Alena found out about Sveta’s divorce—Sveta being her husband’s sister—through the family group chat.
First came a message from her mother-in-law:
“Girls, things are really hard for Svetochka right now. Let’s support her.”
Then Sveta called in tears. Her voice trembled, her sentences broke apart mid-word. Andrey had left. Just packed his things and walked out—straight to the woman he’d apparently been seeing for two years. That woman even had his child: a little girl only a year and a half old.
Sveta sobbed into the phone while Alena stood in her kitchen, staring at the refrigerator covered in children’s drawings. Across from her sat Igor, her husband, hunched over his laptop at the table. And Alena kept thinking how quickly something that seemed solid could collapse overnight.
“Poor Sveta,” Igor said when Alena ended the call. “Two kids and she’s on her own. Right before New Year’s, too.”
“It’s horrible,” Alena agreed. “She has to drive Misha and Dasha everywhere now—school, clubs, doctors. And Andrey didn’t even leave her a car.”
“Yeah,” Igor muttered. “He drove off in it to his new ‘family.’”
Alena shook her head. Sveta lived on the outskirts. The kids’ school was about twenty minutes away by car, but by public transport it meant transfers, crowds, and rush-hour chaos. Misha was in third grade. Dasha had just started first. Misha had hockey three times a week. Dasha had dance and swimming.
New Year’s was only two weeks away.
Alena worked as an interior designer, and late December was always packed—everyone rushed to finish renovations before the holidays. She bounced across the city from one project to another: taking measurements, snapping photos, meeting suppliers. Thank God she had a car. Her white Škoda—bought used three years earlier, financed with a loan she paid every month without missing a single payment.
The car wasn’t a luxury. It was her working tool.
On Thursday evening, sorting through papers at the kitchen table, Alena spotted a reminder she’d written to herself: oil change.
“Igor,” she said, “I need to book maintenance. I completely forgot, but it’s already due.”
He looked up from his phone. “Sure. Go. It’s about time.”
“I’ll schedule it for tomorrow—before the holidays start, or I won’t have time later.”
“Mm-hm,” he nodded, eyes already back on the screen.
Then he hesitated, glanced up again, and said, “Actually… maybe don’t do it yet.”
Alena raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Well…” Igor set his phone down and shifted in his chair. “I’ve been thinking about the car.”
“The car?” she repeated, instantly wary.
“Sveta’s alone now. With kids. School, activities, doctors… it’ll be really hard for her without a car. And we… we have two.”
Alena slowly placed her pen on the table. Her stomach tightened.
“Igor. What are you getting at?”
He blurted it out quickly, like he wanted it over with:
“I decided to give our car to my sister for New Year’s. She needs it for the kids.”
The air in the room went still.
Alena stared at him, trying to confirm she’d heard correctly.
“Our car?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah. She needs it more. We’ll use mine—one will be enough for us.”
“Wait.” Alena’s voice sharpened. “Are you talking about my car? The Škoda?”
Igor avoided her eyes. “Well… technically, it’s ours. We’re married. In marriage everything is shared property.”
Something hot rose in Alena’s chest.
“Technically?” She stood up. “Igor, are you serious right now?”
“Sveta’s in a crisis, Len,” he insisted. “She’s struggling. We’re family—family helps.”
“Family,” Alena echoed. “Great. Then let’s give her your car. Or your apartment. That was bought while we were married too, so technically it’s ‘ours,’ right?”
Igor frowned. “What are you talking about? What does my apartment have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with it,” Alena said, her voice turning firm. “Because you’re treating my property like you’re entitled to make decisions about it.”
“I chose that car. I bought it. I took out the loan. I pay it every month. Without your help. I need it for work—I drive to clients, transport materials, run between stores and sites. Without it, I can’t do my job.”
“We’ll use mine,” Igor shrugged. “We’ll take turns or something.”
“Your car?” Alena’s restraint was cracking. “Your two-door BMW where two grocery bags barely fit? And I’m supposed to haul a suitcase full of samples? Or deliver tile?”
“You can call a taxi for tile,” Igor mumbled.
“Igor!” Alena nearly shouted. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“You’re telling me to hand over the car I work with—the car I bought and I’m still paying off—so I can squeeze my entire job into your sports coupe or take taxis? Seriously?”
“You’re exaggerating,” he said coldly. “You can make it work.”
