Marina froze in the middle of the kitchen, unable to believe her ears. The words her husband had carelessly tossed out a minute ago simply wouldn’t register in her mind. They rang with such blatant disdain, such certainty in his own rightness, that for an instant she thought it must be a bad dream. Surely Sasha couldn’t be serious about suggesting she give up on her dream? That very car she’d been saving for over six months, denying herself everything?
“Why do you need that junker, anyway? You can’t drive. Let’s sell it, pay off my debts, and head to Turkey for a week. What’s wrong with that?” Alexander went on, lounging lazily in his chair. He spoke as if he truly saw nothing special in his words. As if they were discussing some pointless trinket, not his wife’s treasured wish.
Blood rushed to Marina’s face. Her temples pounded with fury and resentment. How dare he? How could he even suggest such a thing? It would be one thing if he’d simply asked for money for his own needs—but no. This freeloader was laying down terms! Her car, her dream—a bargaining chip in his ridiculous games? Let it be thrice-cursed if she lets him take charge of what she earned through her own backbreaking work!
Marina slowly set her coffee cup on the table, the one she’d been clutching in trembling hands. Her fingers shook with anger, a lump lodged in her throat. The pain of betrayal strangled her, made it hard to breathe. And the worst thing wasn’t the rejection itself. It was the ease, the utter disregard with which her husband had dismissed all her efforts, all her hopes. As if they were worthless compared to his whims.
“Sasha, are you serious right now?” Marina asked quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Do you really think I’d agree to sell my car to pay off your debts? To go to the seaside? After working three jobs for half a year to save up the down payment?”
She watched his eyes, still hoping to see understanding there. Regret. A readiness to admit he was wrong. But Alexander only shrugged irritably and twisted his face like he had a toothache.
“There you go again!” he snapped, slapping his palm on the table. “Slaving away, are you? And what, I don’t work? You don’t know how I’m breaking my back on that damned construction site—twelve-hour shifts without weekends! So you can sit here boiling your soups! And now you want to guilt-trip me?”
Marina was outraged. Him—slaving away? Him—working twelve hours straight? Well, that was a good one! Let’s ignore the fact that he barely drags himself to work by ten in the morning and, at best, stays half a day. Let’s keep quiet about his regular benders with his buddies. Sure, when you do odd jobs here and there and hardly finish them, family responsibilities are the last thing on your mind. As long as he has money for drinks and entertainment. Meanwhile, his wife can break her back to earn what’s missing. And keep her mouth shut when the “provider” demands.
The thoughts made Marina’s vision go dark. An icy rage boiled in her chest. How tired she was! Tired of enduring, of putting up with everything, bending over backward, carrying the load for both of them until she nearly collapsed. Maybe it was time to say “enough”? To open her eyes and say a firm “no”? After all, she hadn’t vowed to forgive and suffer endlessly. She hadn’t signed up to be a voiceless servant for life.
By sheer will, Marina suppressed the vicious words that hovered on the tip of her tongue. No, she wouldn’t stoop to yelling and insults. She wouldn’t be drawn into a pointless shouting match where the loudest always “wins.” She would simply say what she thought, calmly and with dignity. Because, damn it, she had the right. The right to her dream, to her own desires. To her own life, for heaven’s sake! And let her be damned if she let anyone take that from her.
Marina took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She looked her husband straight in the eye—steadily, without a hint of doubt. Like someone who has made a decision and is ready to carry it through.
“You listen here, Alexander,” she said slowly, meeting his gaze. “You do what you like, but I’m not giving up my dream to satisfy your whims. I’m not selling the car. And I’m not going on vacation with you. If you want to go, fine—work your tail off. Earn enough for the trip, and then we can talk about who owes whom what. I don’t need your handouts. I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”
A heavy silence fell. Alexander stared at his wife, mouth open. He didn’t seem to understand right away what she’d said—her abrupt rebellion was so wild, so unbelievable. When realization struck, his face turned crimson with anger. Obviously, he couldn’t stomach someone defying the “master and lord” of the house!
“You’ve lost your mind, wife?” he hissed, leaning forward. “Who do you think you are now? Acting all independent? You frigid bitch, you don’t want to cook or please your husband! That’s alright, I’ll knock that nonsense right out of you! We’ll go and sign those papers to sell the car right now, and don’t you dare protest! Get dressed this instant, you hysterical fool!”
He jumped up from his chair and grabbed Marina’s arm, yanking her roughly toward him. The pain and shock made her vision blur. Then his fist slammed into her cheekbone, snapping her head to the side.
It was so barbaric, so unthinkable, that for a few seconds Marina just stood there, stunned. Her head hummed, dark spots swam before her eyes. Never before, even in their worst times, had her husband dared lift a hand against her. Now she had her “reward” for her defiance.
