— Did you transfer two hundred thousand rubles from our joint savings account? — Yana’s fingers clenched tightly around her phone as she stared at the banking app on the screen.
The cold glow of the display reflected on her face, highlighting the subtle tremors of shock and rising anger. — Anton… tell me this is some kind of mistake. A technical error. Tell me I’m seeing this wrong.
She stood in the middle of the hallway, one foot still in a sneaker, the other only in a thin sock.
The air in the apartment carried a strange mixture: the bitter smell of shoe polish and a чужой, overly sweet perfume that belonged neither to her nor to her husband.
Meanwhile, Anton seemed completely calm. He was kneeling in the living room beside a large travel bag, carefully stuffing a snorkeling mask and fins into a spacious case.
His movements were quick but not rushed — more like someone who knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t want to be interrupted. He deliberately avoided Yana’s gaze, as if by not looking at her, he could avoid the question altogether.
From the kitchen came a soft, steady clinking: a teaspoon rhythmically tapping against a porcelain cup. The sound had always been soothing, but now it felt irritating, as if someone were deliberately intensifying the tension.
— Yana, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill — Anton finally said, standing up and brushing off his pants as if an invisible speck of dust bothered him. — I transferred the money to Mom.
Her back is completely ruined, the doctor prescribed sulfur baths and treatment. Sochi is insanely expensive right now, especially places like that. I couldn’t send her to some cheap, filthy dump.
Yana slowly exhaled. Her voice became strangely calm — too calm.
— So… you spent our vacation money. The money we saved for a year. When we gave up food delivery, movies, everything. We were supposed to leave the day after tomorrow.
At that moment, Zinaida Arkadyevna appeared from the kitchen. She didn’t hurry; she entered with a certain dignity, like someone who knew her presence alone would change everything.
She wore a new light linen suit, and around her neck hung thick carved wooden beads. Her face was smooth, satisfied, as if she had already won this battle.
— Going to the sea with us? Oh please, my dear — she smirked, leaning her hip against the wall. — You’d be completely unnecessary there.
Isn’t this your busiest season at the garden center? Seedlings, flowers, mountains of work. Better stay here — you can enjoy your own “treatment” in the greenhouse.
She looked Yana up and down with contempt, then turned to Anton.
— Anton needs sea air. He’s exhausted from work. He’ll be much better off with me. I’ll take care of him. His diet, his health.
Yana looked at her husband. Anton was zipping up the bag as if he hadn’t heard a word.
— You transferred my ticket to her? — Yana asked quietly. — Behind my back?
Anton sighed.
— Yana, don’t dramatize. Mom needs it. And it’s not a good time for you anyway. Your job… it’s complicated. This is the right thing. It’s my duty.
Yana looked down at her hand. On her index finger was still a green stain from florist tape. A small, stubborn mark that wouldn’t wash off.
She said nothing more. She simply took off her shoe and walked into the bedroom.
She bent down, pulled out an old sports bag from under the bed. Dusty, slightly worn — a remnant of another life, when she used to go to the gym, when she had different plans.
— What are you doing? — Anton appeared in the doorway.
Yana didn’t answer. She just packed. T-shirts, pants, underwear. Quickly, decisively.
— I’m leaving — she finally said, pulling the zipper shut.
Anton laughed, but it sounded nervous.
— Come on. Where would you even go?
— Somewhere I’m not used.
In the hallway, Anton stepped in front of her.
— You’ll come back in a month when you run out of money — he said angrily. — Then we’ll see.
Yana didn’t reply. She simply pushed past him and walked out the door.
The slam of the apartment door echoed through the stairwell.
It took her three days to find a place to rent. A small corner apartment on the ground floor of an old panel building. The walls smelled of dampness, the floors creaked, and in the corners there was still cat hair from the previous tenant.
At night, a transformer hummed under the window.
But at least it was hers.
To avoid thinking about everything, Yana took more and more shifts at the garden center. She lifted heavy pots, carried soil, arranged plants. Her hands ached, dirt gathered under her nails, but the physical exhaustion helped.
At least she didn’t think.
Two weeks later, a man approached the counter.
He was tall, with a tired look and dusty clothes.
— You sold me three dried-out thuja trees — he said irritably.
Yana checked the receipt.
— You didn’t pick them up for two weeks — she replied. — We called you.
The man narrowed his eyes.
— So this is my fault?
— Yes.
Silence.
Finally, the man nodded.
— Fine. Give me new ones.
They worked together for half an hour. In silence.
— Sorry for my tone — the man said in the end.
— It happens.
That evening, Yana was sitting at home when her phone rang.
It was Anton.
She answered.
But didn’t speak.
On the other end, there was an argument.
— Put that cake back! — Zinaida shouted.
Anton’s voice sounded tired.
— I’m thirty-two…
— Doesn’t matter!
The argument escalated.
Yana hung up.
She felt no satisfaction.
Only disgust.
Three days later, Anton showed up at the garden center.
He looked exhausted.
— I made a mistake — he said.
Yana listened.
— Come back.
— No — she replied.
She got on the bus.
The next day, Zinaida called.
— Help him — she begged.
Yana said only this:
— You got exactly what you raised.
She hung up.
Later, Yana stepped out of the storage room.
Ilya was standing there.
— I brought coffee — he said.
Yana looked inside the bag.
She smiled.
— Ten minutes — she said.
And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of what lay ahead.