“Make it work,” Alena repeated with a tense laugh. “And you don’t want to ‘make it work’ at all, do you? Why not give her your car?”
“My car isn’t suitable for kids. It’s a coupe.”
“Then sell it and buy her a proper family car,” Alena snapped. “If helping matters that much.”
Igor’s expression tightened. “Mine is different. I—”
“Different how?” Alena crossed her arms. “Do you use it for work? No. Do you drive all day every day across the city? No. You just like taking it out on weekends.”
“My car is my livelihood. It’s how I earn.”
“Len, don’t be like that,” Igor pleaded. “Sveta is my sister. She’s devastated. Two kids. Her husband abandoned her—”
“Sveta is your sister,” Alena agreed. “And I feel for her. I’m willing to help—watch the kids, lend money, drive them when needed.”
“But I’m not giving away my car. Not the one I need to do my job.”
“But it’s—”
“Mine,” Alena cut him off. “It’s mine, Igor.”
“I picked it, I did the paperwork, I signed the loan. You didn’t even come with me—you said you were busy. And I’ve been paying for it from my own money ever since.”
“But we’re family,” Igor argued again. “Marriage means everything is shared.”
“Is it?” Alena leaned forward. “Then let’s talk about your apartment on Petrovka. The two-bedroom you rent out. The rent you collect and spend on yourself. That apartment is shared too, right?”
Igor went pale. “My mom gave me that apartment. Before the wedding.”
“That’s not true,” Alena said sharply. “It was after. Four months after we got married. I remember.”
“And you’ve been collecting rent every month. I’ve never seen that money. Where does it go?”
“That’s… none of your business,” Igor muttered.
“Oh, it’s not?” Alena’s anger snapped fully into place. “But giving away my car is your business? Convenient.”
Igor stood up, his face red. “You don’t understand! Sveta is really struggling! She has children!”
“She has children,” Alena shot back, “and I have a job. Without my job, there’s no income. And without my car, I can’t do my job.”
“Use taxis! Use mine!”
“I can’t use yours!” Alena’s voice shook. “Sometimes I have to transport laminate, boxes of tile. I go to messy sites where it’s mud up to your ankles. What—on your spotless BMW you polish every weekend?”
Igor clenched his jaw. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stingy. We could help the family.”
“Stingy?” Alena stepped back. “I’m stingy because I won’t hand over my car? And you’re generous because you’re offering up someone else’s?”
“It’s not someone else’s!” Igor snapped. “We’re husband and wife!”
“Exactly—husband and wife,” Alena said, forcing herself to breathe, though the words still spilled out. “Not owner and property.”
“You don’t get to decide for me. It’s my car. I bought it. I pay for it. I drive it.”
“But Sveta—”
“I feel sorry for Sveta!” Alena shouted. “I truly do!”
“But feeling sorry for her doesn’t mean I have to give her the one thing I need to earn a living. We can help in other ways—money, childcare, rides when necessary. But not by taking away what keeps me afloat.”
Igor went silent, staring at the floor. Alena’s hands trembled.
“You know what?” she said, quieter now. “If you really believe ‘everything is shared,’ then let’s get divorced. Right now—before New Year’s.”
“And let a judge divide everything: your apartment, your car, my car. Let’s see what the law says. If everything is ‘shared,’ then your apartment is half mine too. And the rent is half mine too. You want that decided in court?”
Igor jerked his head up. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me,” Alena replied, her smile bitter. “I’m simply taking your logic to its conclusion.”
Because if you can decide to gift away what’s mine… then you should be prepared to share what’s yours.
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Igor looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. And Alena stood there, arms crossed, fury still buzzing under her skin.
“Len…” he finally said, quietly. “I just wanted to help my sister.”
“Help her,” Alena answered in the same low tone. “But don’t do it at my expense. Not with my things. Not with the one thing I need to work.”
Igor nodded, but didn’t speak.
Alena turned and walked to the bedroom. She needed to be alone.
Two days later, Sveta called herself. Her voice was both wounded and demanding.
“Alena, is it true Igor wanted to give me your car?”
Alena froze. So Igor had told her.
“Sveta… it’s complicated,” she started carefully.
“He told me you were okay with it,” Sveta cut in. “And now you suddenly changed your mind. Why?”
“Sveta, that car—”
“You don’t understand how hard this is!” Sveta’s voice shook. “I have two children! I need to drive them everywhere! And you—what, you can’t manage? You have two cars!”
