Liza was defrosting the freezer with a hairdryer. That’s how her grandmother used to do it: she’d place a basin under the fridge, lay out old towels on the floor, and warm the icy buildup with hot air until it started falling off in chunks. The ice thudded into the basin, puddles formed on the floor, and somehow it smelled of snow and fish all at once—even though there hadn’t been any fish in the freezer since last winter.
Igor walked into the kitchen just as an especially large chunk fell away from the back wall. He stepped over the towel, poured himself some water from the filter, and stood by the window, staring out into the yard.
“Liza, turn it off for a minute. We need to talk.”
She turned off the hairdryer. In the silence, the sound of dripping water was unmistakable.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m going on vacation,” he said, still facing away. “At the end of the month. To Turkey, for ten days.”
“Oh,” said Liza. “Nice. I was just thinking about where we could go this year. My vacation starts on the twentieth.”
“No, Liza. You don’t understand. I’m not going with you.”
She set the hairdryer on the windowsill.
“With who, then?”
Igor turned around. His face wore that expression Liza knew by heart after fifteen years of marriage: a mix of guilt and stubbornness. It was the look he had when he admitted to breaking her favorite cup, or that he’d lent a friend thirty thousand, or when he forgot to pick her up from the hospital after her knee operation.
“I’m going with my ex-wife,” he said. “With Zhanna. And with Maksim. See, it’s Max’s birthday—twenty-five. He wants his parents to be together, just this once. It’s important to him. After the divorce, Zhanna completely fell apart, she needs a getaway. And… well, I’ve already agreed.”
Liza looked at him. In the basin under the fridge, the ice cracked.
Fifteen years ago, when they first met, Igor had already been divorced for three years. Zhanna, by his account, was a difficult, loud, and touchy woman. She wouldn’t let him see his son, demanded extra money beyond child support, and called at two in the morning to tell him he’d ruined her life. Liza had gone through all of it. For fifteen years, she baked pies for Maksim’s birthdays, bought him sneakers, attended his graduation when Zhanna pointedly refused to come. And for the past six months, suddenly Zhanna had started calling Igor every day. Fondly, like a friend. Ever since her second husband left her for a younger woman.
“I see,” Liza said.
Igor blinked. He’d clearly been expecting something else—a fight, tears, a slamming door. He stood, holding his breath, bracing for a confrontation.
“Liza, please, don’t be upset. It’s not what you think. It’s for our son.”
“I’m not upset, Igor.”
She wiped her hands on the towel, walked into the hallway, took her phone out of her bag, returned to the kitchen, and turned the screen toward him. On the screen were two electronic boarding passes. Yekaterinburg — Dubai. The twenty-second.
Liza smiled.
“Perfect! A colleague just invited me to Dubai.”
***
Igor stared at the screen so long the phone went dark. Liza unlocked it again.
“Which colleague?” he finally managed to ask.
“Boris Evgenyevich. My boss.”
“Your boss?!” Igor’s voice jumped an octave. “What do you mean, your boss? The gray-haired one, with the beard? The one who read you poetry at the office party?”
— He wasn’t reciting poetry just for me, but for the whole department. At the company anniversary. He read Yesenin.
— And you’re going to Dubai with him?
— Yes, I am.
— Just the two of you?!
Liza shrugged her shoulders and turned the hairdryer back on, aiming it at the icy wall.
— Igor, you’re going with Zhanna. The two of you. Well, three with Maxim. I’m not asking if you’re sharing a room or staying in separate ones.
— Of course, separate rooms! Are you kidding!
— Well, I guess we’ll have separate rooms too.
— You guess?!
Liza turned off the hairdryer.
— Igor, I’m forty-eight. I haven’t been anywhere farther than Anapa in fifteen years. You always said there was no money, that we had to save for new windows, a car, renovations. And now suddenly you can afford Turkey with your ex-wife. And I got a chance to go to Dubai. For free, by the way.
— What do you mean, for free?
— Exactly what I said. You’ll find out if you want to.
She turned away to the freezer. The last chunk of ice fell off and plopped into the basin.
***
In reality, the whole thing was much simpler and more boring than Igor imagined.
