“Mom suggested taking out a loan in your name,” her husband said.
“Are you serious right now?” Nastya’s voice broke. “Take out a loan in MY name for your mother?”
“Nastya, don’t start,” Alexey sighed tiredly, tossing a folder of documents onto the table. “It’s not for Mom. It’s for all of us.”
“All of us?” she smirked. “Me, you, and your mother, who lives like she’s in a TV series about eternal sufferers? Well, spoiler: I never signed up to be the heroine of season three.”
Silence hung in the kitchen. Only the ticking of the cheap clock above the refrigerator irritatingly reminded them of time passing. October. Damp, cold, with puddles by the entrance and that nasty wind that cut right through to the bone. Nastya stood by the window, watching the few remaining leaves swirl beneath the streetlamp.
Alexey said nothing, stirring an empty cup with a spoon.
“Mommy is just tired,” he finally said, as if making excuses. “Her neighbors are noisy, the roof leaks, the building is old. She’s all alone.”
“She’s not alone, Lyosha,” Nastya sharply turned toward him. “She has you. And now, apparently, me too. As a loan donor.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” he frowned. “It’s just help.”
“Help is carrying a bag of groceries or fixing an outlet. Not putting your wife under a mortgage for someone else’s apartment,” Nastya said calmly, but every phrase sounded like a slap.
Alexey leaned back in his chair.
“You just don’t want to help. You’re being stingy.”
“Stingy?” she laughed, briefly and bitterly. “I feel sorry for myself, Lyosha. Sorry that I got involved with a man who can’t tell the difference between love and convenience.”
He was about to answer, but at that moment the doorbell rang. A long, arrogant ring, as if a debt collector were standing behind the door, not a relative. Nastya did not even ask. She simply knew.
“Mom,” Alexey muttered, heading into the hallway.
“Surprise,” Nastya murmured under her breath. “A package of drama has arrived.”
Nina Petrovna entered like the owner of the place, carrying a supermarket plastic bag in which jars and containers clinked.
“Hello, my dears,” she drawled, as if she had dropped by for tea with school friends, not entered an apartment where a scandal had just been boiling. “I brought cutlets. Homemade.”
Nastya barely held back her sarcasm.
“Thank you, Nina Petrovna. We were just discussing a mortgage in my name. Bon appétit.”
“Oh,” her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes, pretending not to understand. “Alexey, did you already tell her? Well, you’re quick.”
“Mom, I wanted us to decide together…” Alexey began, but his mother had already started pushing her own line.
“Nastenka,” she began softly, though there was steel in her voice, “this isn’t just an apartment. It’s stability. Family should help one another.”
“Family, yes. But I’m not sure you and I are one family,” Nastya said coldly, looking at her.
“Oh, what words!” Nina Petrovna theatrically threw up her hands. “Then say it now, in front of everyone: are you sorry to help your husband’s mother?”
“I’m sorry to lose the last of my nerves,” Nastya snapped. “Especially when I didn’t even know my husband was already planning to sign me up as a creditor.”
“Oh, stop it!” Nina Petrovna waved her hand. “Papers are nonsense. What matters is attitude.”
Family.
“Exactly,” Nastya stepped closer. “Attitude. And yours is this: take what belongs to someone else, pretend it was borrowed, and then get offended when it isn’t handed over.”
Alexey jumped up, as if trying to save the situation.
“Enough! You’re both emotional right now. Mom, sit down. Nastya, calm down.”
But both women ignored him.
“You know, Nastenka,” her mother-in-law said, looking directly into her eyes, “if you don’t want to help, then don’t interfere. Some women are proud to stand by their husbands instead of nagging them.”
“And some women are proud of crawling into their son’s life and then playing the victim,” Nastya shot back.
Alexey raised his hands.
“That’s it, stop! I’m asking you, no insults!”
“No insults,” Nastya repeated calmly. “Fine. Then I’ll say it without emotion: I will not take out a loan. Never. Under any circumstances.”
Nina Petrovna pouted like a little girl whose toy had been taken away.