“Sveta, one of them is mine,” Alena said tightly. “It’s for work. I can’t function without it.”
“For work,” Sveta scoffed. “Driving around to stores is ‘work’ now? And driving kids is what—fun?”
Alena gripped her phone. “I’m a designer. I go to clients, construction sites, suppliers. I transport samples, materials, tools. Without a car, I can’t do my job.”
“Then use Igor’s!”
“I can’t haul construction materials in Igor’s car. There are barely any back seats.”
“So you’re just being selfish,” Sveta switched to a hurt tone. “Your brother won’t help his own sister.”
“We are helping,” Alena said, exhausted. “Just not in that way. Not by giving away what I need to earn a living.”
“Right. Got it,” Sveta sniffed. “So we’ll just suffer with buses and transfers, and you won’t care.”
“Sveta—”
“Fine. I understand everything. Happy New Year.”
And she hung up.
Alena lowered the phone slowly. A dull heaviness settled in her chest.
That evening Igor came home grim-faced. He barely spoke through dinner. Neither did Alena. Finally he cleared his throat.
“Sveta called you?”
“Yes.”
“She had a meltdown at me,” Igor sighed. “Says we’re selfish. Says we don’t want to help.”
“Igor, we are helping,” Alena said tiredly. “Yesterday I watched Misha and Dasha for three hours while she went to the bank. Last week I drove Misha to hockey. We lent her money. Is that not help?”
“She wanted the car.”
“She wants a lot of things,” Alena replied. “Not everything is possible.”
Igor was quiet, then nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I get it. We’re done talking about it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he looked at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. About your work, about the loan. Sveta was begging. Crying. I felt sorry for her.”
“I feel sorry for her too,” Alena said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. “But that doesn’t mean I have to lose my car.”
“I understand,” Igor said softly. “It won’t happen again.”
And he truly didn’t bring it up again.
Sveta tried pushing through their mother a couple of times, but Alena stayed firm. They helped with money. Alena drove the kids when needed. But the car stayed with her.
They celebrated New Year’s at Igor’s parents’ house. Sveta arrived with red eyes, and she made a show of staying silent, turning away whenever Alena tried to speak to her. The kids ran around the tree, laughing, unaware of the tension.
At one point Alena stepped onto the balcony to breathe. A minute later Igor followed.
“Cold,” he said.
“Yeah,” Alena agreed.
They stood quietly, looking at the city lights. Then Igor wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of this.”
“I’m not angry,” Alena leaned into him. “You just scared me.”
“With the way you decided for me. Without me.”
“I won’t do that again,” Igor kissed her cheek. “I promise.”
“Good.”
Inside, the countdown to midnight began. They went back in, picked up their glasses, joined the circle. Sveta still kept her distance, but Misha and Dasha ran up to Alena and hugged her legs.
“Aunt Lena, will you drive us around this weekend?” Misha asked.
“Of course,” Alena smiled. “Where do you want to go?”
“To the ice rink!”
“To the ice rink it is,” Alena laughed.
Sveta grimaced and looked away, but Alena didn’t let it get to her. When the clock began to chime, she lifted her glass and made a wish—more understanding, more honesty, more respect in the new year.
And that no one would ever again decide for her what she “should” give up.
A week after New Year’s, Sveta messaged her. Short and stiff:
“Sorry. I went too far. I understand you need the car.”
Alena stared at the text for a long time, then replied:
“It’s okay. If you need anything, call. I’ll help.”
Sveta didn’t answer. But the next time they met at her mother-in-law’s, she didn’t turn away. She even asked Alena to watch the kids on Friday.
“Sure,” Alena said. “Where are you going?”
“To an interview,” Sveta smiled for the first time in ages. “I think it’s time I got back on my feet. Start looking for work.”
“That’s the right move,” Alena nodded.
She drove Sveta to the office, then picked up the kids from school and took them home. Misha and Dasha chatted in the back seat about something only they understood, and Alena drove along familiar streets thinking:
Protecting your own needs isn’t selfish.
It’s necessary.
You can help people in different ways—but not by destroying yourself. Not by giving away what you can’t live without.
She glanced in the mirror at the kids, then back at the road.
Her car. Her work. Her life.
And no one had the right to decide what happened to it without her consent.
Not even her husband.