Victoria was slicing bread for breakfast when the doorbell rang. Artem lifted his head from his phone.
“Probably Mom,” he said, and went to open the door.
A minute later, his mother appeared in the kitchen with her usual smile. Galina Petrovna always came without warning, as if this were her own apartment.
“Good morning, kids!” She kissed her son on the cheek. “I hope I’m not disturbing? I was nearby and decided to drop in.”
“Of course, come in,” Victoria got up from the table. “Would you like some coffee?”
“With pleasure.”
Artem went back to his phone, while Victoria put the cezve on the stove. His mother sat down across from him and carefully inspected the kitchen.
“How are things with you two?” Galina asked, taking the cup from Victoria.
“There’s work, the house is in order,” Artem replied.
Victoria returned to the table and picked up her sandwich. Galina tried the coffee and nodded approvingly.
“You know, son,” Galina began, stirring her sugar, “your Maxim has already turned eighteen.”
“Yes, I remember,” Artem nodded calmly.
“He’s really grown up,” Galina went on. “He’s in college now. You should give your son a really great gift.”
Victoria chewed slowly, focusing on her food. The word “great” grated on her nerves.
“I’ll think about it,” Artem said calmly, finishing his coffee.
“Not think—you must,” his mother corrected him firmly. “The gift should be suitable for an eighteenth birthday. It’s an important age; adult life is beginning.”
“Mom, I understand,” Artem said. “I’ll come up with something.”
“‘Something’ won’t do,” she shook her head. “Since you divorced his mother, at least don’t slight the boy with your gifts.”
A piece of bread stuck in Victoria’s throat. She quickly took a sip of tea. Talk of the ex-wife always unsettled her. And now hints about expensive gifts too.
“The gift must be worthy,” Galina insisted, tapping her spoon against the cup. “Otherwise your son will be hurt. At that age, kids are especially sensitive to attention.”
Victoria stared out the window, branches swaying beyond the glass. In her head, she was already calculating the costs of this mysterious gift.
“Of course, Mom,” Artem agreed. “I’ll take everything into account.”
“That’s good,” Galina finished her coffee and stood up. “Well then, kids, I’ll be off. Lots to do.”
She kissed her son on the cheek and waved at Victoria.
“And don’t forget about the gift, you hear?” she reminded him at the door.
“All right, Mom.”
The door closed. Victoria stood up and gathered the empty cups.
“What are you planning to give?” she asked without turning to her husband.
Artem rubbed the back of his head and sighed.
“I don’t know yet. I need to think about what he’d like.”
“And what kind of budget are you considering?” Victoria put the cups in the sink.
“Still thinking,” he shrugged, putting his phone aside. “We’ll see what fits.”
Victoria turned and looked at him. Artem picked up his phone again, scrolling through his feed as if the gift discussion didn’t concern him at all.
The next two weeks passed in a strange atmosphere. Artem became distant, always lost in thought. Victoria tried to talk to him, but it was as if he had built an invisible wall.
“Is something bothering you?” Victoria asked one evening, when she found him sitting silently on the couch.
“No, everything’s fine,” he replied without lifting his eyes from the screen.
Victoria would sit beside him, trying to lean on his shoulder, but he only stiffened. It hurt her. In three years of marriage, Artem had never been this closed off. Victoria truly loved her husband and worried about the growing rift between them.
“Maybe we should talk?” she suggested. “Tell me what’s going on?”
“Later, Vik. My head’s not working right now,” he waved her off.
But “later” never came. Artem came home silent, ate dinner glued to his phone, and went to bed early. Victoria was baffled. They used to talk about everything, share plans and thoughts. Now her husband was constantly on the phone with his mother.
On Thursday evening, while Victoria was cooking dinner, Artem finally spoke:
“I’ve decided something about Maxim’s gift.”
Victoria looked up from the pot. Finally, he was talking about what had been eating at him.
“And what is it?” she asked, stirring the vegetables.
“I found a great one-bedroom apartment,” Artem said, sitting down at the table. “In a new district, good layout. The boy’s eighteen—it’s time he had his own place.”
Victoria nodded as she set the plates.
“Sounds reasonable. Owning is always better than renting.”
“Exactly what I thought,” Artem brightened. “I’ll take a mortgage for it.”
“How much is the apartment?” Victoria asked, pouring the soup.
“Four and a half million. The down payment’s about a million,” Artem looked at her intently. “The problem is, I don’t have savings. So I’m asking you to help.”
Victoria froze with the ladle in her hand. A million rubles. Almost all her savings.
“Artem, I don’t have the money,” she said, sitting opposite him.
“What do you mean you don’t?” he was surprised. “You have almost a million in your account.”
“Had,” Victoria corrected. “I gave it to my mom a month ago.”
His face darkened, brows furrowed, lips pressed tight.
“Why?” he asked sharply.
