— Listen, I was talking to Kostya…
Dasha put the kettle on the stove and felt something tighten inside her. Lyosha was sitting at the table, picking at his omelet with a fork and carefully avoiding her eyes. He always did that when he was preparing the ground for something she definitely wasn’t going to like.
— And what about Kostya? — she asked, taking out the cups and trying to keep her voice even.
— There’s an interesting opportunity. A detailing bay is becoming available. Good location, steady flow of cars. Interior cleaning, polishing, ceramic coating — you know yourself, decent money.
Dasha turned around. Lyosha finally looked up at her — with that expression she had learned to read perfectly after ten years of marriage. Excitement hidden under forced calm.
— So what, he’s offering you a job there?
— Not a job. To join in. Invest and become a partner.
— Invest? Lyosh, we don’t have any spare money.
— What do you mean, we don’t? We do.
Three weeks earlier, they had been sitting at this same table deciding how to spend the money from the sale. The country house in Beryozovka had come to her from Aunt Nina — the only inheritance, apart from an old sideboard they had thrown out right away. The house was half-collapsed, it was far away, and there was no one to take care of it. They sold it for nine hundred thousand — not a fortune, but for their budget it was a huge amount of money.
— Kostya says places like that get snapped up fast, — Lyosha continued. — We need to move quickly before the location is gone.
— And where would the money come from?
He hesitated. There it was.
— Well, we have it. I’ll return it later, even with profit. We’ll buy you an even better car.
Dasha poured herself tea and sat down across from him.
— We agreed, — she repeated. — I’ve already started driving lessons. I’ll be taking the test soon.
— What do driving lessons have to do with it? I’m talking about a business, about our future. Are you even hearing me?
— I hear you. You want to take the money from my country house and invest it in a business with Kostya.
— Not “from your country house.” It’s our money. We are a family, supposedly.
Dasha said nothing. While the country house had been standing abandoned, for some reason nobody needed it. Lyosha had never once offered to go there, mow the grass, or clean the roof. But as soon as they sold it, it immediately became “ours.”
— Kostya and Yulya are coming over on Saturday, — Lyosha said, standing up and putting his plate in the sink. — We’ll sit down and talk calmly. At least listen to what this is about before you start sulking.
Tyomka peeked out of the room, already dressed, with his backpack hanging from one shoulder.
— Mom, are we going? I’m going to be late.
— We’re going, sweetheart, — Dasha said, getting up and pushing aside her unfinished tea. — The conversation is over, Lyosh.
— It’s not over, — he threw after her. — We’ll talk properly on Saturday.
Saturday started out well enough. Kostya and Yulya had been friends with them for a long time, since the days when they lived in the same courtyard. Kostya brought wine, and Yulya brought a cake from the bakery on Lenin Street — the very one Dasha had wanted to try herself but had felt sorry spending money on. At first they chatted about nothing important: vacations, gas prices, school — Kostya and Yulya also had a son, the same age as Tyomka. Then Kostya casually shifted the conversation.
— Lyokha, did you tell Dasha about the bay?
— In general terms.
— Dashul, this is a real opportunity, — Kostya turned to her, his eyes shining. — The location is fire. The traffic is insane. Vityok used to work there, remember Vityok? In two years he earned enough for a Land Cruiser.
— A Land Cruiser? — Dasha raised an eyebrow.
— Well, almost. Anyway, he bought a good car. And he was working alone, while there’ll be two of us.
Yulya joined in:
— Dash, I had doubts at first too. But you can’t be afraid nowadays. Otherwise you’ll spend your whole life scraping by from paycheck to paycheck.
Dasha looked at them and understood: this was not a friendly get-together. This was a prepared presentation. Lyosha had discussed everything behind her back long ago, and tonight’s meeting was meant to pressure her through “common opinion.” Two against one.
— How much needs to be invested? — she asked.
— Seven hundred, — Kostya answered. — Four hundred from your side, three hundred from ours.
— Why less from your side? — Dasha asked.
— Well, I found the idea, arranged everything, ran around, — Kostya spread his hands. — That’s also a contribution.
— We have it, — Lyosha quickly inserted.
Dasha looked at her husband. He was looking at Kostya as if everything had already been decided.
— We haven’t discussed it yet, — she said.
— We’ll discuss it, — Lyosha waved his hand. — Kostyan, pour another one, then we’ll decide everything.
After that, they drank and talked about nonsense. Yulya told stories about their vacation in Turkey, Kostya shared tales about clients from the auto service. Dasha smiled, nodded, poured more tea — and counted the minutes until the end of this performance.
After the guests left, Tyomka was already asleep, and they were standing in the kitchen — she was washing the glasses, he was drying them.
— So what do you say? — Lyosha threw the towel onto the table.
— I’m not investing money in detailing.
— Dasha, why are you immediately getting defensive? This is a normal business, a clear thing. In six months everything will come back, and with profit too.
— In six months? And when do I get my car?
— Later! We’ll buy you a car, an even better one!
— Lyosh, I don’t want to live on promises. I have a specific plan: license, car, a normal life without running around on minibuses with Tyomka. And you have “later,” “it’ll come back,” “even better.” That’s not a plan. Those are just words.
