— Find me a tie! The dark blue one, with tiny dots! And bring my watch from the table!
— Vadim’s irritated voice filtered through the spacious wardrobe room, overpowering the sizzling sound of pancakes—or rather, curd pastries—on the hot pan.
Daria flinched at the sudden voice. The wooden spatula clinked against the edge of the Teflon pan.
The kitchen was filled with the rich, sweet aroma of hot butter and vanilla, yet her appetite vanished instantly. She quickly wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and hurried down the hallway.
Twelve-year-old Ilja sat at the kitchen island, his gaze fixed on the screen of his phone. He looked strikingly like his father: the same dark, tousled hair, the same stubborn, slightly superior expression.
Five-year-old Jegor played on the carpet with a plastic dump truck, loudly imitating the engine’s hum.
— Good morning, boys — Daria said quietly, placing the hot, golden curd pastries on the older boy’s plate. Jegor immediately stopped playing, ran to the table, and smeared his fingers in the thick sour cream.
Vadim appeared in the kitchen doorway. His overpowering, suffocating cologne filled the air, which always felt too heavy to Daria. His shirt was perfectly ironed, his expensive Italian suit flawless—on the outside, he looked like a man who held life in a tight grip.
— Hello, everyone — he tossed out, without glancing at the children, then reached for a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.
A cold, oppressive chill ran through Daria’s body. Yesterday’s coffee suddenly tasted bitter.
— Will you be in the office today? — she asked timidly, watching as her husband drank greedily from the bottle.
— On a business trip, — Vadim replied, loudly tossing the empty bottle into the trash. — Three, maybe four days. Very important negotiations with Asian investors. We’re going to build a huge logistics center.
Daria looked at him anxiously.
— But you promised to take the boys out of the city this weekend. Ilja even checked the fishing gear last night; everything was ready.
Vadim frowned, adjusting his tight silver cuffs.
— Daria, what fishing? We’re talking about million-dollar deals. Ilja is practically a grown-up; he can find something to do himself. Take the younger one to my mother; let him enjoy the fresh air. Don’t raise greenhouse flowers—boys have to grow up.
He said it condescendingly, as if lecturing an inexperienced intern.
Daria swallowed the heavy lump in her throat. Back when Vadim was just building the logistics business, they had spent nights together going over budgets.
Daria, a graduate in Oriental studies, fluent in Chinese and English, had interpreted for all the meetings for free. For their shared future. Now Vadim had become an important, influential man, and she was just a home tutor who didn’t fit into his glittering world.
— And who will interpret at the meeting? — she asked quietly, twisting the edge of her apron. — Mr. Chen speaks with very specific pronunciation, his technical terms are hard to understand.
Perhaps I could go with you… Grandma could watch the kids for a few days…
Vadim hissed, lowering his gaze.
— Put your notes away! I hired a professional. Modern, skilled. Stay home, cook, take care of your students.
He pressed another dry, mechanical kiss to her cheek, grabbed his heavy leather briefcase, and stepped out the door. The door clicked loudly shut.
Daria stood in the middle of the kitchen, listening to the fridge’s monotonous hum. A leaden tension churned in her chest. It was completely clear to her: her husband was ashamed of her. Ashamed of her worn sweaters, her unmanicured fingers, her tired eyes.
Meanwhile, Vadim nervously rubbed his hands in the lobby of a glittering glass business center. His face, seemingly perfect in the mirrored windows, trembled with inner tension.
Next to him sat Snezsana, tall-heeled, long-legged, full-lipped, who had appeared in the company three months ago. Vadim had completely lost his head.
He had quickly promoted her to personal assistant, rented her an apartment downtown, showered her with gifts. Today was the peak: the perfect interpreting opportunity.
— Don’t tremble, Vadik, — Snezsana purred, gently adjusting her gold bracelet. — Everything will translate perfectly. They’ll be amazed by our terms.
The conference room was cold from the massive air conditioning units. The massive dark walnut table seated the foreign investors. Mr. Chen nodded briefly, and the discussion began.
