— Go to hell… you know where? I didn’t sign up for this kind of marriage! — Dasha tore off her veil and threw it in her mother-in-law’s face.
— Stop wasting time, Petya! I’m not going to be your cash cow! — Dasha declared firmly.
— You’re all freeloaders and parasites, — she gritted her teeth and looked directly at her father-in-law. — Not only did I pay for this whole wedding, not only has your son been living off me for six months… But now you all think you can just waltz into heaven on my back? No way. That’s not happening!
The dishes crashed onto the marble floor. The guests froze with their glasses in hand; someone quickly hid a fork with meat behind a napkin, as if they might be asked to pay for the damage. The music cut off halfway through a bar. Petya, the groom, stood frozen, holding a sandwich. A piece of red fish slowly slid off the butter and plopped onto his polished shoes. The shoes that Dasha had bought for him.
She was used to doing everything herself. Life had dealt her that way.
Her parents died when Dasha was sixteen. An accident. A tragic, foolish, out-of-place accident. In one day—everything was gone. She had a family, and then she didn’t. Dasha was left with her grandmother and grandfather, but they were elderly, barely on their feet. They helped as much as they could, but she truly pulled herself out alone.
She got into a financial institute by herself, opened a flower shop by herself. Then a second one. Then a third and a fourth.
Flowers were her passion. She named her first shop simply: “At Dasha’s on Patriarch’s Ponds.” When she opened the chain, she came up with another name—”Dasha’s Scents.” Now in every shop, you could not only buy a bouquet, but also grab a coffee, and even her own signature perfume.
Women loved them.
Men did too, but not for the perfume, but for Dasha herself. But she didn’t pay attention. Business, responsibilities, supplies, rent—no time for romance.
Then Petya came along.
He burst into her shop early in the morning while she was receiving deliveries.
— Sir, we’re still closed. Please come back in an hour, — Dasha pulled her attention away from a box of white roses.
— Miss, please… My mother’s birthday is today, and I heard you have the best bouquets in town! — He looked at her with hope. — Family is sacred to me.
Dasha nodded silently. The word “family” meant too much to her.
— Alright, what kind of bouquet would you like? — She adjusted her bangs.
— The most beautiful one. I only have one mom. She gave me life. And no matter how complicated she may be… I still love her very much.
— It’s good to have a mom… — Dasha said quietly as she opened the flower fridge.
Petya noticed that Dasha’s eyes sparkled.
— Did I offend you? Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, sometimes I do that… — he said shyly, twisting the paper bag with flowers in his hands.
— No, it’s fine… — Dasha quickly turned away and began arranging the bouquet. — It’s just that my mom is no longer here.
He paused, looked around, then at her hands skillfully arranging the stems.
— Want me to treat you to coffee? Right here, without leaving this wonderful place. — He nodded toward the cafe hidden behind a glass partition.
— Well, the owner might mind… — Dasha smiled slightly.
— You can just say the customer insisted. That I was a jerk, threatened to leave a bad review… — Petya leaned closer conspiratorially.
She smirked.
— First of all, you’re not a jerk. And second, it’s my salon. So the owner permits.
They sat down. Petya brought coffee, set napkins on the table. The conversation flowed easily, as though they’d known each other for years. Dasha suddenly felt that this man… listens. Not just nods, but truly hears. He even noticed that she forgot to close the flower fridge door.
Petya took the bouquet and, gathering his courage, invited Dasha on a date. She thought for a second.
— Well, why not.
After their first dinner, Dasha thought differently.
— Simple, gallant… Doesn’t push for anything, doesn’t fawn… He’s learning, has potential. Where else would I find someone like him with my eternal busyness? I should go on a second date.
Then came the third, fourth… On the fifth date, she invited him to her place. Petya didn’t hesitate. Everything fell into place. And in the morning, he stayed.
Lying in her bed, he lit a cigarette.
