On Sunday, Sofya woke up to the sound of the front door closing.
It wasn’t a slam—Boris never slammed doors—but rather a short metallic click of the lock. She lay there for a few more seconds, trying to figure out why her husband was heading outside at half past eight in the morning. He usually started his Sundays much later, especially if he’d spent the night before watching reviews of boat motors until one a.m. and attempting to convince Sofya that their old one was “basically fine, but not the same anymore.”
There was nobody in the kitchen. The kettle was cold, and Boris’s mug was upside down on the drying rack.
Sofya walked over to the window.
Her husband was outside near her Skoda. He was so oddly busy with something that she decided just to watch for a moment.
Boris stepped back a few meters and took a picture of the car from the front. Then from the side. He walked around, squatted by the rear wheel, and picked up his phone again.
Sofya frowned.
Her first thought: he spotted a scratch.
She threw on a light jacket over her home t-shirt, slipped on her sneakers, and went outside.
It had gotten colder overnight. There were still tiny droplets on the roof of the car, and Boris had already opened the driver’s door and was taking photos of the interior.
“Are you planning to sell it?” Sofya asked.
Boris jumped and straightened up.
“You scared me.”
“I can see that.”
“No, not selling.”
He bent inside again and snapped another photo.
“Then why the photo shoot?”
“I’m going to show Inna.”
That explanation made perfect sense to Sofya.
For the past two weeks, Inna had really been talking about cars more than usual. Boris’s younger sister had just started working as a sales representative for a company that sold packaging to cafes, small factories, and shops. She enjoyed the work, the pay looked promising, but just a few days in, she realized that the “frequent travel required” in the job posting wasn’t just for show.
In a single day, she often had to get to several locations, sometimes spread across the city.
A week ago at family dinner, Inna spent about ten minutes describing how she got from one client to another with two transfers, and then walked another fifteen minutes from the bus stop through an industrial area.
Sofya even suggested then:
“If you ever have a really inconvenient route some day, let me know in advance. If I don’t need the car, you can take it.”
Inna thanked her but hadn’t actually asked yet.
So Sofya decided she must have asked Boris instead.
“Does she want it for a few days?” she asked.
Boris closed the driver’s door.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
He looked at his phone screen, scrolled through the photos, and, clearly satisfied with the shots, put the phone back in his pocket.
“I’m thinking we’ll give her the car as a gift.”
Sofya stared at her husband for three seconds.
Then she glanced at the Skoda.
Then back at Boris.
“Which car?”
“This one.”
He even gestured toward the car, as if there were five identical ones around and it really needed clarification.
Sofya smirked.
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
Her smile faded instantly.
“What do you mean, give her the car?”
“I’m serious. Inna really needs a car right now. She’ll wear herself out at this new job without one. And how much do you drive? Seven minutes to the office, grocery runs, a visit to your mom now and then. You only racked up four thousand kilometers last year.”
Sofya remembered the number well—she’d just sorted out the insurance recently.
But now something else caught her attention.
“You counted my yearly mileage?”
“I didn’t count on purpose. I just remember.”
“And based on that, you decided to give my car to your sister?”
Boris grimaced.
“Sonya, why are you making it about ‘mine’ and ‘yours’? We’re family.”
“Wonderful. Does Inna even know we’re giving her the car?”
He stayed silent for just a second.
That was all it took.
“She knows,” Sofya realized.
“I talked to her.”
“When?”
“Earlier this week.”
Now the whole situation looked completely different.
Just five minutes ago, Sofya thought Boris had come up with another silly idea this morning while circling the car. He did that sometimes. He might suddenly decide to rearrange the furniture, buy a cultivator for the dacha, or take a weekend road trip 300 kilometers away—then half the time back out of it himself.
But this time, it turned out, there were already arrangements.
“Let’s go inside,” Sofya said.
“What’s the point in standing here?”
In the kitchen, she put the kettle on. Not because she wanted tea, but just to keep her hands busy.
Boris sat down at the table.
“I don’t get why you’re so tense. Let’s just talk this through calmly.”
Sofya turned around.
“Borya, this is us talking calmly. Walk me through the whole plan from start to finish.”
“What ‘plan’ are you talking about?”
“The one where my car becomes a present for Inna.”
He sighed.
