– 14 –
You just have to cross the threshold and it’s as if you’ve entered another world.
It’s warm inside, smelling of fried onions, oven-baked chicken, and something sweet and vanilla-y. A homey smell that should calm a normal man. But it only makes me even angrier, in contrast to what’s going on in my head.
“Are you proud?” Sveta pops her head out of the kitchen. “Are you already…?” She then stops, looking at me. “How was your day?”
She’s standing there in a house dress, her hands covered in flour, obviously she’s been busy in the kitchen. Her eyes quickly scan my face.
A second later, she already understands that the day was so-so.
“Fine,” I reply shortly, pulling off my boots. I hang up my coat and brush the wet snow out of my hair with my palm.
“You’re soaking wet…” Sveta takes a step closer. “Didn’t bring an umbrella?” she says, fussing, already turning away. “I’ll get a towel right now…”
“No need,” I wave it off, not even looking at her.
I feel her tense up. She freezes mid-step. She wants to ask more, but doesn’t dare.
“You’re kind of…” he begins carefully, choosing his words. “Not quite right. Are you tired?”
“Sveta, I’m always tired,” I smile wryly. “It’s my job.”
“And such a character,” it’s clearly on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. She presses her lips into a thin line, averting her gaze. She has a ton of questions, but she doesn’t dare ask them.
Comfortable. Correct. Quiet.
And then a joyful squeal comes from the living room:
– Go-o-o-o-o-o! – and little bare feet slap the floor. – You’ve come!..
My heart gives a sharp, unpleasant jolt. What the…
“What are you still here for?” I blurt out. “Nika hasn’t picked her up yet?”
“I… thought you knew.” Sveta spread her hands in confusion. “Nika said she had a late lecture and would be late. She asked me to wait a little while, and I…”
“What the hell are lectures at this hour?” I snap. “It’s nighttime.”
Sveta shrugs and lowers her eyes guiltily:
“I didn’t argue… Anya, after all…” She nods toward the living room, where she’s already rattling toys, “she’s happy here. And you yourself… well… weren’t against it when Nika asked…”
That’s exactly it. “I myself wasn’t against it.”
When conscience pinned me to the wall. Back then, it was easier to say “leave it” than to slam the door and live in peace. Now we have what we have.
“Okay,” I snap, already taking my phone out of my pocket. “We’ll figure it out now.”
The thumb automatically finds the right name on the list. She went to school—good job. Only thousands of women across the country somehow manage to study, work, and raise children without having to board them with “the guys” every other day.
I press call. I put the phone to my ear. A beep. A second. A third.
“Hello!” Nika said, her voice choked. The noise of the road loomed in the background. “Gordey, I’m stuck in traffic, honestly, everything’s at a standstill, I’m almost there, it’s just… I had a test, can you believe it? The teacher wouldn’t let me go. I told him I had to pick up the kid, but he…”
“Hurry up,” I mutter. “Nika, I’m not interested in your lectures. Are you able to pick up the child today?”
A second of silence. I hear her on the other side sharply inhale. Angry.
“I’m fine,” she replies in a different, harsher tone. “I told you I’d be there. Five minutes.”
“Five minutes,” I confirm. “In ten she’ll be gone. Understood?”
“I get it,” Nika exhales, offended. “Don’t yell, okay? I’m already spinning around like a squirrel…”
I hang up without listening to the end. My patience runs out when the “like a squirrel” part begins. I’ve been watching her squirm for years now. There’s not much else to do besides hang out with my girlfriends and put makeup on.
I put the phone on the nightstand. My jaw is clenched so hard my cheekbones ache.
All this time Sveta stands a little to the side, listening.
“So?” he asks quietly. “Will it be soon?”
“He’s coming,” I grumble. “Set the table.”
“Anya’s already eaten,” Sveta says quickly, as if justifying her very presence. “I made her some porridge, and she said it was delicious. I’ll… I’ll heat it up for you and me now. Would you like chicken and potatoes?”
“Okay,” I nod briefly.
