“What a huge apartment your parents bought you,” the brother’s wife said, looking around the place with envy
“Can you imagine, Masha? Yulia’s parents bought her an apartment!” Irina nervously twisted a strand of dyed blond hair, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear.
Her slender fingers, with a perfect pastel manicure, revealed her habit of taking care of herself despite her modest income.
“And not just any apartment, but a three-room one in a new building! In Sunny Park, you know? The one with the fountain in the courtyard and underground parking!”
“Well, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for Yulia,” Masha replied calmly. “She’s a good girl. She deserves it.”
“Deserves it?” Irina stopped abruptly in the middle of her rented apartment. “For what, exactly? For still living off her parents at twenty-seven? For earning pennies at that research library of hers?”
“Ira, don’t start…”
“No, listen to me!” Irina walked over to the window and pulled aside the synthetic curtain — cheap, but decent-looking. “My Andrey is their biological son, by the way, and he works hard every single day. He’s a department head at a major company! And we’re still renting this one-room apartment. Can you imagine? Yesterday the upstairs neighbors flooded us again, and the landlady refuses to do any repairs!”
“Did you ask his parents for help? Maybe they simply don’t know things are hard for you.”
Irina hesitated, studying her reflection in the window glass. At thirty-two, she looked excellent: a slim figure, fashionable haircut, expensive lipstick. No one would have guessed that her designer blouse had been bought on sale.
“We… I mean, I tried to talk to my mother-in-law. At Andrey’s birthday, remember, a month ago? She baked that cake everyone praised. I said then, ‘Oh, how wonderful it would be to gather in our own apartment, not a rented one…’ And she just smiled and offered everyone another slice.”
“And what does Andrey say?”
“Andrey!” Irina snorted. “Do you know what he told me yesterday? ‘Honey, let’s buy Yulia a beautiful flower for her new apartment tomorrow. I’m so happy my little sister finally has a place of her own!’”
“Well, isn’t it good that he and his sister…”
“What’s good about it?” Irina interrupted. “His sister now has a three-room apartment in an elite complex, and he’s happy! You should have seen that apartment. We went to view it before the purchase. Ninety square meters, three-meter ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows! And the bathroom! My God, my bedroom is smaller than her bathroom!”
“Ira,” Masha’s voice became stern, “you’re winding yourself up. Maybe you shouldn’t…”
“No, Masha,” Irina lowered her voice to a whisper, “tomorrow at the housewarming, I’ll say everything. Let them know what it means to divide children into favorites and unwanted ones. I’ll ask them in front of everyone: why does one get everything while the other gets nothing?”
“Irina! Don’t you dare! You’ll turn everyone against each other!”
“I can’t stay silent anymore! For five years we’ve been living like poor relatives. For my birthday, my mother-in-law gave me a handbag. A handbag! And her daughter gets an apartment!” Irina ran her hand over her perfectly styled hair. “Andrey earns decent money, but all of it goes to rent and my cosmetics. I have to look presentable. I’m the wife of a department head! I can’t show up at my husband’s office party wearing just anything!”
A key turned in the door lock.
“That’s it, Andrey’s home,” Irina whispered hurriedly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll tell you how it all went.”
She ended the call and turned toward the door, forcing a friendly smile onto her face. Andrey entered the hallway — a tall brown-haired man with kind brown eyes and light stubble. Despite his tiredness, he was smiling.
“Hi! I picked up some food for us on my way home. Sorry, the meeting ran late. There are croissants in there — your favorites, with coconut and hazelnut.”
“It’s all right, darling,” Irina kissed her husband on the cheek, glancing sideways at the bag from an ordinary supermarket. “How was your day?”
“Great! You know, I’m so happy for Yulka. She saved for her own place for so many years, and our parents helped her like that!” Andrey began unpacking the groceries.
Irina bit her lip.
“Never mind,” she thought. “Tomorrow the conversation will be completely different. I’m not going to stay silent and pretend everything is wonderful anymore.”
The next morning, Irina spent almost two hours getting ready. She inspected her wardrobe critically, trying on all her festive outfits. Finally, she chose a cream sheath dress she had bought on sale the previous month — strict, but impressive.
“Ira, we’re going to be late!” Andrey called from the kitchen. “Yulia asked us to come early and help arrange the furniture.”
“I’m coming,” Irina replied, running the brush through her hair one last time. “What, your sister can’t even figure out the furniture herself?”
Andrey appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“Irish, why are you saying that? Yulka just needs help.”
“Of course,” Irina pressed her pink-painted lips together. “Why think and strain yourself when you can ask big brother to help? As usual.”