“Inna said she was considering getting a loan. I asked how much she had for a down payment. Not much. You can’t buy a decent car for that. And you know what the interest rates are like right now.”
“Go on.”
“I thought, why should she go into debt when we have two cars?”
“We have two?”
Boris shot her an irritated look.
“Here we go again.”
“Not really. I haven’t even started. Keep going.”
“So I told her that maybe we could find another solution. And besides, her birthday’s in three weeks.”
“Specifically, what did you tell her?”
“Does it even matter exactly what I said?”
“A lot.”
The kettle switched off. Sofya poured hot water—just for herself.
Boris rubbed his chin.
“I said we’d most likely give her the Skoda.”
“Most likely?”
“Yeah.”
“And what about the photos?”
“She was asking about the trim, what features it has inside. Wanted to look at the insurance, see how much it would cost. She’s also checking out winter tires—since you only have summer ones right now.”
Sofya slowly set her cup down.
Turns out, Inna was already shopping for winter tires for Sofya’s car.
The situation was getting so ridiculous that Sofya couldn’t even keep up with her frustration.
“Fine. Then I have one question. Why the Skoda specifically?”
“I already explained. You barely use your car.”
“No, what you explained is why you think I can do without one. What I’m asking is, why can’t you give Inna yours?”
Boris answered right away:
“Mine? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“I have a crossover.”
“I noticed.”
“It’s seven years old. Burns almost twelve liters per hundred. Terrible for her job.”
“You could sell it.”
“And then what?”
— And get Inna something more economical.
— So what am I supposed to drive then?
Sofya took a sip of her tea.
Finally, the conversation had arrived exactly where it should have gone from the start.
— I don’t know. Take a taxi. It might take longer than your usual seven minutes to get to work, but you’ll get used to it.
— Sonya, don’t twist my words. I need a car every day.
— Oh, so you need it? And I, apparently, don’t.
— I’m not saying you don’t need it at all. I’m just talking about being rational.
— Rationality is when a person manages their own property as they see fit. But now you’ve come up with a way to rationally dispose of mine.
— After marriage, it just seems weird to split things into ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ anyway.
— Oh, really? Then why was your crossover suddenly just yours five minutes ago?
Boris went silent.
But only for a moment.
— Because without it, I quite literally can’t do my job properly.
— And fishing?
— What’s fishing got to do with anything?
— Nothing. Just wondering if it also makes the list of absolutely essential trips?
— For goodness sake, Sonya…
He pushed his chair back.
— I just suggested a reasonable way for us to help someone close to us. And you immediately jumped into accounting mode—who owns what, when it was bought, who drives how often.
— I’m not jumping into anything. I’m just trying to figure out why I’m paying to help out a loved one, but it was your idea.
Boris got up.
— Let’s talk about this later. You’re worked up right now.
— Oh, turns out you’ve already made all the decisions, so there really is no rush.
He walked into the other room.
Sofya stayed in the kitchen.
She didn’t yell after him or try to get in the last word. She just sat there, replaying the last few days in her mind.
Inna really had asked her about fuel consumption.
On Tuesday.
Sofya replied that in the city it’s about eight liters, and didn’t even wonder why Inna wanted to know.
Then, on Thursday, Inna wanted to know if the Skoda was expensive to service.
That didn’t seem strange either—she was thinking about buying a car and asking owners about the costs.
Now, all those questions made a lot more sense.
Sofya picked up her phone.
She opened her banking app.
Then, for some reason, she checked the car documents on the government services app, even though she knew perfectly well whose name was on them.
She had bought the Skoda a little over a year before she met Boris.
Before that, she drove a little Kia for almost six years. She sold it, added her savings, and took out a small loan—she was short about three hundred thousand. She paid the loan off early.
When she met Boris, the Skoda was less than a year old.
He knew all of that.
He even joked at the start of their relationship that Sofya treated her car more carefully than some people treat their own apartments.
They got married two years later. Before that, they’d lived together in her apartment for over a year, then had a simple wedding—dinner for twenty, just family, Boris’s sister, and a few friends.
After they married, they never actually merged their finances.
There was a joint sum for groceries, utilities, trips, and household expenses. The rest of the money, each handled themselves.
That kind of arrangement suited Sofya just fine.
