— Ler, I wanted to talk to you about something important. About Kirill.
Dmitry approached her from behind while she was sitting in a deep armchair with a book. He put his hands on her shoulders, and his touch was deliberately gentle, almost coaxing. Valeria didn’t turn her head, she just slowly placed a silk bookmark between the pages and closed the book, setting it on the nearby table. She didn’t like being interrupted while reading, and he knew that. This gesture was his first move in a carefully thought-out game.
— I’m listening, Dima, — her voice was even, without a hint of irritation, but also without any warmth. The voice of someone ready to hear a business report.
He walked around the chair and sat on its armrest, trying to look relaxed and full of fatherly care. His face took on the expression he had rehearsed in front of the mirror: a mix of enthusiasm and a light, gentle sadness.
— You know, the boy is finishing school. Such an important stage in life. A transitional moment. He needs impressions now more than ever, a push to understand what he wants from life, where to go next. He’s a smart kid, the world should see him.
Valeria was silent, her gaze fixed straight ahead on the dark rectangle of the turned-off TV. Her stillness made Dmitry speak more and faster, filling the silence with words, like covering a pit with earth.
— He’s literally burning with it, Ler. A tour around Europe for the whole summer. Imagine? Paris, Rome, Prague… He’ll get to see the Louvre, the Colosseum… This isn’t just a vacation, it’s an investment. An investment in his future, in his worldview. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. After that, he’ll come back a different person, mature and goal-oriented. We want the best for him, right?
He paused, expecting at least some reaction. But none came. She seemed to have stopped breathing. He felt his carefully built speech starting to fall apart in this deafening silence and hurried to the main point before he lost all courage.
— So, his mother, of course, is contributing part. I’ll collect all I can too. But the sum… is considerable. You understand, flights, accommodation, food for three months. There remains the missing part, quite large. I thought… you have savings. For us, for our future. And this is our future, Ler. The real one.
He finished. He laid all his cards on the table. He played on her assumed love for “family,” on her responsibility, on her common sense, presenting the expense as a profitable investment. He waited.
Valeria slowly turned her head to him. Her face looked like an ivory mask — perfect features devoid of any emotion. She looked him straight in the eyes, and her gaze was so cold and clear it made him uneasy.
— He’s your son, Dima, not ours! I’m not going to pay for expensive vacations for someone else’s child! He has a mother and you! That’s it!
The words fell into the silence of the room like shards of ice. They were spoken without yelling, without anger, with a deadly, businesslike statement of fact. Dmitry felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. He expected arguments, persuasion, reproaches, but not such a direct, cutting blow.
— What? — he repeated, though he heard perfectly well. — How can you say that? Someone else’s? He lives with us half the time! He’s my son!
— Exactly. Yours.
— You just… you never accepted him! I always felt it! — he jumped up, starting to pace the room. His feigned calm changed to genuine, wounded anger. — To you, he’s always been a nuisance! An appendage to me! How heartless you are, Valeria! Do you even have a heart?
She watched his pacing with the same icy calm that irritated him the most.
— I accepted him as my husband’s son, — she cut in, steel piercing her voice. — But I’m not his mother or his sponsor. You and his real mother bear financial responsibility for him. Not me. And if you try to dip into my pocket again for your past family’s needs, we won’t be talking about Kirill’s trip, but about your trip out of my apartment.
The threat hanging in the air was so real it momentarily knocked all righteous anger out of Dmitry. He froze in the middle of the room, feeling like he had just run headlong into an invisible wall. He expected anything — shouting, tears, bargaining — but not this icy, businesslike ultimatum. Realizing his direct assault had failed, he instantly changed tactics. His face shifted from angry to suffering; his shoulders dropped and his voice took on tragic, velvet tones. He decided to strike from the flank, hitting on their shared past.
— I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Ler, — he began quietly, shaking his head like a disappointed sage. — From the very woman I loved. Where did it all go? Remember how we started? We had nothing but each other. We were a team. We dreamed together. What did money and your career do to you? Did they replace your heart?
He went to the window, theatrically leaning his hand on the frame and looking at the evening city. It was a cheap theatrical gesture, but he put all his faith into it.
— I look at you and don’t recognize you. You’ve become tough, calculating. You measure everything in numbers, in profit. Where is the soul? Where is simple human warmth? It’s not about money, you don’t understand! It’s about my son, my blood, for you — just an expense item. A burden. You look at him and see only a problem I brought from my past life.
Valeria silently watched this performance. She let him speak, allowing him to sink deeper into his own lies. When he made a dramatic pause, she broke the silence, her voice as even and calm as before.
