Our project made it to the finals of an industry award! My husband thought the trip was a waste of time and was sure I would stay home to help with renovations at his mom’s place. But I decided to go and committed to seeing the program through until the end.
“I’m not going with you to the awards,” Viktor said sharply, pushing his plate away. “And honestly, you don’t need to go either. The new kitchen is being delivered to Mom’s on Saturday, and the workers will be there first thing. We need extra hands.”
I sat across from him, my phone in my hand. On the screen, the message from the award committee was still open. Our project was among the top five finalists. In ten days, the winner would be announced in Moscow.
“I told you about this date a month ago,” I reminded him. “At the time, the list of finalists wasn’t out yet, but the schedule was already set. You said we’d decide when it got closer.”
“Well, now it’s closer,” Viktor reached for the bread. “The renovation at Mom’s isn’t virtual. Those cabinets aren’t going to carry themselves up to the apartment.”
“The delivery people will do that—it’s already paid for.”
“Lena, it’s not just the delivery. We need to check the cabinet fronts, accept the countertop, and make sure they don’t scratch anything. Mom can’t handle all that by herself.”
He spoke in the same tone he used when listing bills that had to be paid. Electricity, internet, insurance, helping his mom. Everything was already decided—all that was left was to put it on the calendar.
I put my phone down on the table.
“So my trip doesn’t fit into the calendar?”
Viktor looked at me with tired irritation.
“Don’t start. I never said your work wasn’t important. I just said it’s an awards ceremony. You’ll sit in a hall, clap for each other, take some photos. If you win, they’ll send you the certificate anyway.”
“We don’t know if we’ll win. But I’ve led this project for a year and a half.”
“And you’ve been working here in Yaroslavl for a year and a half. The project will survive if you spend one day with my mom.”
He stood up and took his plate to the sink. For him, the conversation was over.
I was forty-seven. After twenty-two years of marriage, I’d learned to tell the difference between a real argument and a situation when Viktor simply considered the matter closed. This was definitely the latter.
I’d worked at the ‘Liniya’ bureau for twelve years. For the past five, I managed projects. We weren’t building palaces or designing restaurants for celebrities. We created schools, small public spaces, offices, and libraries. There was a lot of calculation, a lot of reworking other people’s plans, a lot of arguments with contractors about outlets, doors, and centimeters of space.
The project that made the finals was special to me. An old district community center was transformed into a modern public hub. We kept the club room and created a library on the first floor, and set up workshops and a small coworking area on the second. There wasn’t much money, there were lots of load-bearing walls, and even more requests to accommodate.
A month after the opening, I visited and saw two elderly women chatting animatedly at the reception—scolding each other for whispering too loudly. In the workshop, teenagers were printing something on a 3D printer. In what used to be a dark hallway, kids were reading on the window sills we’d made wider. That was the first time I thought: we did it.
Viktor didn’t come to the opening. He had to work.
I wasn’t upset. At least, that’s how it seemed to me at the time.
Two days after our conversation, I called Galina Petrovna. I wanted to work things out without turning it into a conflict.
«Galina Petrovna, I’ll be in Moscow this Saturday,» I said. «Let me come by Thursday evening. We can check the measurements and prepare the space. On Sunday, I’ll help unpack everything after installation.»
I heard a plastic bag rustling on the other end.
«What do you mean you’ll be in Moscow?» my mother-in-law sounded surprised. «Vitya told me you both were coming in the morning. I’d already informed the installer that my son and his wife would be there.»
I closed my eyes. Not from exhaustion. I just needed a few seconds not to reply harshly.
«Vitya told you that without talking to me first.»
«Lenochka, what do you mean ‘without talking to you’? You’re a family. I’m not asking you to dig potatoes at the dacha. People install a kitchen once.»
«And I don’t get nominated for a professional award every month either.»
Galina Petrovna was silent for a moment, then spoke in a businesslike tone, without any resentment:
«I don’t know anything about your awards,» she said. «Vitya told me it was just a ceremony, so I planned for both of you. If it’s really important, then go. But I’ll need to find someone else. I don’t want to be alone with these workers.»
I didn’t expect that.
«I can arrange a representative from the showroom for you,» I offered. «They have that service. He’ll check everything and sign the papers with you. I’ll pay for it.»
«If the person knows what to look for, then order it,» my mother-in-law replied. «And tell Vitya yourself. For some reason, he thinks everything is sorted.»
After our conversation, I sat holding my phone for a minute. My mother-in-law turned out not to be the main obstacle. Not even the second.