Turns out, Boris understood her a bit differently.
After breakfast, he left in his crossover.
Sofya went down to the hallway and opened the top drawer of the dresser.
The second key to the Skoda was right where it usually was.
She took it and slipped it into her bag.
She had kept the documents for a while already.
In the evening, Sofya messaged the administrator of the secure parking lot near her office. A spot was available.
On Monday, she left for work a bit earlier than usual and parked the car there.
She walked home in the evening.
Boris didn’t notice a thing.
He didn’t notice the next day, either.
But on Wednesday, he called at half-past six.
“Where are you?”
“At the store.”
“What about the car?”
“It’s at the parking lot.”
There was a pause.
“What parking lot?”
“Near work.”
“Why?”
“So it stays where I leave it.”
“Sonya, are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“Inna arrived.”
Sofya stopped by the grains aisle.
“Congratulations.”
“I wanted to show her the car.”
“You already showed her photos.”
“Don’t start. She wanted to sit in it, check how it feels to drive. Maybe it won’t be comfortable for her at all.”
Sofya picked up a bag of rice and put it in her basket.
“Boris, you’re talking about handing over my car like it’s already decided.”
“Come home, let’s discuss this properly.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Boris’s crossover was parked near the building entrance.
Sofya saw Inna through the first-floor window, sitting in the kitchen in a light-colored puffer coat she still hadn’t taken off.
When Sofya walked in, Inna stood up first.
“Sonya, hi.”
“Hi.”
Inna looked at Boris.
“Okay. I think I’m missing something here.”
“Missing what exactly?” Sofya asked.
“Borya said the car was moved to a parking lot.”
“I moved it.”
“Why?”
“So it would be at the parking lot.”
Boris exhaled loudly.
“Can we not do this?”
Inna glanced from her brother to Sofya.
“Wait a second. Did you two have a fight over the car?”
Sofya took off her coat.
“We didn’t fight.”
“Sure looks like it.”
“Inna,” Boris cut in, “it’s just that Sofya isn’t…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Inna turned to him.
“Isn’t what?”
“Used to the idea yet.”
“What idea?”
Now it was Boris’s turn to look surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“Borya, you told me you had decided to give me the car.”
“Well, we almost decided.”
“No. You said, ‘The car issue is settled.'”
Sofya quietly went to the kitchen and put the grocery bag on the table.
Inna looked at her.
“Did he even talk to you about it?”
“On Sunday.”
“This Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you tell me?” Inna turned to her brother. “On Wednesday?”
“What does it matter when?”
“It matters because I already calculated the insurance.”
“So what?”
“Nothing. Except now I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not to blame for anything,” Sofya said.
“How can you say that? I asked you about fuel consumption, maintenance… you must’ve wondered why I kept asking.”
“I thought you were just picking out a car for yourself.”
Inna slowly unzipped her puffer jacket.
“I was. At least until my brother told me not to bother.”
Boris was now clearly annoyed with both of them.
“Okay, let’s not make me out to be a villain here. I just wanted to help my sister.”
“I see that,” Inna replied. “But for some reason, your urge to help popped up before the person whose car you were giving away agreed.”
“Because I was sure we’d come to an agreement!”
“But you told me it was already agreed upon.”
“Inna, please stop nitpicking every word.”
“I’m not nitpicking. I’m just curious—why did you bring me here today?”
“To look at the car.”
“The car that Sofya wouldn’t hand over to you.”
Boris rubbed his forehead with his palm.
“God, everything’s gotten so complicated. Sonya, are we family or what? If your sister was in a situation like this…”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“Well, a brother then.”
“I don’t have a brother either.”
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
“No. Just a poor example.”
Inna suddenly snorted with laughter.
Sofya gave the tiniest smile too.
Boris glanced at them both and finally lost his patience.
“Very funny. Someone’s working without a car, but it’s all just a joke to you.”
“I’m not working without a car,” Inna said. “I’m just using public transportation. It’s inconvenient, but my legs haven’t fallen off yet.”
“You complained for two weeks straight.”
“I was voicing complaints. That’s not the same as whining.”
Sofya started unpacking the groceries.
“There’s a simple solution.”
Boris looked wary.
“And that is?”
“You sell your crossover.”
“Here we go again.”
