Marina was carefully watering the violets on the windowsill when a crash and her husband’s irritated grumbling rang out.
“Damn it! That palm again!” Andrey was rubbing his bruised knee and glaring at the culprit. “Marina, when are you going to move that green monstrosity? I trip over it every single day!”
“Andryusha, where am I supposed to put it?” Marina wiped her hands on her apron and stepped into the hall. “It’s tropical—it needs a spot by the window, but not in direct sun…”
“And I need a place to walk in my own apartment!” her husband barked, tugging on his jacket. “You’ve turned the whole place into a greenhouse! A normal person can’t live like this!”
Marina kept quiet, though she wanted to snap back, “And who here is normal?” She pushed a few tiny pots with cuttings farther from the edge of the cabinet—yesterday Timka, the younger one, had run by and snagged three of them with his sleeve. Good thing the soil was damp; she’d managed to save the cuttings.
“Mom, where are my sneakers?” Maxim, the older one, burst into the hall. At seventeen he’d almost caught up to his father in height, but his coordination still lagged behind. Spinning around too fast, he clipped a small pot with his elbow—the one with just-germinated seeds.
“Maxim!” Marina dropped to gather the shards and spilled soil. “How many times do I have to say it? Be at least a little careful!”
“Sorry, Mom,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “It was an accident… What was in there?”
“Cyclamens from seed,” Marina answered quietly, picking up the tiny sprouts. She’d waited a month for them to emerge.
“Oh, come on,” Andrey said, pulling on his shoes. “You’ll plant new ones. You’ve got them here like sunflower seeds—by the handful.”
If only you knew how much time and effort it takes, Marina thought, but out loud she only said:
“Timur! Breakfast is ready!”
The younger son barreled into the kitchen like a hurricane. At fourteen he was a ball of energy—couldn’t sit still for a minute.
“Mom, can I take a cactus to my room?” he asked, pouring himself tea and sloshing half of it onto the tablecloth.
“What do you need a cactus for?”
“Well, they say they clean the air. And anyway, Lyokha has this really cool one with spines…”
“Tim, all my cacti have spines,” Marina smiled.
“You know what I mean. Like… extra bristly!”
“Bristly is good,” Maxim snorted, sitting down at the table. “Mom, how many plants do you even have?”
Marina thought about it. Honestly, she’d lost count long ago. On every windowsill, on shelves, even on the fridge and in the bathroom—everywhere something was greening, blooming, or rooting in jars of water.
“A lot,” she admitted.
“Exactly,” Andrey said, taking a gulp of coffee. “You’ve turned the house into a jungle. And what’s the point? You’re just wasting money on pots.”
“Not true,” Marina set plates of omelet in front of her sons. “I sell them sometimes. On the online classifieds.”
“Right,” her husband snorted. “Made enough for a new pot?”
Maxim and Timur snickered. Marina felt her cheeks heat up.
“Last week I got a thousand rubles for three violets.”
“Whoa!” Timur’s eyes went round. “Can I have some for ice cream?”
“A thousand rubles is practically nothing,” Andrey drawled. “How long does that last? Two days of groceries? And how much time did you spend growing those violets?”
He was right, of course. Marina had grown those violets for over a year—from a leaf cutting to a flowering plant. But she loved the process itself. She loved watching tiny roots sprout from a little leaf, then new leaves appear, then a rosette form, and finally the first buds…
“It’s not just about the money,” she said softly.
“Sure, sure,” Andrey waved it off. “A hobby, I get it. Just don’t expect to make real money from it.”
After breakfast the family scattered to their own business, and Marina was left alone with the plants. She put on some calm music and got on with her usual routine—watering, misting, potting up the rooted cuttings, checking for pests.
Her phone pinged. Marina wiped her hands and looked.
“Good afternoon! I saw your ad. We need to green an office, roughly 200 square meters. Mostly interested in large tropical plants. Can we meet tomorrow? — Elena.”
Marina read the message several times. An office? Two hundred square meters? She mostly sold small plants—violets, cuttings, sometimes young ficuses.
“Hello! Yes, of course, we can meet. What budget do you have in mind?” she wrote.
The reply came quickly: “Budget is 300–400 thousand. It needs to look elegant and high-end.”
Marina stared at the screen. Three hundred thousand? Four hundred? For plants? She did a quick calculation—that was almost as much as Andrey made in half a year!
