“This year, don’t spend anything on yourself. You’ll pay for your sister’s wedding. We’ve already decided everything,” his father informed him.
“This year, don’t spend anything on yourself. You’ll pay for your sister’s wedding. We’ve already decided everything,” his father repeated.
His voice over the phone sounded casual, as though he were telling Kirill that they needed to buy bread for dinner. Nothing more, nothing less.
Kirill froze, staring at his laptop screen. An Excel spreadsheet glowed before him—his own personal financial Everest.
Cell G12 displayed the number “750,000.” It was the amount he had spent three years working toward, denying himself everything except the bare necessities. It was supposed to be the down payment on a studio apartment on the outskirts of the city.
“What exactly have you decided?” he asked, although he had understood perfectly well the first time. He simply needed to gain a few seconds until air began entering his lungs again.
“Polina is getting married. To that Igor of hers. They want the wedding in the summer, a beautiful one, the way it should be. A restaurant, a photographer, a dress… You understand. We calculated that they’ll need about one and a half million.”
His father was not asking. He was stating a fact. In his world, the matter had already been settled, the box had been checked, and the problem had been solved using their endlessly reliable resource—their eldest son.
“Dad, I… I don’t have that kind of money. I’m saving, you know that. For an apartment.”
Kirill ran a hand through his hair. He felt unpleasant, sticky sweat creeping down his neck.
“The apartment can wait,” his father snapped. “Why are you acting like a stranger? Your sister is sacred. She’ll only get married once. You have to help.”
Only once.
Kirill smiled bitterly to himself. Polina had already enrolled in a private university “only once,” and “only once” she had needed a new car. He had paid for every one of those “only once” occasions.
Ever since childhood, they had drilled the same lesson into him: You are the eldest. You are the one everyone can rely on.
And he had believed them.
“What about Igor? What about his family? Shouldn’t this be their responsibility first?”
“They’re having a difficult time right now,” his father answered evasively, and Kirill heard irritation creeping into his voice. “Igor is a good young man, but he’s no high achiever. Besides, counting money isn’t what matters when your daughter’s happiness is at stake. We’re counting on you. Polina has already chosen a restaurant by the water.”
He spoke about the restaurant as if Kirill were supposed to be delighted, as though it were Kirill’s celebration too.
“We’ve already paid the deposit,” his father added, delivering the final blow. “One hundred thousand. From your card. You left the details with us when you ordered your mother’s medication.”
There it was.
The final strike.
It was not a request. It was simply a fact. His money had already been spent. His future had already been canceled.
“I’ll call you back,” Kirill said hoarsely and ended the call.
He slowly closed his laptop. The glossy lid reflected his face—pale, with an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes.
His mother called that evening. Unlike his father’s, her voice was soft and coaxing.
“Kiryusha, don’t be angry with your father. You know how straightforward he is. He’s just worried about Polina.”
“Mom, you took one hundred thousand without asking me.”
“Oh, how can you call it your money, sweetheart? We’re a family. Can you really measure your sister’s happiness in money? She’s glowing with joy.”
“I spent three years saving that money, Mom. I worked two jobs.”
“And that was the right thing to do. You’re a man. Polina is a girl. She wants a fairy-tale wedding. You don’t want her wedding to be worse than her friends’ weddings, do you?”
His mother knew exactly how to use guilt.
You are the eldest.
You have obligations.
As always, the conversation led nowhere.
The following day, Polina herself appeared at the door of his rented one-room apartment.
Igor was with her.
She fluttered into the apartment, looked around at the modest interior, and curled her lips.
“Oh, Kir, are you seriously still living in this hole?”
Igor, a large, broad-shouldered man, shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“Polina, maybe you shouldn’t say things like that…” he muttered quietly.
“What do you mean, I shouldn’t?” his sister snapped. “I’m telling the truth! Come in.”
She placed a neatly printed sheet of paper on the table.
“Expense Estimate.”
The figure beside “Total” was 1,650,000 rubles.
“Polina, I can’t do this. This is everything I have. I don’t have any more money.”
“What do you mean you don’t? You have a job. You can take out a loan. Dad said they’ll approve you.”
“Igor, what do you think?” Kirill suddenly asked, looking directly at the groom. “Are you comfortable with another man paying for your wedding?”
Igor flushed and lowered his eyes.
“I told Polina we could have something more modest… We could save the money ourselves…”
“Save it?” Polina snorted contemptuously. “By the time we retire? Igor, don’t make me laugh! Kirill, you simply don’t want to make an effort for me. You’ve always been jealous of me.”
“Jealous? Of the fact that you’ve always received everything with a snap of your fingers?”
“Stop it!” Her voice became shrill. “Igor already feels uncomfortable enough! And now you’re whining too!”
Kirill looked at his sister and her beautiful, offended face. For the first time in his life, he felt nothing toward her except cold, steadily rising irritation.
“I’ll think about it,” he said evenly, knowing it was a lie.
