Svetlana stood at the stove, stirring sauce for pasta. Viktor, sprawled on the living-room couch, flipped through TV channels and casually tossed his socks from one place to another. After two years under the same roof, she was used to him leaving his things everywhere—but today it annoyed her more than ever.
“Sveta, what are we having for dinner?” he shouted, eyes still glued to the screen.
“Seafood pasta,” she answered, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Again? Why don’t we just order pizza?”
“I don’t have any money until payday, Vitya. You know that.”
“I’m broke too,” he grumbled, changing the channel.
Svetlana pressed her lips together. The month before, she’d seen his bank statement—there was a solid amount sitting there. But she didn’t feel like picking a fight. She set the table, put out plates, laid out the cutlery. Viktor dragged himself off the couch and sat down, still scrolling on his phone.
“By the way, my sister Marina and her husband Oleg are coming tomorrow. They’ll crash here for a couple of nights,” he said casually.
“Viktor, you could’ve at least asked! This is MY apartment, by the way!”
“Oh, come on, Svetka. We live together. What does it matter whose apartment it is?”
Svetlana finished her pasta in silence, irritation tightening in her chest. When they’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday, Viktor had seemed so charming and attentive—flowers, dinners out, compliments that made her feel chosen. Six months later he proposed in a grand, romantic way, ring and champagne included. She said yes, and he moved in with her.
The first few months were wonderful. Then something changed. Viktor stopped helping around the house, became slippery whenever money came up, and most importantly—he never set a wedding date.
“Vitya, we planned to register the marriage this year. It’s already October.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s just not the right time. Work, you know. We have to wait.”
The next day Marina and Oleg really did show up. Svetlana cooked dinner for four, cleaned the place, and made up a bed for the guests. Viktor, meanwhile, sat in the living room with his brother-in-law, drinking beer and arguing about football.
“Svetka, bring us another beer!” he yelled from the other room.
“Get it yourself! Are your arms going to fall off?” she snapped.
“What’s that attitude? At least act decent in front of guests!”
Marina wandered into the kitchen and looked Svetlana up and down as if she were evaluating a purchase.
“Vitya says you still haven’t made it official. What are you waiting for?”
“Me?” Svetlana blurted. “Your brother is the one stalling!”
“Well, you know… you have to motivate a man. Vitya said you’ve gotten cold and demanding. That’s why he’s not sure.”
“What did he say?”
“And honestly, your apartment is kind of… so-so. It could use a renovation. Vitya deserves better living conditions.”
Svetlana felt her face burn. Her apartment—the one she’d bought with her own money, working twelve-hour days as a manager at a travel agency—wasn’t good enough for this freeloader?
That evening, after the guests went to bed, Viktor stumbled into their bedroom smelling of stale booze.
“Marina’s right,” he said. “You’ve become… boring. Always unhappy.”
“Maybe because I’m the ONLY one paying for everything? Utilities, groceries, household supplies—everything is on me!”
“You’re exaggerating, as usual. I buy stuff sometimes.”
“Sometimes! Once a month! And you live here EVERY day!”
“If it’s that hard for you, maybe I should move out,” he said, sitting on the bed and staring at her like it was a challenge.
“Maybe you should,” Svetlana said softly.
“Fine! I’ll move out tomorrow! We’ll see how you manage without me!”
But the next morning he didn’t pack a single thing. If anything, he acted as if the argument had never happened. Marina and Oleg left after lunch, and the apartment sank back into its familiar routine.
A week passed. Svetlana caught herself thinking more and more that their relationship was a dead end. Viktor didn’t change—still scattered his things everywhere, still didn’t lift a finger at home, still hid what he earned. And now he had started “working late,” coming home after midnight.
On Friday night she finally decided to talk seriously. She cooked his favorite meal—steak with vegetables—and bought a bottle of wine. Viktor came home cheerful, and even brought a bouquet of chrysanthemums—the first flowers in six months.
