The winter boots box was light. Unbearably, frighteningly light.
Lena stood in the middle of the bedroom, clutching the cardboard sides so tightly that her nails dug into the paper. Three years. Three long years she had been putting money into it, bill by bill.
Bonuses, “side jobs” for quarterly reports, money saved by skipping business lunches.
It held her “safety cushion,” her dream of a sanatorium in Altai, and the birthday celebration at the Onegin restaurant she had dreamed of ever since she turned thirty.
It was empty. Only an old newspaper lay at the bottom.
A key turned in the lock. Lena didn’t move. She heard Sergei fumbling in the hallway, the shoehorn clinking.
— Lenka, are you home? — her husband’s voice was artificially cheerful, slightly hoarse. — I’m coming from my mother’s. Her face is fine now, the doctors say it was real precision work. Imported ceramic, not some cheap junk.
He walked into the room, smiling. But the smile slid off his face like poorly glued wallpaper when he saw the box in Lena’s hands.
— Where is the money, Sergei? — Lena’s voice didn’t tremble. It was dry and sharp, like an autumn leaf.
Sergei shrugged, walked to the wardrobe, pulling off his shirt. His back tensed.
— I took it. Force majeure. Mom has trouble with her teeth, she can’t eat, she’s suffering badly. The specialist said: either now, or later everything will collapse and it’ll cost twice as much.
— That was my money. For my birthday. For Onegin.
Sergei spun around abruptly. Red blotches flared across his face. He went on the offensive — the best defense, as Galina Petrovna had taught him.
— What do you need that fancy restaurant for?! You’re thirty-five, not fifty! We’ll sit at home, you’ll chop some Olivier salad, bake chicken in a sleeve. My mother is suffering, living on baby food, and you want to blow a hundred thousand rubles in one evening? Selfish!
— You stole my celebration from me.
— I helped my mother! And I didn’t steal it, I took it. Our budget is shared. Are we a family or roommates? That’s it, Lena. The money’s gone. It’s in the private clinic’s cash register. Accept it and behave like a woman, not a calculator!
He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass in the cabinet rattled.
Lena slowly sat down on the ottoman. There was no hysteria in her head, only a ringing emptiness and one thought.
He didn’t ask. It didn’t even occur to him to ask. To him, her dreams were just whims, dust compared to his mother’s comfort.
Her phone beeped. Reminder: “Confirm banquet. 15 guests.”
Lena picked up the phone. Her finger hovered over the cancel button. Then she dialed her sister.
— Tanyusha, hi. Do you remember that dealer, Kostya, who wanted to buy Dad’s garage? Yes, the one who wanted it as a warehouse. Do you still have his number? Call him. Tell him I agree. One condition: he takes everything out himself. Today. Immediately.
The next day passed in sticky tension. Sergei strutted around the apartment like a master, convinced the storm had passed. He believed Lena would cry in the bathroom as usual, then go boil potatoes.
— Listen — he threw over his shoulder as he left for work. — Don’t come up with anything tonight. Mom can’t chew solid food. Make mashed potatoes and steamed fish. And no guests, let’s sit quietly, family-style.
— All right — Lena nodded, staring out the window. — We’re just not having dinner at home.
— What do you mean?
— At Onegin. I confirmed the reservation. The guests are coming.
Sergei’s jaw dropped.
— Are you crazy? How are you going to pay? I told you — the cash is gone!
— Come at seven, Sergei. And bring your mother. Wear the blue suit — it suits you.
On the way to the restaurant Sergei was nervous. He fiddled with a button on his jacket and muttered that if they brought the bill, he would simply stand up and leave. He was sure Lena was bluffing.
She was hoping he’d borrow money, that he’d figure something out. “No way,” he thought. “I’ll teach her a lesson. Let her embarrass herself in front of her friends when the card gets declined.”
Onegin greeted them with dim light and the chime of crystal. The hall was full. Lena’s friends, colleagues, her sister Tanya with her husband — everyone dressed up, with bouquets.
Galina Petrovna sat at the head of the table next to her son, demonstratively touching her cheek.
— Oh, there’s a draft here — she announced loudly as the waiter poured red wine. — And these prices… Seryozhenka, have you seen the menu? A salad costs a whole pension. Madness. They should’ve given that money to us, we could’ve paid off a loan.
Sergei silently downed a shot of vodka. He was scared. The evening was nearing its end; soon they would bring the bill.
When the main course arrived — steaks smelling of rosemary and charcoal — Sergei decided to strike first. He had to look like the victim so that when the terminal came out, public opinion would be on his side.
He stood up, swaying slightly. Tapped his fork against the carafe.
— Attention! — he barked.
The guests fell silent. Tanya, sitting opposite, stopped chewing and narrowed her eyes like a predator.