Sveta seemed to exhale, straightened her shoulders slightly, and disappeared into the kitchen. From there, the clatter of dishes, the slam of a cabinet door, and a muffled “damn” as a saucepan lid fell past were immediately heard.
Convenient. Calm. Predictable.
And that’s exactly what makes me feel cold inside.
I’ve been living in this “comfortable” place for almost a year now.
I eat her borscht, look at the neatly folded socks in the dresser, and tell myself that after all this, this is exactly the life I’m destined for. Silence, a hot dinner, a gentle woman without a sharp temper, without “why?” and “what the hell?”
I look at Sveta and think: “Enough, Gordey. You’re not a kid. You don’t need passion, you need order. A minimum of emotion, a maximum of stability.”
But inside, it still feels like we’ve been shoved into someone else’s, poorly assembled set. It’s like we’ve squeezed into someone else’s uniform. It’s almost your size, but your shoulder is pulling and the seam is pressing.
I try. She tries.
From the outside it’s a beautiful picture.
And from within… A quiet, viscous melancholy. Polite, neat, without scandals, but no less stifling for that.
I turn around and walk into the living room.
Anya is sitting on the carpet among scattered toys. Her hair is in braids, her nose is covered in flour; she must have snuck into the kitchen while Sveta was kneading dough. Seeing me, she jumps up and runs toward me, almost stumbling.
“Can I stay the night?” she blurts out, pouting before she even reaches me. “Sveta’s reading a story, but Mommy doesn’t want to…”
“No,” I say, shattering her childish illusions without mercy. “Go home today. No options.”
Anya snorts, but obediently goes back. She’s stubborn. Just like her mother. But maybe she’ll find that useful in life.
I get up, watch her go, and go to the window. I push the curtain aside with my palm.
The five minutes I gave Nika have already passed.
A couple of minutes later, a car pulls up in the yard. It’s not cheap, it’s not old. A man’s silhouette is behind the wheel. Nika flutters out from the passenger side. Her hair is down, she’s wearing a tight jacket and heels. She leans toward the window, laughs, and says something. She’s in no fucking hurry.
Her personal life is her business.
Mine is for her to pick up the child on time. So that she doesn’t turn my house into a free 24-hour daycare.
I exhale heavily, let go of the curtain and walk to the door.
“I’m late, I know,” Nika rattles off from the doorway. “It’s just the traffic, these tests, that idiot of a teacher…” The words come out like a machine gun, her hand already making the familiar gesture of adjusting her hair, smiling, smoothing it down.
He looks up, catches my gaze, and the smile disappears from his face.
“Okay,” she deflates, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Got it. Is Anya dressed?”
“I’ve already zipped up her jacket,” Sveta appears in the hallway, carrying a small backpack with a bunny on it. “We’ll just put her hat on now. Anya, come here, Mom’s here.”
Anya jumps out into the corridor.
– Aunt Sveta and I built a house! And ate porridge!
“Tell me later,” Nika nervously pulls her daughter’s hat down, a little hastily, obviously eager to get away from my disapproving gaze. “Thank you, Sveta, really.”
He looks at Sveta more softly.
– I’ll pick her up earlier next time.
“Next time,” I say coldly, without raising my voice, but so that she gets it, “don’t count on us.”
Nika tenses, her fingers on her hat freezing for a second.
“Got it,” she nods without looking, already pushing Anya’s feet into the boots, a little harder than necessary. “That’s it, that’s it. I’m not abusing it. It’s just… it’s a difficult time right now, school, work…”
“Everyone’s going through a difficult time,” I snap. She’s been going through it for years.
Nika freezes for half a second, as if swallowing something sharp. For a split second, her gaze flashes with resentment, anger, and the familiar “you don’t understand anything.” But she quickly reads from my face that today is not the day to argue.
“Bye, Uncle Golya!” Anya waves her free hand and they finally leave my house.
“I feel sorry for Anya,” Sveta says quietly, looking at the door longer than she should. “She’s a good girl. It’s not her fault that Mom… is always busy.”