The company where Liza had worked for eight years as a supplier manager held an annual competition among its departments. The best department got a reward trip. This year, it was their turn — the procurement department. Liza had managed the toughest contract with Chinese packaging suppliers all by herself, saving the company four million and working late every night for six months.
The trip was given to the department head and one employee of their choice. Boris Evgeniyevich, sixty-one years old, a widower, refined and old-fashioned, called Liza into his office a week before her conversation with Igor.
— Elizaveta Andreyevna, please have a seat. I have a proposal for you. Don’t be alarmed, please, — he blushed and adjusted his glasses. — We were given two vouchers to Dubai. Six days, hotel, excursions, all expenses paid. They’re meant for the department head and the best employee. You’re our best, no question. Will you go?
— Boris Evgeniyevich, and you?
— To be honest, I don’t like the heat. Or planes. But the director insists — we have to represent the company, meet with partners from the Emirates, so I’ll go. But don’t worry, separate rooms, packed schedule. You’ll be relaxing while I suffer through meetings.
Liza laughed.
— Boris Evgeniyevich, I’d love to.
— That’s great. Just tell your husband not to get jealous. I’m an old man, I can’t fight anymore, my back isn’t what it used to be.
The tickets arrived in her inbox two days later. Liza kept meaning to tell Igor, but kept putting it off. He was always tired, or irritated, or glued to his phone until midnight, and whenever she said, “Igor, I need to talk to you about something,” he’d reply, “later, Liza, later.”
But now there was nothing left to explain. She just showed him her screen.
***
That evening, Igor couldn’t settle down. He wandered from room to kitchen, then to the balcony. He even started smoking again, after quitting three years ago. Liza watched her show and pretended not to notice.
— Liza, — he finally said, standing in the doorway. — You made all this up. Didn’t you? Just to get under my skin?
— Made what up?
— This whole Dubai thing.
— Igor, I have the tickets. With the flight number and my last name. You saw them yourself.
— So where did you get the money?
“I told you: it’s free. It’s a company incentive trip. Boris and I have the best department of the year.”
Igor stayed silent.
“Couldn’t he just go alone?”
“It’s supposed to be two people. The manager and the best employee. The best employee is me.”
“The best…” he snorted. “Of course. And he picked you just like that, didn’t he? For your pretty eyes, I’m sure.”
Liza paused the TV show.
“Igor. I spent six months at work until nine every night. You never once asked why. You never asked what project I was working on, how it was going, or if I was tired. You never picked me up from work. And now you’re interested in why I was chosen?”
He opened his mouth and then shut it.
“I was chosen because I landed a four million contract,” Liza said. “Not for my eyes. Even though, for the record, my eyes are beautiful too. You just haven’t looked in a while.”
***
The next day, Liza called her sister. Olya is six years younger, lives in Kamensk-Uralsky, works as a kindergarten teacher, and always knows everything about everyone better than anyone else.
“Liza, are you serious? He actually said—with your ex?”
“That’s exactly what he said.”
“And what did you do?”
“I showed him the tickets.”
Olya laughed so hard that Liza had to move the phone away from her ear.
“Oh my gosh! Liza, you’re my hero! And how did he react?”
“He was smoking on the balcony. He hadn’t smoked in three years.”
“Serves him right. Hey, what about this Boris of yours—what’s he like? Is he handsome?”
“Olya! He’s sixty-one, he’s a widower, he wears vests, and he quotes Yesenin.”
“That’s wonderful! That’s rare! These days, men don’t even know Yesenin—they just know sports bets and where to find cheap beer.”
“Olya, it’s a work trip.”
“Sure, a work trip. Liza, let me tell you something. For fifteen years you’ve been making things easy for everyone. Igor is used to you always being home, always with borscht, always forgiving. Nobody values a woman who is too convenient. They use her. Like a stool. Just standing in the corner—no big deal. But when that stool suddenly flies off to Dubai—then he’ll have to think about what he’ll sit on.”
Liza burst out laughing.
“Olya, you’re a philosopher.”
“I’m a kindergarten teacher, Liza. For twenty years I’ve watched little boys take toys away from girls. And then they’re surprised when the girls stop playing with them.”