— Petya, no smoking in my house, — Dasha sprang up, grabbed the cigarette, and went to put it out in the sink.
— It’s cold outside.
— Then you’ll freeze. I’ll warm you up. Or better yet, quit smoking. — She opened the window.
Petya squinted.
— We just started dating, and you’re already bossing me around.
— I’m not bossing you. I’m just showing you where I’m comfortable and where I’m not.
He sighed, put his hands behind his head.
— That’s the catch… I thought everything was perfect.
But he said something else aloud:
— Of course, Dasha. I won’t smoke in your house anymore.
A month after their passionate romance began, Petya couldn’t hold it in and confessed to his mother that he was in love.
— I don’t know, son, who she is, but I don’t like this girl already. You’ve gotten too happy… — Elena Lvovna put down her pen, looked over her glasses at her son, and went back to her crossword puzzle.
— Mom, what’s wrong with that? Don’t you want me to be happy?
— Son, she’ll spread her legs for you, get pregnant, and… What are we going to do then? How will we all live? You’re not even working yet, you have six months of school left, and then you’ll be looking for a job…
She shook her head, and Petya stood frozen in the middle of the room. Something hot stirred inside him—anger or resentment.
— Does this girl even know you’re taking her to restaurants on our money?
— Mom, you don’t know anything about us… — Petya exhaled heavily and leaned on the windowsill. — First of all, she’s independent. Dasha has been working for a long time, she doesn’t need your money. She’s four years older than me. She’s mature, self-sufficient.
He wanted to say more but was interrupted by his mother.
— What kind of old woman is this, son? A woman should always be younger than the man. That’s how you have healthy children! A minimum difference—like with us, three years.
She slapped her crossword book onto her knee, as if putting a period on the conversation.
— Mom, what nonsense? Where did you read that? It doesn’t exist. She’s young, beautiful. And also… — He hesitated. — Dasha is very rich. She has her own network of flower salons, an apartment in the center—a three-room apartment, no mortgage. A very expensive Jeep…
He hadn’t meant to say that, but the word slipped out.
His mother set her crossword down.
— Rich, you say? — She took off her glasses and looked at her son carefully. — And who are her parents? Her dad probably helped her.
— She has no parents. They’re dead. She’s on her own. That’s who she is… — Petya said quietly.
Elena Lvovna looked at her son silently for a moment, then picked up her pen again.
— Well, then, Petya. It’s time to introduce me to this… person.
On Saturday evening, the whole family sat at the table, scrutinizing Dasha. His mother tried to keep a neutral face, his father ate silently, and his sister… Well, his sister was her usual self.
— She’s beautiful… — Varya, the 17-year-old troublemaker, leaned toward her brother and whispered in his ear: — Hey, can we get a bouquet at a discount? I have a birthday to go to tomorrow…
Petya groaned.
— Varya, that’s inappropriate. You’ll go to the flower base and buy one.
— Why not? She’s paying for everything for you, let her pay for mine too. You said she’s rich…
— Varya, shut up.
— Fine, then you buy it yourself. And if you don’t, I’ll tell them about the other girl you were texting.
Petya glared at his sister, but she was already calmly drinking juice, giving him innocent eyes.
— Bloodsucker… — Petya mentally sent her packing and pretended not to hear anything.
Meanwhile, Dasha was talking to Elena Lvovna. The mother was smiling sweetly, but tension could be heard in her voice.
— Stop wasting time, Petya! I’m not going to be your cash cow! — Dasha declared firmly.
— My Petya is really smart. He’ll finish his studies, get a good job, his career will take off… He’ll be earning five, no, ten times more! He’s so talented, such a good guy…
Dasha smiled, looked at Petya, then at his mother.
— Oh, that’s wonderful.
And Petya couldn’t tell—was she agreeing, or was she mocking him?
Petya’s career didn’t take off. It turned out that a prestigious diploma meant one thing, but getting a job was quite another. Only the insiders got the good positions. And the competition was fierce.