“Wait. You sell the crossover. You have some savings, remember?”
“What savings?”
Sofya looked at him.
“The ones you’re planning to spend on a motor.”
Inna raised her eyebrows.
“What motor?”
“For the boat,” Boris muttered.
“Oh.”
“You add that money,” Sofya continued, “and you both buy Inna a car. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Just something reliable and affordable.”
“And what about me?”
“What about you?”
“So I’ll be without a car?”
“Only temporarily. You’ll save up again.”
Boris let out a quick, short laugh.
“Great plan.”
“How is it worse than yours?”
“In every way. I need a car every single day.”
“I need mine too.”
“You use it three times a week!”
“And if I only use it once a month, does that make it less mine?”
“It’s not about ownership!”
“It absolutely is about ownership.”
Inna sat quietly.
Boris turned to his sister, as if hoping for some support from her.
“Inna, tell me—why do you even want my crossover? You’d go broke just fueling it.”
“I don’t need your crossover.”
“See?”
“I don’t need Sofya’s car either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that.”
“But you said yourself…”
“I said I need a car, not that I want to take Sofya’s.”
“No one’s taking anything!”
“Then what’s happening here?”
Boris opened his mouth but couldn’t reply.
Inna zipped her jacket back up.
“That’s it. I’m heading out.”
“Where are you going? We haven’t settled anything.”
“What is there to settle? I’ll look into getting a loan.”
“You said yourself the interest is outrageous.”
“Then I’ll just get a cheaper car.”
“Inna, don’t lose your temper.”
She looked at her brother in such a way that Sonya, for the first time, saw the family resemblance.
“I’m not losing my temper. I just don’t like that you got me involved in some stupid scheme without telling me.”
“What scheme?”
“This one. You wanted to gift me someone else’s car and get a thank you for it.”
Boris pushed his chair back sharply.
“Great, here we go. ‘Someone else’s.’ Sofya is my wife.”
“So what?”
“That’s what!”
“Borya, I was married too, if you recall. After the divorce, for some reason my ex-husband didn’t claim the fridge at my mom’s place, even though we were once family.”
Sofya turned away toward the cabinet to keep from laughing.
“Very appropriate comparison,” Boris gritted out.
“At least it makes sense.”
Inna picked up her bag.
She paused at the door next to Sofya.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For asking about the car. I honestly thought you two had already decided everything.”
“I understand.”
“And if he told you I specifically asked for your car…”
“He didn’t mention that.”
“Good. Because I didn’t.”
“Inn!” Boris called from the kitchen.
“What?”
“Maybe it’s time to stop explaining yourself?”
She peeked out from the hallway.
“I’m not explaining myself to you.”
The door shut.
The apartment grew quiet.
Boris sat in the kitchen for a minute.
Sofya put the groceries in the fridge, arranged the vegetables in the bottom drawer, put the bread in the bread box.
“Happy now?” he finally asked.
She closed the fridge.
“Happy about what?”
“You kicked my sister out.”
“She left on her own.”
“Of course she did.”
“Boris, are you seriously trying to make this my fault right now?”
“I’m not blaming anyone. But maybe it wasn’t necessary to have this whole scene in front of Inna.”
“This scene?”
“Arguments.”
“You brought her here to look at the car.”
That was hard to argue with.
He left the room.
They barely spoke for the rest of the day.
Sofya did her usual chores: started some laundry, made dinner, called her mother. Boris spent several hours at his computer, then came out, ate, and disappeared again.
Around eleven, Sofya walked into the bedroom.
Boris was lying on top of the blanket, scrolling through his phone.
“We really need to finish this conversation.”
“Let’s do it tomorrow.”
“No. Tomorrow you’ve got work again, then the gym in the evening, and then it’ll be too late. I don’t want to drag this out for a week.”
He put his phone aside.
“Alright, talk.”
Sofya sat down in the chair by the window.
“Why did you think you could just give away my car?”
“We already talked about this.”
“No, we talked about whether Inna needed it or not. Now I’m asking you something else.”
“I thought after our wedding, everything was shared.”
“Since when exactly?”
“What do you mean, since when?”
“Specifically. We got married two years ago. Before that, you knew perfectly well the car was mine. Did you just decide it became half yours after the ceremony?”
“I didn’t calculate halves.”