— I remember our beginning very well, Dima. I remember working two jobs while you were finding yourself and writing another “brilliant” business plan. I remember paying off the loan you took for your failed online store project. And I remember paying your alimony debts when you assured me those were “temporary difficulties.” So don’t talk to me about our shared past. It was very different for us.
Each of her words was a precise, calculated jab that hit the target. She didn’t refute his emotions; she destroyed them with facts. Dmitry felt the ground give way under him again. His attempt to play on guilt backfired.
— So you’re reproaching me with this now? — his voice rang with hurt. — You counted everything! Every kopeck! You didn’t help me, you bought me! Bought my humiliation to then shove it in my face at the right moment!
— I’m not reproaching. I’m stating facts, — her gaze was absolutely direct. — My money didn’t make me heartless, Dima. It just clearly showed the difference between us. I know how to earn money and take responsibility for it. You only know how to speak beautifully about dreams — yours or someone else’s — and wait for someone else to pay for them.
She got up from the chair. Her movement was smooth and confident. She walked to the expensive acoustic system that took up almost the entire wall — Dmitry’s pride. She ran her finger over the glossy surface of the speaker.
— You’re right. A father should be ready to do anything for his son’s dream. That’s very noble. I have an idea. This system costs about a hundred thousand. And your watch collection that you keep in the safe — at least eighty thousand. That’s more than enough for Kirill’s tour, with some left over. You’re ready for this, right? For your son. Sell them.
Valeria’s proposal was not just a decision; it was a verdict. She didn’t just offer a way out; she held a mirror to his face, reflecting his selfish, childish nature. Sell what he loved, what defined his status in his own eyes, for the son? That wasn’t in his script. Rage mixed with panic overwhelmed him.
— You… you’re just mocking me! — he exhaled, stepping back from the speakers as if they were hot. — You want to take away the last thing I have! My things, my music… that’s a part of me! You want me to completely disappear, become your shadow, and then throw me out when nothing’s left! Is that what you’re after?
He looked at her with hatred, but deep in his eyes flickered fear. He was losing. On all fronts. His logic was broken, his attempts to pressure with pity mocked. He had one last, dirtiest card left — the one he saved for an emergency. That moment had come. With the look of a man taking extreme measures for a sacred cause, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
— You left me no choice, Lera. You wanted it yourself.
His finger quickly raced across the screen. He found the contact “Son” and pressed call. While the dial tone rang, he threw Valeria a glance full of vengeful triumph. He saw her tense slightly, her fingers gripping the armrest a bit tighter. He smiled triumphantly to himself. He found her weak spot.
— Kiryush, hi! — his voice instantly changed, becoming warm, lively, and loving. — Listen, could you come over now? Just for half an hour. No, nothing happened, everything’s fine! Just have a very important talk with you. Come on, we’re waiting.
He ended the call and put the phone on the table as if he had just launched an irreversible process. He didn’t say another word. He just sat in the chair opposite her and waited, enjoying the tension he had created. He turned their apartment into a stage and himself into a director. Now she would have to play by his rules.
Kirill arrived twenty minutes later. A tall, slightly stooped seventeen-year-old boy with bright intelligent eyes and a trendy haircut. He entered the living room with a light smile but immediately felt the thick, heavy atmosphere. He looked questioningly at his father, then at his stepmother frozen in the chair.
— Hi, — he said hesitantly. — Dad, did you call? Did something happen?
Dmitry jumped up, hugged his son by the shoulders, and pulled him closer to Valeria. His face radiated fake warmth.
— Sit down, son, sit down. Nothing happened, on the contrary! We were just discussing your trip. Your dream.
Kirill looked hopefully at Valeria. Her face remained unreadable.
— You see, here’s the thing, — Dmitry continued playing his role — Valeria is, of course, very happy for you. But she… has doubts. She’s a pragmatic person and wants to be sure this is really important to you, and not just a youthful whim. That you’ll come back with new goals, new ideas. I explained everything to her, but I think it’s better if you tell her yourself. Tell her how you see it. What it will give you. Go ahead, don’t be shy.
It was a brilliantly vile trap. He made Valeria look like a strict but fair mentor, not a greedy bitch, and turned the son into a petitioner who had to prove the value of his dream.
Kirill, seeing no double bottom, readily turned to his father’s wife. His face lit up with sincere enthusiasm.
