Vera opened the door and at first thought Artyom was fixing something again.
After a year and a half together, she’d gotten used to it: a true mechanic can’t just walk by a closet door that’s even two millimeters crooked. Artyom would always grab a screwdriver, squat down, adjust the hinge, and then check his work twice more.
But this time, there was no screwdriver.
Artyom was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a tape measure.
He pressed one end against the wall next to the fridge and stretched it to the doorway. His phone was on the windowsill, along with a piece of paper covered in numbers.
«Are you planning to park the fridge along the lines now?» Vera asked as she took off her shoes.
Artyom jumped.
«Why are you home so early?»
«The meeting was canceled. Was I supposed to warn you?»
«No, it’s fine. I’m just checking something.»
«I can see that. Very thoroughly, too.»
Vera walked into the kitchen.
Lying on the table was a hand-drawn floor plan of her apartment.
At first, she even smiled. Just a few weeks ago, they’d talked about how the kitchen set was old and might need replacing someday. Vera figured Artyom was planning a surprise.
But then she looked at the drawing more closely.
There was almost no wall between the kitchen and living room.
Instead, Artyom had drawn a wide archway.
The bedroom was labeled: «ours.»
And the small second room, where Vera kept her desk, computer, shelves with documents, and books, was neatly marked: «Kirill.»
Vera took off her coat, hung it up, and went back to the table.
«Interesting.»
Artyom immediately realized the surprise somehow hadn’t worked out.
«What?»
«Apparently, I have a new housemate.»
«Ver, don’t start.»
«I haven’t even started. I’m just getting to know my renovated apartment.»
She picked up the sheet.
«So where’s my office?»
«We could put your desk in the bedroom.»
«Could. Or we could not.»
«It fits fine, I measured.»
«That’s especially reassuring.»
Artyom rolled up the tape measure and set it on the table.
He didn’t look guilty, like someone who’d been caught doing something shameful. Rather, he looked a bit annoyed that Vera hadn’t appreciated all his hard work.
Kirill, Artyom’s son from his first marriage, was sixteen. He lived with his mother, was in the tenth grade, and usually came to visit his dad twice a month.
When Artyom stayed at Vera’s, Kirill would sometimes join them for dinner. He was a normal guy: calm, a bit reserved. He talked to Vera without forced politeness, would ask for a phone charger, eat half the pancakes she made, and honestly admit that the movie she picked for the evening was «not that great.»
Vera never saw Kirill as a problem.
The problem was sitting right in front of her on the table.
«Explain,» she requested.
Artyom sat down.
«If we get married, I’ll move out of here.»
«Out of where?»
«From the apartment I’m renting.»
«So far, makes sense.»
«So Kirill will come here.»
«He already comes here.»
«Right now, he just visits. But I want him to have his own space. Not just a couch in the living room or a bag by the door. I want him to feel that his dad has a real home too.»
This is where Vera finally stopped joking.
She understood this part.
After the divorce, Artyom was really upset that he’d become a ‘weekend dad’ to his son. He never spoke badly about his ex-wife, never complained about alimony, and almost every week he would call Kirill. If Kirill’s bike broke, he needed new sneakers, or money for a class trip, Artyom always helped out, even beyond the usual payments.
The wish to make sure his son felt truly at home was completely understandable.
But that didn’t mean the apartment would magically become shared property.
«Why did you decide my office should go to him?»
«Where else could he stay?»
«For starters, you could have asked me.»
«I was planning to discuss it with you.»
Vera looked at the tape measure.
«You have a very unusual way of starting a discussion.»
Artyom chuckled.
«Okay, I got a bit carried away.»
«A little bit.»
«But the idea is reasonable. Kirill is already grown up. These days he comes over twice a month, and maybe soon it’ll be more often. Things aren’t so smooth with his mom right now, either.»
Vera knew about that. Lately, Kirill and his mother had been arguing a lot—over schoolwork and coming home late.
«Even if he starts sleeping over here more often, my office doesn’t stop being an office. I work from home two days a week.»
«We can put the computer in the bedroom.»
«And when you’re getting ready for work at seven in the morning, I’m supposed to be negotiating between the bed and your socks?»
«We can move the socks.»