“But you acted like it was all yours.”
“I haven’t given anything away yet.”
“Because you couldn’t find the keys.”
Boris looked at her.
“Is that why you took them?”
“Exactly.”
“Did you think I’d steal the car?”
“No. I knew you’d already invited Inna to come see it. And I didn’t want to find out just how far your confidence would go that I would agree afterwards.”
“Sonya, you’re making me look like an idiot. I couldn’t sign anything over without the paperwork anyway.”
“So why was Inna picking out insurance then?”
He picked up his phone, turned it over in his hand, and put it back down.
“I wanted to be prepared in advance.”
“Prepared for my agreement?”
“Yes.”
“Which you hadn’t actually asked for yet.”
“I thought you’d be okay with it.”
Sofya was silent for a few seconds.
“That’s exactly what bothers me the most.”
“What does?”
“You really were sure.”
“Sure about what?”
“That you could promise something worth over a million that didn’t even belong to you, and only talk to me about it afterwards.”
“There you go again, talking about millions and ownership…”
“Well, what else should I call it?”
“Family relations.”
“Alright. Let’s talk about family relations then. How much do you have in your account right now?”
Boris immediately tensed up.
“What’s my account got to do with this?”
Sofya nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“Nothing. It’s just funny how fast you bring up the word ‘my.'”
— Because that money is for a specific purpose.
— For a boat motor.
— Yes.
— My car is for a specific purpose too. So that I can go wherever I need to go.
— But you can get by without it.
— And you can get by without a new motor.
— The old one is already…
— Boris, don’t try to explain your motor to me. I’m not saying I’m going to take it away from you.
He sat down on the bed.
— Alright. What do you want me to say?
— The truth.
— What truth?
— Why does what’s yours automatically stay yours, but what’s mine becomes a family asset?
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.
— Because I don’t see you as a stranger.
— That’s not an answer.
— What answer do you want?
— A real one.
— The real answer is that I was just thinking about how to solve Inna’s problem. I saw a simple solution.
— The simplest one.
— Yes.
— For you.
Boris said nothing.
— If you decided to give Inna your car, you’d lose that convenience. If you used your savings, you’d lose out on that motor. If you took out a loan for her, you’d have to pay it off. But this way, you get to keep your car, your money, your boat, and still be the brother who gave his sister a car.
He looked up.
— You’re making it sound awful on purpose right now.
— I’m just listing what actually happened.
— I just wanted to help my own sister.
— At my expense.
— At ours.
— Then give me half the value of the Skoda.
— What?
— If it’s ours, then buy out my half. Then you can give your half to her as a gift.
Boris stared at his wife.
Sofya suddenly found herself smiling.
— Now you look like I just suggested something completely insane.
— Because it’s nonsense.
— Why?
— I have to buy a car from my own wife?
— No. You don’t need to buy it at all. Just don’t give it away.
The conversation lasted well past midnight.
It didn’t end in peace, nor in another argument.
For the first time, Boris admitted at least one thing: he truly didn’t expect Sofya to flat-out refuse.
He thought she’d be upset, be dissatisfied for a few days, but eventually agree.
— Why? she asked.
— I don’t know.
— But you thought something.
— I thought you wouldn’t really mind.
That turned out to be more unpleasant than many of the things said before.
Not because Sofya was stingy.
But because her husband had already decided how much she was allowed to sacrifice.
While his own sacrifice wasn’t even considered.
The next day, Inna messaged Sofya herself.
“Don’t be angry at me. Yesterday I told Borya exactly what I thought. I’ll look for a car on my own.”
Sofya replied:
“I was never angry at you.”
A minute later, another message arrived:
“But at him?”
Sofya read the message and smirked.
“That one’s a trade secret.”
Inna replied with a laughing emoji.
Boris, though, wasn’t laughing at all.
His sister was genuinely upset. And not because she wasn’t getting the car as a gift.
She had already told her mother, two friends, and coworkers that her brother and his wife were giving her a car. She’d started discussing fuel compensation with her boss. A coworker had promised to give her a mechanic’s number. A friend sent options for winter tires.
Now Inna had to explain that there wouldn’t be any car after all.
Every time, she felt as if she had first bragged about something that wasn’t hers, and then got caught.