Victor came home later than usual that evening. I showed him the showroom’s page with the inspection service.
«I worked things out with your mom. On Thursday, I’ll visit her and we’ll prepare everything. Saturday, the showroom specialist will come. Sunday, I’ll help unpack and get the kitchen organized.»
Victor took off his jacket, hung it up, and only then looked at the screen.
«Why did you have to call my mom and turn this into a whole scene?»
«What scene do you mean exactly?»
«This. All these services, hiring a specialist, making schedules. You could’ve just shown up and helped, like normal people do.»
«I am trying to do it like a normal person. But I have an award ceremony on Saturday.»
«That award again,» he said, running his hand over his face. «Lena, don’t you think it’s a bit much? You act like the minister himself is giving you a medal.»
«No one’s giving me anything yet. Our project is just in the finals.»
«Exactly! So you don’t even have to be there,» he said quickly, almost with relief, as if he’d found his final argument. «You yourself said you haven’t won anything yet.»
I looked at him, and suddenly remembered how many times over the years I’d said words just like that myself.
It’s fine, I’ll reschedule the meeting. No problem, I’ll finish up in the evening. Of course, go with your mom to the doctor, I’ll pick up the paperwork. Sure, we can have guests Saturday, I have a report, but I’ll get up early.
Each time, it didn’t seem like much. One evening. Half a day. Just a weekend. But all those little compromises piled up, and eventually Victor stopped seeing them as compromises at all.
«I’ll buy a ticket tomorrow,» I said. «I’ll go by myself.»
He smirked.
«If you want to make a big deal out of this, go ahead. Just don’t complain later that your family doesn’t support you.»
«Well, right now I can clearly see what support looks like.»
«Don’t twist my words. I’ve stood by you for twenty years. Have I ever forbidden you to work?»
«No, you never banned me from working. You just think my job can be put on hold whenever something you decided is more important comes up.»
Viktor frowned.
«Mom has a real responsibility. That’s true work. But you’ve only got some ceremony to attend.»
After he said that, the argument was over for me.
The next morning, I bought a ticket to Moscow.
On Thursday after work, I went over to Galina Petrovna’s. We cleared out the kitchen, labeled the boxes, and packed the dishes in her room. She grumbled a few times about choosing kitchen furniture that was too light, then showed me the printed contract from the store.
«There’s something about the countertop written here in tiny letters. Look it over, you’ve still got good eyes.»
I double-checked the order, the dimensions, and the decor number.
«Everything’s correct. The installer will come on Saturday at nine. I sent him a copy of the order.»
My mother-in-law put the papers into a clear folder.
«Don’t be too mad at Vitya,» she told me. «When he gets nervous, he starts giving orders. His dad was the same way.»
«I don’t want to fight with him.»
«I’m not telling you to fight. But if you’ve decided to go, then go. Otherwise, you’ll blame me for this kitchen later.»
I burst out laughing.
«I’d never blame you for anything.»
«That’s good. And if they give you some kind of vase, bring it back so I can see what all the fuss was about.»
Friday evening, Viktor drove me to the train station. It was his idea, and I agreed. The whole way there, he talked about the traffic, the new stoplight on Moskovsky Avenue, and the contractor who once again delayed installing the vent hood. He never mentioned my trip.
At the station entrance, he popped open the trunk.
«When are you planning to come back?»
«Sunday at three. I already bought the ticket.»
«You could’ve come back in the morning. Mom’s going to have boxes all over the apartment.»
«There’s a meet-up for participants after the awards ceremony on Saturday. And Sunday morning I might have a work meeting too.»
«Who’s the meeting with?»
«No one specific yet.»
Viktor put my suitcase down on the pavement.
«So you’re staying an extra half day for something that isn’t even set up yet?»
«I’m staying for the entire program, the whole reason I’m going in the first place.»
He shook his head.
«Do what you want.»
«That’s exactly what I plan to do.»
On the train, I opened the finalists’ catalog. They’d sent it along with the schedule three days ago, but at home I’d only looked at my own page.
There was our community center spread across the pages. I knew the photos almost by heart—a bright reading room, the stairs with the wooden banister, the workshop, and that extra-wide window ledge. Under the description were my name, the architect’s name from our team, and our bureau’s title.
Next came projects by big companies from Moscow and St. Petersburg. Some of their budgets were so big you could build three of our centers—including furniture—with that kind of money.
I closed the catalog.
For just a second, I wanted to call Viktor and say he was right about one thing at least: we probably won’t win.
But I put my phone away in my bag.
