The bright light of the street lamps spread across the empty courtyard as Lyuba went down to the parking lot, nervously twisting her car keys in her hands. The morning chill betrayed the beginning of autumn, and the woman shivered, buttoning up her jacket. She scanned the row of parked cars and froze. The spot where her silver Kia should have been was empty.
Lyuba slowly walked around the parking lot, looking around in confusion. The car seemed to have vanished. A thought of theft flashed through her mind, but her inner voice was already suggesting another, more likely explanation.
Feeling a chill from bad premonitions, she took out her phone and dialed her husband’s number.
“Hello, Sergey? Do you know where the car is?” Lyuba tried to sound calm, but tension clearly rang in her voice.
“Oh, you’re already at the parking lot?” her husband answered carelessly. “It’s at my sister’s. She’s driving it for now. It’s more important there.”
Lyuba felt something inside snap.
“What do you mean ‘at your sister’s’? Sergey, I need the car for work! I have a meeting in an hour across town!”
“Come on, don’t start,” irritation crept into his voice. “Masha has driving school today, then some errands. You’ll manage somehow.”
“Somehow?” Lyuba barely held back her indignation. “Sergey, it’s my car!”
“It’s your car now at my sister’s,” her husband suddenly laughed as if he had heard a good joke. “You’re not a lady — take the bus!”
At that moment, Lyuba suddenly felt a strange calm. As if all emotions — anger, hurt, confusion — evaporated, leaving only crystal-clear thoughts and a firm decision, formed instantly and irrevocably.
“All right,” she said evenly. “I’ll manage.”
After hanging up, Lyuba looked at the clock. Seven minutes until the bus. Pressing her lips tight, she hurried toward the bus stop, mentally replaying the events that had led to this moment.
Lyuba bought the car three years ago. Used, not a prestigious brand, but clean and well-maintained. She couldn’t afford a more expensive one, and using public transport was becoming increasingly difficult — work required mobility. Sergey was categorically against buying a car.
“Why do we need this headache?” her husband said, brushing off her suggestions. “Gas, insurance, repairs… extra expenses. Taxi is cheaper.”
Lyuba didn’t argue. Her husband often spoke like that: loudly criticizing an idea, then quietly using whatever she bought. It happened with the laptop, the new TV, the microwave. The same happened with the car.
Lyuba took the loan herself, paying the bank a substantial monthly amount from her teacher’s salary. Her husband, who worked as a manager at a construction company, earned more but categorically refused to participate in buying the “useless toy.” Yet that didn’t stop Sergey from almost immediately taking an interest whenever he needed to visit friends or run errands.
At first, Sergey asked if he could use the car, and Lyuba naturally didn’t refuse. Gradually, the questions changed to simple notifications: “I’ll take the car tonight” or “I need it tomorrow until noon.” Lyuba didn’t object — they were family, with a shared budget (though strangely, the “shared budget” did not seem to cover the car).
Everything changed six months ago when Sergey’s younger sister, Masha, decided to get a driver’s license.
“Lyubash, Masha wants to practice a little before the exam,” Sergey said one evening. “I lent her your car for a couple of hours, hope that’s okay?”
Lyuba tensed.
“There’s ice outside. And besides, you can’t drive without a license, it’s dangerous.”
“Come on,” her husband waved her off. “She drove with me. I watched. It’s fine.”
From that moment on, Masha became a regular user of Lyuba’s car. At first under the pretext of “driving practice,” then simply because she “urgently needed it.” Sergey gave his sister the keys without hesitation, sometimes without even informing his wife.
Lyuba tried to protest, explaining that she needed the car herself, that she was paying off the loan, that it was inconvenient to rearrange her plans at the last minute.
“Well, you don’t mind, do you?” Sergey would ask with genuine surprise. “She has no car, and you can take the bus.”
In those moments, Lyuba felt selfish. Denying her sister-in-law use of her own car seemed greedy and petty. Still, the resentment built up.