Then Varya got into university, and the parents suddenly announced that the family budget wasn’t elastic.
— Well, son, now you’re on your own. We’ve helped as much as we could. Now all the money goes to Varya. — His mother patted Petya’s shoulder with a feeling.
— If you want to live, you need to hustle. The wise fish won’t lead you astray. — His father laughed, pleased with his joke.
So Petya found himself without money.
— No money, no Petya. — Dasha looked at him closely, as if solving an equation. — Pack your things and move in with me. You’re really an adult now. No point hanging around at your parents’ house. Let them take care of your sister.
Petya moved in with Dasha. During the day, he searched unsuccessfully for a job, in the evening he hung out with friends, and at night he entertained Dasha. Entertained, of course, at her expense.
— Petya, in my world, it’s not customary for a woman to pay for herself when there’s a man. — Dasha sat across from him, serious as a tax inspector. — I understand you’re going through a phase… How about I give you money, and you’ll pay for me? So it looks proper.
— Well, let’s try… — Petya responded, feigning embarrassment, but feeling warm and happy inside.
Six months passed. Petya lived with Dasha, used her card, and honestly searched for a job, but no openings seemed to come. And Dasha… well, Dasha sometimes sighed, but she still tolerated it.
Then his mother called.
— Petya, how are we going to live now, son? Your father’s out of work, I’m on a pension… — Her voice was plaintive, trembling. — Maybe you could send us some money? Or your Dasha?
Petya moved to the balcony.
— Mom, how do you imagine that? I’m living at her place on her terms. She pays for everything, and I live in her apartment… If I ask her for money for you, she’ll kick me out.
— She won’t if she’s your wife. — His mother immediately perked up. — Let her marry you. Then we’ll be family. And in a family, you help each other.
Petya was silent.
— Look, we’ll do it like this… I’ll give you the last of the money. You’ll tell her you got a job. Then you’ll propose. After the wedding, they’ll supposedly fire you. Then you’ll ask her for one of her flower salons. We’ll all run it, and share the money.
— So, Dasha will drag us all into a bright future.
Petya gulped.
Two weeks later, he acted like the perfect workaholic, and then, on a romantic evening, he proposed to Dasha.
— My dear, can you pay for the wedding now… I’m just getting back on my feet… — He began carefully as she looked at wedding dresses.
— It’s okay, Petya. Don’t worry. I’ll organize everything. The most important thing is that you’ve found a job. — Dasha smiled and kissed him tenderly.
And Petya closed his eyes and imagined how wonderful their big, happy family would live.
The wedding day arrived.
Around forty guests gathered. Half were Dasha’s friends, the rest were Petya’s relatives. They ate, drank, made toasts. Everyone smiled, took pictures, reminisced about how Dasha and Petya met. Well, reminisced… Petya’s mom told the story as if Petya had saved Dasha from a burning building, while Dasha’s friends exchanged looks, knowing the truth was quite different.
Dasha went out onto the veranda — a call from her grandmother, who lived far away. The conversation was brief, touching, and the grandmother’s voice trembled:
— Dasha, be happy, my dear…
Dasha thanked her and promised to visit, then put the phone in her bag.
And then she heard it.
Out of the corner of her ear, by accident.
— Mom, when is that rich little brat going to give us her salon? Did you talk to Petya?
It was Varya, Petya’s sister. Her voice was a little slurred, clearly, she’d had a drink.
— Sweetie, don’t interfere, we’ve already discussed everything. — Her mother spoke quietly but firmly. — In a month, Petya will say he got fired, and he’ll ask to share. Don’t jump ahead of the plan or you’ll ruin everything.
— What if Dasha finds out he hasn’t worked anywhere? That you’ve been giving him money to fake his salary?
— If you don’t blab, no one will find out.
— Mom, you know, I swapped my conscience for an eraser back in third grade. The kind that smells like vanilla.
