The white dress flowed over Maria’s figure in waves of expensive silk. She stood in front of the mirror, unable to believe her happiness. Today she was marrying Ivan. The very same Vanya who, three years ago, had literally saved her from loneliness.
“Mashenka, are you ready?” her mother peeked into the room, her eyes suspiciously glistening. “You look so beautiful!”
“Mom, please don’t cry,” Maria turned to her mother and hugged her tightly. “I’m so happy! Vanya is so wonderful, so caring.”
The ceremony passed in a kind of magical haze. Maria remembered only Ivan’s eyes—warm, brown, full of adoration. When he put the ring on her finger, his hands trembled slightly from excitement.
“Now you’re mine forever,” Ivan whispered in her ear after the kiss.
“And you’re mine,” Maria replied, her heart ready to leap out of her chest from overflowing emotions.
At the banquet Maria never stepped away from her husband. She held his hand, leaned against his shoulder, caught his every glance. Ivan was the center of her universe, the sun around which her whole life revolved.
“Bitter! Bitter!” the guests chanted once again.
Ivan pulled Maria to him, and she melted in his arms. At that moment, the whole world ceased to exist. There were only the two of them—husband and wife.
A month after the wedding, Maria stood in the middle of the bathroom in their two-room apartment. She had bought the apartment two years earlier, before meeting Ivan. A new building, bright, with large windows. Only the bathroom needed serious renovation.
“Mash, let’s put this tile,” Ivan showed her a sample of beige ceramic. “It’ll be bright and cozy.”
“No, Vanya, better this one, bluish,” Maria snuggled up to her husband’s shoulder. “Just imagine how beautiful it’ll be!”
Ivan hugged his wife and kissed her temple.
“All right, let it be blue. Anything for you,” he picked up a scraper and began removing the old tiles. “Just help me, otherwise I’ll be at it until retirement.”
Maria laughed and took a second scraper. They worked together, joking around, and Maria thought about how lucky she was. Ivan wasn’t just a husband—he was a friend, a helper, her support.
“You know, I always dreamed my husband would tinker with repairs with me like this,” Maria admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Not just sit on the couch with the remote.”
“I can’t leave you alone with this nightmare,” Ivan gestured at the stripped walls. “Besides, this is my home now too.”
Six months of their life together passed. The morning was sunny and quiet. Maria sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, watching Ivan work his magic at the stove. The smell of pancakes filled the small kitchen.
“Vanya, you’re like a real chef,” Maria smiled. “Where’d you learn that?”
“Bachelor life taught me,” Ivan replied, deftly flipping another pancake. “Couldn’t live on dumplings forever.”
Maria looked at her husband’s broad back, at his confident movements, and her heart filled with warmth. She was the happiest woman in the world. She had a loving husband, a cozy home, a stable job. What more could one want?
Ivan turned, came up to his wife, and gently kissed the crown of her head. He smelled of pancakes and men’s cologne—a combination that made Maria’s head spin. Ivan set a plate piled high with golden pancakes on the table and sat across from her.
“Eat while they’re hot,” he pushed the sour cream and jam toward her.
“How’s work?” Maria asked, spreading strawberry jam on a pancake. “Is that boss still bothering you?”
“No, he’s quieted down,” Ivan poured himself some tea. “But we got a new secretary. Just a kid, fresh out of university.”
“And how is she?” Maria bit into her pancake. “Managing?”
“How could she manage!” Ivan laughed. “Mixes up documents, spills coffee. Yesterday she even managed to delete half the client database. Good thing there’s a backup.”
Maria laughed too.
“I remember myself after university. Also had grand plans, thought I’d become a big boss right away,” she shook her head. “Then my rosy dreams burst, and I had to face reality.”
“Well, now you’ve got me,” Ivan winked.
“That’s true, now I’ve got a personal chef,” Maria reached across the table and took her husband’s hand. “And plumber, and electrician.”
They lingered at the table, chatting about nonsense, laughing. Maria told stories about her colleagues; Ivan—about new projects. These were those simple moments of happiness that made up their life together.
But gradually something began to change. Ivan started staying late at work. First an hour, then two, and then he began coming home closer to midnight.
Maria lay in bed and heard the quiet click of the front door lock. Ivan tried not to make noise, but she still didn’t sleep. It had been two months since these late nights began.
“Sorry, Mash, late again,” Ivan slipped under the blanket. “We had to prepare an urgent report.”
“Vanya, maybe you should talk to your boss?” Maria turned to her husband. “You can’t work like this all the time.”
“Just be patient a little longer, darling,” Ivan hugged his wife. “They’re promising a good bonus. In early autumn we’ll be able to go somewhere nice. Not Turkey or anything, but somewhere decent.”
Maria hugged him tightly. His embrace still gave her a sense of protection and peace.
“I know work takes too much sometimes,” she whispered. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Ivan kissed her forehead. “Everything will work out, you’ll see.”
A week later Maria stood in the living room looking at an open suitcase. Summer clothes were neatly folded; she just needed to zip it up.
“Did you forget anything?” Ivan peeked from the hallway. “Got your charger? Your meds?”