Lyuba reached the bus stop just as the bus arrived. Squeezing into the crowded cabin, she remembered how Sergey once said: “You don’t need that car, it’s a luxury.” But now, it turned out, the car was necessary for his sister, while the rightful owner could quite well manage public transport.
After being late for her meeting and getting scolded by the director, Lyuba tried all day to concentrate on work, but her thoughts kept returning to that morning’s conversation. Her husband’s phrase kept spinning in her head: “Your car is now at my sister’s.” Not “I lent the car for a day,” but “now it’s at my sister’s,” as if ownership had changed.
In the evening, returning home by bus, Lyuba found the car was still not in the parking lot. Sergey sat by the TV with a beer bottle, lazily flipping channels.
“Where’s the car?” Lyuba asked, taking off her jacket.
“At Masha’s,” he answered without looking away. “She needs it more.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. A couple of days, I guess. She has some stuff there.”
Lyuba slowly hung her jacket on the rack.
“Sergey, I need the car. There’s a parents’ meeting at another school tomorrow, then I have to pick up documents from the bank…”
“Take the bus. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it’s my car,” Lyuba struggled to keep calm. “I’m paying for it. I count on it. Why does your sister get to drive it whenever she wants, and I have to ask permission?”
Sergey sighed heavily and put down the remote.
“Lyubash, why are you acting like a child? What, are you stingy? Masha’s going through a tough time. She needs support.”
“And I don’t need support?” Lyuba was no longer restraining her frustration. “I froze for an hour at the bus stop after work!”
“You know what,” Sergey got up from the couch, “you’re being petty and selfish. Masha’s my sister. Blood is blood. And I’ll help her, whether you like it or not.”
“Your sister, but the car is mine,” Lyuba tried to argue.
“What does it matter whose it is!” Sergey exploded. “We’re family! Everything’s shared!”
“Really?” Lyuba smiled bitterly. “When I asked you to help with the car loan, you said it was my whim and none of your business. When it’s time to insure the car, pay taxes, or repair it — that’s my responsibility. But when it’s time to use it — suddenly it’s ‘everything’s shared’?”
Sergey turned red and waved his hand.
“Oh, you’re on that record again. You always exaggerate everything!”
The next morning repeated the previous one. The car was gone. Lyuba was late again. The parents’ meeting at the neighboring school had to be postponed, and she never made it to the bank.
That same evening, Lyuba unexpectedly met Masha. Sergey’s sister was parking the silver Kia near the shopping center. Shopping bags were visible on the back seat. Lyuba approached the car just as her sister-in-law was getting out.
“Hi,” Lyuba said coldly. “Had a good ride?”
Masha jumped at the surprise but quickly composed herself.
“Oh, Lyuba, hi! Thanks for the car, it really helped me out.”
“I didn’t lend you the car,” Lyuba said slowly. “The keys.”
“What?” Masha looked genuinely surprised.
“The car keys,” Lyuba repeated, holding out her hand. “Please return them.”
“But Sergey and I agreed I’d drive a bit more,” Masha nervously fiddled with her bag. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow…”
“It’s my car,” Lyuba said firmly. “Not Sergey’s. Mine. I’m paying the loan. And I want the keys.”
Masha looked confused.
“But Sergey said…”
“I don’t care what Sergey said,” Lyuba cut her off. “The keys. Right now.”
Masha clearly didn’t expect such a tone from usually gentle and compliant Lyuba. Hesitating for a second, she reluctantly handed over the keys.
“Just don’t tell Sergey I…”
Lyuba silently took the keys, got into the car, and drove away, leaving Masha with her bags in the middle of the parking lot.
That evening a real scandal erupted. Sergey, coming home, found the car in the parking lot and attacked Lyuba with accusations:
“What do you think you’re doing? Masha was in tears! She had to call a taxi!”
“Sorry to hear that,” Lyuba replied dryly, without looking up from her laptop. “I had to take the bus yesterday and today. Though unlike your sister, I have a license and pay for this car.”
“You’re just jealous of Masha!” Sergey exclaimed. “She’s young and active, and you…”
Lyuba closed the laptop and looked at her husband carefully.
“What am I?”