— Lera, this really means a lot to me! I’ve already planned the entire route. I don’t just want to wander bars; I want to go to D’Orsay, see the Impressionists live, not just in textbooks. I want to sit on the Spanish Steps in Rome, feel the history. You see, it’s like a reboot before university. I want to understand who I want to become. Maybe an architect, like grandpa. And for that, I need to see great architecture. Dad says this is a chance, and I feel it is. I’ll save on everything, honestly. Just give me this chance.
He spoke warmly, sincerely, and the sincerity made the whole scene even more disgusting. Dmitry looked at Valeria expectantly: “Come on, try to refuse the kid now.”
Valeria held a long pause. She shifted her gaze from Kirill’s burning eyes to her husband’s smug face and back. Then she slightly tilted her head and addressed the boy directly, her voice calm and even, but without a trace of the condescension Dmitry expected.
— Kirill. Your dreams and plans are wonderful. And I sincerely wish for them to come true. But such trips and opportunities are a direct financial responsibility of your parents. Your father, — she gave a slight nod toward the frozen Dmitry — and your mother. I will not participate in this. This question you must discuss with them. Only with them.
Valeria’s words, spoken calmly and clearly, hung in the room. They were not addressed to Dmitry but struck him like a hammer. Kirill, standing in the middle of the living room, froze for a split second. His enthusiastic eyes went out as if the light had been switched off. A thick flush of humiliation appeared on the boy’s face. He understood everything. He realized he was not a petitioner but a weapon. A tool in his father’s dirty game, which just lost spectacularly. He slowly shifted his gaze to his father, and in it was everything: hurt, disappointment, and cold, adult contempt.
Without saying a word, Kirill turned and silently left the room. There was no slam of the front door, just the quiet click of the lock, which sounded in the deafening silence like a gunshot.
The silence lasted exactly ten seconds. Dmitry looked at the empty doorway, and his face slowly distorted. The mask of a loving father slipped, revealing a grimace of pure, powerless rage. He turned to Valeria, and his voice, breaking into a shriek, tore the silence.
— You! You monster! Do you understand what you just did?! You humiliated my son! You destroyed him before my eyes! You trampled on his dream, his soul! And all for what? To show your power? To enjoy crushing me?! You have no heart, you’re just a soulless money-making machine!
He paced the room like a beast in a cage, spewing a torrent of accusations. He no longer tried to manipulate or evoke pity. It was the scream of a man stripped of all masks and publicly exposed as insignificant.
— I wanted the best! I wanted him to feel he has a family! That you are part of that family! I tried to build a bridge, and you just blew it up! You just like causing pain! You enjoy seeing others suffer! You’ve always hated him, always hated my past life!
Valeria listened. She didn’t interrupt. She sat in her chair, and for the first time all evening, something showed on her face. It wasn’t anger or offense. It was cold, almost predatory satisfaction. The satisfaction of a surgeon who confirmed the tumor was malignant and required immediate removal. When his stream of words began to dry up, turning into a strangled wheeze, she interrupted him. Not with words but a gesture. She smoothly stood up, went to the table, and took her laptop.
Dmitry fell silent, confused. He expected a retaliatory shout, but not this businesslike, calm action. She returned to the chair, opened the laptop. The clicking of keys was the only sound in the room.
— You’re right, — she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the screen. Dmitry froze in bewilderment. — The boy must see the world. It will be a good lesson for him.
Before his stunned, clueless husband’s eyes, she opened a travel agency website. A few quick clicks. She selected that very Europe tour Kirill had described. Paris, Rome, Prague. Three months. She entered the details: Kirill Dmitrievich. She paid the full amount with her card. The payment went through instantly.
Then she opened her online bank tab. Found the number of his ex-wife, which she once saved for emergencies. She transferred an amount significantly exceeding the needed pocket money, with a short note: “For Kirill’s expenses in Europe. Final installment of alimony for all future years.”
The click of the laptop closing sounded final and irrevocable. Valeria raised her cold, clear gaze to her husband.
— I paid for his trip. Now you pay the bill. You have one hour to gather your things and disappear from my life. Forever. And this… this was my farewell gift to your son, but for you, it won’t be free, my dear! I won’t let you take all the expensive equipment I bought for you over the years from my apartment! It won’t cover the amount I just spent, but it will partially compensate! Now go and pack your stuff before it all flies off the balcony with you!
Dmitry recoiled from his wife. He didn’t expect this even in his worst nightmares. He understood that his comfortable life was over here, and whatever he said now would just be empty noise. So he went to do exactly as his wife had said because he knew she was capable of a lot and it was better to leave now peacefully because if he staged scandals and scenes, he would be left with nothing at all, not even underwear…