Eduard proposed to me in his own unforgettable style — as if he were signing the handover papers for a piece of real estate. It happened on a Thursday, in a restaurant he had chosen for one reason only: a twenty-percent weekday discount.
“Vika,” he began solemnly, pushing aside his half-eaten risotto, “we’re adults. I’ve assessed our assets, our personalities, and our future prospects. The numbers add up. I think it’s time we joined forces. You’re a worthy woman. A bit strong-willed, perhaps, but that can be refined.”
Then he placed a ring on the table. Not in a velvet box. Just like that, on the tablecloth beside the salt shaker.
“Gold,” he added with the gravity of a jeweler appraising a crown. “No stones. Stones are vulgar and an unnecessary expense. My mother always said modesty is a woman’s finest ornament. Speaking of Mother — we’re going to see my parents on Saturday. Dress nicely, but not too brightly. And prepare yourself mentally: Karina Yuryevna sees right through people.”
At the time, I only gave a dry little laugh as I stared at the plain band, which looked more like a metal nut than an engagement ring. Curiosity won over self-preservation. I genuinely wanted to know what kind of greenhouse had managed to cultivate such a rare and magnificent narcissist.
The drive to his parents’ place felt like escorting valuable cargo through a combat zone. The whole way there, Edik gave me instructions, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as though I were an explosive device with a countdown ticking inside.
“Don’t laugh too loudly,” he lectured in a mentor’s tone. “Don’t interrupt your elders. If Mother asks about your job, answer vaguely — no need to flaunt your position. And above all, agree with her. Mother likes obedient women.”
We drove into the courtyard of a drab apartment block on the outskirts of town, the kind of place Edik grandly described as “a quiet green oasis.”
Watching Eduard park his financed crossover with exaggerated ceremony — in three separate attempts, as though he were steering an ocean liner into a narrow harbor — I suddenly understood something with complete clarity: if I stayed silent now about his comment that my scarf was “too bright,” then in a year I’d be asking permission just to breathe.
By thirty-eight, I had already learned a simple truth — not in a university classroom, but in life’s much harsher school: the moment you compromise with a fool, you’ve already taken your first step toward surrender. Edik, of course, wasn’t exactly a fool. He was worse. He was one of those men with “principles” that somehow always benefited only himself.
“Vika, remember this,” he said, stepping out of the car and adjusting the lapels of his coat, even though there wasn’t the slightest breeze. “My mother, Karina Yuryevna, is old-fashioned. She values modesty. And please, don’t try to be clever. In a family, there should be one voice of reason — and as the man, I carry that burden.”
He offered me his arm as though presenting a royal scepter. I took it, feeling less like a bride-to-be and more like a railway carriage being hitched onto the locomotive called Joseph Stalin.
Karina Yuryevna opened the door herself. She was one of those women whose age becomes irrelevant — the kind who wear velvet robes at home and look at guests as though they’ve tracked dirt in on their shoes, even if they removed them in the elevator. Behind her hovered Sergey Nikolaevich, a man as quiet and substantial as a piece of furniture, clutching a newspaper.
“So, here you are,” she said in the same tone people use when announcing the start of a flu outbreak. “Eduard told me you work in logistics? Warehouses, loaders… Such an unfeminine profession.”
“Process management, Karina Yuryevna,” I replied with a smile. “Knowing how to put everything in its proper place. Sometimes people too.”
Edik squeezed my elbow slightly. A beginner-level pain tactic.
“Come in. The table is ready. Diana is already waiting.”
Diana, Edik’s younger sister, was sitting in the living room with her nose buried in her phone. She was twenty-five and, according to the family, “still searching for herself.” Judging by the expression on her face, the search had led her nowhere.
“Hi,” she muttered without looking up.
The table was buried under crystal serving dishes and salads drowning in mayonnaise. In the middle stood a roast chicken that looked as though it had died peacefully of old age and then been reheated out of duty.