«See? We already have one project to work on. Let’s start with that.»
Artyom burst out laughing.
The tension faded a little.
At least until Vera spotted the second page.
There was a chart on it.
«Demolition.»
«Electrical.»
«Kitchen.»
«Bathroom.»
«Finishing touches.»
«Trash removal.»
At the bottom, it said: «estimated 1,030,000».
«And what’s this?»
Artyom paused for a second.
«A rough estimate.»
«Whose estimate?»
«I talked to Lyokha.»
Vera knew Lyokha, or at least had met him twice. An old friend of Artyom’s who did apartment renovations.
«You showed my apartment to Lyokha?»
«Just the photos.»
«Wonderful.»
«Come on, it was just for a quick calculation.»
Vera looked closely at the estimate.
The plan was to take out part of the wall between the kitchen and living room, redo the electrical wiring, order new kitchen cabinets, and update the tiles and plumbing in the bathroom.
So, this wasn’t just a quick weekend wallpaper change.
«One million and thirty thousand,» Vera said. «Whose millions?»
Artyom immediately got what she was asking.
«Well, it’s your apartment.»
«I know that. That’s why I’m asking.»
«Vera, if the renovation happens here, it’s staying here. I can’t really put half a million into an apartment that’s not legally mine at all.»
Vera set the page aside.
«So I’m supposed to spend a million on a renovation you decided on without me?»
«Not a million. I’ll do some of the work myself. Demolition, assembly, some plumbing. I can get the materials cheaper. Lyokha can provide good people.»
«So my contribution is… money.»
«Well, yeah.»
«And yours?»
«Work, time, organization.»
«And the wall belongs to who?»
Artyom was starting to get annoyed.
«Don’t twist my words.»
«I’m not. You already tore down the wall—on paper.»
This could have ended in an argument.
But Vera suddenly got curious about how far he’d actually gone with all this.
«Alright. Let’s just say—the office turns into Kirill’s room. My desk goes into the bedroom. Where are the shelves supposed to go?»
— Some of the books can go out on the balcony.
— On an open balcony?
— Well, then sort them. You haven’t even opened half of them in years anyway.
— The wardrobe?
— Sell it.
Vera nodded.
— Sell my furniture, too.
— If it messes up the new layout, why keep it?
— And where does your stuff fit in this ideal layout?
This was when Artyom perked up.
— That’s just it, I’m bringing my sofa. It’s a great sofa.
— From your rental apartment?
— Yes. Plus the TV. And two wardrobes.
— Two?
— One for the bedroom, and we could try putting the second in the hallway.
Vera slowly looked around.
Her hallway was so narrow, if they squeezed in another big wardrobe, guests would have to enter the apartment sideways.
— Did you measure that?
— Not yet.
— Thank goodness. At least the hallway survives.
Artyom smirked, but Vera already understood the real point.
He genuinely wasn’t trying to take over her apartment.
He didn’t even notice how it must have looked.
Over the last four months, Artyom had gradually moved in half his clothes, left his tools, a few boxes of car magazines, the coffee maker (which only he used). A few months ago, Vera had given him a spare key—he was staying over more and more, sometimes even arriving before her. He’d earned his own shelf in the bathroom and a separate spot in the closet.
All this happened naturally.
Vera was the one giving him space.
Somewhere between his second shirt and the fourth box, it seemed Artyom stopped seeing the apartment as Vera’s, where he just happened to spend a lot of time.
In his mind, it was already their future family home.
Only no one had bothered to invite Vera to this planning meeting for their transformation.
The funniest part was something else.
For four months now, Artyom had been often talking about marriage.
Sometimes he’d say he wanted to “do everything right.”
Or he’d ask about her ring size—supposedly for a friend.
Or once, he stared a little too long at her hands.
But he still hadn’t proposed.
Meanwhile, they already had a demolition specialist lined up.
— Let’s keep it civil, Vera said. — We’ll grab some paper and do the math.
— Math about what?
— Our bright and beautiful family future.
She took out a notepad.
— My apartment is worth about eleven million right now. Not because I want to sell it to you, just noting what assets are already on the table.
— What does the apartment’s value have to do with it?
— You’ll see. The renovation based on your estimate—one million thirty thousand.
— We could do it cheaper.