***
Two days later, Igor showed up at her work. Liza saw him through the glass wall of the meeting room: he was standing by the reception in his work jacket, nervously clutching his cap and glancing around.
“Elizaveta Andreyevna,” the secretary Kseniya peeked in. “Your husband is here. He’s asking for Boris.”
Liza froze.
By the time she got out of the meeting room, Igor was already in Boris’s office. The door was slightly open. Liza stopped in the hallway.
“…I just want to look you in the eyes,” Igor was saying loudly, too loudly. “So I know who my wife is going to Dubai with.”
“Go ahead,” Boris replied calmly. “Look all you want, young man. Just let me take off my glasses—you’re reflected in them.”
A pause.
“Had enough?”
“You…” Igor was clearly at a loss. “Why did you pick her, exactly?”
“Because she’s the best employee in the department. That’s easy to check—we have an official order posted on the bulletin board, stamped and everything. Want me to show you? Your wife saved the company four million rubles this year. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t know. If I were you, I’d be bragging to all the neighbors.”
“I am proud of her…”
“Then why are you here?”
Igor stayed silent.
“Listen, Igor… what’s your patronymic?”
“Nikolaevich.”
“Igor Nikolaevich. I’m sixty-one years old. I was married to one woman for thirty-four years, until she passed. I know what jealousy looks like. It usually looks like fear—fear that what’s yours might not be yours after all. But you know, you shouldn’t be afraid of me. I’m old, my back aches, and if I ever go to Dubai, I’ll be sitting in my hotel room under the air conditioner, drinking medicine for my blood pressure. What you should really fear is that your wife might one day realize she’s perfectly fine on her own. And believe me, that’s scarier than any rival.”
Liza stepped away from the door and hurried to the bathroom so nobody could see her face. She was crying and laughing at the same time.
That evening, Igor didn’t say a word to her. He just stood on the balcony for a long time. Not smoking. Just standing.
***
Three days later, Liza climbed up to the jewelry box on the top shelf. She and Igor kept their cash stash there. It was a tradition since their early years together—putting aside money for major expenses. For the last two years, they’d been saving up to replace the windows—the old wooden frames were so drafty in winter there’d be frost on the sills. By Liza’s calculations, there should’ve been about three hundred thousand rubles in there.
Inside the box were only twenty-two thousand rubles and a note in Igor’s handwriting: “Borrowed for a while, I’ll pay it back.”
Liza sat down on the stool right under the shelf.
When Igor got home from work, the jewelry box was open on the kitchen table.
“What is this?” Liza asked.
Igor looked at the box, then at her. He sat down.
“Well… I needed to pay for some travel packages.”
“Whose travel packages, Igor?”
“Well, ours. To Turkey.”
“‘Ours’—whose exactly?”
“Mine, Max’s… and Zhanna’s.”
“So you paid for your ex-wife’s vacation using the money we’ve been saving for two years for windows?”
“Liza, I’ll pay it back! I wrote ‘just for a while’!”
“Igor, do you realize this was our shared money? Half of it was mine. Every month I put in from my salary. And you took it, without asking, and spent it on another woman.”
“She’s not just anyone! She’s the mother of my son!”
“She’s your ex-wife, Igor. Ex. The word ‘ex’ literally means you don’t owe her anything anymore. Except child support, which you paid until Maxim turned eighteen. And Maxim is twenty-five now.”
“But she’s having a rough time! Her second husband left her! She’s all alone!”
“And I’m not having a rough time? I’ve been freezing by those windows for fifteen years!”
Igor jumped up.
“Why are you so hung up on those windows? You managed for fifteen years—what’s a little longer?”
He stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door to the bedroom. Liza stayed sitting by the jewelry box.
Twenty-two thousand rubles. And a note: “I’ll pay it back.”
***
The next day, during her lunch break, Liza went to see the company’s lawyer. Yulia Olegovna, young, strict, with rimless glasses, listened without interrupting.
