“We’re getting divorced.”
Maxim slammed his champagne flute so hard the sparkling wine spilled onto the tablecloth. The guests went still. Tamara Ivanovna’s fork slipped from her fingers. Vera kept slicing an apple for their son—small, tidy wedges—her eyes fixed on the blade.
“Maxim, what nonsense are you talking?” Tamara Ivanovna straightened up and brushed her hand over the Swiss watch on her wrist. “It’s my anniversary. We have guests at the table.”
“Mom, it’s fine. I’m leaving her the apartment—let her live there with the kid. I’m not a beast. I’m moving in with Karina. At least she’s alive, not some robot.”
His sister Oksana let out a giggle, already expecting a blow-up. But Vera only wiped the knife and folded her napkin.
“Maxim, open your banking app.”
He frowned, reached into his pocket, and tossed his phone onto the table.
“Here. Look. Everything’s clean—my rotation pay hit, there’s money.”
Vera picked up the phone, checked the balance, and nodded.
“I see. But tomorrow morning a payment goes out. Mortgage plus the truck. You don’t have enough.”
Maxim went pale and grabbed the phone back.
“What payment?”
“The watch for your mother. This whole dinner. The gift for Oksana—you transferred it yesterday. You paid off credit card debt the day before. The scheduled payments didn’t vanish.”
Tamara Ivanovna clenched her wrist, instinctively hiding the watch. Oksana set her fork down and stood.
“Vera, are you kidding me?” Maxim jerked his shoulder; his voice wavered. “Your credit history is good—cover it for a couple of days. I’ll pay you back.”
Vera slowly shook her head.
“Divorcing me? Perfect. Then pay for it yourself.”
“What do you mean, myself?”
“Exactly that. You’re a free man. The apartment is yours, the choices are yours, Karina is yours. So you pay. I’m done twisting myself into knots.”
Maxim sprang up so fast his chair crashed to the floor. He paced the room, then spun toward his mother.
“Mom, did you hear her? She’s my wife—she has to help!”
Vera turned to Tamara Ivanovna and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Beautiful watch. But the day after tomorrow there’s another payment—on your car. The loan is under Maxim’s name. You can return the watch to the store, if you want.”
Tamara Ivanovna jolted, grabbing her wrist with both hands.
“What? Maxim, you never told me!”
“Mom, it’s nothing, I’ll handle it!” Maxim darted between the table and the window, red blotches blooming across his face. “Vera, enough!”
Vera stood and walked to the coat rack. By the door sat a suitcase—packed in advance. Maxim froze.
“You… packed ahead of time?”
“I just did the math, Maxim. I’m an accountant. It’s not hard.” She slipped on her coat and fastened the buttons. “File for divorce whenever you want. Child support for Denis will be deducted from your salary automatically—one quarter. Plus the loans. Do the numbers and see what’s left for Karina and your little vodka.”
Denis stood by the door, backpack on his shoulders. He didn’t look at his father.
Tamara Ivanovna grabbed her son’s sleeve.
“Maxim, do you understand everything will be taken tomorrow? What, am I supposed to pawn the watch? Sell my car?”
Oksana leaned forward, her voice sharp.
“Max, you gave me money for my nails yesterday—I’ve already booked! At least give that back!”
Maxim flinched and stared at Vera.
“You can’t leave! You have to help—we’re family!”
Vera paused at the threshold and looked at him for a long moment—tired, calm, done.
“Family, Maxim, is when you’re together. You chose Karina. Then live with her.”
The door closed softly. Tamara Ivanovna sobbed as she yanked the watch off her wrist. Oksana frantically typed something on her phone. Maxim sank onto a chair and buried his face in his hands.
Morning came with a call from the bank. He’d slept through it after getting drunk once the guests left.
“We’re notifying you that the payment did not go through. Please deposit the required amount within three days, otherwise penalties will begin to accrue.”
Maxim sat up and stared at the phone. Vera, the suitcase, Denis by the door, his mother clutching her wrist—everything hit him at once.
He called Vera. Once, twice, three times. She didn’t pick up. He texted: “Come back, let’s talk like normal people.” Then: “You’re not serious, are you?” Then just: “Vera.” Seen. No reply.
He hurled his phone and walked around the apartment. It felt empty—not because there was no furniture, but because there was no presence. No trace of her face cream on the nightstand. No child’s slippers by the door. No tablet charging in the corner.
The phone rang again. His mother.
