The phone buzzed in the hallway, between the elevator and the glass door of the conference room. Oleg looked at the name on the screen, grimaced, but answered anyway. It said “Vera.”
“Hello.”
“Hi. Sorry to call during work. Miron needs some tests done. They gave us a referral to a private clinic, and the wait for the free one is three weeks.”
“So?”
“Eighteen hundred. I wouldn’t ask, but every last ruble I have is already accounted for.”
“Vera, I pay child support. Every month, without delays. Isn’t that enough?”
“It covers food and kindergarten. It doesn’t cover medical tests.”
“Then budget better.”
He said it calmly, almost pleasantly, which somehow made it even more hurtful. There was silence on the other end.
“Oleg, he’s four years old. He’s your son.”
“I know whose son he is. I pay what the law requires.”
“I’m not talking about the law. I’m talking about a little boy who’s been coughing for two weeks.”
“You always find some excuse to call me. First it’s a jacket, then tests, then shoes. Sometimes I think you just can’t let me go.”
“And I think you’re always looking for an excuse not to pay.”
“Here we go again.”
“Nothing is starting. I’m asking for eighteen hundred. Just once.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“When?”
“Vera.”
“I need to know whether to book us in for tomorrow. Say no, and I’ll accept no and find the money myself.”
“I said I’ll see.”
He hung up first. It had become a habit: ending the conversation before hearing the response. That way, it felt as though he had won.
Rustam, an old friend who had worked on the same floor as him for seven years, came around the corner.
“Again?”
“Again. It’s like she sets an alarm for payday.”
“What does she want?”
“Tests for the kid.”
“So send the money.”
“Rustam, I already send money. Every month.”
“Oleg, you understand there’s no such thing as an ex-child, right? Wives can be ex-wives. Children aren’t ex-children.”
“Very poetic. Embroider it on a pillow.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I don’t owe anything more. I honestly give what I’m supposed to give, and I want to be left alone.”
“Peace is when you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“Then I wasn’t talking about you.”
Rustam walked away without another word, and somehow that silence scratched deeper than an argument would have. Oleg stood there for a moment, turned the phone in his hand, and shoved it into his pocket.
He never made the transfer.
Yulia and Alla were standing by the coffee machine, the floor’s two permanent observers. They had a talent for speaking quietly and still being heard loudly.
“Did you see the earrings?” Yulia whispered.
“I did. And the manicure. And the bag.”
“Wonder where all that came from.”
“What do you think?”
Oleg walked past, pretending to be deaf.
Kristina worked one floor below and somehow always appeared exactly when his mental battery was running empty. She never asked why he was in a bad mood. She simply stood beside him and stayed quiet in a way that made him want to talk.
“You look kind of gray today,” she said at lunch.
“She called.”
“Her?”
“Her.”
“Money again?”
“Again.”
“Poor thing. Nobody ever feels sorry for you.”
“No one.”
“Well, I do.”
He laughed, and she placed her hand on his wrist and kept it there for exactly as long as necessary. Not a second longer. That precision was one of the things about her.
“You know what’s most valuable about you?” Kristina asked.
“What?”
“You don’t complain. Other men complain, but you just carry everything.”
“I carry it.”
“And what do you get for it? Nothing. Not even a thank-you. Not even a day off.”
“That’s life.”
“It’s the wrong kind of life, Oleg. A person has to enjoy himself sometimes. Otherwise he burns out.”
A week later, there was the dress.
It hung in a shop window. Kristina looked at it for three seconds and then turned away, and those three seconds were enough.
“Why did you stop?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
“You like it?”
“I do. But it’s expensive. Don’t.”
“I asked whether you liked it.”
“Oleg, don’t be ridiculous. I’m already happy.”
He bought it.
She hugged him right there in the shopping center, in front of everyone, and told him he was the only man who could hear her without words.
He walked home feeling light, as if he had just returned from vacation.
Then there were the photographs.
Her friend Alisa kept sending pictures from an island: water the color of glass, white towels, a tanned shoulder.
“Look how happy Alisa is.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Her husband surprised her. Just went and bought the tickets.”
“Good for him.”
“I don’t mean anything by it. I actually hate it when men are pressured into things.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean people are living. And you and I only work and count money.”
“Kristina, I have a child and responsibilities.”
“Did I say anything about your child? I’m talking about us. We’re people too.”
She spoke softly, without pressure, wrapping every desire in concern for the two of them. Resistance melted by itself.
A month later, Oleg had quit the gym, canceled his subscriptions, taken an evening side job, and opened a separate account labeled “Dream.”
“You’re losing weight,” Rustam noticed.
“I’m saving.”
“On what?”
“On myself.”
“And who else?”
“Listen, stay out of it.”
“I’m not getting involved. I’m asking.”
“I do everything according to the law, Rustam. According. To. The. Law.”
“The law is the minimum you’re not allowed to go below. It isn’t a ceiling you’re supposed to reach and feel proud of.”
“Philosopher.”
“Father.”
Oleg remembered the exact minute payday arrived.