Vadim spoke confidently and decisively about the logistics center’s share distribution. Snezsana took notes. By the third minute, she noticed Mr. Chen’s eyebrows slowly rising.
The investor asked a quick, sharp question, tapping the table with his pen.
Snezsana blinked; sweat ran down her perfectly powdered forehead.
— He… says the terms are too red… I mean, hot? And wants clarification on the waterways… — she stammered nervously.
— What hot terms, Snezsana?! This is about financial flows and logistical corridors! — Vadim snarled, cold, sticky sweat running down his back.
From there, everything collapsed. The foreigners spoke quietly among themselves, smiling.
Snezsana blushed, mixed up her words, stammered. Vadim reacted with raw confidence to avoid losing face, signing the so-called memorandum without reading it thoroughly.
— Excellent. We’ll send the detailed contract by email tonight. Sign it tomorrow morning — the assistant said, hurriedly putting away the English-language document.
That evening, Daria’s phone kept ringing. She was peeling potatoes for dinner; the slightly earthy smell filled the kitchen. The name appeared on the display: “Žanna Vlasova (Denis’s stepmother)”.
— Hello, Žanna Eduardovna… — Daria began, but a scream cut her off.
— Have you completely lost your mind?! Why have we been paying you for months?!
— What happened? Denis didn’t pass the test? — Daria asked, wiping her wet hands on her apron.
— He ruined everything! Based on his scores, he didn’t even get into the commercial department! You’re a completely incompetent teacher! We expected him to go to an elite university, and now his only path is as an unskilled worker! You’ll pay back every penny!
The short beep nearly deafened her. Daria slowly sat down. Her hands trembled. She had been teaching Denis for half a year; the boy learned quickly, yet still failed.
But there was no time to mourn. Vinnie had to take his son to his grandmother.
The bus crawled slowly through the traffic. The cabin smelled damp. Jegor was cranky, leaning his shoulder against Daria. Zinaida Arkadjevna awaited them in her old apartment, crowded with antique furniture, lips tightly pressed.
— Finally! I thought you walked all the way from the other side of the city — she snapped, helping the little boy into his coat. — Daria, why are you so pale and thin? Don’t you give him proper food?
— They eat normally; Jegor is just tired from the bus — Daria replied, exhausted.
— Normally?! Vadim works day and night so you can lounge in restaurants, and the parent doesn’t give the kids a decent bite of meat! No discipline, no respect!
Something broke inside Daria. The tension of years was simply cut by reality. She stood up, looking straight into the grandmother’s eyes.
— You know, Zinaida Arkadjevna. I love my children and raise them with dignity.
Your son hasn’t even known for the past six months which grade his brother is in, or what the nanny’s name is. If our presence bothers you — we won’t come anymore. Jegor, put on your coat.
— How dare you speak loudly to me! — shouted the grandmother, but Daria was already zipping up the little boy’s coat.
Outside, the cold winter air pierced every lung, clearing thoughts. Daria held Jegor’s hand tightly as her phone stubbornly buzzed in her pocket. Vadim.
— Daria! I need your help immediately! — his voice sounded panicked. — The interpreter mixed up some technical terms at today’s meeting… I’ll send you a copy of the contract. Could you check it? I have to be sure there’s no hidden trap.
Daria stopped at the edge of a park bathed in light, seating Jegor on a bench, opening her laptop in her lap. She shared internet from her phone. The file loaded quickly. She read line by line. Specialized legal terminology, tiny footnotes.
Her eyes widened. She immediately called her husband.
— Vadim… did you sign today’s memorandum? — she asked firmly.
— Yes, the usual letter of intent so they don’t miss the opportunity. What about the main contract? — he replied nervously.
— That “usual paper” contained a huge penalty clause if you break the agreement. The main contract, however, states that you transfer fifty-one percent of your logistics center shares to Mr. Chen.