— Elizaveta Andreevna, unfortunately, this is a common situation. Here’s how it works: Money that you saved during your marriage is considered joint marital property. Both of you have equal rights to it. If one spouse spends it not on family needs, but, for example, on their ex-wife, and does so without the other’s consent, this can be taken into account during a divorce.
— How can it be taken into account?
— When dividing property, you can state that your husband used shared funds not in the family’s interest. If you can prove it, the court may include that amount in his share. In other words, it’s considered like he already received that portion. So when the rest of the assets are divided, you’ll get more, half of that spent amount.
— How do I prove it?
— Do you have a note? His handwriting?
— I do.
— Keep it. That alone is proof that he took the money. If you have any messages, travel agency receipts, or transfer records—save those too. Even better, try to record him admitting it. You’re allowed to record your conversation with your husband if you’re involved—it’s not forbidden.
Liza nodded.
— Yulia Olegovna, I’m not planning to get a divorce. I just… I want to understand what I actually have.
Yulia Olegovna took off her glasses.
— Elizaveta Andreevna, wanting to know what you have is honestly the most useful thing any woman can do in a marriage. Whether you’re thinking of divorce or not, it doesn’t matter.
***
Then Maxim called. On his own. He rarely called Liza—maybe just to wish her a Happy New Year or on International Women’s Day. Liza was surprised.
— Aunt Liza, hi. Can I talk to you? Just please don’t tell Dad, okay?
— Of course, Maxim. What’s going on?
He hesitated.
— Aunt Liza, did Dad tell you that the three of us are going to Turkey? For my birthday?
— Yes, he did.
— Well, I’m not going anywhere. I only found out about this Turkey trip two days ago. From Mom. She called me and said: if Dad asks, tell him you’re going too, otherwise he won’t go. But my birthday… I’m celebrating it with Nastya. With my girlfriend. We planned a weekend in St. Petersburg. I told both of them last month.
Liza slowly sat down on a chair.
— So… Igor knows you’re not going?
— I don’t know, Aunt Liza. Maybe Mom told him I’ll come at the last minute. She’s good at that. She always does this sort of thing. I just… I feel awkward. You’ve always treated me well. Your cherry pies—I remember them. And I don’t want to be used to hurt you.
— Maxim, — Liza said, — thank you. Really.
— Aunt Liza… So, are you really going to Dubai? Dad told Mom, and she told me. Mom’s angry. She says you’re doing it on purpose.
Liza laughed.
— It’s true, Maxim. I am going. Not on purpose, it just happened this way.
— That’s so cool, — Maxim said. — Bring me a date, will you? They say they have the best ones there.
***
In the evening, Liza waited for Igor to finish dinner and then said:
— Igor, are you sure Maxim is going with you?
He looked up from his plate.
— Of course. Why?
— Nothing, just wanted to double-check. Didn’t he plan to go to St. Petersburg with his Nastya for his birthday?
Igor frowned.
— How do you know?
— He told me himself. Last month, when I wanted to wish him a happy birthday in advance. Don’t you remember? He told you as well.
It was just a small lie. But Liza felt she had the right to it—especially after that “I’ll return it” note.
Igor slowly set down his fork. He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and walked into the hallway. Liza could catch snatches of his conversation:
“Zhan, are you sure Max is coming with us?… How can he ‘join later’?… Later when, if he’s supposed to be in St. Petersburg?… Zhanna, you told me he asked for this himself… You said it was important to him… Hold on… Hold on, don’t shout…”
He returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later, looking gray and lost.
“She said Max changed his mind,” he said dully. “He might show up for the last three days. Maybe.”
“Igor,” Liza said quietly. “Do you really believe that?”
He didn’t answer. He sat down and stared at his empty plate for a long time.
***
The next day, Zhanna called Liza—for the first time in fifteen years. Liza didn’t recognize the number, but the voice was instantly familiar—deep, a little raspy, with that special tone shop assistants use when talking to customers who clearly can’t afford anything.
“Elizaveta? This is Zhanna. We need to talk. Woman to woman.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want you to understand. I’m not after your husband. Igor and I just need some time together for our son. We have a child together, a shared past. You wouldn’t understand—you two don’t have any kids.”