— I want to make a toast — Sergei continued, scanning the table with a glassy stare. — To my wife. Who threw a feast during the plague.
Lena sat straight, her hands on her knees. She looked at him with frightening calm.
— You’re all eating and drinking here — his voice grew louder — but do you know what’s going on in our family? Trouble. My mother needed help. Urgently. And my wife… she wanted this celebration at any cost.
Galina Petrovna nodded mournfully, dabbing her dry eyes with a napkin.
— I forbade it! — Sergei slammed his palm on the table. — I said: “Your mother says this restaurant is beyond our means, so we got her implants.”
Yes, I took the money from the hiding place! Because I’m a man, and I set priorities!
And the banquet… — he sneered. — There’s nothing to pay with. So, dear, either you wash dishes or call the police. I’ll stand by my mother to the end.
A frozen silence fell. Only the coffee machine behind the bar hummed. All eyes turned to Lena.
Lena slowly stood up. She grabbed her clutch and snapped it open.
— Is that everything you wanted to say, Sergei? — she asked quietly.
— That’s everything! — he crossed his arms, feeling victorious.
— You’re right. You set your priorities. You took my money without asking. You decided my dreams were trash.
— I solved a problem!
— And I solved the financial issue — Lena pulled a heavy bunch of keys from her bag.
A small metal piston keychain dangled from the ring. Sergei recognized it. He himself had machined it three years earlier.
The keys clattered into the plate of half-eaten salad in front of him.
— What is this? — he turned pale.
— Your garage keys. Or rather, my garage — the one I inherited from my father. The padlock too.
— So what? — he still didn’t understand, but a chill crept up his spine. — You locked me out? I’ll cut it off with a grinder!
— You won’t. There’s a new lock. And a new owner.
— What do you mean?
— I sold the garage, Sergei. This morning. We finalized it at the MFC; I have the documents. Kostya, the dealer, took it with everything inside. He said he’d clear out your junk himself.
Sergei’s eyes widened.
— Junk? — he whispered. — But my Pajero is there! Taken apart! I’m rebuilding it! Parts worth three hundred thousand! The engine!
— It belongs to Kostya now — Lena shrugged. — The property was mine. What’s inside is the new owner’s problem. He said he’d scrap the body and sell the engine. He needed one just like that.
— You… you couldn’t… — Sergei collapsed onto a chair. — That was my project… I worked on it for five years…
— And I saved for this evening for three years — Lena cut back sharply. — You went into my box. I went into your garage.
She pulled a thick envelope from her bag and tossed it to her husband.
— The banquet cost one hundred eighty thousand. The garage sold for three hundred — I knocked the price down for urgency. Here’s the difference. One hundred twenty thousand. Buy yourself something for your nerves.
— You destroyed me… — Sergei groaned. — Mom, did you hear? She sold my Pajero!
— Selfish witch! — Galina Petrovna shrieked, jumping up so fast her chair tipped over. — This is a crime! We’ll go to court!
— Go ahead — Tanya intervened, stepping beside her sister. She was a large woman and looked at the mother-in-law like at a harmful insect. — The garage was in Lena’s name. She had every right to sell it.
But Sergei taking money from the apartment is theft. Shall we file a report, or will you leave quietly?
Sergei stared at the keys lying in the salad, then at the envelope. His lips trembled. He realized that Kostya — the very Kostya he’d once argued with — would return nothing. The Pajero, his dream, his male den — all gone.
— Let’s go, Galina Petrovna — Lena said loudly. — You have new, strong teeth now. Shame you never had a conscience.
— Get out! — the mother-in-law screamed, grabbing her son’s arm. — Come on, Sergei! I’ll never set foot here again! We’ll curse you, you whore!
Sergei staggered to his feet. He grabbed the envelope — pragmatism winning over grief — and, without looking at his wife, trudged toward the exit. He looked like a beaten dog whose bone had been taken away.
When the glass doors closed behind them, Lena exhaled. Her shoulders, which she had held so straight, suddenly sagged.
— That was harsh — Tanya said with respect, pouring her some red wine.
— But effective — Lena replied.
She looked at the empty seat. A single fork lay on the table.
— Girls! — Lena raised her glass, and in her eyes sparkled not tears but sharp, joyful fire. — Let’s drink to smile specialists! Thanks to them, I got rid of two rotten people in my life at once!
The hall buzzed in approval. The musicians struck up something cheerful. Lena took a sip. The wine was tart and unbelievably delicious. It felt like a mountain had fallen from her shoulders.
A stranger called a four-year-old boy “my son” and burst into tears.
Marina led the child away. That evening her husband took out a folder with documents: “If she approaches, we have everything.” But Lena didn’t approach. She simply stood by the kindergarten every day.
And watched.
