“My parents are already picking out suitcases, Kat. They need that specific sanatorium in Kislovodsk. It has healing mud treatments and the whole joint therapy program,” Artyom said, carefully spreading pate on his bread without even looking at his fiancée.
Katya froze, her hand still holding the salt shaker above the table. There were only three weeks left before their wedding. The restaurant was half paid for, her dress hung in the closet, and the invitations had long since gone out to all the relatives.
“What do you mean—your parents?” Katya slowly lowered her hand. “Artyom, we were clear about this. My mom hasn’t had a vacation in five years. She went through a hard surgery, and the doctor insisted on rehab this summer. I’ve set aside my sixty thousand just for her trip. You promised to add your forty and we’d book it together.”
“The plan changed,” Artyom finally looked up. “My parents have their thirtieth wedding anniversary coming up. That’s their pearl anniversary, by the way. Your mom can stay home, she’ll be fine. She can take her medicine. My parents need a gesture of respect from their future son-in-law and daughter. From both of us.”
“A gesture of respect at my expense?” Katya felt a hot lump rising in her throat. “That’s my bonus for six months, Artyom. I earned that money. My mom raised me on her own—she’s earned this vacation.”
“Come on, don’t start, okay?” Artyom frowned and pushed his plate away. “First, let my parents have the trip, then think about yours. You’re part of my family now. My parents are the priority. And don’t forget, they’re giving us a whole hundred thousand for the wedding. They deserve something in return.”
“They’re gifting us that money so we can pay off the second half of the reception!” Katya yelled. “And that money will go towards food for their entire extended family! Your aunt Lyuba from Samara is going to party for three days at our expense!”
“Don’t yell. The neighbors will hear,” Artyom said coldly, getting up from his chair. “That’s the final word. Transfer the money to me today before evening. I already booked them a luxury suite through a friend. If we cancel, we lose the deposit.”
“You already booked it? Without asking me?”
“I’m the man, I made the decision. Stop making a scene out of nothing. Tonight we’re going to my mom’s for dinner—she’s waiting to talk about the reception menu.”
Artyom stormed into the other room and slammed the door. Katya couldn’t stop trembling. She looked down at her hands—they were shaking uncontrollably. Five years together. Three years of sharing her rented apartment, splitting all the bills. And now, with just three weeks left to the wedding, Artyom was suddenly acting like a stranger—cold and brazen.
She grabbed her phone and dialed her mom.
“Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”
“Katya, I’m fine. My back aches a little, but I think it’s going to rain. Why do you sound so upset? Did something happen?”
“No, Mom, everything’s okay. I’m just really tired from work. Don’t book your trip just yet, alright? There are some issues at the travel agency.”
“I’m not in a rush, honey. You just focus on getting ready for the wedding and don’t spend extra on me. I’ll do just fine at the dacha, working in the garden.”
Katya bit her lip, trying not to burst into tears right into the phone.
“No, Mom. You will go on vacation. You absolutely will. I’ll call you back soon.”
She ended the call, opened her mobile banking app, and checked her savings account. Sixty thousand rubles. Her own hard-earned money. Yet Artyom demanded it as if he had every legal right to it.
That evening, they drove to her future mother-in-law’s house in complete silence. Artyom fiddled with the steering wheel of his old Ford and whistled a little tune, making it very clear he thought the matter was settled and that he had won.
Tamara Petrovna greeted them all dressed up—wearing a silk robe and styled hair. A roast chicken and several types of salads were already on the table. Artyom’s father, Igor Vasilievich, sat in his armchair in front of the TV and didn’t even turn his head when the young couple came in.
“Oh, Katenka, Artyomka, come on in!” Tamara Petrovna chirped, wiping her hands with a towel. “Sit down, quickly. Artyom, did you make the payment for Kislovodsk? The manager just called me and said it had to be paid by six tonight, or we’ll lose the reservation.”
Katya looked at Artyom. He hesitated for a second, but quickly pulled himself together.
“Mom, there were some technical issues with the bank. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning, don’t worry. The suite is still yours.”
“Wonderful!” his mother exclaimed happily. “Igor, did you hear that? We’ll pay tomorrow. Oh, Katya, what a blessing. Thirty years together, and we finally get to see the world, get some treatment. My back just can’t handle it anymore.”
Katya sat silently at the table. She couldn’t eat a single bite.
“Tamara Petrovna,” Katya said quietly, interrupting the woman’s cheerful chatter. “Did Artyom not tell you that this money was set aside for my mother’s medical treatment?”
Silence fell over the room. Igor Vasilievich even muted the television and turned toward the table.
“What do you mean?” Tamara Petrovna frowned, glancing from Katya to her son. “Artyom, what is this about? Whose money? You said you got a bonus and wanted to do something special for us.”
“Katya, shut your mouth,” Artyom hissed through clenched teeth, red patches appearing on his face. “We’ll talk at home.”