“Vitya, we need to talk about the wedding,” she began once they sat down.
“Here we go again.”
“We’ve been together for TWO years. You proposed. When are we actually getting married?”
Viktor put down his fork and looked at her for a long moment.
“Alright, Sveta. Let’s speak plainly. I’m ready to marry you.”
“Really?” She could hardly believe it.
“Yes. But there’s one condition.”
“What condition?”
“The apartment. You have to transfer it to me. Or at least make me a co-owner.”
Svetlana froze with her glass in her hand.
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. Think about it—I’m the man, the head of the family, and I’m living in my wife’s apartment. It’s humiliating. My friends make fun of me.”
“Your friends? And the fact that I BOUGHT this place with my own money means nothing?”
“Sveta, if we’re a family, what difference does it make whose name it’s in? Or don’t you trust me?”
“Viktor, this is MY home. I saved for five years for the down payment, paid off the mortgage…”
“There! See? You’re greedy! You don’t want to share! And then you act surprised that I don’t want to get married!”
He pushed away from the table and slammed the bedroom door. Svetlana stayed seated, staring at the half-eaten dinner. Outrage rose like a wave in her chest. How dare he demand her apartment?
The weekend passed in icy silence. Viktor made a show of ignoring her, slept on the couch, disappeared to his friends. On Monday morning, as she was getting ready for work, he suddenly spoke:
“I’ve thought it over. I’m giving you until the end of the week. Either you sign the apartment over and we get married, or I’m leaving.”
“That’s an ultimatum?”
“Call it what you want. But think—you’re already thirty-two. Who’s going to want you? With me, you have a chance at a normal family.”
Svetlana walked out without a word. All day at work she couldn’t focus. Her coworkers noticed how distracted she was, but she brushed it off—everything was fine, she was just tired.
That evening Viktor acted as if nothing had happened. He watched TV, ate what she’d cooked, even tried to hug her before bed. Svetlana pulled away.
“So, did you decide?” he asked.
“I’m thinking.”
“And how long will you think? I need to plan my life too.”
On Wednesday night she met her friend Ksenia at a café and told her everything, expecting support.
“Are you serious, Sveta? Under NO circumstances should you put his name on that apartment. This is blackmail, plain and simple!”
“But he says he’ll leave…”
“Let him go! He found the wrong woman—demanding your apartment. He’s a kept man, that’s what he is!”
“Ksyush, but I’m over thirty… What if he’s right and there won’t be anyone else?”
“Don’t you dare think like that! Better alone than with a parasite!”
Svetlana went home with fresh determination. But when she saw Viktor stretched out on HER couch in HER apartment, doubt crept in again. Maybe she really was too demanding?
Thursday passed in miserable, circling thoughts. Viktor swung from sweet and tender to cold and spiteful, playing her emotions like strings.
“Sveta, I love you,” he said. “I just want things to be fair. I want to feel like the man of the house, not some squatter.”
“But you already live here like you own the place.”
“That’s not the point. Legally, I’m nobody. What if you kick me out one day?”
“I would NEVER…”
“Then prove it. Show me you trust me.”
Friday. Decision day. Svetlana woke up with a heavy head and a sense of doom. Viktor was already up, humming in the shower—clearly certain she would give in.
At breakfast he was especially charming.
“Svetulka, I booked a notary appointment for three o’clock. We’ll go together, sign everything quickly. And then we can file the marriage application too.”
“Viktor, I—”
“What? Doubts again? How long is this going to go on? Either you want to be with me or you don’t!”
Something inside Svetlana suddenly clicked—like a switch flipping. As if a veil fell from her eyes. She looked at him—unshaven, in a wrinkled T-shirt, with that smug, entitled grin—and understood: she didn’t love him. She hadn’t for a long time. She was simply terrified of being alone.
“You know what, Viktor?” Her voice rang with barely contained fury. “GO TO HELL.”
“What?” He choked on his coffee.
“You heard me. GET OUT of my apartment. NOW.”