The money came in at 11:40.
At 11:43, he transferred the entire amount into his separate account.
There wasn’t a single ruble left for child support.
That evening, Vera called.
“Oleg, the payment didn’t come.”
“I know.”
“Did something happen?”
He was silent for two seconds. Then he said what he had invented that morning, surprising even himself with how calmly it came out.
“My mother needs surgery.”
“What do you mean surgery? What happened to her?”
“It’s urgent. I put everything toward it.”
“Oh God. Nina Sergeyevna… Oleg, what are the doctors saying?”
“They say we have to wait.”
“Do you need help? I have a little saved. I could…”
“No.”
“Oleg, I’m serious. She isn’t a stranger to me, no matter what happened between us.”
“I said no.”
“All right. I’ll call again in a couple of days.”
He hung up and sat motionless for a long time.
At that exact moment, Kristina sent him the booking confirmation with three exclamation marks.
“It worked!” she wrote. “You’re a magician!”
“It worked,” he replied.
“I adore you. We deserve this.”
Two days later, Vera called Nina Sergeyevna.
Their relationship had been strained. During the divorce, Nina Sergeyevna had taken her son’s side and said many things she should not have said.
But Vera called anyway.
“Hello, Nina Sergeyevna. It’s Vera. I wanted to ask how YOU are.”
“How am I? I’m getting by. Why?”
“How are you feeling after the surgery?”
“What surgery?”
“Оleg told me you had emergency surgery.”
The line went quiet.
Then Nina Sergeyevna’s voice changed. It became firm and dry.
“Vera, I haven’t had any surgery. Yesterday I was digging potatoes.”
“I’m sorry. Then I must have misunderstood.”
“You understood perfectly. He didn’t send you the money, did he?”
“No.”
“And he said he spent it on me?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“Nina Sergeyevna, I didn’t call to complain.”
“I know why you called. How much does he owe?”
“You don’t have to.”
“How much, Vera?”
She named the amount.
Twenty minutes later, the money was on Vera’s card, down to the last ruble, exactly the amount Oleg should have transferred.
Ten minutes after that, Nina Sergeyevna called her son.
“Mom?”
“Oleg, tell me one thing. Am I sick?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did they cut me open? Was I in the hospital?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you used my name as an excuse so you wouldn’t have to give your child money.”
“Vera called you.”
“A woman called me because she was worried about me. I sent her your debt. From my own money. From what I was saving for dental work.”
“Why did you interfere?”
“You’re going to pay me back. Every last ruble.”
“I don’t have it right now.”
“Find it.”
“Mom, listen…”
“No. Now you listen. If you delay the child’s money one more time, tomorrow I’m going to transfer the apartment into Miron’s name. The whole thing. All of it.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Want to test me?”
“That’s my apartment!”
“It’s my apartment, Oleg. For now.”
He paid her back three days later.
He borrowed from one person, then another, took what was left from the “Dream” account, and repaid everything.
The amount remaining on his card was enough for a taxi to the airport and a bottle of water for the trip.
At the airport, Kristina was glowing.
She took photos by the departure board, by the check-in counter, by the windows overlooking the planes, turning her head each time so her earrings would catch the light.
“Olezha, smile! We’re on vacation!”
“I am smiling.”
“You look like you’re flying to work.”
“I just didn’t sleep much.”
“You never sleep enough. Fine, you’ll catch up there. Listen, are we going to take that boat excursion?”
“We’ll see.”
“And dinner on the beach. Alisa said they serve dinner right on the sand, with candles.”
“Kristina.”
“What?”
“Money is tight.”
“What do you mean, ‘tight’? We saved.”
“We did. Then I had to repay a debt.”
“What debt? You never told me.”
“Family.”
“Her again?”
“Not her. My mother.”
“Oh, wonderful. So now we’re flying all this way to count every penny?”
“We’re going to relax.”
“Relaxing means not counting.”
For the first three days, she held herself together.
On the fourth, she started disappearing into her phone.
On the sixth, she stopped asking him to film her.
On the eighth, she finally said what had already been hanging in the air between them.
“You know, I imagined this differently.”
“How?”
“Easier. You’re constantly thinking about numbers. Even at breakfast, you’re checking the bill.”
“Because I’m paying for all of this.”
“There. Now you’re throwing it in my face.”
“I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m explaining.”
“A man who has to explain why he can’t afford something is very sad, Oleg.”
“And a woman who only asks for things is fun?”
“I’ve never demanded anything.”
“You just dreamed out loud. And I paid.”
“Well, sorry your life is like this.”
They flew home in silence.
At the airport, she took her suitcase off the conveyor belt herself without waiting for him to retrieve his.
“I think we need some time apart,” Kristina said.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A long time.”
“So you’re leaving me.”
“I’m not leaving. I just don’t want to be around someone who’s burned out.”
“I burned out carrying your dreams.”
“No one forced you.”
She turned and walked toward the taxis, steady and unhurried, the way people walk away when the decision was made long ago.
He watched her go and suddenly realized that throughout the entire vacation, he had not once asked how his son was doing.