The next day, around three hundred people filled the hall. I was sitting in the fourth row with my colleagues from our bureau. There were three of us who had traveled together, and right before the nominations were announced, nobody was making jokes anymore.
The host announced our category after lunch.
Five projects appeared on the screen one after another. Ours was the third.
I knew that anyone could win. I knew that just making it to the finals was already a big achievement for our small regional bureau. I had all the right words in mind to congratulate the team later.
When the project from the big cultural center in St. Petersburg was named the winner, I still felt a wave of uncomfortable emptiness.
Not tragedy. Not bitterness at the world. Just a very clear disappointment.
We stood up along with everyone else. The winners walked up to the stage. They were given a glass trophy shaped like a folded letter.
I clapped and found myself thinking that by now, Galina Petrovna should already have her new kitchen installed.
My phone vibrated in my bag.
The message was from Viktor.
«Everything’s installed. There was a scratch on the cabinet front, your specialist made them replace it. Mom’s happy. You can come home a hero.»
I read that last sentence twice.
Not out of anger. It was just so familiar. One of those jokes where you can always say: oh, come on, don’t take it so seriously.
I opened the train times. If I left now, I could catch the evening train. I’d get home close to midnight. On Sunday I’d help Galina Petrovna with the boxes. Monday, I’d be back to work. In a week, the award would be just a photo in a folder.
There was a program lying on the seat next to me. After the ceremony, there’d be a meeting for award participants and partners in forty minutes. Then, a tour of the new public space hosting the event. In the morning, a special discussion for project team leaders.
I took off my badge and turned it over in my fingers.
I could go home right now. Nothing disastrous would happen. But then, as always, the timing of my trip would end up being decided by family matters, not my own plans.
I closed the train schedule, put my badge back on, and headed to the hall where the participants’ meeting was starting.
The meeting was buzzing. People were gathering in small groups—some exchanging phone numbers, some taking photos of the booths. I chatted with an architect from Kazan about acoustic panel suppliers, then with a woman from Tula who was managing a library renovation.
About twenty minutes later, a tall man in glasses approached me.
«Elena Sokolova?» he asked, glancing at my badge. «Andrey Lavrov. ‘Urban Systems.'»
I knew the company name. They built residential neighborhoods and public spaces in several regions.
«Of course, I know the company,» I replied. «Good evening.»
«I was hoping to find you here,» Lavrov said. «Three years ago, did you also lead the ‘River Quarter’ project?»
I was more surprised than I let on.
«Yes. That one included the public area on the ground floors.»
«And the service company’s office on Sovetskaya?»
«That was my project too—but it’s a lot smaller.»
Size isn’t always the most interesting thing. In that office, you placed the meeting rooms by the facade and kept the workstations deeper inside. Usually, it’s done the other way around.
I looked at him carefully.
«Did you really see that project?»
«I was there. At the time, we were considering a contractor for a similar site. We didn’t end up signing a contract, but I remembered your last name.»
Now, the conversation took on real weight.
Lavrov nodded toward our booth.
«Today’s project interests me too. Especially because you didn’t try to make an expensive-looking picture with cheap materials. You created a functional layout.»
«That almost sounds like a compliment.»
«That is a compliment. Just a practical one.»
He smiled.
«Do you have an hour tomorrow morning?»
«There’s a discussion scheduled until eleven. I’ll be free after that.»
«Perfect. Our office is nearby. I’d like to show you something. Right now, we’re building a team for public interiors in residential projects.»
«As a contractor?»
«No. I’m talking about a staff position. Team lead.»
I must have stayed quiet too long, because Lavrov quickly clarified:
«I’m not asking you to sign a contract next to the canapé stand. Let’s talk properly tomorrow. I’ll tell you what we need and you can decide if it’s even of interest to you.»
«I’m interested,» I said. «Definitely interested in talking.»
«Then let’s meet at eleven-thirty. I’ll send you the address.»
He took note of my number and moved on to the next group.
I stayed by the booth.
My first instinct was to call Viktor. I even pulled up his number, but then locked my screen.
So far, it was just a conversation. I wanted to understand first whether they were offering me a real job or just a fancy title with no real authority.
At the hotel, I took out my notebook and jotted down four things I needed to clarify in the morning: the team, the budget, who I would report to, and whether I’d have decision-making power.
That night, I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time—not out of excitement, but because it was scary to seriously consider something that didn’t even exist that morning.
«City Systems» was several times larger than our bureau. The main office was in Moscow, and the new department would be there too.
I pulled up the company website, browsed through their projects, then closed my laptop.
