plump white mushrooms and slippery jacks with dark, moist caps. I walked the whole day, from early morning till sunset, forgetting about everything else.
The red sun slid behind the mountains in the distance. I sat on a blanket next to my car, my basket of mushrooms at my side. I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to become part of that majestic ancient forest. But it had already grown chilly, and I hadn’t brought warm clothes. I had to drive back.
The tires hummed along the nearly empty night highway. In the headlights, moths and night butterflies flickered, scattering away from the speeding car. I turned on some music and, to the songs of my favorite band, thought about how the breakup with Alexey was for the best. We were different people. He was too dependent on his mother, too unwilling to consider my opinion and desires. Sooner or later we would have parted anyway. Better now, when he gave our savings to his parent. I knew I wouldn’t regret my decision—and later life confirmed my choice more than once.