«It’s a big anniversary for me! Come alone—and don’t even think about bringing your wife to the main table!»
May was shameless—blooming like it was getting paid overtime. A grill smoked in the yard on Sadovaya Street, an old apple tree dropped petals right into the dishes, and no one minded. Veronika arranged folding chairs, counting how many years she’d dreamed of this yard. It added up to eight. Exactly how long she’d been saving, selling, making extra payments, and saving again.
«Nika, are you arranging those chairs or digging them in?» Artem called from the grill. «That’s the third time you’ve moved the same one.»
«I’m training it,» she answered. «It wants to stand crooked, but I want our guests to sit straight. One of us will break.»
«My money’s on you.»
«Wise investment. The only good one this family’s made lately.»
Danila arrived last, as always—with the air of someone who’d been begged to bless the event with his presence. Behind him, carrying a salad container and her three-year-old daughter, walked Milana. She smiled the careful smile of women used to smoothing things over.
«Well, hello, hostess,» Danila gestured at the yard. «Not bad here—for all of us.»
«‘For all of us’—that’s a strong phrase,» Veronika wiped her hands on a towel. «That takes teamwork. In eight years, you haven’t brought so much as a nail for this place.»
«I brought moral support.»
«Yours must be credit-only. Never showed up in my account.»
Milana laughed softly, then glanced nervously at her husband. Danila didn’t laugh—he rarely did when he hadn’t made the joke himself.
«Shashlik’s getting cold, philosophers,» Artem said, breaking the tension. «Let’s eat.»
They sat down. The apple tree kept scattering petals, Milana’s daughter chased the cat, the cat dashed away—and for a moment, it almost felt like happiness. Veronika raised her glass of juice, looking at the solid, low house, now re-roofed thanks to her last autumn.
«To the house,» she said. «To it standing strong.»
«To the house,» Milana echoed.
Danila lifted his glass silently and, for some reason, looked not at the house, but at the gate—the way people look at the exit before causing trouble.
The first chill drifted in with dessert. Danila pushed his plate away, wiped his lips, and spoke in the even tone used for delivering updates about someone else’s life.
«Nika, we need to talk business.»
«Shoot. Sweets put me in a good mood—a rare opportunity.»
«I’m selling the house.»
Silence landed, thick as a quilt. Artem put his fork down slowly. Milana froze, clutching her daughter—her eyes showed not surprise, but the look of someone who’s long expected a blow but never knew which way it’d come.
«You’re selling,» Veronika repeated evenly. «Yours?»
«It’s in my name,» Danila shrugged. «So yes, mine. Nothing to argue about—it’s just math.»
«Math, sure. Eight years ago you said: ‘Let’s register it under me, it’s easier, I live closer, less paperwork.’ I paid three-quarters. Roof, well, fence, heating—my money. You brought a wheelbarrow of gravel and crowned yourself a founder of civilization.»
«You agreed!» Danila’s voice jumped half an octave. «Nobody forced you! You’re a grown woman—you signed!»
«Exactly,» she nodded. «I signed. Remember that—it’ll come in handy.»
«Danya, maybe not now,» Milana said softly. «The child’s at the table.»
«You keep quiet!» He didn’t even turn to her. «No one asked your opinion about what and when to discuss.»
«Wow,» Veronika leaned back. «A training session in public. Danila, you know your wife isn’t furniture, right? She doesn’t have to stand where you put her and stay silent.»
«Stay out of my family.»
«Then stay out of my house. Two simple rules—everyone’s happy.»
Artem cleared his throat, and said something unexpected:
«Nika, let’s just be calm. Danila’s not a stranger. Maybe we should hear his terms.»
Veronika slowly turned to her husband. Something dry clicked inside her—the way a light switch clicks in an empty room.
«His terms,» she repeated. «Artem, you said ‘terms.’ Interesting choice. That means you already know them.»
Artem looked away. Just for a second—but half that time was enough. Eight years of marriage teach you to read not words, but the pauses between them.
«You knew,» she said. Not a question.
«Nika…»
«You knew,» she said louder. «He told you before me. And you sat there, chewing shashlik, waiting for the big announcement. What are you now, the MC?»
«I was just trying to keep things calm!»
«Well, you managed. Silent and sneaky. Perfect—congrats.»
Danila smirked, happy to see the heat shift from him to someone else.
«At least Artem gets it. Unlike some. Here’s my fair offer: sell the house, split the money, your share.»
«What share?» Veronika raised an eyebrow.
«A third.»
«A third,» she echoed thoughtfully. «Danila, you have a unique talent—you manage to steal and still feel generous about it. That’s a rare specialty—talent, even.»
«I owe you nothing!» He slammed his palm on the table, rattling the glasses. «You lived here! For eight years! I deserve a thank you!»
«I didn’t live here. I built this place. That’s the difference between being a guest and being the foundation.»
«Words! Just words! The papers are with me, got it? The papers!… Continued in the comments below»