“You…” Sergey stopped, sensing he was treading on dangerous ground. “Never mind. Give me back the keys. I promised Masha she could use the car until the end of the week.”
“No,” Lyuba said calmly. “The car stays with me.”
“That’s not up for discussion!” Sergey raised his voice. “I promised!”
“You shouldn’t promise what isn’t yours,” Lyuba stood up, putting the laptop in her bag. “Masha doesn’t have a license. By the way, it’s illegal. And dangerous.”
“What does it matter!” Sergey exploded. “You’re just being spiteful! Always have been — greedy and stingy!”
Lyuba silently looked at her husband as if seeing him for the first time. Eight years of marriage, and just like that — “greedy and stingy.” Because she didn’t give her own car, which she paid for, to her husband’s sister who doesn’t even have a license?
“You know,” Lyuba finally said, “I’m tired of this. Tired of everything. I’m tired of being like a free app for you. Mine is ours, but yours is only yours. That doesn’t happen.”
“What are you talking about?” Sergey looked genuinely puzzled. “What does that have to do with anything…”
“That,” Lyuba interrupted, “is that tomorrow I’m going to my mother’s. In my car. And I’ll stay as long as I need.”
Sergey snorted.
“Go ahead. Just leave the keys. Masha needs the car.”
At that moment, Lyuba felt something inside break completely. Like the last thread tying her to her husband snapped with a quiet sound.
“Masha needs the car,” echoed inside Lyuba’s head.
Without a word, she went to the dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and took out the second set of car keys. Spare keys were always kept separately — as the car service advised. Lyuba tightly clenched the cold metal in her hand and, without looking at her husband, left the room.
Sergey, not expecting such a reaction, froze. Apparently, in his worldview, his wife was supposed to give in again, argue a bit, then give up — as always. But something told the man this time would be different.
The next morning, Lyuba got up earlier than usual. Sergey was still asleep when she gathered the necessary car documents, had breakfast, and left the apartment. Outside, she inspected her Kia, ran her hand over the hood, and took out her phone.
“Good morning, I need a tow truck,” Lyuba said quietly into the receiver. “Yes, urgently. And please recommend a reliable service station with a guarded parking lot.”
Half an hour later, the tow truck arrived. The driver — a middle-aged man with a kind face — listened to Lyuba’s request with understanding.
“Trouble with your husband?” the tow truck driver asked as he filled out the papers.
“More like trouble with boundaries,” Lyuba replied and smiled faintly for the first time in days.
While the car was being loaded onto the platform, a sleepy Masha in house slippers rushed out of the entrance.
“Lyuba! What are you doing?!” her sister-in-law shouted, running up to the tow truck. “I was going to drive it!”
“The car needs urgent maintenance,” Lyuba replied calmly. “Besides, you don’t have a driver’s license.”
“What maintenance?! I drove it yesterday, everything was fine!”
Lyuba looked at her sister-in-law intently.
“You drove MY car. But now it’s going where it won’t be stolen.”
Masha opened her mouth in outrage but didn’t have time to say anything — the tow truck moved off, taking the silver Kia away. Lyuba got into a taxi waiting nearby and headed to the traffic police.
At the department, Lyuba submitted an application to deregister the car. The traffic officer, an older man with gray mustaches, carefully reviewed the documents.
“Planning to sell?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Lyuba answered uncertainly.
After the traffic police, Lyuba visited the insurance company and filed a request to cancel the policy. The insurance agent — a young woman — looked at her with surprise.
“Are you sure? The refund will be less than half the amount.”
“I’m sure,” Lyuba said firmly. “Peace of mind is more important to me.”
By lunchtime, Lyuba’s phone was ringing nonstop. Sergey, Masha, even her mother-in-law — everyone tried to reach her. Lyuba muted the sound and blocked their numbers. Only when an unknown number called did she answer.
“What are you doing?!” Masha’s angry voice burst out. “I was driving it! I had plans!”
Lyuba took a deep breath and said evenly:
“You drove MY car. But now it’s where it won’t be stolen.”
“That’s not stealing!” Masha screeched. “Sergey said I could!”