— Fine, but for now I’m using the numbers your friend Lyokha wrote down.
She wrote down the sum.
— Right now you pay thirty-seven thousand a month in rent.
Artyom nodded.
— After we’re married, you’ll give up that rental.
— Of course.
— So that frees up thirty-seven thousand on your side.
— Not exactly. There’ll be utilities, groceries…
— You already have those.
— We’ll be buying groceries for both of us here, though.
— And that’s something we should look at more closely.
Up until now, they’d never had a shared budget.
Vera made about one hundred seventy thousand a month. Artyom’s income varied, but averaged about one hundred thirty. He paid twenty-five thousand monthly for Kirill, his son, after an agreement with his ex-wife, and chipped in separately for any big expenses for his son.
Each of them managed the rest of their money independently.
When they spent weekends together, they took turns covering expenses. Artem might pay in a restaurant, and Vera would buy groceries the next day. Nobody ever counted the other’s coffee to the last cent.
And that’s exactly why the conversation about the million rubles felt especially odd.
«After the wedding, are we splitting utilities 50/50?» Vera asked.
«Of course.»
«Groceries?»
«Also split.»
«Big appliances?»
«We’ll discuss those.»
«Great. Now, the apartment. You don’t pay anything for it.»
«Because it’s yours.»
«Exactly. And you’re also suggesting that I should cover most of the renovation, which costs a million.»
Artem frowned.
«I already said I’ll do half the work myself.»
«And how much is your work worth?»
«What do you mean?»
«I mean it literally. You wanted to talk money—let’s talk money. How much?»
Artem did a quick calculation.
Demolition, assembling furniture, and some small jobs really did cost something. They calculated generously—about 120,000 rubles if Vera had hired others to do it.
«Alright,» she said. «120,000 rubles for your labor versus roughly 910,000 of my money.»
«You’re forgetting that the renovation will be left to you.»
«No, I remember exactly. That’s why I don’t get why I should pay to knock down a wall I like, lose my office, sell my furniture, and refit my apartment just to fit in two of your wardrobes.»
This time Artem didn’t reply.
Vera turned the page.
«And another thing. Kirill.»
«What about Kirill?»
«He’s not involved in this at all. Don’t hide behind your son for choices you’ve already made. If Kirill wants to spend the night with us more often, we’ll work it out when the time comes.»
«On the sofa?»
«Maybe. Or we’ll put a folding chair-bed in my office. Or get a proper compact bed, if he really does stay regularly. But I’m not going to throw out my desk now just because a teenager, who lives with his mom, spends a couple nights a month with his dad.»
«I just don’t want him to feel left out.»
«And I don’t want to feel left out in my own apartment.»
After she said that, Artem went quiet for a long time.
It wasn’t because Vera said anything awful.
It was just the first time he heard the situation from her side.
He really was thinking about his son.
He truly imagined what family life would be like.
He honestly wanted to move in after the wedding, not just with a suitcase, but as if they were building a real home together.
But somehow, he wound up deciding that “together” meant remaking what already belonged to Vera.
And his idea of a contribution was organizing all of those things conveniently.
«I’m not a freeloader, if that’s what you’re implying,» Artem finally said.
«I never said that.»
«But you thought it.»
«I think you assigned yourself the role of chief engineer a little too fast.»
«Chief engineer of what?»
«My apartment.»
«There it is again—‘my.’»
Vera looked at him.
«Artem, it really is mine. And after the wedding, it will still be mine. That’s not an insult, it’s just the truth.»
He got up from the table.
«Then maybe I shouldn’t bring anything here at all.»
«Maybe for now, you shouldn’t.»
That hit him hard.
That evening, they hardly spoke.
The next day, Artem took two bags of clothes and his coffee maker.
For some reason, it was the coffeemaker that made the biggest impression on Vera.
It had stood in the kitchen for four months, taking up half the counter space, and now it had disappeared with such dignity it was as if it, too, was involved in the property dispute.
A day later, Artyom took his tools away.
«Are you taking the tape measure, too?» Vera asked.
«Absolutely.»
«Smart choice.»
«You never know. Maybe there will be some place where I’m actually allowed to use it.»
For three days, they only saw each other in the evenings at the cafe near Vera’s workplace.