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and looked at her as if she had said something stupid.
— You simply don’t believe in me, — he said. — As usual.
Over the next few days, Lyosha walked around gloomy. He answered through clenched teeth, sat on his phone in the evenings, and responded to questions with short grunts. Dasha knew this tactic — he was waiting for her to come to him first, make peace, smooth things over. He waited in vain.
On the third day, he brought up the conversation again, this time without any roundabout approach.
— Do you even understand that I’m trying for the family? And you’re putting obstacles in my way.
— Lyosh, if you want a business, take out a loan in your own name. What do I have to do with it?
He jerked as if she had hit him.
— A loan? And what would I pay it back with? Once there’s income, then fine, but why pay extra interest now?
— Well, when there’s income, then we’ll talk. I won’t be counting on it.
— What do you mean, you won’t?
— Exactly what I said. I earn my own money. It’s enough for me.
Lyosha snorted, twisting his lips.
— Oh, what do you earn there? Your pennies at the reception desk?
— Those pennies, by the way, make up half of our budget.
— Sure, sure. A great contribution.
Dasha turned away toward the window. She no longer had the strength to argue.
On Sunday, they went to his mother’s for lunch. Zinaida Fyodorovna had set the table as usual — salads, cutlets, compote. Tyoma immediately ran into the room to watch cartoons — Zinaida Fyodorovna had bought a new TV a month ago and had been calling almost every day since then, inviting them over to watch it. As if they didn’t have a TV at home.
At the table, they first talked about the weather, prices, and neighbors. Then Lyosha said, as if casually:
— Mom, did I tell you about the business with Kostya?
— You told me, — Zinaida Fyodorovna nodded. — It’s a good thing. This… de-trailing is in demand now.
— Detailing, Mom.
— Yes, detailing. Such a fancy word, you’ll break your tongue saying it. But it’s a good business. People have lots of cars.
— That’s what I’m saying. But Dasha doesn’t support me.
His mother turned to her and folded her hands on the table.
— Dashenka, you’re wrong. If a man is striving for something, his wife must support him. And you’re ruining everything.
— I’m not ruining anything, — Dasha tried to speak calmly. — I simply don’t want to give away money we already have plans for.
— What plans? A car? — Zinaida Fyodorovna waved her hand. — A car is something you can get later. People used to live without cars at all, and nothing happened. But supporting your husband — that is needed now.
— Exactly, Mom, — Lyosha leaned back in his chair. — That’s what I’ve been telling her.
Dasha remained silent. Two against one — again.
On Monday at work, she told Lena everything. They had been working together at the dental clinic for the fourth year already and had long since become friends. Lena listened, nodded, and then said:
— Dash, do you know that Kostya and Yulya only got out of debt last year?
— What debt?
— They already had a business. Tire fitting, I think. Or a car wash, I don’t remember exactly. They went completely under and spent a year and a half paying off debts. Yulka borrowed money from my sister and still hasn’t returned it.
Dasha stared at her.
— And they’re getting into the same thing again?
— Apparently. Kostya won’t calm down until he feels like a businessman.
That evening, Dasha looked at Lyosha with different eyes. He was sitting in the kitchen, scrolling through something on his phone — probably reading about detailing again. She wanted to tell him about Kostya’s failure, but changed her mind. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. He’d say this was different, that it was bad luck back then, and that this time everything would be different.
That night, they argued again. Lyosha said she was suffocating him, not allowing him to grow, dragging the family backward. Dasha answered that she was not going to risk their last money for someone else’s fantasies. Their voices grew louder until a small voice came from the hallway:
— Mom?
Tyoma was standing in the doorway in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
— Go to sleep, sweetheart, everything is fine, — Dasha said, getting up and going to put him back to bed.
Her son lay down, but he did not close his eyes.
— Mom, are you not going to buy the car now? I heard Dad talking.
Dasha sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his head.
— We’ll buy it. We definitely will. Now go to sleep.
When she returned, Lyosha muttered:
— See? You woke the child with your yelling.
Dasha did not answer. She lay down with her back to him and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come — only silence and the thought that this would no longer end on its own.
Two days later, she came home from work earlier than usual. The apartment was quiet — Tyoma was still at school, after-school care until five. Dasha took off her jacket, went to the kitchen, and heard Lyosha’s voice from the room. He was talking on the phone without closing the door.
— Don’t worry, Kostyan. There’ll be money. She’ll resist a little and then agree. Where is she going to go?
A pause. Then laughter.
— What is she going to do? Divorce me or something? Come on. There’s never been a time when my wife refused me. A little more — and she’ll bring it herself.
Dasha stood in the hallway without moving. Her head felt empty and ringing, like a room after something glass has shattered.
She took a step forward, and the floorboard creaked. Lyosha turned around and almost choked on his coffee.
— All right, bro, I’ll call you back later, — his voice became different, soft. — My Dashulka just came home. Yeah, talk later.
He put the phone on the table and smiled at her — that same smile he used when he wanted to smooth something over.
— You’re early today. How was work?
Dasha did not answer his question about work. She simply looked at him silently, and Lyosha understood — she had heard everything.