Boris tried several times to brush the subject off by saying:
“Well, it just didn’t work out.”
This only irritated Inna even more.
“It’s not that ‘it didn’t work out.’ You didn’t ask Sonya.”
“Why does it matter to you now?”
“It matters a lot. Because you made it look like she’d promised and then changed her mind.”
In the end, Boris had to be upfront:
“I made the decision before I talked to her.”
“There. That’s much closer to the truth.”
Sonya didn’t interfere in their arguments.
The Skoda spent two more weeks in the secure parking lot before Sonya brought it back to the yard.
She didn’t leave the spare key in the hallway anymore.
Not because she thought Boris might secretly re-register the car to her sister in the middle of the night—she didn’t expect that kind of foolishness from him.
She just didn’t want her car key lying in the communal drawer next to the batteries, receipts, and spare gate remote after everything that had happened.
Boris noticed.
But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, they kept talking about money.
One Saturday, Sonya grabbed her laptop and opened the family budget spreadsheet.
“What’s this for?” Boris asked.
“I want to figure out what we actually share.”
“Is this about the car again?”
“No. Quite the opposite—let’s not include the car.”
They realized that, out of habit, they’d considered a lot of things as ‘shared’.
Groceries were shared.
Utilities were shared.
Vacations were shared.
Home repairs were shared.
But beyond that, things got surprisingly vague.
Boris was sure all the household appliances were shared property, even though Sonya had bought the fridge and washing machine before they met.
Sonya considered his savings personal.
And Boris felt the same.
When it came to Sonya’s savings, he seemed to call it her money, but whenever they discussed major expenses, he’d say, “But we have a stash.”
“That’s what needs to stop,” Sonya said.
“What exactly?”
“The convenient uncertainty. When it’s handy, everything’s shared. When it’s not, suddenly it’s everyone for themselves.”
They spent nearly two hours on it.
No notaries, no signed declarations, no drama.
They just came to an agreement.
There would be a set amount each of them transferred every month for joint expenses. There’d be a reserve for the apartment, vacations, and unexpected costs. Everything else would stay personal.
Especially anything owned before they got married.
“And if I want to sell the Skoda,” Sonya said, “of course I’ll tell you—since we live together and it might affect our plans. But I won’t be asking for permission.”
“Got it.”
“If you want to sell your crossover, same goes for you.”
“Okay.”
“If you want to give it to Inna, that’s your call.”
Boris looked at her.
“Are you going to remind me about this until I’m retired?”
“Depends on how you behave.”
He grinned.
For the first time in several weeks, their car discussions didn’t end in tension.
But that year Boris still didn’t buy the boat motor.
Not as a punishment, and not because Sonya forbade it.
It was just that prices went up, then the crossover needed repairs, and the next month the dishwasher broke.
When Boris suggested they pay for a new one out of their shared reserve, Sonya agreed.
“Now this is what I call shared,” she said.
“I’m almost afraid to say that word now.”
— A healthy amount of fear.
— Very funny.
— I actually like it.
By winter, the whole story had turned into a family inside joke—but just for Sofya and Inna.
Boris only found it funny from time to time.
Inna eventually found a five-year-old Rio. Not perfect—a small painted scratch on the back door, and mileage was close to 100,000—but the car was well-maintained and even came with two sets of tires.
She paid part of the price herself and took out a loan for the rest.
Before buying, she asked Boris to come with her to check out the car.
He was surprised:
— After everything, you still want me to come?
— You know about cars. Gifts, not so much—but that’s not needed here.
That evening, when Sofya heard this, she laughed so hard she had to put her cup down on the table.
Boris couldn’t hold back and laughed too.
— You two are conspiring.
— No, said Sofya. — Your sister just has a good memory.
The first time Inna drove her new car home, it was a damp November evening.
She parked a bit crooked, got out, checked the distance to the curb, and decided to try again.
The second try was better.
Boris immediately went to inspect the new car.
He popped the hood, listened to the engine, asked when the oil was last changed, and checked out the tires.
— Looks good, he declared. — Just make sure to check your rear brake pads in the spring.
— Already made a note.
— And change the oil in five thousand kilometers, not ten.
— Borya.
— What?
— I bought a car, I’m not enrolling in your driving school.
— I’m just saying.
— Say away. I’ll forget half of it anyway.