On the fourth day, Artyom said:
«I called Lyokha.»
«And?»
«I canceled.»
«Canceled what exactly?»
«On Saturday, he wanted to come and see the wall.»
Vera slowly set her spoon down.
«On Saturday?»
«Yeah, that’s right.»
«You had already scheduled the meeting?»
«I had.»
«In the apartment where, until Monday, the owner didn’t even know she’d hired a construction crew?»
«There wasn’t a crew yet.»
«Thank you. That makes it so much easier.»
Artyom rubbed his face with his hand and started laughing.
«When you say it out loud, it really does sound idiotic.»
«All is not lost. At least we have a diagnosis.»
«I honestly wanted to do the right thing.»
«I know.»
And that was true.
If Vera believed Artyom was someone who deliberately wanted to take advantage of her, the conversation would have ended differently.
But in a year and a half, she’d seen him in all sorts of situations.
He came to her place after a twelve-hour shift when the pipe burst under her sink.
He never made her pay for his son’s expenses.
He never borrowed money from her.
He never asked her to pay his rent.
He just had a very convenient internal picture of family life: since they were getting married soon, of course they should start building a family nest.
And by pure coincidence, the nest had already been bought, paid for, and furnished by Vera.
For the next two weeks, they didn’t speak about the renovation at all.
But one time, Artyom showed up with Kirill.
The boy had dinner, then went to the living room, while Artyom stayed to help Vera clear the table.
«I talked to him,» Artyom said.
«About what?»
«I asked if he needed a separate room here.»
Vera paused.
«And?»
«He asked me why.»
Vera burst out laughing.
«Ungrateful kid. His dad nearly knocked down a wall for him.»
«That’s pretty much what I told him.»
«I hope you left the wall out of it.»
«Kirill said he’s perfectly fine on the couch. If he ever decides to live with me permanently, then we’ll think about it.»
«A sensible young man.»
«Takes after his mother, apparently.»
«Don’t be jealous.»
After that, for the first time, Artyom suggested a new rule himself.
Any change in the apartment involving the layout, the furniture, or major expenses, they would discuss together first.
Not after the measurements had been taken.
Not after the contractor had been called.
Not after posting an ad to sell a cabinet.
First—talk to each other.
The study stayed as the study.
The wall faithfully continued performing its wall duties.
Artyom’s couch remained in his rental apartment.
As did his two wardrobes.
Vera agreed he could bring over his TV someday—if it turned out to really be better than hers.
But they hadn’t put the TVs to the test yet.
About a month later, Artyom suggested they go out of town in the evening.
Vera assumed they’d be grilling skewers.
Instead of finding a barbecue, he parked by a small embankment where they had strolled on one of their very first dates.
«Just don’t measure anything,» Vera warned as she stepped out of the car.
«The tape measure is at home.»
«I’m not even going to check.»
Artyom pulled out a small box.
Vera looked at the box first, then at him.
«Finally.»
«I’ve actually prepared a speech.»
«Go ahead. I’ve been waiting for months. I’m curious to see which wins out: love or the construction budget.»
«Vera.»
«I’ll be quiet.»
The speech ended up being short.
Luckily.
Artyom said he wanted to spend his life with her, that over the last few weeks he had finally realized the difference between «building a family» and «renovating someone else’s apartment according to your own plan.» Then he asked if she would marry him.
Vera said yes.
The ring fit perfectly.
A week later, Artyom slowly started bringing his things over again.
But now, before moving any big box, he’d always ask where to put it.
And then, a few days after that, Vera handed him a thin folder for documents.
«What’s this?»
«A family heirloom.»
Inside there was a single sheet of paper.
At the top, Vera had typed:
«Everything we discuss first, and then do.»
First on the list was renovation.
Second was furniture.
Third:
«The groom is forbidden from walking around the bride’s apartment with a tape measure unaccompanied by the hostess.»
Artyom read it and looked up.
«What about after the wedding?»
Vera took a pen and wrote underneath:
«After the wedding, violations will be reviewed separately.»
«Now,» she said, «we can start planning our family life.»
Artyom slipped the sheet back into the folder.
From then on, the tape measure stayed in the car.
That way, everyone could relax.