Liza felt something clench inside. She and Igor really didn’t have children. It hadn’t worked out. They tried for eight years, then stopped. Only their closest friends knew. So Igor had told Zhanna. They’d talked about her.
“Zhanna,” Liza replied evenly. “Your child isn’t going to Turkey. He’s going to St. Petersburg with his fiancée. He told me himself.”
Pause.
“He said that to spite you. He was always on your side, you won him over with your pies.”
“I didn’t win him over. I fed him. When you forgot to.”
“How dare you!” Zhanna’s voice broke into a shriek. “You ruined my whole life! You stole my husband!”
“Zhanna, you divorced Igor three years before I met him. You were already married to Oleg. I didn’t steal anyone. I just picked up what you threw away. And now, when Oleg tossed you aside, you want to come back and take him again. But that’s not how it works.”
Zhanna hung up.
Liza sat in the kitchen for a long time, thinking. Not about Zhanna, but about how Igor had told his ex-wife about them not having children. About their most painful subject. The quietest thing. The thing they barely spoke of themselves.
This was worse than Turkey. Worse than the jewelry box. Worse than anything.
***
Two days before the flight, Igor came home with a huge bouquet of red roses—the long-stemmed kind. In fifteen years, Liza had never received roses like these.
“Liza,” he said as he came in. “I’m not going. I canceled everything.”
“Canceled what?”
“Turkey. Canceled everything. Zhanna made a scene, but I told her—no. I want to be with you. Do you want to go somewhere together? Sochi? Or Kazan? You always wanted to visit Kazan.”
Liza took the bouquet and smelled it. The roses smelled like a refrigerator in a flower shop.
“Igor, did you get a refund for the tour package?”
He hesitated.
“Well… Not all of it. There was a cancellation fee. I’ll get forty thousand back. Maybe fifty.”
“And the other two hundred thousand?”
“Well… that’s gone.”
— Our windows burned down, Igor.
— Liz, I’ll earn the money! I promise! Just… please, don’t go to Dubai. Please. Stay.
Liza placed the roses in a bucket—none of her vases could fit such long stems.
— Igor, you know what I thought when you told me you were going with Zhanna? I wondered: what if I said the same? If I told you I was going on vacation with my ex-husband? Would you wish me a good trip? Or break something?
He remained silent.
— There’s your answer, — said Liza. — I’m going, Igor. This isn’t about revenge. It’s my job. My contract. My reward. I earned it. And just once in my life, I want to see the sea without having to pinch pennies for corn.
— But what about me?
— And you, Igor, stay home. Think things over. Count the windows. Figure out how much they cost and when we’ll buy them. That’ll do you good.
***
The day before her flight, Liza was packing her suitcase. The suitcase was old, from the days when she used to visit her aunt in Anapa, with a broken handle that Igor once wrapped in electrical tape. She packed sundresses bought on sale, a wide-brimmed hat, and enough sunscreen for an army of soldiers.
Igor stood in the bedroom doorway, watching her.
— Liz, do you need a scarf there? For your head? Isn’t it strict over there?
— No, not necessary. For tourists, it’s fine. You just need to cover your shoulders in some places. I checked.
— And a swimsuit?
Liza pulled a new swimsuit from the bag. Dark blue, modest, trimmed with white. She had bought it during her lunch break at the mall across from work and had stood in front of the fitting room mirror for half an hour, hardly believing it was her reflection.
Igor looked at the swimsuit. Then at her.
— It’s beautiful, — he said hoarsely.
— Thank you.
— Liz… Have you ever shown me a swimsuit before?
She thought for a moment.
— Last time, I think, was about eight years ago. Back then you told me that I looked like I was wearing a wetsuit and that I was no longer twenty.
Igor blushed to his ears.
— Did I say that?
— You did. I threw it out after that. Didn’t buy another one since.
He stood there a little longer, then came over, took the suitcase by the taped-up handle, and felt its weight.
— It’s heavy. Let me take you to the airport tomorrow.
— Boris Evgenyevich will pick me up by taxi. The company’s paying.
— I’ll take you, — Igor said, stubbornly. — I’m your husband. I’ll drive you.