They set the meeting for the next day at a business center across town. Marina agonized over what to wear and finally chose a dark, tailored suit she’d bought for Maxim’s graduation.
Elena turned out to be a well-dressed woman of about forty-five, expensive taste and all. Her office on the thirtieth floor was impressive—panoramic windows, glass partitions, minimalist design.
“See how sterile everything looks?” Elena swept a hand around the space. “We need to bring it to life, but in a way that looks solid. Clients should understand we’re a successful company. One of our employees recommended you. She said you know your stuff.”
Marina nodded, trying to hide her nerves. She’d never dealt with this kind of volume.
“What plants do you prefer?” she asked, pulling out a notebook.
“Large, striking ones. Palms, monsteras, ficuses… What would you suggest?”
Marina brightened. She could talk about plants for hours.
“For this light, Chamaedorea would be perfect—it’s a palm and very undemanding. Different varieties of dracaena. Monstera deliciosa—the leaves are beautifully fenestrated. Ficus benjamina…”
They talked for over an hour. Elena was attentive and asked smart questions. In the end they put together a list of thirty plants of various sizes.
“Do you have the quantity we’ll need for this space?” Elena asked.
Marina hesitated. She had a few suitable plants at home, but nowhere near everything on the list.
“Don’t worry, there will be as many as necessary,” she made her voice sound as confident as she could.
“Prepare an estimate, add your fee for selection, delivery, and installation. Plus care for the first three months—teach our staff how to water properly. Can you keep it within 350,000?”
Marina nodded, afraid her voice would betray her nerves.
The next two weeks flew by in a blur. Marina called everyone she knew from forums and in real life, drove to every garden center in the city and surrounding area, choosing perfect specimens. She bought the plants with her own savings—she’d been putting money aside for five years “for a rainy day,” and here it was—not rainy, but green.
Home descended into chaos. The hall, kitchen, even the bedroom were crammed with new acquisitions. Andrey’s grumbling got louder and louder.
“Marina, this is beyond a joke!” he fumed, squeezing past pots on his way to the bathroom. “What is going on?”
“I’ve got a big order,” Marina answered shortly, misting the leaves of a new monstera.
“What order? For how much?”
“For a lot.”
She didn’t want to say—what if something fell through? What if the client changed her mind? Better to get paid first.
Installation at the office took a full day. Marina hired movers and directed the process herself. By evening the sterile office had become a green oasis. Even she was surprised at the result—it really did look luxurious.
“Magnificent!” Elena walked among the plants, clearly pleased. “Exactly the effect I wanted. Here’s your money. I’ll recommend you to my contacts.”
Marina clutched the envelope. Three hundred and fifty thousand rubles.
At home she counted the bills three times before believing it. Then she hid the envelope—tomorrow she’d take it to the bank.
At dinner the family discussed weekend plans.
“How about we go to the dacha?” Andrey suggested. “We need to hill up the potatoes.”
“I can’t,” Marina poured tea. “I have work.”
“What work?” Maxim was surprised.
“Flowers.”
“Seriously?” Timur looked up from his phone. “How much do they pay?”
Marina smiled. “It depends.”
Elena’s recommendations worked. A week later another office called, then a third. By the end of the month Marina had five greening contracts.
She realized she couldn’t handle it alone and hired an assistant—a biology student named Anya. The girl was capable and caught on quickly.
In winter there were fewer orders, but Marina didn’t sit idle. She enrolled in landscape design courses, studied specialized literature, and networked with colleagues online.
By spring she felt confident. Her first order to landscape a dacha plot came in April—the owner of one of the offices she’d greened asked her to spruce up the grounds of his country house.
“Mom, you’re gone all day now,” Timur complained at yet another family dinner. “At least before you were home.”
“It’s the season, honey. Spring and summer are the peak for gardeners.”
“Gardeners?” Andrey echoed. “I thought you were selling little houseplants.”
“I’m a landscape designer now, too,” Marina said proudly.
The family exchanged looks. Maxim snickered.
“Sounds cool. How much does that cost?”
“Enough,” she answered evasively.
“You won’t make money at that,” Andrey laughed. “A landscape designer! What is this, Rublyovka? Normal people dig their own garden beds.”