“Mom’s always dreamed of her own dacha. She found a perfect little plot with a house,” Victoria explained. “I decided to help her make her dream come true.”
“Wonderful!” Artem leaned back. “So you had money for your own mother, but none for my son?”
Victoria flinched at his tone.
“That’s not the same thing,” she tried to explain. “Besides, it was my savings.”
“Yours?” Artem sneered. “Are we a family or not? Or do you only think about yourself and your relatives?”
“Don’t raise your voice,” Victoria pleaded. “Let’s talk calmly.”
“What is there to discuss?” he exploded. “You blew the money on some dacha, and my son is left without a gift!”
“Your son will get a gift,” Victoria objected. “Just not an apartment, since you don’t have the down payment.”
“And what should I give him then, socks?” Artem asked acidly.
Victoria stood up from the table. The conversation was turning ugly.
“You can come up with a decent gift without spending that much,” she said.
“So my son doesn’t deserve a good gift?” Artem stood too. “I see, Victoria. Thanks for the honesty.”
“You’re twisting my words!” Victoria protested.
The fight flared up in earnest. Artem accused her of selfishness; Victoria reminded him the money was hers and her right to decide. Their voices grew louder, their words sharper.
It ended with Artem sleeping in the living room, while Victoria locked herself in the bedroom and cried half the night.
The following days were filled with silence. Only necessary phrases—“good morning,” “good night.” Artem kept to the couch, and Victoria avoided his eyes. The tension was palpable.
On Friday, when Victoria came home, she saw Galina Petrovna in the hallway, putting on her coat and giving her a displeased once-over.
“Think carefully about what I told you,” she said to her son. “It’s time to decide what really matters to you.”
“I understand, Mom,” Artem replied stiffly.
“I hope you really do,” she added, heading to the elevator without even saying goodbye to Victoria. The door closed behind her.
Victoria was washing dishes when Artem entered the kitchen. She didn’t turn around, scrubbing at a plate, Galina’s words echoing in her mind.
“Vika,” her husband called.
“What?” she answered curtly.
“We need to have a serious talk,” Artem took her by the elbow. “Let’s go to the living room.”
Victoria dried her hands and followed him. They sat opposite each other on the couch. Artem was silent for a long time, choosing his words.
“I’ve been thinking these past few days,” he began slowly. “About Maxim’s gift.”
Victoria nodded, waiting.
“You see, the boy expects something from me,” Artem went on. “I can’t let him down.”
“And what are you suggesting?” she asked carefully.
“I’ve found a solution,” Artem straightened. “Mom agreed to take us in.”
Victoria frowned. Where was this going?
“Tomorrow we’ll move in with Mom. And my son will live here, in your apartment!” he declared.
The world seemed to stop. His words struck like thunder. The apartment she had bought, where he himself was registered—and now he wanted to hand it over to his son?
“Are you insane?” Victoria gasped, leaning back. “This is my apartment!”
“Was yours,” Artem corrected, staring her down. “Now we’re a family, and we have to think of the children.”
Victoria’s eyes widened. Did he really believe this?
“What children?” she exploded, fists clenched. “Maxim is your son! Yours alone! And the apartment is in my name!”
“Don’t be so selfish,” Artem shot back, leaning forward. “The boy is eighteen, he needs housing.”
Blood rushed to Victoria’s head. Selfish? For defending her own property?
“Let him rent like every other student!” she shouted, jumping up. “Or live with his mother!”
“Maxim is my son, I have to help him!” Artem raised his voice, standing as well.
Victoria saw the muscles in his neck tense. He was gearing up for a fight.
“At my expense?” she screamed, waving her arms. “You want to kick me out of my own apartment for your kid?”
“I’m offering a compromise—we’ll live with Mom,” Artem said, standing tall. “There’s room there.”
“What kind of compromise is that?” Victoria’s voice shook with rage. “You just decided to gift away my property!”
“Our property!” Artem shot back, pointing at her. “We’re married!”
“I bought the apartment before the marriage!” Victoria reminded him, folding her arms. “It’s in my name!”
Artem went pale, as if doused in cold water. His mouth opened, panic flickered in his eyes. He had clearly hoped she wouldn’t bring up the documents.
“Pack your things and get out,” Victoria said coldly, pointing to the door. “Right now.”
“You can’t kick me out!” Artem tried to protest, but his voice wavered.
“Yes, I can—and I am,” Victoria cut him off, turning her back. “It’s over, Artem. Our marriage is over.”
An hour later, he packed a bag and left. Victoria stayed behind in the apartment she had almost lost.
Three months passed. Victoria sat by an inflatable pool at the dacha her mother had bought. There was no wedding ring on her finger—she had taken it off the day of the divorce. A book lay beside her, ice melting in her lemonade glass.
It hurt, of course. Her husband’s betrayal cut deep. But time slowly healed the wounds. Victoria was learning to live anew, to make plans for herself alone. And new opportunities were opening ahead.