“What’s wrong with you today?” Andrey came over to his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You seem tense.”
Irina met her husband’s gaze in the mirror. His brown eyes looked at her with sincere concern. For a second, she felt ashamed of her sharp remarks, but then she remembered the spacious rooms of Yulia’s new apartment.
“Everything’s fine,” she smiled stiffly. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep your sister waiting.”
The new residential complex was impressive: tall modern buildings of glass and concrete, a well-kept courtyard, security at the entrance. Irina felt a tight knot in her stomach as they passed through the spacious lobby with designer finishes.
“Can you imagine? Two concierges,” Andrey said casually as they rode up in the elevator. “And underground parking. Isn’t it great?”
“Very,” Irina hissed through her teeth.
Yulia met them at the door — a short brown-haired woman with lively green eyes, dressed in simple jeans and a loose shirt. She looked nothing like the happy owner of elite real estate, Irina noted to herself.
“Andryusha! Irochka!” Yulia hugged her brother. “I’m so glad you came!”
“We’re glad too,” Irina forced a smile as she entered the spacious hallway.
“Come in, come in!” Yulia was glowing with happiness. “Just don’t mind the mess. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.”
Irina looked around. There was no real mess at all — large boxes were neatly stacked along the walls, and protective covering lay on the floor so the new parquet would not be damaged. The air smelled of fresh paint and new furniture.
“What a spacious hallway you have,” Irina remarked, taking off her shoes. “It must be nice to have so much space.”
“Yes, there’s even a walk-in closet here,” Yulia pointed to the sliding doors. “Though I don’t know what I’ll fill it with yet. I don’t even have that many things.”
“Don’t worry,” Irina smiled, though her eyes remained cold. “You’ll acquire more. Now you have somewhere to keep them.”
Andrey gave his wife a warning look, but she pretended not to notice.
“Come on, I’ll show you everything!” Yulia led them through the apartment. “This will be the living room. Look at these windows! And the balcony!”
“Incredible,” Irina drawled, looking at the panoramic windows. “And how much does happiness like this cost?”
“Ira!” Andrey cut her off.
“What?” she blinked innocently. “I’m just curious. Maybe one day we’ll be lucky enough to receive an apartment so… conveniently.”
Yulia froze. Her cheeks flushed slightly.
“Ira, you know our parents worked all their lives…”
“Oh yes,” Irina interrupted. “They worked, and somehow only you received the result. Interesting, isn’t it?”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Yulia looked helplessly from her brother to her sister-in-law, twisting the sleeve of her simple blue shirt. Andrey frowned; a deep crease appeared on his high forehead.
“Irina, maybe we should step out for a minute?” His voice sounded unusually firm.
“Why?” Irina spread her arms theatrically. “I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. Tell me, Yul, don’t you find it strange that your parents bought only you such a huge apartment? Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy two smaller ones? One for you and one for your brother?”
“Ira, stop,” steel rang in Andrey’s voice.
But Irina could no longer be stopped. She slowly walked through the spacious living room, her heels digging into the protective covering.
“My husband and I have been renting a one-room apartment for five years. Five years! And you get all of this,” she gestured around the room, “just like that. For your pretty eyes.”
“Irochka,” Yulia took a step forward, her green eyes filling with tears, “I didn’t think…”
“Of course you didn’t think!” Irina raised her voice. “Why would you? You have loving parents who will solve everything for you! And Andrey and I…” She faltered and wiped away an invisible tear. “We count money every month, save for a mortgage down payment. And here — bam! — a three-room apartment in an elite building just falls from the sky!”
“That’s enough!” Andrey grabbed his wife by the elbow. “Come on. We need to talk.”
“Don’t touch me!” Irina pulled her arm away. “I haven’t said everything yet! Yulia needs to know that…”
“Yul, forgive us,” Andrey interrupted. “We’ll be right back.”
He practically dragged the resisting Irina into the corridor, then onto the spacious loggia, firmly closing the glass door behind them.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” he asked, emphasizing every word.
Irina crossed her arms. Her perfectly painted lips twisted.
“What’s the big deal? I’m just telling the truth. Look at this apartment! One chandelier here costs as much as our monthly rent!”
“You don’t know anything,” Andrey said tiredly, running a hand over his face.
“What don’t I know?” Irina leaned forward. “That your parents chose their precious little daughter? That she can have everything while we…”
“My parents offered me an apartment three years ago.”
Irina froze with her mouth open.
“What?”
“I refused,” Andrey looked straight into her eyes. “I said my sister needed it more. She’s a woman. A woman should always have a safe foundation. And I would earn my own.”