Maxim and Timur laughed. Marina finished her soup in silence. If only they knew that in May alone she’d earned more than Andrey did in an entire year…
Summer was extremely busy. Marina got up at six and came home at night. She now had three permanent assistants and deals with several nurseries. Orders flowed one after another—landscaping cottage grounds, office parks, restaurants.
In August, while her sons were getting ready to enter university, Marina quietly went to see an apartment on the edge of the city. A small one-room place in a new building, with a fresh modern renovation and panoramic windows—perfect for a single woman in midlife.
The seller named the price—three million. Marina already had four in her account.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “But we’ll put it in my mother’s name.”
In the fall both sons got into university—Maxim in economics, Timur in engineering. Marina was happy and proud. Andrey was pleased too, but immediately started grumbling about upcoming expenses.
“Good thing they got tuition-free spots,” he said over dinner. “Otherwise where would we have found the money for two paid programs?”
“We would’ve found it,” Marina answered calmly.
“Where? On my salary? Or were you counting on your little flowers?”
That tone again. The same mockery. Marina looked at her husband—when had he become like this? Had he always belittled her interests and achievements?
“Speaking of ‘little flowers,’” Andrey leaned back in his chair. “Maybe now that the kids are grown, you’ll stop this circus? Make the house look normal again?”
“What circus?” she asked quietly.
“This whole pretending to be a businesswoman. You should stay home like a normal wife. Cook borscht, wash socks.”
“I do all that already.”
“You do it half-baked! This used to be a proper home, and now—plants everywhere, and you’re gone all day.”
Marina stood up from the table.
“Andrey, the kids are grown. They’ve entered university and will soon be starting their own lives. I want to live my own life too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I want a divorce.”
Silence fell. Andrey stared at his wife as if she were crazy.
“Out of nowhere?” he tried to laugh. “Over some silly things? I didn’t mean it…”
“Oh, you meant it. For the last twenty years you’ve treated me like hired help. You belittle everything I care about. You laugh at my passions.”
“Marina, don’t be childish! All husbands tease their wives, it’s normal!”
“It isn’t normal for me.”
Andrey jumped up.
“And where will you go? You’ve got nothing! The apartment is mine, in my name!”
“I have a place to live,” Marina said evenly.
“Where? In your mother’s little flat?”
“In my own. I have my own apartment now.”
Andrey went pale.
“What apartment? What did you buy it with?”
“With the money I made from flowers.”
“That can’t be! How much could you possibly make from that nonsense?”
Marina said nothing. Andrey paced the kitchen.
“Fine, even if that’s true—the apartment was bought during the marriage, so it’s joint property! I’ll go to court—we’ll split it fifty-fifty!”
“It’s in my mother’s name. A gift from a loving daughter.”
Andrey stopped. He realized she’d thought it all through in advance, prepared everything. Panic flickered in his eyes.
“Marina, come on! We’re a family! I… I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just my temperament… We can fix this!”
“No, Andrey. It’s too late.”
Marina saw in the New Year in her new apartment. Her sons came over—they liked the bright, spacious place with a view of the park. The wide windowsills already boasted the first plants—violets, dracaenas, a small palm.
“Mom, where’s Dad celebrating?” Timur asked as he set the table.
“At Svetlana’s, probably,” Marina replied coolly. “His new girlfriend.”
“It’s all so strange,” Maxim said thoughtfully. “I had no idea you earned that much.”
Marina smiled. A stack of contracts for the new season lay on the table—already now, in January, her calendar was booked months ahead.
“‘You won’t make money at that,’” she mimicked her ex-husband’s voice and laughed.
The boys exchanged glances and laughed too.
“Mom, can you teach us?” Timur asked suddenly. “Maybe I’ll help you in the summer. Earn some pocket money.”
“Of course,” Marina nodded. “Just remember—plants don’t tolerate rushing. They take patience and attention.”
“Like life,” Maxim observed philosophically.
“Yes,” their mother agreed, “like life.”
Outside, snow was falling, but on the windowsill tiny sprouts of new flowers were already peeking through. By spring they’d become beautiful plants; someone would surely want to buy them, and the familiar cycle would start again—growing, selling, new orders.
Marina was happy. For the first time in many years she was making plans without looking over her shoulder at someone else’s opinion. And to think—her loved ones had once laughed: “You won’t make any money from that,” not knowing she’d been making money for a long time—and would make even more.
Cha