“Sergey has no right to dispose of what doesn’t belong to him,” Lyuba replied and hung up.
In the evening, when Lyuba returned home, Sergey was already waiting. He paced the room like an enraged beast.
“What have you done?!” Sergey attacked as soon as she crossed the threshold. “Masha’s hysterical! Mom called! You disgraced the family! Called a tow truck like some kind of lunatic!”
Lyuba silently took off her jacket, went to the kitchen, and poured herself some water.
“Answer me!” Sergey followed her. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Eight years,” Lyuba said quietly, placing the glass on the table. “Eight years I was convenient. Always gave in. Always compromised. Always put your interests and your family’s interests above my own.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s over,” Lyuba answered simply. “I’m filing for divorce.”
Sergey turned pale.
“Because of a car? You’re crazy! It’s just a car!”
“No, not because of the car,” Lyuba shook her head. “Because of how you treat me. Because you don’t see me as a person with my own needs and desires. To you, I’m just a function. Convenient when I’m there, not critical when I’m not.”
“Nonsense,” Sergey muttered, but a flicker of anxiety appeared in his eyes.
“Maybe,” Lyuba shrugged. “But I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
The next day, Lyuba gathered the necessary documents and filed for divorce. Fortunately, the couple had little jointly acquired property — the apartment was rented, the car was registered in Lyuba’s name, and their accounts were separate. The separation went quickly and without much difficulty.
Sergey tried to reason with her, called, came with flowers, promising that everything would change. But Lyuba knew — nothing would change. Her husband didn’t understand the real issue, seeing only the surface conflict about the car.
“Lyubash, you’re not really doing this because of the car,” Sergey said at one meeting. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”
“I want respect,” Lyuba replied. “But you can’t give that if you don’t feel it.”
Masha tried several times to contact Lyuba through mutual acquaintances, sending messages accusing her former sister-in-law of destroying the family. In the last message, Masha wrote: “You ruined my brother’s life over some piece of metal!”
Lyuba didn’t respond. Arguing was pointless.
A month after filing, the divorce was finalized. Lyuba returned to her maiden name and began a new life. She sold the car that caused so much trouble and, adding her savings, bought a new — small, economical Suzuki.
“Should we register it in your name and your husband’s?” the dealership manager asked while filling out paperwork.
“In my name only,” Lyuba replied firmly. “Everything only mine.”
In the new apartment Lyuba rented near work, it was bright and cozy. The woman gradually made it her own, buying only what she truly liked and needed. Without looking back at anyone else’s preferences or opinions.
Sometimes, when the car was at the service station or she just wanted to walk, Lyuba took the bus. Sitting by the window and watching the streets fly by, she smiled. At moments like that, Lyuba thought the most valuable thing she had gained in recent months wasn’t a new car or freedom from toxic relationships. It was the realization that no one else would decide for her anymore.
Once, about six months after the divorce, Lyuba happened to meet Masha at the mall. The sister-in-law looked embarrassed and unsure.
“Hi,” Masha said, approaching her former sister-in-law. “How are you?”
“Good,” Lyuba answered sincerely. “And you?”
“Okay,” Masha was silent for a moment. “Listen, I wanted to apologize. I guess I didn’t understand much back then.”
Lyuba looked at her former sister-in-law in surprise.
“What changed?”
“My parents bought me a car,” Masha suddenly smiled. “And you know, everything became clear right away. My brother started asking me for the keys. Every day.”
Lyuba laughed.
“And what did you tell him?”
“That he can take the bus,” Masha smirked. “He’s not a lady.”
The women smiled at each other with unexpected understanding. Sometimes you have to go through losses to find yourself. And sometimes the most important lessons come not from books or advice, but from your own experience.
Already leaving the mall, Lyuba noticed the new Suzuki in the parking lot and warmly ran her hand over the hood. That car was more than just a means of transportation. It was a symbol of a new life, where you make your own decisions and set boundaries where you see fit.
And yes, sometimes Lyuba took the bus. But now — with a smile. Because it was her choice. Her life. Her decision.