Varya laughed, waved it off, and went off to dance.
Dasha stood in the dark veranda and listened.
And then—calmly, without a word—she grabbed Petya by the collar, like a kitten, and dragged him outside.
— Dasha, where… I haven’t tried the sandwich with fish yet… — Petya blinked stupidly, not understanding what was happening.
— Listen, Petya. — Dasha stopped, looked him straight in the eyes. — I know everything. And either you tell me right now everything you planned with your sister and your mother…
She paused.
— Or I’ll call my bearded, grown-up, and very angry business partners, who supply me with flowers at the lowest prices in town. They’ll break you so badly, you won’t recover.
Petya blinked, shivered, but still didn’t believe this was serious.
— Dasha, what are you talking about… I don’t understand…
And then Dasha silently grabbed him by the belt and flipped him over the veranda railing.
The ground below was about four meters, maybe five.
— It’s not far to the ground. I won’t even wait for help. I’ll just drop you if you don’t tell me how you planned to steal my business.
And that’s when Petya realized Dasha wasn’t joking.
He turned pale, stammered, but confessed everything.
Dasha silently released her grip. Petya plopped onto the veranda, crouched down, and held his head in his hands.
Dasha calmly walked back inside.
She reached the DJ, waved her hand: “Turn it off.”
The music stopped.
— Quiet! Everyone, be silent! — she shouted.
The room froze.
Petya’s mom jumped out of her chair, Varya choked on champagne.
And Dasha stood in the middle of the room, looking at everyone calmly, even with interest.
— Well then. Let’s get acquainted again.
— Go to hell… You know where?
Dasha stood in the middle of the room, heated, with messy hair. In one hand, a glass of champagne, in the other — her veil, which she immediately threw in her mother-in-law’s face.
Petya sat at the table, clutching the sandwich with red fish, as though it was a life raft. Even when Dasha was dragging him out to the veranda, even when she flipped him over the railing—the sandwich stayed with him.
Now he looked at the fish that had fallen to the floor, and it seemed like he was more upset about that than his own exposure.
— I’m not going to support your family, Petya! — Dasha looked around at his stunned, silent relatives. — And I’m not supporting you either, you fool!
The guests, realizing that the argument had reached its peak, froze. Someone quietly pushed the salad closer—well, if this was a show, at least there’d be a snack.
— For the fact that you lied to me, tried to trick me into giving up my business… For making me pay for this lousy, fake show called “wedding”…
Dasha exhaled sharply.
— And this was a fake wedding! Because when a man truly loves a woman, he doesn’t deceive her. He doesn’t try to rob her…
She paused, looking straight at Petya.
— So, scumbags! You owe me now. Money for organizing the wedding and moral damage.
The guests exchanged glances, and Petya’s mother clutched her chest, as though suddenly short of breath.
— I paid two million rubles for this celebration. You’ll pay me back four.
There was a nervous chuckle in the room.
— I don’t care how you do it. If you don’t, I’ll get back at you in ways you can’t even imagine.
Dasha gestured for her friends to follow, turned, and left, not looking back.
Of course, Dasha never saw the money.
Petya went back to his mother.
A month later, they burned his father’s car in the yard.
Another month later, Varya was expelled from university.
And then, a month later…
Fraudsters swindled a million rubles from Elena Lvovna.
They caught Petya with forbidden substances. Some say someone planted it in his bag. Others claim he put it there himself—let the court decide.
And Dasha?
Well, what do you think?
The story leaves it unsaid.
Meanwhile, everything is the same for her. Her business thrives, competitors retreat. Rumors say she met a worthy man, is happily married, and is expecting a child.
They say a person can endure anything.
But when it’s for free… even more.
And they say that if you want to maintain good relationships with people, don’t interfere with their lies.
Whether it’s true or not—decide for yourself.
But one thing is certain: you can’t build true happiness by wiping your feet on someone else’s life.”