“Well, then I don’t know…” she sighed theatrically. “Maybe you could at least lend me a little? Temporarily.”
“Mom!” Alexey cried. “We agreed, no money!”
Nastya laughed — quietly, but with that very sound that always made something tighten inside him.
“Everything is clear. So you knew she would ask again.”
“Nastya, I…” he started, but she cut him off.
“Don’t. You knew, and you invited her anyway.”
Nastya picked up her phone from the table, opened the call list, and tapped the screen.
“What are you doing?” Alexey tensed.
“I’m calling Lena,” Nastya said calmly. “I’ll spend the night at her place. And you two can… decide who owes whom and how much.”
“Nastya, wait.” He stood up and grabbed her arm. “Why go straight to that?”
“Because it’s too late for ‘not straight to that,’” Nastya pulled her arm free. “I’m not a bank, Lyosha. And I’m not your mother’s collateral.”
She put on her jacket, zipped it up, and left without looking back into the dark stairwell. The door slammed, echoing through the staircase.
Alexey stood with his arms lowered, staring at the door, while Nina Petrovna whispered behind him:
“Nothing, son. She’ll cool down. All women are like that. The main thing is, don’t give in.”
But he stayed silent. Because for the first time in a long while, what he felt inside was not victory — but a collapse, deep and sticky, like mud in the rain.
The next few days dragged by slowly. Nastya rented a room at her friend’s place, carried her laptop to work and back, and lived on autopilot. Morning — coffee, metro, reports, calls. Evening — silence, tea, and thoughts that made her want to scream.
Alexey did not call for the first three days. Then he started writing:
“I’m sorry. We need to talk.”
“Mom didn’t mean any harm.”
“You misunderstood everything.”
She did not reply.
On the fourth day, he called himself.
“Nastya, please. I don’t want it to be like this. Come back. We’ll solve everything.”
“We?” she asked. “Or you and your mother?”
“Me. Truly. I realized I went too far.”
Nastya was silent for a long time.
“All right,” she finally said. “I’ll come tomorrow. But not back to you — for my things.”
He wanted to say something, but the call ended. Even the beeps in the receiver sounded like a full stop.
“Oh, there you are,” Alexey stood by the door like a security guard in a mall — as if she were not his wife, but an inspector.
“Relax,” Nastya took off her hood, shaking raindrops from her hair. “I’m here for my things.”
The hallway smelled of fried onions and some perfume that immediately gave Nastya a headache. She understood at once — Nina Petrovna was here again. And not just visiting.
“Mom, please come out,” Alexey asked, but her voice was already coming from the kitchen:
“I’m not hiding. Let her come in. I’m not an enemy.”
Nastya slowly walked into the kitchen. On the table were two plates with dinner, a third covered with a lid. The table was set for three.
“Cute,” she smirked. “A family dinner without one part of the family.”
Family.
“Nastya, don’t start,” Alexey said tiredly, sitting back down. “I just asked Mom to help me with things.”
“Right, help. Meaning live here. In my rented apartment.”
Nina Petrovna did not even blink.’
“I’m here temporarily. While repairs are being done at my place.”
“Repairs?” Nastya raised her eyebrows. “Ah, the ones I was supposed to take out a loan for. Are you doing them without it now?”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” her mother-in-law looked at her sternly. “We found a cheaper way. Alexey made arrangements with a repairman.”
Nastya shook her head.
“Alexey, tell me honestly, do you understand that I’m not coming back?”
He sharply lifted his gaze.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Of course you’ll come back. All of this is just emotion.”
“Emotion?” Nastya snorted. “When my husband runs around banks behind my back, is that emotion? When my mother-in-law discusses my ‘greed’ with her friends? I’m practically allergic to the word ‘family’ now.”
“Who even asked you to dramatize everything so much?!” Alexey finally snapped. “We just wanted to help Mom!”
“Exactly,” Nastya raised a finger. “MOM. Not yourself. Not us. Don’t you think you constantly live by someone else’s needs?”
He jumped up.
