— What is it with you and this Sofa? Why do you even need a wife like that? She gave birth, spread out, now she waddles around like a blimp. You think she’ll lose weight? Sure, keep waiting—it’s only going to get worse!
— But she’s calm. And I actually like that she’s filled out. She used to be skinny as a stick—now she’s got curves!
The man said this about his wife and couldn’t help smiling. But his best friend, Arseny, immediately thumped him on the shoulder.
— Hey, don’t get carried away, alright? Who cares what you like. You’ll show up with her at the New Year’s office party and you’ll be ashamed to look your buddies in the eye. You’re a tall, broad, handsome guy. A woman’s prime is short, but us men? We’re eligible bachelors at any age!
Fedya only shook his head. Still, the thought crept in that maybe he really had sat in this marriage too long. Once upon a time he’d been quite a womanizer—until Sofia changed him. Calm, beautiful, kind, caring. And she cooks so well you can’t tear yourself away from the plate. Fedya himself had put on about ten kilos during the marriage. And they’d just had a baby.
— You’ve got to swap out a wife regularly, like old tires! — Arseny roared with laughter. — I divorced mine and now I’m hanging out with Lenka. Young, sturdy. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll trade her in for another!
After that conversation, Fedya thought more and more about his friend’s words. Arseny wound him up, and Fedya suddenly started taking those thoughts as his own. Maybe he really had lingered in this marriage?
— Sofia, you’ve, uh, put on…
He had barely started when his wife, clutching their just-asleep infant to her chest, widened her eyes.
— And what of it? God, I’ve gained five kilos—is that a tragedy? I’m the one taking care of the baby, sleep-deprived, working remotely. The whole household is on me, all the problems, all the logistics! Watch the baby, finish work, sort out the finances, pay the utilities, go buy groceries, cook everything! And you’re going to torment me over five measly kilos?!
It was like a pipe burst in Sofia’s soul. She wanted to burst into tears from the hurt that her husband didn’t value any of it. And if she left, he’d be alone with all these problems and drown in them.
— Why do you keep harping on those kilos? I brought an entire human into the world, and you’re on about kilos!
Sofia sniffled and went to the nursery with the baby in her arms. Fedya stayed sitting in the chair. If he had another wife, maybe she wouldn’t be yelling.
And with each passing day, Fedya sank deeper into the thoughts his friend had planted. More and more it seemed to him that Arseny was right. He wouldn’t abandon his child—he’d help—but lining up a fallback option never hurt.
— Look how Lyudka from the second department looks at you! She devours you with her eyes! She’s single, I checked. Beautiful, athletic. Just look at her—she belongs on a canvas! Next to her, your Sofia doesn’t even compare! — Arseny said, walking up to the table.
And sure enough, Lyudmila stood by the water cooler. A pretty young woman, she glanced over at her colleague now and then. Fedya hadn’t seen that “fire in her eyes” Arseny talked about. But Arseny was more experienced—he must know better!
— You’ll come home and a woman like that will be waiting! Just imagine—heels, lingerie, everything to make a man happy! And yours? Probably in a robe with baby spit-up stains! You’re getting older—soon it’ll be harder to find a girl.
Arseny patted Fedor on the shoulder, then went back to his department, tossing a couple of dirty jokes to that very Lyudmila. Fedya felt a pang of envy toward his best friend. Arseny could always find common ground with women, strike up a conversation with any of them, and the next day brag about a phone number or photos from a successful night.
Fedya went to see his mother and started talking about how his wife, sort of—since he hadn’t decided—no longer suited him. But Liliya Nikolaevna, who had always been on her son’s side, didn’t back him this time.
— You little wretch, your wife gave you a child, she works, runs the whole house, she’s a beauty—and you turn up your nose?! You men are all the same, Fedya. You don’t know how to value what you have—always eyeing the woods like wolves. Then you end up old and alone, howling at the moon!
Her words seemed to fly right past his ears. He kept ogling Lyudmila at work, catching her glances, thinking maybe his friend was right. Time marches on—he’d never get someone that young later, you didn’t need a fortune-teller to see it. One day Fedor came home so thoroughly wound up that he couldn’t think or talk about anything except his friend’s words.
Fedya sat across from his wife, who was rocking the baby after yet another sleepless night. Dark circles under her eyes, her skin not the same as before. She didn’t have the athletic shape she once had. He understood that he loved her, but it terrified him to realize he might be missing all his “male chances.”
— You know, Sofia, I think we should break up. You’ve changed after giving birth. I’ve realized a lot, and maybe it really is time.
There was nothing concrete in Fedya’s words. He hemmed and hawed, trying to pick gentler phrasing, and felt like an idiot—as if he’d fallen for phone scammers and now shyly averted his eyes whenever anyone asked about it.
At first, Sofia didn’t answer him at all. She just looked into his light eyes, and in hers there was only weariness—no anger or disappointment. She laid the baby in the bassinet, packed two suitcases, took the child, and went into the hall. She hadn’t said anything to him until then, but now she clearly was going to.
Fedya wanted to shout, to stop her, to fall to his knees and apologize. But the moment he imagined humiliating himself in front of his friend by retelling it all, those urges let him go.
— You know what, Fedya… Maybe you should live on your own for a while—without me, without your son. When you had that accident and were bedridden, I nursed you for a whole year. I worked at the same time, emptied your bedpans, made you do your exercises, found the best doctors, took out loans and paid them off. I didn’t say a word then—didn’t hint at divorce or at our relationship being “not quite right.” And you threw me out with a baby in my arms over five miserable kilos.
Sofia turned and left, not waiting for realization to dawn on her husband’s bewildered face. Fedya stood in the doorway, listening to his wife’s footsteps fade, and felt nothing but a crushing sense of having made an irreversible mistake.
Fedya came to work the next day with no mood for anything. Everything fell from his hands. Arseny hopped around him, congratulating him, grabbing his hand like boys do in the yard.
— Well, that’s that—go start hitting on Lyudka. What a stunner—otherwise I’ll steal her from you.
Arseny laughed, but his friend wasn’t amused. Fedya looked up, and Senya seemed to get it.
— Here’s what I’ll tell you, Senya. I was an idiot to believe you. I had a wife any man here would die of envy over! I have a son, a good family! I don’t need your young chicks!
— You’re talking like a henpecked husband, not a man!
— And a “man,” in your book, is someone who dumps his wife and his own child? Or a man who can’t keep it in his pants and jumps from girl to girl? Or is a “man,” to you, someone who can’t be faithful to one woman and bolts like a stray dog the second a skirt swishes by?
Arseny took offense at the way Fedya treated his advice—and at the sore spot those words hit. The best friends had a blazing row. Fedya decided that if nothing changed, he wouldn’t be friends with Arseny anymore. With a “best friend” like that, you don’t need enemies.
That very day Fedor went to his wife with a huge bouquet of flowers. He got down on his knees and begged forgiveness, honestly admitting he’d fallen for his friend’s tall tales. He blamed only himself and pleaded for pardon. Sofia forgave him; they moved back into their apartment and began living in harmony. It even seemed to Fedya that he loved his wife more than ever. He no longer saw her as something that simply came with the package.
To him, Sofia was the most beautiful, the very best. To hell with the kilos, with the tired look. Fedor started helping his wife actively, taking on more responsibility with the baby. He’d sit with the child, get up at night, put him to sleep. He took over the laundry and the cooking when needed. And meanwhile his wife began to blossom—she even signed up for the gym.
And little by little, in tiny steps, their relationship returned to its old course. Fedor promised himself he would never do anything like that again. For him, the whole situation became an important lesson: you must always use your own head.