And he did. In silence, the whole drive to Koltsovo. At the terminal entrance, he handed her the suitcase, gave her an awkward kiss on the cheek, and said:
— You know… Call me. If anything happens.
— If what happens, Igor?
— Well… if you just feel like it.
***
On the twenty-second, Liza flew out.
Dubai overwhelmed her the moment she stepped off the plane. The heat was like someone had opened an oven. The sky—pale, enormous. Skyscrapers shot up from the sand like pencils in a cup.
Just as he promised, Boris Evgenyevich suffered. He couldn’t stand the heat, walked around in a sunhat, a damp scarf around his neck, smiled politely at partner meetings, and at night told Liza about his late wife Vera, who had dreamed her whole life of seeing the desert but never did.
— Elizaveta Andreevna, — he said once, as they sat on the promenade watching the lights come up over the water. — Forgive me for asking, but are you happy? With your husband?
Liza was silent for a long time.
“I don’t know, Boris Evgenyevich. A month ago, I would’ve said—yes, things are okay. Just like everyone else. But now… I’m not sure.”
“You know, my Vera always used to say: ‘Borya, you see a person’s true self not when they’re happy, but when they have to make a choice.’ I guess I made some bad choices. Work, work. She always dreamed of the desert. I thought we’d have time. We didn’t.”
He sighed.
“Don’t repeat my mistakes. Not your own, not anyone else’s.”
On the third day, there was a trip to the desert. Jeeps raced over the dunes, Liza screamed like a little kid, clung to the handle, and laughed until she cried. That evening at the Bedouin camp, she sat on a carpet, ate dates, and gazed at the stars. There were more stars than she’d ever seen in her life.
Her phone chimed. A message from Igor.
“Liz. I ordered the windows. The guy came to measure them. They’ll be installed in three weeks. I took out a loan, I’ll pay for it myself. I’m sorry. I was a fool. I get it now.”
Liza stared at her screen for a long time. Then she took a picture of the stars and sent it to him. No words.
A minute later he replied: “Beautiful. Shame I’m not there.”
She didn’t respond. Let him regret it. Sometimes it’s good for someone to feel a little regret.
On the last day, Boris Evgenyevich took her to the old market, bustling with gold and spice vendors. Narrow covered lanes, shop windows filled with bracelets and necklaces thick as your finger, and sellers shouting in Russian: “Natasha, come in, special discount!” The air was thick with the scents of saffron, cinnamon, and dried roses.
“Pick something, Elizaveta Andreevna,” Boris Evgenyevich said. “You earned a bonus. I got it approved by the director. Cash, in dirhams. Spend it on yourself. Only for yourself, agreed?”
“Boris Evgenyevich, I’m not used to spending on myself.”
“Learn. It’s never too late.”
Liza wandered through the stalls for a long time. She tried on silk scarves, smelled pouches of tea, bargained for dates to bring back for Maxim. Then she stopped at a little shop where an old jeweler sat with a magnifier in his eye. On a velvet pad, there were earrings—simple, slim gold drops.
She bought them. The first piece of jewelry she’d ever bought for herself. Not for a birthday, not for International Women’s Day, not from saying “Igor, maybe I could get these?” and hearing, “Liz, come on, we don’t have the money.” Herself. With her own money. From her own contract.
Boris Evgenyevich watched as she put them on in the little shop mirror, smiling.
“Vera would approve,” he said. “She always said: a woman who buys her own earrings will never be lost.”
That evening at the hotel, Liza called Igor. She did it herself. He picked up after the first ring, as if he’d been holding the phone all along.
“Liz! How are you?”
“I’m good. I bought earrings.”
“What earrings?”
“Gold ones. For myself. By myself.”
He was silent.
“Liz, why didn’t you ever buy earrings for yourself before?”
“Because you always said we didn’t have money.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Then Igor softly said:
“But for Zhanna, there was, I guess.”
“I guess there was.”
“Liz, I’ll come pick you up. I promise. Your flight arrives at 9:40, I checked.”
***
At Koltsovo airport, Igor was waiting for her. This time with a bouquet of daisies. Back in their first year together, she’d told him daisies were her favorite. Turns out, he remembered.