“I’ve been thinking, Maxim—maybe take the watch to a pawn shop? Or ask Karina for money, since she’s so ‘fun’? I’m not selling my car. I need it.”
He stayed silent, gripping the phone until his knuckles whitened.
“Are you even listening? You took out all these loans, and now I’m supposed to clean up after you?”
“I’ll figure it out,” he forced out, and hung up.
Figure it out. How? Child support and the loans—after that he’d barely have enough for a transit pass. Karina? He’d texted her last night saying he needed help with money. She disappeared for a couple of hours, then replied with something vague about a “hard period” and “bad timing.”
By lunchtime, Maxim couldn’t take it anymore and went to Karina’s. He bought flowers at a kiosk—cheap chrysanthemums; he didn’t have money for anything else.
Karina didn’t open right away. When she finally did, she was in a robe, no makeup, hair in a messy bun. She looked tired—and not happy to see him.
“Maxim, I messaged you—let’s not rush this.”
“I just wanted to see you.” He held out the flowers, but she didn’t take them. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Listen, I’m not ready for this. You’ve got a mountain of problems—divorce, loans, a child. I don’t need that. I’m thirty-two. I want an easy life, not to shovel out someone else’s mess.”
“I’ll fix it all—just give me time!”
Karina sighed and rubbed her face. And in her eyes Maxim saw something he’d never noticed before—indifference.
“You’re a good guy, honestly. But I need a man who’s already handled everything, not one who’s planning to. Sorry.”
She closed the door. Softly, almost silently—but completely.
Maxim stood there with the flowers in his hands, staring at the shut door. For the first time in years, he was the one being left. He hadn’t walked away, he hadn’t decided—he’d been dismissed like an unwanted thing.
That evening his phone rang again. Tamara Ivanovna.
“I pawned the watch. I got a third of what it cost. That will cover one payment. One, Maxim. The rest is your problem.”
She hung up without waiting for an answer. A minute later Oksana texted: “Bro, I’m serious. Give me back the money for my nails. I need it myself.”
Maxim sat on the couch in the empty apartment, staring at the ceiling. Vera didn’t answer. Karina shut the door. His mother pawned his gift. His sister demanded her petty cash. Everything he’d thought was “his”—the apartment, freedom, a shiny new life—had turned into a trap.
He opened his banking app and checked what was left. After all the payments and child support, he’d have less than he used to burn through on a weekend—gas, food, cigarettes, and that was it. No Karina. No easy life.
He called Vera again. This time she picked up—after a long stretch of ringing, right before it would’ve gone to voicemail.
“What?” Her voice was cold, unfamiliar.
“Vera, let’s meet. I get it now. I was an idiot. Come back.”
A pause. Long, heavy.
“No.”
“How can it be no? I admitted I was wrong!”
“Maxim, you weren’t wrong. You got caught. Those are different things.”
She hung up. Maxim stared at the dark screen and, for the first time in a long time, felt truly cornered—by himself. By his choices. By that smug certainty that everything would somehow smooth itself out.
Vera was sitting on her mother’s couch with Denis. A cartoon played on the TV; her son was drifting off, his cheek pressed into her shoulder. The phone lay nearby, face down, buzzing now and then—Maxim calling, texting, calling again.
“Mom… are we going to live here now?” Denis mumbled sleepily.
“For now, yes. Later we’ll find our own place.”
“And Dad?”
Vera stroked his hair and pulled him closer.
“Dad will see you when he wants to. But he and I aren’t together anymore.”
Denis nodded and turned his eyes back to the screen. Vera knew it hurt him—she could feel it, the way something inside him was twisting—but he stayed quiet, trying not to upset her. And that was the most painful part: realizing her child was already learning how to take a hit without crying.
The phone buzzed one last time. Vera picked it up and glanced at the message: “Vera, I understand everything. I’m sorry. Come back.”
She read it, blocked the number, and set the phone down again. Her mother’s kitchen smelled like soup. Outside the window, the sky was darkening. Denis breathed softly beside her.
Vera closed her eyes and exhaled—slow, long, as if she were letting go of everything that had been piling up for years.
Maxim stayed where he’d left himself—with loans, an angry mother, a sister demanding her few coins back, and Karina behind a closed door. In an apartment that wasn’t a home anymore, but a cage.
And Vera was here—with her son, with quiet.
And for the first time in years, that quiet wasn’t a mask.
It was real.