Viktor texted me around ten in the evening: «Mom wants to know if you’re stopping by tomorrow?»
I replied: «I’ll be in Yaroslavl after six. If it’s not too late, I’ll stop by. I have a meeting in the morning.»
A minute later, he replied: «Again?»
I put my phone face down.
In the morning, the discussion ended at ten minutes to eleven. I stayed until the very end, though for the last twenty minutes my mind was elsewhere.
The City Systems office was a ten minute walk away. At reception, they gave me a guest pass. Lavrov personally met me.
In the meeting room, he turned on the presentation and got straight to business. The plan was to have six people in the core team, collaborate with external designers, and cover several regions at once. The aim wasn’t to create fancy lobbies, but to design solutions for public spaces that could be adapted for different buildings without losing quality.
I opened my notebook.
«Who approves the budget, and at what stage does the team get involved?» I asked. «And one more thing is important to me—can the manager stop a decision from the commercial team if it violates regulations or if it would make the space unusable?»
Lavrov leaned back in his chair.
«You haven’t even asked about the office.»
«If the department doesn’t have any authority, the office won’t save me.»
«That’s a good answer,» he said.
«It’s not an answer. It’s a condition.»
He smiled and moved on to the next slide.
The conversation lasted more than an hour and a half. We went over the department’s structure, purchasing, project approvals, and the head’s responsibilities.
Then Lavrov closed the presentation.
«Now for the unpleasant part. The position is in Moscow. For the first few months, you need to be here full-time. Later, a hybrid schedule is possible, but I don’t want a manager who the team sees only twice a month.»
«So that means relocating.»
«Yes. The company will cover your rent during the transition. I understand you have a family and a job in Yaroslavl, so I’m not expecting a final answer today.»
He placed a sheet in front of me with the main terms: position, salary range, probation period, rent compensation, and the date for the next round of approval.
The amount was almost twice my current salary.
I read that line twice.
«Why did you choose me?» I asked.
Lavrov didn’t pause for effect.
«Because we don’t need someone who can just come up with a pretty picture. We need someone who knows how to create a functional space within a limited budget. I’ve seen three of your projects, and in all of them, even when you had to cut costs, you never lost the functionality. And in just forty minutes, you’ve asked more process questions than the previous two candidates did during their whole interview.»
«So there are other candidates already.»
«Of course there are. It would be strange if there weren’t.»
I liked that more than any other reassurance.
«What are you asking me to sign today?»
Lavrov slid two copies of a document over to me.
«Not an employment contract. It’s a letter of intent. The company confirms that you’re being considered for the head position, and you confirm your interest and willingness to go through the final approval of the terms. There’s no obligation to resign or relocate yet. This just covers the key points and the next step’s date.»
I read the document carefully—all of it. Then I reread the section about moving.
«I need to discuss everything with my current company and with my family before making a final decision.»
«That’s totally normal,» Lavrov replied. «That’s exactly what the letter of intent is for.»
I picked up the pen.
«Then I’m ready to confirm my interest and continue the negotiations.»
We both signed two copies.
When I stepped outside, it was almost two o’clock. My train was leaving in just over an hour.
I walked to the metro with the folder in my bag, catching myself on a strange thought: I still really wanted Viktor to tell me he was proud of me.
He didn’t allow it. He didn’t agree. He didn’t give in.
He simply saw me.
That longing turned out to be the most unpleasant discovery of the whole trip.
On the train, I didn’t call him ahead of time. I just sent the arrival time.
He met me at the station.
“So, did you get the vase?” Viktor asked as soon as I got in the car.
“Someone else won the main prize.”
He gave me a quick look.
“Now I get it,” he said.
There was a lot packed into his tone.
“But the trip was still worth it,” I continued.
“Good. At least it wasn’t a waste of time.”
I turned to the window. I didn’t feel like arguing in the car.
“It’s too late to visit Mom today,” Viktor said. “I unpacked the boxes myself. All that’s left is to put the dishes back.”
“I’ll stop by after work tomorrow.”
“That’s good.”
We drove home in near silence.
Everything was in its place at the apartment. A towel Viktor had left after his morning shower was hanging on the drying rack. His keys sat on the nightstand. There was a basket of bread in the kitchen.
Two days ago, leaving here felt like I was doing something bold. Now, everything seemed ridiculously normal.
I took off my jacket, grabbed a folder from my bag, and set it on the table.
Viktor opened the fridge.
“Want dinner? I can heat up some cutlets.”
“I want to talk first.”
He closed the fridge door.
“Let’s not start up Friday’s argument again. I get it—you went on your trip. No one stopped you.”