— Dash, come on, it was just a conversation, why are you…
— She’ll resist. Where is she going to go. There’s never been a time when my wife refused me.
Lyosha put his mug on the table.
— You’re taking it out of context.
— What context, Lyosh? You’re discussing my money with Kostya and laughing about the fact that I’ll agree. And I’m supposed to stay silent and wait until you decide everything yourself?
— I’m trying for the family! And you…
— I’m sick of you and your fantasies.
Lyosha froze. His face darkened.
— Oh, so that’s how it is. I’m trying for the family, fighting every day like a fish against ice, and to you it’s all fantasies?
— Yes, to me it’s childish. You want to become a businessman with zero in your pocket.
He fell silent. His jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists.
— So that’s how it is. Not only do you not believe in me, now you’ve decided to humiliate me too. In my own home.
— In our home.
— Everything is clear, — he nodded, as if he had made some decision. — Here’s how it’s going to be. You’ve finally worn me out, and I’m not going to tolerate this anymore. Find yourself someone else, sweetheart, someone who’ll dance to your tune.
Dasha wanted to say something, but simply waved her hand. She had no strength left to argue or prove anything.
— What are you trying to say?
— Nothing. I’ve already said everything. I’m leaving. I’ll pick up my things later.
— Stop putting on this act.
— I’m not putting on an act, — he smirked. — But you won’t last a week without me. Because without me, you’re nobody, and your name means nothing.
He went into the room, took out a sports bag, and threw some things into it. Dasha stood in the doorway and watched.
— You destroyed our family with your nagging, — he threw at her as he walked past.
She did not escalate anything. She simply watched as he put on his jacket, took the car keys, and slammed the door. She could not believe that everything had ended like this over some nonsense. He had believed in himself too much and had been certain she would hand over the money sitting in her account.
The first few days felt strange. Quiet. Tyoma asked where Dad was, and Dasha answered that he had gone to Uncle Igor’s, then to Grandma’s. Her son nodded and went to watch cartoons. It seemed he, too, was tired of the evening tension.
Three days later, Zinaida Fyodorovna called.
— Darya, do you understand what you’ve done? Lyosha is sitting here at my place, beside himself.
— And what was I supposed to do?
— Support your husband! Like a normal wife!
— I will not give my money to someone else’s fantasies.
— Your money? — her mother-in-law snorted. — The country house belonged to your aunt. You didn’t earn it. It fell into your lap for free, and now you imagine yourself a queen.
Dasha felt anger rise inside her — cold and calm.
— Zinaida Fyodorovna, my aunt left that country house to me. To me, not to Lyosha. And I decide myself what to spend it on. And if your son needs money for a business, give it to him yourself. You have a new TV, so clearly you have money.
There was silence on the line. Then her mother-in-law snapped:
— Well, live alone then, since you’re so clever.
Dasha hung up and, for the first time in a long while, felt something like relief.
A week later, he came himself. He stood in the doorway, turning the car keys over in his hands.
— Dash, let’s talk normally. Maybe we both got carried away.
— Both?
— Fine, I got carried away. But you could have also…
— Could have what?
— Well… understood that I was trying for the family. Not cut everything off so sharply.
— Lyosh, you discussed my money behind my back and laughed that I had nowhere to go. Is that what you call “for the family”?
He grimaced.
— There you go again. Fine, I’ll go. Think about it, cool off.
He came two more times. Each time he began by saying he was ready to talk, and each time he shifted back to the idea that she could have supported him instead of putting obstacles in his way. Not once did he say, “I was wrong.” Dasha did not insist — if a person cannot be convinced that he is wrong, there is no point starting everything over.
A month later, he filed for divorce. Apparently, he thought she would get scared and come running to reconcile. She did not.
In court, everything turned out to be simpler than she had imagined. They had taken out the mortgage four years earlier and paid twenty-two thousand a month. The apartment was registered in both their names. At first Lyosha demanded more, but in the end the court awarded him four hundred thousand as compensation for his share. The apartment stayed with Dasha. Tyoma, as everyone had expected, stayed with his mother. Plus child support — twenty-five percent of Lyosha’s income for his son.
Lyosha tried to bargain and wanted more, but the court decided otherwise.
She paid him from what remained of the money from the country house. After the payment, she had five hundred thousand left.
She got her license two months later. She bought a car three weeks after that. A Kia Picanto — not new, but well-kept, with low mileage. She paid four hundred and fifty thousand for it. It was not what she had dreamed of — she had wanted something more serious. But for a beginner driver, it was just right. Small, nimble, easy to park.
The first time she drove Tyoma to swimming practice herself, her son sat in the back seat, swinging his legs.
— Mom, is this our car now?
— Ours.
— Cool. It’s just small.
— But it’s mine, — Dasha said, and she was surprised at how easily the words came out.
She watched the road and thought that it had never really been about detailing. Or about the car. It had been about the fact that for too long she had given in when it came to her money, her decisions, her right to say “no.” And when she finally said it, the sky did not fall. It simply became quieter.
And the husband she had loved and trusted for ten years had crossed everything out in a single moment — for the sake of someone else’s idea and his own wounded pride.