“Sveta, have you lost your mind?”
“You’re the one out of your mind if you thought I’d hand you MY home! Who do you think you are? A leech! A gold-digger! You’ve lived off me for two years, and you still have the nerve to demand more!”
“How dare you—”
“Shut up!” Svetlana jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. “You thought I’d tolerate your arrogance forever? Your laziness? Your lies? NO. We’re not married, so stop dreaming—and this apartment is MINE. Pack your things and get out.”
Viktor stared at her, stunned. He had never seen Svetlana like this. Always quiet, accommodating—now she looked like pure fire.
“Svetka, calm down…”
“Don’t call me that. Gather your stuff and leave. You have ONE hour.”
“You’ll regret this! No one else will want you—old maid!”
“GOOD. Better alone than with someone like you!”
She yanked his clothes from the closet and started throwing them into a bag. Viktor tried to stop her, but she shoved him so hard he nearly stumbled.
“Don’t touch me. Get out. Right now.”
“Where am I supposed to go? I—”
“Go to your mommy. Go to your sister. Go to those friends who laugh at you. I don’t care. Just make sure you’re gone within the hour.”
She ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Her heart hammered, her hands shook, but inside she felt a strange lightness. Finally. Finally she’d said everything out loud.
Forty minutes later the front door slammed. Svetlana cautiously stepped out. The apartment was empty. On the table were his keys and a note: “You’ll regret this.”
She crushed the note and tossed it in the trash. No. She wouldn’t. Not ever.
That evening the doorbell rang. Svetlana checked the peephole—Viktor.
“Sveta, open up. Let’s talk!”
“Go away!”
“I forgot my phone charger!”
“I’ll buy a new one and throw it out. Now get lost!”
“Svetka, don’t be stupid! Where am I supposed to live?”
“Under a bridge for all I care. Not my problem!”
He kept ringing, knocking, pleading. Then he started threatening. Svetlana called the neighbors—two solid, tough brothers named Sokolov from the third floor.
“Trouble, Svetlana?” the older one, Igor, asked.
“Yeah. My ex won’t leave.”
“We’ll handle it,” the younger one, Pavel, said, cracking his knuckles for effect.
The moment Viktor saw them, he went quiet.
“I… I just wanted to pick up my things…”
“Your things are in a bag by the door. Take them—and don’t show your face here again,” Svetlana shouted from behind the neighbors.
Viktor grabbed the bag and hurried off.
“If he comes back, call us immediately,” Igor said.
“Thank you, guys. You saved me.”
A month passed. Svetlana changed the locks, rearranged the furniture, and threw away anything that reminded her of Viktor. The apartment felt as if it could breathe again—brighter, roomier, alive.
At work she got promoted. The energy and decisiveness that appeared after the breakup didn’t go unnoticed. She signed up for Spanish classes, started running in the mornings, and met up with friends more often.
Then Ksenia brought some juicy news.
“Guess what—your Viktor went back to his ex. Alyona.”
“No way.”
“Yep. She took him in, the fool. But he started the same thing with her—demanding her apartment. Only Alyona isn’t you. She’s got brothers who don’t play. They explained it to him so well he ran off to his mom’s village. Now he doesn’t even show up in the city.”
Svetlana laughed—real laughter, from the heart. Karma caught up with him faster than she expected.
And six months later, at a company event, she met the new head of logistics—Andrei. Modest, hardworking, with his own apartment and car. On their third date he said:
“Svetlana, I don’t want to drag this out. Let’s get married. I’m serious.”
And they did—two months after they met. No ultimatums. No demands. No humiliation. Just two adults who truly wanted to be together.
As for Viktor, he still lives with his mother in the village. People say he tried a couple more times to come back to the city and find a new “sponsor.” But word about his tricks spread quickly. Now he’s herding his mother’s goats and thinking about how stupidly he lost both a city apartment and the woman who once loved him—until she finally saw who he really was.