But the pain suddenly jolted her awake. With a chilling clarity, Marina realized—this was the end. The point of no return. If she backed down now, if she showed any weakness—she was done for. She’d never have any peace with this scumbag. He’d trample everything good and bright within her. Grind it into dust with his selfishness and cruelty. So her choice was simple. Either on this very kitchen floor, in a puddle of spilled coffee, she would let go of her dream—and her self-respect along with it—or…
Or she would step into the unknown. A new life where she wouldn’t have to bend and endure. To listen to insults and endure beatings. A life in which she could finally be herself—without fear or shame. Because bitter freedom was better than a sweet slavery to a domestic tyrant.
Somewhere deep inside, beneath the numbness and shock, a spark began to glow. Tiny, flickering, but growing hotter and brighter. Rage, hurt, despair—all fused together into a searing ball of fury. The tension that had built for so long finally smashed its dam, sweeping all before it.
Marina slowly raised her head. She looked at her husband’s enraged, crimson face, twisted with malice. At the fist he’d raised for another punch. In her eyes there were no tears, no pleading—only the calm resolve of someone with nothing left to lose.
“Take your hands off me, you bastard,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Lay a finger on me again, and you’re a dead man. I’ll go to prison with a clear conscience.”
Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. But it held such icy certainty that Alexander involuntarily recoiled. In his wife’s dilated pupils, he suddenly saw his own death. His so-called courage evaporated instantly, as though it had never existed.
“You’ve gone nuts, haven’t you?” he stammered, backing away. “I’ll—”
“You won’t do anything,” Marina cut him off, her tone even. “You’re scared of me. You don’t have real strength or guts. You only know how to bully those weaker than you. Well, I’m not weak. And I can protect myself, rest assured.”
She took a step back, never taking her heavy gaze from him. She groped behind her for the door handle. Slowly, as if in a dream, she pulled it open. The hinges squeaked, unoiled.
“Now hear this, husband. If you want me to stay in this house, you’ll do things my way. I won’t ask much. Just a few things—that you respect your wife. That you never dare lay a hand on me again. That you handle your own debts instead of dumping them on me. If you agree—nod. If not, then get the hell out and don’t come back. I’m done tolerating this crap.”
Alexander started shaking his head desperately, like a frightened child. It seemed only now it was dawning on him that his wife wasn’t joking. That in another moment, he could actually end up on the street with no money, no roof over his head. And no one to blame for his own worthlessness.
“Marinka, what are you doing, huh?” he whined, trying to smile ingratiatingly. “I lost my temper, that’s all. Who doesn’t sometimes? Forgive me, I’ll never say a bad word again. I swear I won’t touch your car. Just don’t throw me out, Marina! I’ll bear anything, I’ll change, I promise!”
His bloated, puffy face showed such raw remorse that Marina felt a wave of nausea. God, had she really loved this spineless slug for twelve years? Had she really spent the best years of her life on this pathetic creature? What on earth was she thinking?
She caught her breath, barely suppressing the urge to retch. No. Enough humiliation. Enough of his tantrums.
“It’s too late, Sasha,” Marina said calmly. “I’m leaving. That’s final. Shout all you want, it’s pointless. I’ll pack my clothes—goodbye. As for you, do whatever you like. If you want to change, be my guest. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. One more slip-up—your funeral.”
Spinning on her heel, she walked to the bedroom. She yanked open a dresser drawer, dumping its contents onto the bed with a crash. She scooped up jeans, T-shirts, underwear in a single armful. Stuffed them into a travel bag in seconds. Then headed for the exit without a backward glance.
Her husband still stood in the kitchen—hunched over, pitiful, disoriented. It seemed he couldn’t believe this wasn’t just a bad dream. That his meek, submissive wife had suddenly rebelled and was leaving. That she’d even laid down her own terms, without any shame!
Marina gave him one last, indifferent look. He’d get over it. He wasn’t a child; presumably he’d manage somehow. As for her, it was high time to think about herself. How to move forward, how to support her daughter. She’d spent enough time squandering herself on this worthless man.
Hoisting the bag, she stepped decisively across the threshold. A gust of cool autumn air brushed her face, along with the distant sounds of passing cars, the rustle of leaves. Everyday noises, familiar since childhood. Yet now they felt new, enticing—like the whole world was opening its arms to her, inviting her into an unknown but wonderful future.
Marina inhaled deeply, until her head spun, until her ears rang. Then she took her first step—down the stairs, away from the house she had grown to hate. Away from her husband, from the fights, from the endless lies and humiliation. Toward a new life, full of uncertainties. But it was hers—truly hers.
Out of the fog of blinking headlights, her old Ford appeared. Tenderly, Marina ran her hand over its dusty side. It’s all right, buddy. We’ll get through this. I’m never letting anyone take you from me. I’ll wash you, patch you up—you’ll be as good as new. And I’ll wash away all the grief and troubles, too—like dust and dirt. Wash them off until everything’s clean and shining.
