Marina had never liked Sunday evenings. At that hour, the silence in their small two-room apartment grew strangely dense, as if the walls had been stuffed with cotton.
The muffled drone of the neighbor’s television seeped through, the monotonous hum of a news anchor blending with the persistent, irritating drip of the kitchen faucet — the one Andrei had promised to fix a month ago.
Andrei sat on a kitchen stool, staring at a single spot on the tabletop. His gaze clung to a tiny scratch in the plastic surface, as if all the world’s disappointments had gathered inside that thin, pale line.
His phone lay in front of him. The screen kept lighting up with the same name: “Mommy.”
“Sixth time,” Marina said in a colorless voice as she lifted the kettle off the stove. “Persistent.”
“I can’t, Marin,” Andrei raised his eyes to her. His eyes, usually warm, brown, and steady, were now clouded with a murky mix of shame and childish hurt.
“What am I supposed to tell her? That I know everything? She’ll start explaining, crying about her blood pressure. I won’t handle it.”
Marina sighed. She wanted to step over, grab him by the shoulders, and shout in his face: “Wake up! They used you!” But instead, she simply placed a cup of tea in front of him. Without sugar. They had run out. Three days remained until payday.
The whole story had begun a month earlier.
They had been saving for a car. Not a new one — a used foreign car so Andrei could drive a taxi in the evenings. The mortgage was slowly, mercilessly draining every reserve they had.
Every thousand rubles they slipped into the envelope labeled “Dream” had cost them a small sacrifice. Marina gave up her manicures, Andrei quit smoking.
Then Zinaida Petrovna called.
“Andryusha, my son,” her voice over the phone sounded as if she were living her final moments. “You know it’s my anniversary? I turned sixty.”
“I know, Mom. We’ll come congratulate you.”
“Oh no, don’t come,” she cut in quickly. “I decided not to celebrate. Hard times, no money. I’ll just sit alone and mourn the years gone by.”
The pause was dramatic, carefully measured. Andrei, of course, melted.
“Mom, don’t stay alone. We’ll help.”
“With what could you possibly help?” his mother sighed bitterly. “You don’t have money either. To set a proper table, I’d need at least fifty thousand.”
“And that’s modest! I wanted to rent a gazebo at the ‘Sunny Shore’ resort… out in nature, beautifully… But never mind. I’ll manage somehow.”
That evening Andrei paced the apartment.
“Marin, this only happens once in a lifetime. Sixty years. We’ll buy the car in half a year. But at least she’ll celebrate properly.”
Marina protested. She knew her mother-in-law better than the woman thought. But she couldn’t bear the guilty look in her husband’s eyes.
“Fine. Take out the ‘Dream.’”
The fifty thousand rubles were transferred to his mother’s account. In return came a voice message overflowing with gratitude, kisses, and promises: “I’ll set such a table you’ll lick all ten fingers! We’re waiting for you Saturday at two!”
But on Friday another call came.
“Andryusha, there’s trouble,” her voice trembled. “The upstairs neighbor had a burst pipe. Everything’s flooded! The wallpaper is hanging off, it stinks. What celebration? I canceled everything. Postponed the resort, stuffed the food into the freezer. I’m waiting for repairmen now. Don’t come, you can’t even breathe in here.”
Andrei was devastated. He wanted to go help, tear up the linoleum, deal with the housing office. But his mother категорically forbade it.
The weekend passed in anxiety. Every two hours Andrei texted: “How are you?” The replies were short: “Cleaning up.” “Drying.” “Tired.”
The lightning struck Monday morning.
Marina was on the bus to work, scrolling through social media.
Among the “recommended” posts appeared one from Andrei’s cousin, Sveta. The very Sveta whom Zinaida Petrovna had always looked down on behind her back.
The post read: “The best birthday for my favorite aunt! Zinaida Petrovna, you’re amazing! Thank you for the luxurious feast!”
Marina nearly dropped her phone.
The photo showed the gazebo at the ‘Sunny Shore’ resort, decorated with balloons. At least twenty people sat around the tables. The food overflowed: caviar, mountains of shashlik, expensive fish, and rows of bottles.
Among them, that very five-star “Ararat” cognac Andrei used to admire only through store windows.
In the center stood Zinaida Petrovna, glowing like a freshly polished samovar.
Date: Saturday, 2:30 PM.
They hadn’t simply been forgotten. They had been deliberately excluded. Their money was needed — their presence was not.
Marina sent the photo to Andrei without a word.
That evening Andrei didn’t shout. He just sat and stared at the wall.
“She even invited Sveta,” he said quietly. “The one who gave her a towel two years ago. And we… we gave everything.”
Now, two days later, the phone rang again.
“Answer it,” Marina said firmly. “Listen to her.”
Andrei took a deep breath and put the call on speaker.
“Andryusha!” his mother’s voice burst out. “Why aren’t you answering?!”
“Hi, Mom. What happened?”
“There’s trouble! The bills came! Heating, property tax! Twenty thousand! The repairs took all my money! Help me!”
She lied confidently.
“Repairs?” Andrei repeated.
“Of course! Wallpaper, workers…”
He was silent for a second.
“Mom, was the shashlik good?”
Silence.
“What… shashlik?”
“At ‘Sunny Shore.’ I saw the photos. The caviar looked nice too.”
The voice on the other end changed instantly.
“You’re spying on me?!”
“No. I just see how you’re spending our money.”
“You’re young! You’ll earn more! I had to show myself properly!”
“You showed yourself,” Andrei replied calmly. “Expensively.”
“Give me twenty thousand!”
Marina touched his hand. His gaze hardened.
“There will be no money, Mom. And no car.”
“Where did it go?!”
“We’re going to the sea. Tomorrow. Thailand.”
“What?!”
“We’re having our own celebration. With the whole amount.”
“You’re lying…”
“Good evening, Mom.”
He hung up.
The air in the apartment suddenly felt lighter.
“We’re not really going anywhere, are we?” Marina asked softly.
“We have three thousand rubles until payday,” Andrei smiled bitterly. “But let her believe it.”
They embraced.
“I’m sorry,” Andrei whispered.
“We’ll still buy a car,” Marina replied. “At least now we know how much ‘family love’ costs. Fifty thousand. Not such an expensive lesson.”
For another month Zinaida Petrovna kept trying. Calling from unknown numbers, sending neighbors, complaining about illnesses. But the door remained closed.
Half a year later Andrei and Marina finally bought that used car. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t perfect.
But it was theirs.
And their first trip wasn’t to his mother.
It was out of the city, to a small lake. Just the two of them. With meat bought from their own money, grilling their own shashlik on their own rack.
In silence.
Free.