“Sit here,” Edik commanded, pointing to the chair with the most uncomfortable backrest. “Dad, pour the ladies some wine. Vika, only half a glass — you’re driving… Oh right, we took my car. Still, don’t drink too much, you’ll be washing dishes later… kidding.”
He laughed. Alone. His laugh was smooth and polished, as if he had practiced it in front of a mirror.
“In our family,” Karina Yuryevna began, spooning salad onto my plate as though she were doing me a great favor, “a woman is the keeper of the hearth. Edik is the provider. He works very hard. He needs a reliable support system.”
“Support is wonderful,” I said, nodding as I took a bite of Olivier salad. It tasted as bland as a politician’s speech. “But even the best support system needs funding.”
“Eduard earns very well!” Diana shrieked, finally lifting her eyes from the screen.
“Of course,” Edik confirmed grandly, tearing bread apart with self-importance. “Speaking of funding, we’ve discussed things with my parents and decided it’s time to talk about our future living arrangement.”
I set my fork down. There it was. The bait had been cast, and the float had moved.
“And what exactly have you decided?” I asked politely.
“Your apartment, Vika — the two-bedroom in the city center,” Edik began, folding one finger down. “Mine is a studio in a new development, and it’s mortgaged. Mine is too small to live in. Living in yours… well, that would hurt my masculine dignity. A man moving into a woman’s place — that’s not a good look.”
“And what’s the solution?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to savor the elegance of their scheme.
“We sell your apartment,” Karina Yuryevna announced triumphantly. “We pay off Edik’s mortgage, and the rest goes into building a large country house. While the house is being built, you’ll live here with us. There’s room for everyone.”
“And Edik’s studio,” Diana added, “could be rented out. Or… well, I could stay there for now. I need a personal life too.”
The room went silent. All you could hear was Sergey Nikolaevich chewing chicken. Edik looked at me with a victorious smile, expecting admiration for his brilliant master plan.
At that moment, a crash sounded from the hallway, as if a SWAT team had stormed the apartment.
“Open up! Family’s here!” a woman’s booming voice roared.
Into the living room drifted — no, charged — a large woman in a leopard-print cardigan carrying an enormous bag. This was Tamara, Edik’s aunt, the one he always tried not to mention. She owned a chain of butcher stalls at the market, and in the nineties she’d been the kind of woman who could stop racketeers with a single glare.
“Oh, the bride!” she barked, dropping onto an empty chair that groaned beneath her. “Pretty. Smart eyes. Run, girl, before they eat you alive.”
“Tamara!” Karina Yuryevna protested. “We’re discussing serious matters. The family budget.”
“I know your budget,” Tamara snorted, pulling a jar of pickles out of her bag and slamming it directly onto the tablecloth. “Edik trying to ride into paradise on somebody else’s money again?”
Edik grimaced as though he had a toothache.
“Aunt Tamara, please, don’t start. Vika is my woman, and she understands that in marriage everything should be shared.”
“Shared,” I repeated calmly. “That reminds me of an old story about a farmer and his horse. Do you know it?”
Everyone stared at me. Even Sergey Nikolaevich stopped chewing.
“There was once a farmer who had a horse,” I began, turning my wine glass slowly in my hand. “The farmer decided the horse ate too much, so he предложил him a deal: ‘You work twice as hard, and I’ll feed you promises of lush green pastures in the future.’ The horse agreed because he trusted the farmer. A month later, the horse dropped dead. And the farmer bought himself a tractor with the money from selling the horse’s hide.”
“What’s your point?” Edik frowned.
“My point, darling,” I said, meeting his eyes directly, “is that merging capital sounds wonderful. But your business plan has one flaw. My apartment is worth twelve million. Your studio is worth four, and three of those are owed to the bank. If we sell my place, I’m left with nothing but enthusiasm, while you walk away with a paid-off mortgage and, I assume, a house registered in your mother’s name.”
Karina Yuryevna choked on her tea.
“How can you even think such a thing? We’re family! The land is already in my name — it’s the family estate!”