The engine coughed to life, the tires screeched. Marina revved it, roaring out of the yard as though devils were chasing her. Maybe they really were—but the hell with them. They wouldn’t catch her. Now she was fearless, reckless. She could catch anyone she wanted instead.
In the rearview mirror, the gray panel high-rises receded into the distance, shrinking, fading into twilight. With them faded and vanished the old Marina—meek, timid, ready to do anything for an illusion of family happiness. She left that Marina behind. Intentionally shed her, like an old skin, never to return.
Racing forward was a different woman. Bold, confident. That was the Marina she was taking with her on this journey. The one who wasn’t afraid of obstacles, who could stand up for herself and her dreams.
“Hang in there, girl,” she said with a sly wink to her reflection in the mirror. “We’ll be fine. We’ll break through. Just you watch—we’ll show ’em how it’s done!”
She flashed a dazzling grin—the same reckless, radiant smile she’d had as a child, when everything seemed possible.
Yes, there was a long, hard road ahead. Starting from scratch, raising her daughter alone, clawing her way into her place in the sun—that wouldn’t be easy. But Marina knew she would manage. She wasn’t truly alone. She had her faithful steel companion, and her unbreakable inner core. That meant there was no fortress they couldn’t conquer. Together, side by side.
The old Ford sped on, scattering the few pedestrians with its angry growl. It seemed to sense its owner’s mood—her heady thrill, her relentless thirst for a new life. It echoed her with its straining roar, gripping the asphalt with its tires.
Inside, slumped against the car’s worn seat, sat Marina. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks streaked with mascara, a bruise forming on her cheekbone from his rough fingers—but she was alive. Truly alive for the first time in years, with her head held high and her wings finally spread.
A Marina who would never again let anyone cut those wings. A Marina prepared to fight and seek, to find and never yield. To fly forward, smashing obstacles, aiming for her goal, her guiding star.
Beyond the windows, snow began to fall in big, swirling flakes. It cloaked the streetlamps, the benches, the sidewalks in white, as though trying to shield, to protect that fragile figure lost in the night.
But she needed no protection. She was the snow itself: pure, unstoppable, undefeatable in her flight. And just as all-conquering, all-consuming.
Somewhere ahead, beyond a forest of lights and glass towers, the icy winter sun was rising, its crimson edge lighting up the horizon, blinding her through the snow-dusted windshield.
Marina smiled at it—boldly, fearlessly. She greeted it as an equal. From now on, it was the only master she recognized. It alone she pledged loyalty to.
They say everything begins at dawn. Her new life, too. As pure and unblemished as that first morning ray. Full of hope, full of unexplored roads.
Well then, time to set off. Time to embrace the unknown. Is it scary? Yes, terribly. But it’s far worse to spend the rest of your days in a gilded cage.
After all, the wildest adventures always start with a decisive step. The turn of an ignition key. That first sharp turn on an empty nighttime highway.
So close your eyes, brave Ford. Catch the rushing wind against your windshield. Carry your fearless rider onward, only onward—into the land where dreams come true.
That was why they loved each other, the woman and her iron friend. For their readiness to dash headlong into the unknown. For having each other’s backs, for that shared defiance at fate. For a courage verging on madness.
And above the city, the sun rose. Timidly, as if for the first time. Tentatively peering into the windows of the sleepy high-rises. At one of those windows, eyes squinting, a hand shading them from the glare, stood Alexander.
He stood there for a long time, gazing into the frosty distance, where the red Ford had disappeared. It had taken away his Marina, his chance at happiness, forever.
Only now, alone in the empty apartment, did he begin to understand what he’d lost. And for the first time, perhaps, he felt ashamed of his own worthlessness—his pettiness, cowardice, and nasty temper.
Was this really the husband he’d once dreamed of becoming? Was this the marriage he had once imagined? Yes, he’d stumbled, yes, he’d failed. He hadn’t delivered, hadn’t protected. He’d broken under hardship.
But it wasn’t too late to fix everything. To get his act together, find a decent job. Quit drinking with the guys. Live in a way that wouldn’t make him ashamed to look his daughter in the eye.
And maybe someday… maybe someday Marina would forgive him. Her heart would soften, and she’d come home. She’d hug him and press close, just like before. She’d whisper softly:
“Hello, Sasha. Here I am.”
But for now… all he had were dreams. Long, drawn-out dreams, the color of fresh spring grass. There, they were together again—young, cheerful. Strolling through the park, hand in hand. Where everything was still beginning.
And each morning, Alexander would wake up with a smile. In spite of everything—a smile. Clinging to the memory of her image.
The image of a woman he’d lost. A woman he might never find again.
But he would search. Day after day, year after year. Because he knew—it was worth it.
His sun. His Marina.