At the office, people greeted him the way they greet someone they have already discussed thoroughly before he arrived.
Yulia and Alla fell silent by the coffee machine half a second too late.
“You got a tan,” Alla said.
“Thanks.”
“Is Kristina still on vacation?”
“I don’t know.”
“Strange. She was here yesterday. Without the earrings.”
He reached his desk, sat down, and called Vera.
Inside his head, everything had reduced itself to one simple formula:
It was her fault.
She had called his mother.
She had ruined everything.
“Yes, Oleg.”
“Are you happy now?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The fact that you went to my mother. Do you even understand what you’ve done?”
“I asked about her health. You were the one who told me she was practically dying.”
“I never said that.”
“You said ‘surgery.’ I believed you and offered to help. I wasn’t supposed to guess that you were lying and using your own mother as an excuse.”
“You deliberately worked her up.”
“I didn’t work anyone up. I simply called.”
“Because of you, I don’t have a penny left. Because of you, someone left me. Because of you, my mother is threatening me with the apartment.”
“Because of me?”
“Yes! Couldn’t you just wait? One month! Just one!”
“Miron doesn’t know how to wait one month. He only knows how to cough and be cold.”
“He had food, didn’t he? He slept somewhere warm? He had everything!”
“He did. Because another woman gave me the money she had saved. Not you.”
“She isn’t another woman. She’s my mother!”
“That’s exactly my point.”
He squeezed the phone so hard his fingers began to ache.
Anger rose inside him in a smooth, hot wave, and he said what he had been preparing throughout the entire trip home from the airport.
“Fine. Listen carefully. There will be no child support this month or next month. Figure it out yourself.”
He waited for tears.
He expected her to start explaining, begging, reminding him about kindergarten and shoes.
Vera answered calmly, without a single unnecessary note in her voice.
“Okay.”
“What do you mean, ‘okay’?”
“I heard you. Not this month and not next month.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Just keep one thing in mind: it doesn’t depend on you anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I submitted the enforcement order two weeks ago. It’s already with the bailiffs. The money will be withheld automatically through payroll before it ever reaches you.”
He opened his mouth and found no words.
On the other end, somewhere in the background, he could hear Miron rolling a toy car across the floor.
“You… you filed against me?”
“I didn’t file anything new. I’ve had the enforcement order since the day of the divorce. For three years I never used it. I thought we were adults and could work things out ourselves.”
“What changed?”
“You told me about the operation. After something like that, there’s no one left to work things out with.”
“Vera, withdraw it.”
“No.”
“I’m asking you.”
“You weren’t asking when you transferred your salary into a separate account on the same day your child was waiting for the money.”
“It was my salary!”
“And this is his childhood.”
“You’re humiliating me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. I simply stopped relying on you.”
“Now everyone at work is going to find out!”
“They will. But it’s all according to the law, Oleg. You like that phrase.”
He fell silent.
Then he asked quietly, with none of the force left in his voice.
“The money my mother sent… did you spend it?”
“No. I put it into an account in Miron’s name. I won’t touch it until he turns eighteen.”
“Why?”
“So he’ll have at least one thing you can’t cancel with a single phone call.”
At that moment, a sheet of paper was placed on his desk.
It had been brought up from payroll, and Yulia was the one who delivered it—the same Yulia who knew how to speak quietly and still be heard loudly.
She placed the document exactly in the middle of his desk and lingered half a second longer than necessary.
“This is for YOU. They asked for your signature,” she said.
He read two lines and understood immediately.
Deduction.
Percentage.
Every month.
Starting with this salary.
His phone rang again.
His mother.
“Oleg.”
“Mom, I paid everything back.”
“You did. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Then why?”
“I went today and signed the deed of gift. The apartment belongs to Miron now.”
“You said you’d do that if I delayed another payment!”
“You did delay it. You called Vera an hour ago and told her you weren’t going to pay. She didn’t complain to me. She asked me to warn you not to do anything stupid. And I decided not to warn you.”
“Mom, that’s my apartment.”
“That is my grandson’s apartment. You live there, so keep living there. But now you’re a guest in it. Whether you continue living there will be Vera’s decision.”
“You betrayed me.”
“I raised you. And you invented an illness for me so you could take money away from your own child. That’s betrayal, son. Everything else is consequences.”
She hung up.
Oleg remained sitting there with the paper in his hand.
Rustam walked past, saw the document, but said nothing.
And somehow that felt worse than any remark could have.
By the coffee machine, Yulia leaned toward Alla and silently mouthed two words.
Alla nodded.
On Oleg’s phone was the last message from Kristina, sent from the airport:
“Don’t text me.”
Below it was a message from Vera, brief and even:
“Miron had his tests done. Everything is fine. Just so you know.”
He read it again and understood one simple thing that left him feeling hollow:
They had stopped asking him.
Not because he had nothing left to give.
But because they had crossed his name off the list of people they turned to for help.
And the most painful part was that they had crossed him off quietly.
Without a single unnecessary word.
Exactly the way he himself had always ended conversations first.