“Exactly,” I said with a nod. “Your estate. I’d just be the hen who lays the golden egg, only to be kicked out later for clucking too loudly.”
Edik straightened up, his face taking on the expression of wounded male pride.
“Vika, you’re mercenary. I thought we had love. Trust. And you’re counting square meters. I’m the head of the family. I decide.”
“You get to decide when you’re the one paying,” I shot back. My voice stayed perfectly steady, though everything inside me was boiling. “At the moment, all you’re offering is for me to finance your sense of greatness.”
“How dare she!” Diana squealed. “Edik, say something!”
“Vika,” Edik said, his voice turning icy — probably the same tone he used when scolding employees. “Apologize. Then we’ll return to discussing the plan. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” I cut in. “You won’t eat my borscht? You’ll deprive me of the honor of sharing a room with your snoring?”
Aunt Tamara burst into laughter so hard the glasses rattled.
“Oh, this one’s got teeth! One of ours! Edik, she wiped the floor with you!”
Edik stood up.
“Get up and leave,” he said quietly. “No one humiliates me in my own house. You’ll regret this, Viktoria. You’ll come crawling back when you realize no one wants a woman pushing forty with a character like yours.”
I rose slowly and picked up my handbag.
“Edik, I’m thirty-eight. And my character is excellent. It protects me from men like you. In logistics, there’s a term: irreversible loss. It means the cargo is damaged beyond repair, and it’s cheaper to throw it away than try to restore it. Right now, that’s exactly what you are.”
I headed toward the door.
“And I’m not selling my apartment,” I threw over my shoulder. “As for Diana, I suggest she find a job. People say work ennobles. It turned primates into humans — perhaps it could work a miracle for her too.”
“Shameless woman!” they shouted after me.
I stepped out into the cold February evening. The air was sharp and clean. I got into a taxi. My phone chimed. A message from Edik: “You destroyed everything because of your greed. I’m blocking you. Goodbye.”
I smirked and blocked him first.
A month passed.
I was sitting in my favorite café, drinking coffee and reviewing paperwork for a new project. My mood was excellent — spring was taking over, and my nervous system had finally recovered from that absurd circus.
Then my phone rang from an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Vika?” It was Tamara, that same aunt. “Listen, I just had to tell you — you deserve to know how the comedy ended.”
“Now you’ve got my attention, Tamara… sorry, I don’t even know your patronymic.”
“Stepanovna. Anyway, listen. Your Edik, the idiot, did find himself an ‘obedient’ girl. A young thing from the provinces, looks at him like he hung the moon. He convinced her parents to sell their house in the village and take out a loan so they could invest in that ridiculous ‘family castle.’”
“Well, I wish them happiness,” I said dryly.
“Happiness? Please,” Tamara cackled. “That quiet little angel came with a surprise. They took the money, started pouring the foundation on Karina’s land, and a week later the girl announced she was pregnant… by her ex. And if Edik didn’t sign his studio over to her, she said she’d go to the police and claim he had forced her into things. And, as it turns out, her uncle works in the prosecutor’s office.”
“No way.”
“Oh, absolutely. Edik’s running around white as a sheet, Karina’s down with high blood pressure, Diana’s howling because she got shoved into a job at Pyaterochka — somebody has to pay the loans now. And that little ‘obedient’ girl? She’s living in Edik’s studio and bringing other men there. Edik himself is back at his parents’ place, sleeping on a folding bed in the kitchen. He called me yesterday asking for money. I told him, ‘Call Vika — she works in logistics, maybe she can tell you exactly where to go.’”
I laughed. Truly laughed, until tears came to my eyes.
That’s how life works sometimes. Life is the best playwright of all, though every now and then it just needs a little help — usually in the form of a firm, timely no. Because if you let people treat you like a doormat, you shouldn’t be surprised when they wipe their feet on you. I’d rather be the threshold — the thing people trip over when they’re too careless to watch where they’re going.