— How was your flight?
— It was good.
— Where’s your Boris?
— Boris Evgenievich took a taxi. His back is hurting. And he’s not ‘my’ Boris, Igor.
Igor nodded and grabbed her suitcase.
They sat in silence for a long time in the car. Then he spoke:
— Zhanna called. She said I betrayed her. She called me weak, said I ruined her life. For the second time.
— And what did you say?
— I told her I wasn’t the one who ruined her life. That I don’t owe her anything. That I have a wife. And then I hung up.
Liza looked at him.
— Igor, have you figured out why she did all this? With Turkey? With Maxim?
— I did, he said quietly. Oleg left her. She needed to prove she was still wanted by someone. And she chose me. Because I… because I always fell for it. Fifteen years ago, she wore me out, but I’d still always run to her whenever she called. I thought it was about Max. But it wasn’t about Max. It was just… habit. A bad one.
— Habits can be changed, said Liza.
— They can, he nodded. You just sometimes realize too late that you should have done it earlier.
They drove another five kilometers. Gray fields, sparse woods, and the occasional gas station passed by the window. Liza watched the road and finally found her courage.
— Igor. Why did you tell Zhanna that we don’t have children? That we tried?
He suddenly slowed down. The car swerved, someone honked behind them.
— How do you…
— She called me. Before my flight. And she said: ‘You wouldn’t understand, you and him don’t have kids.’ The way she said it, Igor. Like it was a verdict. Like I’m broken or something.
Igor pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He just sat there for a long time, clutching the steering wheel.
— I didn’t tell her, Liza. I… It was a long time ago. Ten years back. I got drunk at Max’s graduation, and she helped me get a cab. I told her I felt terrible, that it wasn’t working out for us, that you cried at night. I never thought she’d remember. I didn’t think she’d ever… use it like this.
— She remembered, Igor. People like that remember everything. Just to hurt you more later.
— I’m sorry, he said, and suddenly began to cry. In fifteen years, Liza had never seen him cry. — I’m sorry. I really am a fool. All my life I thought Zhanna was just the past, somewhere nearby. But all this time, she still had me on her hook. And I never saw it.
Liza took his hand. It was cold.
— Let’s go home, Igor. They’ll be installing the new windows soon. Let’s see if there’s still a draft.
— There won’t be, he said, sniffling. — I asked the installer three times.
***
Three weeks later, the new windows were installed. White, plastic, with wide windowsills. For the first time in fifteen years, there was no frost on them in winter.
Igor pays off the loan himself. Every month, without any reminders. Liza never threw away the ‘I’ll pay you back’ note—it’s still in the jewelry box in the attic, along with the new savings. Just in case.
Maxim came back from St. Petersburg with his fiancée. Nastya turned out to be a cheerful redhead who also loves cherry pies. Liza brought Maxim the finest dates from Dubai—in a golden box.
And Igor doesn’t talk to Zhanna anymore. At all. He says he’s had enough. He deleted her number in front of Liza, without even waiting for her to ask.
After that trip, Boris Evgenievich hung a photo in his office: dunes at sunset, a jeep, and in the background—a tiny figure in a sunhat. One day, Liza asked him why he chose that photo. He paused and replied, “That’s me showing Vera the desert. She would have laughed at me wearing a sunhat.” Liza wears her golden drop earrings every day. Every time Igor sees them, he looks away. It seems he’s still ashamed. And Liza believes that’s just as it should be.
Sometimes Liza wonders: what if she had thrown a tantrum that day? Cried, screamed, forbid everything. Igor probably would have left anyway. Out of spite. Because when someone shouts at you, you want to go your own way. But when someone calmly says, ‘Fine, I’m leaving too,’ for the first time you start to realize they might not wait for you.
***
Dear readers, what do you think about Liza’s decision? Some will say yes, fight fire with fire, her husband asked for it—let him feel how it is. Others might say that’s not right; family isn’t a competition, she should’ve stayed home and talked it out, not flown off to the ends of the earth with her boss. Would you have gone? And would you forgive a husband who used your shared money to pay for his ex-wife’s vacation? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s discuss!