If you sign tomorrow — you hand over the entire business. If not — the memorandum penalty clause comes into effect; you go bankrupt. And all this was the interpreter’s mistake!
On the other end, only his breathing was heard.
— Oh my God… — Vadim whispered.
Then a soft, seductive female voice was heard. Telling him to throw the papers away and go to the hot tub… Vadim openly acted, betraying his wife, everything with a pen.
Daria stopped. No hysteria, only crystal-clear clarity and fatigue at how predictable her husband was.
As the snow crunched under their feet, Daria held Jegor’s hand tightly.
— Daria, good evening! — came a hoarse voice.
Under a yellow lamp stood Pavel Ilij, the local caretaker, in an orange vest over an old coat. He held a cardboard box in his hands.
— Help, my girl. The cat went into the basement, but this little one’s owner never came back. Someone abandoned it. I have no room in my apartment. Would you take it for the boys’ joy? It’s smart, I can see it in its eyes.
Daria looked into the box. A black, shiny-furred puppy lay on the old carpet. It looked up at her with wet, intelligent eyes. A quiet, pained whimper was heard. Daria carefully tucked it under her coat.
— I’ll take it, Pavel Ilij. Thank you. Let’s call him Charlie.
The next three days were a nightmare for Vadim. Lawyers, negotiations,
Mr. Chen politely but firmly stated: the document was flawless, Vadim had to sign. To avoid the penalty, he was forced to hand over the controlling share package. Snezsana left the hotel, blocking him.
Daria, meanwhile, packed her boxes relentlessly. She rented a small, bright apartment in a quiet part of town. No arguing, no crying, just her own life, her children, and Charlie.
One Thursday evening, she was arranging books on the shelves when there was a knock at the door. Tensing, she opened.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, wearing a gray winter coat. A slightly icy, leathery scent surrounded him. His face had hard features, yet he looked uneasy.
— Daria Mikhaylovna? Greetings. I’m Konstantin Vlasov. Denis’s father — a deep, calm voice.
Daria stepped back. She had had enough of all the fathers’ schemes.
— Come in, Konstantin… I don’t know your patronymic…
— Just Konstantin — he stepped inside. Charlie growled immediately, then looked at the guest’s boots. Konstantin bent down and scratched the puppy, which immediately stopped growling and wagged its tail.
Konstantin stood up, fixing his gaze on Daria.
— I came personally to apologize for my wife Žanna’s behavior. — he sighed. — You see, my wife always viewed Denis through convenience.
When the boy didn’t perform well, it turned out she had deliberately hidden his notes, turned off the Wi-Fi, staged constant tantrums so he couldn’t concentrate. I’ve already sent her to a military school in another city.
Daria leaned against the counter, fists tightly clenched.
— What a wickedness… — she whispered. — And Denis tried so hard!
— Yes. I’ve already kicked out Žanna, started divorce papers — Konstantin said firmly, then more quietly. — Daria Mikhaylovna, Denis spoke of you with admiration. I’d like you to continue teaching him. We plan a year of intensive preparation. I’ll pay double. Do you accept?
Daria looked at the scattered boxes, then at Konstantin. Her eyes radiated pure respect.
— Alright, Konstantin. But only at my own rate.
A year and a half later, Daria sat on the veranda of a spacious countryside house, wrapped in a warm blanket. Much had changed. Denis successfully enrolled in international relations.
Ilja and Jegor quickly bonded with Konstantin, who taught the older one to fix bicycles, the younger to build snow forts. Vadim had lost his influence, his mother constantly criticized him.
Winter evening fell. Firewood crackled in the fireplace; the scent of pine and mandarins filled the air. Konstantin stepped onto the veranda with two cups of tea, sat down, placing his hand on Daria’s.
— Daria, I know you’re used to doing everything alone — his voice calm, yet firm. — But I don’t want you to struggle alone. Will you marry me?
Daria looked at the small ring on the wooden table, then at Konstantin. For the first time, she felt truly valued, understood, and protected. She smiled happily and nodded.