“I always feel sorry for the child,” I confirm, tired and dry. “The rest…is none of my business.”
“My job” is to have a roof over my head, a full fridge, and to not dream at night about the boys I didn’t have time to rescue. If I had to shoulder all the burden of other people’s unloved children, no one could handle it.
I walk into the kitchen. The table is already set. The perfect picture: an obedient woman, hot soup, a clean tablecloth.
Convenient. Calm. Predictable. I repeat it again, like a mantra.
But still not it…
I don’t feel like eating.
“I told her when she called today,” Sveta sits down carefully across from me. She straightens her back, places her hands on her knees, and interlaces her fingers. “That next time… let her decide for herself, don’t count on us. She’s really… dangling her legs.”
There’s a hint of discontent in her tone. It’s rare for her to express that, usually in the form of sighs and “oh well.”
“Uh-huh,” I say absentmindedly, picking at the chicken with my fork, without even looking up at it.
“She’s… clueless,” Sveta continues, cautiously, as if testing the limits of what’s permissible. “She’s not adapted to life. Everything is left to chance. But she’s brazen and cunning.” She looks up at me, something unusually harsh flashing in her eyes. “She’s found someone to play on…” She shakes her head, her voice suddenly firmer than usual. “Yours. And the memory of Yegor. I can see how you…”
“Enough,” I interrupt.
Sveta falls silent, offended. For a few seconds, the only sounds are the ticking of the clock and the boiling of the kettle.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking down. “I just… don’t want to be taken advantage of,” she pauses briefly, gathering her courage. “You’re kind. Even though you pretend to be made of iron.”
Kind.
The corner of my lips twitched. If any of my former subordinates had heard, they’d have burst into laughter.
“Iron”—yes. “Kind”—that’s for anyone but me. But Sveta believes it. For some reason, she finds it convenient to think that under the armor there must be a teddy bear.
I push the plate away:
“Sveta, I’m tired. Very tired,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Can we skip the philosophy today?”
She looks at him for a long time, with pain. She swallows and evens out her voice:
“Of course,” he says almost inaudibly. “Go take a shower. I’ll clean everything up.”
He gets up and takes a couple of steps toward me. He stops behind me, hesitates for a second, then finally makes up his mind and places his hands on my shoulders. He carefully presses his cheek to the top of my head, breathing into my hair.
“You seem… completely different today,” he whispers into the crown of my head. “You’re flying somewhere…” and instead of asking a question, he only sighs. He doesn’t probe any further.
Yeah, right. You can’t tell her, “It’s because my ex’s ghost is walking around this city as a very real woman, in stupid pajamas, and looking at me as if I personally shot her in the basement.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” I exhale, getting up.
My hands fly off my shoulders immediately, as if I had thrown off an extra weight.
“Okay,” he said briefly, very quietly.
The light in the bathroom is harsh on my eyes. I turn the tap on full blast.
I take off my clothes and stand under the stream. Hot water hits my shoulders, the back of my head, runs down my back, and down my chest. It burns, but not enough to burn away everything that’s accumulated there.
The sound of water drowns out all other sounds, but not thoughts.
I press my palms against the cold tiles, my fingers sliding along the seams. I press my forehead against the cold wall.
Inside, it’s a madhouse. A dump of unsaid things, guilt, anger, and a sense of duty. One wrong decision, one lie, and now I pay for it every day.
And the worst thing is that I remain dishonest even with the person who has done nothing bad to me. With Sveta.
She’s here cooking, washing the floors, reading a story to someone else’s child, and I’m standing in the shower and not thinking about her at all.
About another woman who hates me.
I want only one thing: to be truly alone for at least a minute.
Not in the shower behind a closed door, not in a car with music on, but in a place where there is no one and nothing around.
Just sit in complete, deafening silence. So that your ears ring not from words, but from emptiness.
But… I’ll still turn on the tap, leave the bathroom, and put on a clean T-shirt.
And behind the door they will be waiting for me again… not that woman.