“I’m just a good son!”
“And a bad husband,” she finished calmly. “And one does not balance out the other.”
A pause fell. Even Nina Petrovna could not find anything to say. Only a spoon clinked against a plate.
“You know, Nastenka,” she said quietly, but in that very tone that always made Nastya’s chest tighten, “you simply don’t know how to forgive.”
“No,” Nastya stepped closer. “I simply know how to remember how people behave.”
“Who needs you with such a character?” her mother-in-law blurted out. “You couldn’t keep your husband, and now you’re destroying your home with your own hands!”
“Home?” Nastya smirked. “Homes are not destroyed by women, but by those who slip them loan agreements instead of flowers.”
Alexey tried to interfere.
“That’s enough! Mom, go to the room.”
“No,” Nastya raised her hand. “Let her stay. It’s even easier for me.”
She walked to the table, placed a bunch of keys and a bank card on it.
“Here you go, Lyosha. Pay the rent yourself. Tomorrow I’ll re-register the contract in my name. You can stay here until the end of the month, then decide what to do.”
“Are you serious?” Alexey turned pale. “We were together…”
“We were,” she corrected him. “Until you decided that living together meant sharing a thirty-year debt.”
Nina Petrovna leaned forward.
“What do you think you are?! Without him, you’re nobody! You won’t get far on one accountant’s salary!”
“But I’ll get there myself,” Nastya sharply turned to her. “And not with you as a trailer.”
She went into the bedroom and packed her bag without looking around. Everything was simple: clothes, laptop, documents, charger. No sentiment.
Alexey stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“So that’s it? You’ll just leave and not even try to talk?”
“We are talking,” she answered without lifting her eyes. “You just don’t like what you’re hearing.”
“Nastya,” he stepped closer, “don’t leave. I’m trying to do everything for you.”
She turned around.
“For me? No, Lyosha. You’re just used to me being nearby. To wipe things up, cover for you, sign things. And when I stop being convenient, you call your mother.”
He stayed silent. His eyes darted around like those of a person caught in a lie.
“You know what hurts the most?” Nastya continued. “That I really loved you. I thought we would grow together, learn to be a team. But it turned out that you and your mother are on one team, and I’m on the bench.”
Alexey lowered his head.
“I didn’t want it to be like this.”
“Whether you wanted it or not doesn’t matter anymore,” Nastya zipped up her bag. “What matters is what you did.”
From the kitchen came Nina Petrovna’s voice again:
“Let her go! She’ll crawl back anyway. Women like her always come back!”
Nastya looked toward the kitchen door and smirked.
“Check in a couple of years. But honestly, I wouldn’t advise waiting.”
She threw on her coat, took the ring from her pocket, and placed it on the dresser by the mirror.
“It’s not yours to return,” she said quietly. “I gave it because I believed.”
“Nastya…” Alexey stepped toward her.
“Too late,” she cut him off. “When a woman leaves not with a scandal, but silently — it’s already the end.”
The door slammed.
Outside, a fine drizzle was falling. Nastya walked along the avenue without opening her umbrella. She breathed in the cold air and, for the first time in a long while, felt light. There was uncertainty ahead, yes, but at least it was honest.
She stopped at a kiosk, bought coffee in a paper cup, and took out her phone.
A message from Alexey blinked on the screen: “I’m sorry. I realize everything now. Come back. We’ll start over.”
She looked at those words for a long time. Then she simply pressed “delete.”
The coffee was hot, unbearably bitter — exactly as it needed to be.
People walked toward her — some with flowers, some with bags, some with those very faces that say “everything is fine,” even though there is a storm inside. Nastya thought: probably everyone, at least once, finds themselves at a crossroads like this — between “endure” and “live.”
And for the first time, she chose the second.
She stepped toward the metro, leaving behind the home where there would no longer be her cup, her laughter, or her fears.
Only someone else’s cutlets, someone else’s plans, and someone else’s confidence that she would “come back anyway.”
But she would not.
Because now she did not simply have a new life.
She had her own.