“Wonderful!” Her face immediately lit up. “Oh, I almost forgot! We’re going to look at the dress. We need to pay a deposit—fifty thousand. You have that much, don’t you?”
She held out a hand with a flawless manicure.
And Kirill, already broken, pulled out his wallet.
He saw triumph flash in his sister’s eyes.
Something inside him finally snapped on Wednesday.
It happened after a call from the real estate agent.
“Kirill Andreevich, good afternoon. I’m calling about the studio apartment. Unfortunately, I have some disappointing news. The sellers are withdrawing the property from the deal with you.”
Kirill went cold.
“What do you mean, withdrawing it? Why? We agreed on everything.”
“I feel terrible about this too. Your father contacted them. He said your family was experiencing serious financial difficulties and that you were being forced to abandon the purchase. They decided not to wait because another buyer appeared.”
His father.
He had called them.
He had spoken for Kirill.
He had decided everything.
He had not merely taken Kirill’s money. He had reached into his future and burned it to the ground.
Kirill remembered something his father had once thrown at him during an argument:
“When I was your age, I was already supporting an entire family, while you’re still wandering around with your head in the clouds!”
Now Kirill understood.
His father was not merely helping Polina. He was punishing Kirill for achieving a kind of freedom and ease that he himself had never experienced.
Kirill ended the call without saying a word.
There was complete emptiness inside him.
No anger. No resentment.
Only deafening clarity.
He opened the banking app on his phone and blocked every card. Then he found the number of the wedding agency.
“Good afternoon. My name is Kirill Belyaev. I am listed as the sponsor of Polina Belyaeva’s wedding. I am canceling all financing for the event. All previous arrangements are void.”
There was a brief pause.
“I’m not sure I understand…”
“I’ll repeat myself. There will be no money. The wedding is canceled because of complete inability to pay. Goodbye.”
He ended the call and immediately dialed his father’s number.
“Oh, Kiryukha, hello! We were just discussing the menu!”
“Hello, Dad. I’m calling to inform you that there will be no wedding.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the free banquet is over. Your fairy tale has ended before it even began.”
“You… How dare you?!” his father roared.
“No. I’ve decided to save my own life. You can arrange your celebration yourselves. For example, by taking out a loan.”
Kirill ended the call and blocked the numbers of every member of his family.
Then he opened his laptop and found an old email from a recruiter who had once offered him a remote position at another company.
He had been thinking about accepting it for a long time but had never found the courage.
Now he had no doubts.
He wrote a reply:
“Is the offer still available? I’m ready.”
Three months passed.
Kirill sat in a small café on the waterfront of a southern port city. He worked remotely and rented a room overlooking cypress trees. His salary was lower, but it was enough.
The first month had been hell.
Messages and calls poured in from unfamiliar numbers. He did not answer them.
One day, he received a voice message from his mother, full of sobbing and curses. He deleted it without listening to the end.
Then Igor sent him a message:
“There won’t be a wedding. We broke up. I hope you’re doing well.”
Kirill simply deleted it.
It was no longer his war.
A week earlier, a long email had arrived at an address he had foolishly given his mother years ago. She wrote about his father’s failing health and Polina’s depression.
The central message was repeated again and again:
“We devoted our entire lives to you, and you turned out to be a monster.”
He read the entire email.
In the past, a message like that would have plunged him into an abyss of guilt.
This time, he simply clicked “Delete.”
The previous day, he had met a young woman. She had brought her laptop, ruined by spilled coffee, to the IT office where he worked.
Her name was Dasha, and she worked at the local dolphinarium.
They started talking.
They had agreed to have dinner together that evening.
For the first time in many years, he felt something other than duty. He felt a light, cautious interest in the future.
Two years passed.
Kirill hammered the final nail into the railing of his porch.
A small but sturdy house stood on his plot of land, a house he had built almost entirely with his own hands.
Nearby, beneath the shade of a peach tree, Dasha was reading a book. At their feet, a shaggy dog named Pirate dozed peacefully.
Recently, a cousin with whom Kirill rarely spoke had sent him a message and shared the family news.
Polina’s wedding had never taken place. Igor had moved to another city. To pay off their debts to the wedding agency, Kirill’s parents had sold their garage and taken out several loans.
His father had begun falling ill frequently.
According to his cousin, Polina had changed jobs several times. She was now living with their parents and constantly complaining about her life.
Her “fairy tale” had never happened, and she did not know how to live in reality.
The system they had created had closed in on itself, consuming the last remnants of their prosperity.
Kirill read the message without any sense of triumph.
He felt only cold relief that he had managed to jump from the sinking ship in time.
“What are you thinking about?” Dasha asked, looking up at him.
“Nothing important. Just the past,” he answered. “I’m glad it stayed there.”
“That’s exactly where it belongs,” she said with a smile. “Will you help me dig a garden bed for the tomatoes?”
“Of course.”
Kirill watched the setting sun flood his land, his house, and his new life with warm light.
For the first time in many years, he did not feel like a debtor.
He felt like an owner.
The owner of his quiet, simple, and priceless destiny.