“I’ve got everything, don’t worry,” Maria mentally ran through her list. “I’m only going to my parents’ for ten days.”
“Send them my regards,” Ivan came and hugged her. “Too bad I can’t come with you. Can’t get time off.”
“It’s okay,” Maria hugged him back. “Mom and Dad will understand.”
Ivan picked up the suitcase.
“Let me help you carry it to the taxi.”
They went downstairs, and Maria got into the car. Ivan waved to her, and she went to the station, and from there—to her childhood village.
Her parents’ house greeted Maria with the smell of fresh bread and silence. Mom bustled in the kitchen; Dad tinkered with something in the shed. Everything was as it had been in childhood, only now Maria came as a guest.
“Mashenka, how are you? How’s Vanechka?” Mom sat her daughter at the table and began serving food.
“Everything’s fine, Mom. Vanya works a lot,” Maria took a pie. “So delicious!”
The days in the village dragged on slowly and calmly. Maria helped her mom with chores, went fishing with her dad, sat on the porch in the evenings. But her thoughts constantly returned to Ivan. She missed his smile, his hands, their morning kitchen talks. Ten days felt like an eternity.
“Mash, what if you surprise Vanya?” Mom suggested on the ninth day. “Go back a day early.”
“Mom, that’s a great idea!” Maria brightened.
“Here, take my preserves,” Mom took out jars of strawberries in their own juice and raspberries. “Vanya loves berry pie, right? Bake him one.”
Maria hugged her mother and began packing. Tomorrow morning, first train—and home, to her beloved husband.
On the train Maria couldn’t sit still from impatience. She imagined Ivan coming home from work, finding her there with a hot pie. How surprised and happy he’d be, lifting her up and spinning her around the room. The smile never left her face the entire trip. Passengers glanced at her, but Maria didn’t care. She was going home, to her happiness.
From the station Maria took a taxi. The driver chatted about the weather and traffic, but she barely listened. Only one image kept spinning in her head—Ivan’s surprised and happy face.
Maria opened the apartment door. Her husband should already be at work. She had plenty of time to prepare everything. But from the living room came a woman’s laugh. Ringing, young, carefree. Maria froze. The suitcase remained on the landing; the door ajar.
On tiptoe Maria moved down the hallway. Her heart pounded in her throat. From the living room came Ivan’s voice:
“Just wait a little longer, darling. Masha thinks I’m her prince. I’ll suggest putting part of the apartment in my name, she won’t refuse. Then I’ll file for divorce and take my half. Then we can buy ourselves a cozy little nest.”
A woman’s voice answered with a laugh:
“You’re so clever! I’d never have thought of that.”
“That’s why I solve all our problems,” Ivan’s voice was so tender, Maria hadn’t heard him like that in a long time.
Maria took the last step and stood in the doorway. On the couch sat Ivan and a young girl—the very secretary. Maria had seen her once at her husband’s work. They sat very close, Ivan’s arm around her shoulders.
Both froze when they saw Maria. Ivan turned pale, the girl moved away in fright.
“Came back early,” Maria’s voice sounded surprisingly calm. “Wanted to bake you a pie, surprise you. But you beat me to it.”
“Masha, it’s not what you think,” Ivan jumped up from the couch.
“What am I supposed to think?” Maria smirked, though inside everything collapsed. “That you’re discussing the quarterly report with your secretary? On the couch, hugging?”
“Masha, let me explain…”
“You won’t get even a part of my apartment!” Maria’s voice broke into a scream. “Do you hear me? Not a single inch!”
The secretary shrank into the couch, and Ivan stepped toward his wife:
“Masha, listen, I can explain everything! I lacked your attention, your love…”
“Lacked?” Maria couldn’t believe her ears. “I lived for you! Breathed for you!”
“But I’m always at work, you’re not there,” Ivan tried to justify himself. “And Lena is always around, always ready to listen…”
“Well, since she’s always around,” Maria took a deep breath, “take her and get out of my apartment. Be around each other as much as you like.”
“Masha, forgive me! I was a fool! Forgive me!”
“Get up,” Maria turned away. “Don’t humiliate yourself. Just leave.”
“Masha, please! Let’s talk! I’ll fix everything!”
“Get out!” Maria shouted. “Both of you! Out of my home!”
The secretary jumped up and ran out of the apartment. Ivan kept trying to say something. But Maria didn’t listen. She went into the bedroom and began packing his things. Her hands moved mechanically—shirts, pants, socks. Everything flew into the bag.
She set the last bag out on the landing. And slammed the door. Behind it came her husband’s shouts.
“Masha, open the door! Let’s talk!” Ivan’s voice trembled.
“Too late,” Maria tried to speak evenly.
“Masha, I love you! It was a mistake!”
Then she went to the kitchen, took out a jar of raspberries—her mother’s, lovingly preserved. Put the kettle on. There wouldn’t be any pie, but she’d have some delicious tea. The raspberries would soothe her frayed nerves. And then she’d think of a plan for how to live on. Without Ivan. Without her prince, who turned out to be just an ordinary liar.