“That’s exactly what we need to talk about.”
I took out the protocol and placed it in front of him.
Viktor didn’t sit down. He read the first page standing up.
“What are these papers?”
“A preliminary agreement with ‘City Systems.’ They’re offering me a position to lead a new division.”
He turned the page.
“Is this job in Moscow?”
“Yes, the work is in Moscow.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Absolutely serious,” I replied.
“Hold on. You went for an award, didn’t win, and then someone just offered you a job?”
“It wasn’t out of the blue. Andrey Lavrov already knew about my projects. The award gave us a chance to meet in person. Today we spent an hour and a half discussing the position and terms.”
Viktor sat down.
“And you already signed something without me?”
This was it—the line these two days seemed to lead up to.
“I signed a letter of intent to continue negotiations. I’m not obligated to quit or move. We’ll draft a final contract only if we both agree later.”
“I’m not talking legalities. Why didn’t you include me in this?”
“Because my signature concerns my career. I planned to discuss moving with you before making any final decision.”
“Convenient for you. Tell me afterward, then call it a ‘discussion.’”
“Vitya, two days ago you told me I was going to your mom’s on Saturday without asking—and you promised her I would.”
“Not this again. What does Mom have to do with anything?”
“She’s barely involved. I worked it out with her in five minutes. The problem was you thought it was fine to plan my time because your plan seemed more important.”
Viktor pushed the document away.
“Don’t compare my mom’s kitchen to moving to another city.”
“I’m not comparing the scale. I’m comparing the right to decide.”
He stood up and walked to the window, then came back. I watched him, and for the first time in our whole conversation, I didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“So what now?” he asked. “Do you want to leave for Moscow?”
“I want to seriously consider this job.”
“But what happens to the family then?”
– The family should seriously consider my job too.
– That sounds very poetic the way you put it.
– But at least it accurately describes what’s happening.
He sat down again.
– Lena, my job is here. My mom is here. Our apartment is here. We’ve spent twenty years building our life in Yaroslavl. And now you’re asking me to throw it all away because of one conversation at an awards ceremony?
– I’m not suggesting we throw everything away today. I just want us to stop acting like only my life has to move when it gets in the way of yours.
Viktor ran his finger along the edge of the folder.
– What if I can’t move?
– Then we’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll live in Moscow during the weekdays for a while. Maybe we’ll realize it’s not for us. Maybe we’ll find a third option. But the option where you say, “don’t go,” and I cancel everything important—there won’t be any more of that.
He looked straight at me.
– So you’re willing to end our entire marriage over one kitchen?
– No. The kitchen just made me see things I hadn’t wanted to admit for a long time.
Viktor winced.
– More big words.
– Then let’s skip the big words. On Thursday, I suggested a solution: help your mom in advance, hire a specialist, come back on Sunday. All options were off the table. That didn’t work for you. So it wasn’t about not having anyone to help her. It was about making sure I backed out of the trip.
He opened his mouth, but I continued:
– And the worst part, Vitia, is that I’m the one who taught you to expect this. It was always easier for me to reschedule my own plans than explain why I couldn’t. I’ve been doing this for years. That’s why you didn’t even notice that you promised my Saturday to someone else.
He stared at the table for a long time.
– I hadn’t thought about it that way.
– Neither had I, before.
That sentence was true. That made it more powerful than any accusation.
Viktor picked up the document and reread the first page.
– How much time do you have to decide?
– I need to confirm by Wednesday if I’m moving forward to the final approval. The employment contract comes later.
– So we have four days, he said.
– Four days for the next step. Not to pack our bags and move immediately.
– So have you already decided?
I looked at the folder, then at him.
– I’ve decided I won’t say no just because discussing this is uncomfortable for you.
He nodded once. Not in agreement, just acknowledging what I said.
– Tomorrow evening, let’s sit down and go over how this could actually work, he said. Travel, housing, my job. No grand speeches.
– I can do without grand speeches.
Viktor slid the protocol back over to me.
– And show me the projects that Lavrov has seen.
I put the document back in the folder.
– I’ll show you both projects, I said.
Viktor took out the notebook where he usually tracks car and apartment expenses. He flipped through a few pages and wrote at the top: “Moscow.”
– Let’s start with your salary, transport, and rent, he said. Then we’ll figure out what to do about my job.
I sat across from him and placed the folder with the protocol next to me.
– Now we’re really discussing this, I said.
He opened the calculator app on his phone. I said the first figure.
And for the first time, he didn’t ask which of my plans I was willing to give up.