“You… what?” Irina turned pale; her perfect makeup suddenly seemed like an inappropriate mask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have understood?” Andrey smiled bitterly. “Judging by today’s performance — no.”
“But that’s…” Irina swallowed convulsively. “You should have consulted me! I’m your wife!”
“Consulted you?” Andrey shook his head. “About what? About the fact that my younger sister lives on a modest librarian’s salary and rents a room in a communal apartment? About how she saves half her salary every month, denying herself everything, while you go to beauty salons every week?”
Irina stepped back. Her heel clicked sharply against the balcony tile.
“Don’t you dare reproach me for salons! I’m the wife of a manager. I have to look the part!”
“Look the part?” Andrey ran a hand through his hair; his usually calm face twisted with bitterness. “Do you know what Yulia looks like? She wears the same dress for the third year in a row. And she doesn’t complain.”
“So that’s what this is about?” Irina leaned forward, her carefully styled hair falling over her shoulders. “You like that your sister is so modest? So proper? And I’m a spender, then?”
“That’s not the point,” Andrey shook his head. “The point is how you behave. Do you even understand what you just did?”
Behind the balcony’s glass door, Yulia’s figure moved through the living room. She was clearly beside herself. Her shoulders were lowered, and her face was tear-stained.
“How am I supposed to behave?” Irina raised her voice. “Be happy? Clap my hands? ‘Oh, how lovely, my sister-in-law was bought an apartment for fifteen million, while we’ll keep renting a one-room place with a leaking ceiling!’”
“The terrible thing,” Andrey looked at his wife carefully, “is not that you’re jealous. It’s that you don’t think about anyone else at all. Tell me, have you ever once asked how Yulia lives? What she does? What she dreams about?”
Irina snorted.
“What’s there to ask? She sits in her library and hands out books…”
“She defended her PhD last year,” Andrey said quietly. “In the history of ancient manuscripts. She wrote it for four years, at night, after work. During the day, she led tours at the library just to make ends meet.”
“So what?” Irina jerked her shoulder, but uncertainty appeared in her voice.
“So when our parents offered me an apartment, I knew Yulia needed it more. Her whole life is ahead of her. She can do so much. She dreams of opening her own calligraphy school — she’s dreamed of that since childhood. And you…” He stopped himself.
“Go on!” angry tears flashed in Irina’s eyes. “What about me?”
“You only think about looking the part,” Andrey said without anger, with tired resignation. “You know, I kept thinking maybe it would pass. Maybe you would grow up and start valuing something besides money and status.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang — the first guests had arrived for the housewarming. Yulia, wiping her eyes, hurried to the hallway.
“What are you trying to say?” Irina stepped close to her husband, her carefully lined eyes narrowing.
“Do you remember what you said to my mother on my birthday? About how wonderful it would be to gather in your own apartment?”
“So what?”
“My mother cried after that. Because she remembers how I refused the apartment. And now she thinks I live in a rented place because of her.”
Irina recoiled, her manicured fingers gripping the balcony railing.
“Don’t try to play on my pity! Your mother knows perfectly well…”
“No, you listen,” Andrey grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. Pain showed in his brown eyes. “Do you know what Mom said then? ‘Son, maybe we did something wrong? Maybe we should have insisted, forced you to take the apartment? You have a family.’ And I stood there not knowing what to say. Because my own wife was reproaching them for helping their daughter!”
Behind the glass door, guests were already gathering in the living room. Muffled laughter and the clinking of glasses could be heard. Yulia, wearing a forced smile, was telling their parents something. Their mother, a short woman with kind eyes in a simple blue dress, kept glancing toward the balcony.
“Your parents could have bought two apartments,” Irina said stubbornly, though her voice no longer held the same confidence.
“They could have,” Andrey agreed calmly. “But do you know what? They saved that money for twenty years. Dad took extra shifts at the factory. Mom tutored in the evenings. They denied themselves everything. And you come here and count someone else’s money.”
“I just wanted…”
“I know what you wanted,” Andrey interrupted. “You wanted everyone around to understand how unfairly you were treated. Only…” He paused for a second. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Irina nervously adjusted her hair with a trembling hand.
“It means I’m tired,” Andrey turned away, looking somewhere into the distance through the panoramic balcony glass. “Tired of your constant dissatisfaction. Tired of counting other people’s money. Tired of how you treat my family.”
From the living room came his mother’s worried voice.
“Yulechka, dear, where are Andryusha and Irina? What happened?”
“They… they’ll come now,” Yulia’s trembling voice replied. “They’re just discussing… the balcony layout.”