Sofya stood nearby, holding her hood against the wind.
Inna took out the key and twirled it around her finger.
— Now I am absolutely certain who this belongs to.
Boris closed the hood.
— Here we go again.
— Nothing’s starting. I’m just enjoying ownership.
— Very funny.
— Sofya’s laughing.
— Sofya’s involved.
— Of course, said Sofya. — Now I’ve got my own little car owners’ club.
Boris waved his hand and headed toward the building entrance.
Inna watched him go.
— Was he really upset with you back then?
Sofya thought for a moment.
— More with the whole situation not going the way he’d planned.
— I was mad at him, too. Then I realized he really did want to help.
— I know.
— He just chose…
— The economical way?
Inna laughed.
— For himself—very much so.
They headed to the building entrance.
Boris was already holding the door for them.
During dinner, the conversation shifted. Inna talked about work, Boris shared a story about a colleague who somehow filled the boss’s diesel car with gasoline, and Sofya showed photos of the office renovation.
The whole “Skoda” story no longer hung over the table as a heavy family grievance.
But something really did change after all that.
Boris started asking.
Not formally, not as a show—just genuinely asking.
If he could borrow Sofya’s car while his crossover was in the shop.
Whether she’d chip in on new furniture for his mother’s country house.
If she wanted to go in on an expensive birthday gift for his dad’s anniversary.
Sometimes Sofya agreed.
Sometimes she didn’t.
And, as it turned out, the family didn’t fall apart because of it.
That spring, Boris ended up circling back to the idea of buying a boat motor.
One evening, he was sitting in the kitchen with his laptop, showing Sofya two models.
— This one’s more powerful. But that one’s lighter and uses less fuel.
— What about the old one?
— I’ll sell it.
Give it to Inna as a gift.
He slowly lifted his head.
Sonya was the first to crack and she burst out laughing.
“That’s it. The last time.”
“You promised that… about three months ago.”
“Now it’s really the last time.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He closed the laptop.
“You know, back then I really didn’t get why you insisted so much.”
“And now?”
Boris thought for a moment.
“Now I understand.”
Sonya was waiting for him to continue.
“First, I saw Inna’s problem,” he said. “Then I saw your car as the solution. And it never even crossed my mind that maybe the solution shouldn’t come from you.”
That was probably the most accurate thing he’d said in all this time.
“Exactly.”
“But I didn’t want to take everything from you.”
“I know.”
“Really.”
“Borya, if I thought you wanted to fleece me, we wouldn’t be picking out a motor right now.”
He nodded.
“I just decided it would be easier for you to give up the car than it would be for me.”
“Exactly.”
“Because you hardly ever drive.”
“Not just because of that.”
“What else then?”
Sonya looked at him.
She’d already asked him this question several months ago. Back then, Boris had been defensive, argued, looked for explanations. But now, it seemed he genuinely wanted to hear the answer.
“Because it’s always easier for someone to be generous with things that aren’t theirs.”
He gave a crooked smile.
“That sounds pretty bad.”
“But it’s short and to the point.”
“And I really imagined how happy Inna would be.”
“Of course.”
“That we’d show up at her birthday…”
“And you’d hand her the keys.”
“Yeah.”
“Beautiful.”
“Sonya.”
“What?”
“Don’t rub it in.”
She smiled and pulled the laptop toward her.
“Show me the motor.”
He opened the page again.
Within half an hour, they were already arguing about horsepower—though Sonya knew about as much about outboard motors as Boris did about her accounting software at work.
The Skoda was parked beneath the windows.
The keys were in Sonya’s bag.
Boris’s crossover was parked next to it.
And Inna now had her own Rio standing by her house, the one she’d bought herself.
In the end, everything was right where it belonged.
And even Boris eventually stopped flinching when his sister occasionally reminded him about the gift that never happened.
Yet there was one phrase of Sonya’s that stuck with him all too well.
Not about documents.
Not about the cost of the car.
Not about premarital property.
And not even about who owns what after the wedding.
That first evening she’d asked him a much more straightforward question:
“Why, when you wanted to give such an expensive gift, was your first thought to hand over something that wasn’t yours?”
Boris didn’t have an answer back then.
Perhaps that’s exactly why that question ended up working better than any argument would have.