“And now what?”
Andrey slowly turned back to Irina. His face held an expression she had never seen before — a mixture of determination and endless exhaustion.
“I was always proud that I achieved everything myself. A good job, a career — all on my own. And I wasn’t ashamed to refuse my parents’ help, because I knew I would manage. There was only one thing I didn’t take into account…”
“What?” Irina asked barely audibly.
“That my wife would be incapable of being happy for someone else’s happiness. Even when that happiness belongs to my own sister.”
The living room grew noticeably noisier — more guests had arrived. Through the balcony’s glass door, Yulia could be seen receiving congratulations and gifts, discreetly wiping her eyes now and then. Her simple blue shirt was slightly wrinkled, and red patches of nervousness showed on her pale face.
“I think it’s time for us to join the guests,” Irina took a step toward the door, but Andrey blocked her way.
“No,” his voice sounded unusually hard. “First we finish this conversation.”
“What conversation?” Irina tried to smile, but the smile came out crooked. “Andryush, I got carried away. It happens…”
“It happens?” he smiled bitterly. “Do you remember how you reacted when you found out Yulia got into postgraduate school? You said, ‘Of course, some people can live off their parents for years and play at science.’”
“I just…”
“And when she defended her dissertation? ‘Big deal, digging around in old books.’ Did you ever ask what she actually does? What she studies?”
Irina was silent, nervously twisting the strap of her expensive watch — Andrey’s gift from her last birthday.
“And you know,” Andrey continued, “she restored several lost eighteenth-century texts. Her work was recognized at an international conference. But you don’t know that, because you aren’t interested in anything except money and status.”
Behind the glass, their father appeared — a tall gray-haired man in a simple gray suit. He was saying something anxiously to his wife, glancing toward the balcony.
“Andryusha,” Irina placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder, “let’s not ruin the celebration. I admit I was wrong. I’ll apologize to Yulia…”
“No,” he gently but firmly removed her hand. “This isn’t about apologies. You know, I kept thinking maybe you would change. Maybe you’d understand that there are things in life more important than money and prestige. But today…” He shook his head. “Today I realized I was wrong.”
“What are you trying to say?” Fear appeared in Irina’s voice.
“Do you remember how we met?” Andrey asked instead of answering. “At that corporate party? You were so beautiful, so confident. I fell in love with your smile, your laughter…”
“Andrey…”
“And then it began,” he went on as though he had not heard her. “First you needed an apartment in a prestigious district. Then designer clothes, because ‘you’re the wife of a manager.’ Salons, restaurants, status items… I kept thinking maybe it would pass. Maybe someday you would learn to value simple things.”
Andrey looked at his wife for a long moment.
“Do you know what frightens me most? I stopped recognizing the girl I fell in love with. She knew how to enjoy small things, laugh sincerely, dream… And you — you only count other people’s money and envy them.”
“I’m not…” Irina began, but stopped under his gaze.
“Today you humiliated my sister in her own home. You insulted my parents, who worked all their lives for their children.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m grateful to you.”
“Grateful?” Irina blinked in confusion.
“Yes. Because now I know for certain that we need to divorce.”
Irina turned pale. Her perfect makeup suddenly seemed like an inappropriate mask.
“You can’t…”
“I can,” Andrey said softly. “And I must. Because I don’t want to wake up in twenty years and realize I’m living with a person who is capable only of envying and demanding.”
From the living room, his mother’s voice called:
“Andryusha! Irochka! Why are you out there so long?”
Andrey took hold of the balcony door handle.
“I’m going back to the guests now. And you… you can leave. Or stay and sincerely congratulate Yulia. The choice is yours.”
He opened the door and went out, leaving Irina alone on the spacious balcony. She watched him approach his sister, hug her tightly, and whisper something in her ear. She saw Yulia’s face light up. She saw their parents breathe out in relief when they saw their daughter smile.
Irina shifted her gaze to her reflection in the glass. A beautiful, well-groomed woman in an expensive dress. Everything was perfect — hairstyle, makeup, manicure.
Only her eyes were empty.
She took out her phone and called a taxi. Then, after one last glance at the happy family behind the glass, she quietly left the apartment. In the spacious lobby with mirrored walls, the sound of her heels echoed especially lonely.
“Ninety square meters,” she thought as the elevator went down. “Some people get ninety square meters, and others get a divorce…”
Outside, a light drizzle was falling. Irina took a small mirror from her handbag and, out of habit, adjusted her lipstick.
But for the first time in a long while, she did not care whether her reflection looked flawless.