“No, why don’t we talk right here,” Katya said, putting down her fork. “Tamara Petrovna, Artyom has no money. His bonus was cut last month after a mess-up at work. That sixty thousand—it’s my personal money. And it was meant for my mother, who’s struggling to walk after surgery. But your son decided your joints mattered more.”
Tamara Petrovna slowly lowered her hands onto the table. Her face instantly lost all its warmth.
“Katya, is that how you speak to your future mother-in-law?” she raised her voice. “What is that tone? My son is a man and earns plenty. If he wants to get his parents an anniversary gift, you have no right to question him! Does it even matter whose money it is? You’ll be one family soon!”
“A real family makes decisions together,” Katya replied firmly. “Not when my money is taken by force just to impress you.”
“How dare you!” Igor Vasilievich shouted, getting up from his chair. “Artyom, who have you brought into our home? She pinches every penny! So petty, so rude! Girl, we never needed your money! But if my son decided to honor us, sit down and be quiet!”
“Dad, calm down,” Artyom jumped up from his chair and grabbed Katya by the hand, squeezing her wrist tightly. “Let’s get out of here. Are you trying to ruin my whole life? You’ve just embarrassed me in front of my parents!”
Katya yanked her hand away.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Artyom. And your parents aren’t getting a penny. My mom is going to the health resort. And you can stay here and celebrate your pearl anniversary until you turn blue.”
“Oh, is that so?” Tamara Petrovna shouted. “Then there won’t be any wedding! Artyom, take her ring back! Listen to her, acting like a princess! We’re putting in a hundred thousand of our own money for this banquet, and she’s ready to kill over a lousy trip!”
“Take your hundred thousand then!” Katya tore off her engagement ring with its tiny cubic zirconia and threw it right into the plate of chicken. “And take your banquet too. There’s not going to be a wedding.”
She turned around and headed for the exit. Artyom chased after her, caught up in the hallway, and grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Are you crazy? Katya, do you even realize what you’re doing? Tomorrow the whole family will know! The restaurant is paid for! The guests already bought their tickets!”
“I don’t care, Artyom. Let me go or I’ll call the police right now.”
“Fine, go then!” Artyom shoved her hard toward the door. “Run to your mommy. Let’s see how you’ll be crying in a week all alone. Who even wants you now, practically a divorcee!”
Katya burst out of the building, her heart pounding out of her chest. Outside, a light rain was falling. She walked along the sidewalk, not watching where she was going, tears choking her, but inside was a wild, strange sense of relief. It was like she’d just jumped off a speeding train heading straight for disaster.
The next two days were hell. Katya’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Tamara Petrovna called, hurling curses at her. Artyom called too—sometimes threatening, sometimes begging her to come back and “stop embarrassing the family in front of the relatives.” Katya blocked them all.
She went to the bank, withdrew all her money, then went to the travel agency and paid for her mom’s trip. The very best room, with a view of the park, all the procedures included.
“Katya, what about the wedding?” her mother cried when Katya brought her the documents. “How could this happen? Is it all ruined because of me?”
“Mom, because of you I’ve saved my life,” Katya hugged her mother’s thin shoulders. “If it weren’t for this trip, I would’ve married a man who would wipe his feet on us at the first chance. You’re going on vacation. End of discussion.”
There was just one unresolved issue—the banquet. The Golden Lion restaurant was booked for Saturday. Katya herself had made the first payment—fifty thousand rubles, borrowed from her friend Svetka. According to the contract, if the banquet was cancelled less than a month in advance, the deposit was non-refundable. But Katya knew one thing: Artyom and his parents had decided the banquet would go ahead no matter what. They simply changed the plan—instead of a wedding, they’d throw a huge party for Tamara Petrovna and Igor Vasilievich’s pearl anniversary, since all the relatives were coming anyway. Artyom even managed to message Katya from a friend’s account: “We’re not cancelling the banquet, we’ll celebrate on your dime, since you’re such a witch.”
Saturday arrived in a flash. Katya woke up with an unexpected feeling of calm. She called up Svetka.
“Svetik, are you ready?” Katya asked as she applied a light touch of makeup.
“Katya, I’ve even put on my best shoes for this event. What time are we meeting up?”
“The banquet’s set for four in the afternoon. We’ll get there by five—right in the middle of the fun.”
At five o’clock sharp, a taxi pulled up to the Golden Lion restaurant. Lively music floated out from its windows. Katya and Svetka stepped into the foyer. By the hall doors stood an administrator—a stern woman in a black suit.
“Hello, we’re here for the Ivanov banquet,” Katya said. “I’m the bride. Well, actually, the ex-bride. I paid the deposit.”
“Yes, Ekaterina, hello,” the administrator nodded understandingly. “Your… former in-laws are already inside. They said the event’s now a birthday party. The rest of the payment—one hundred thousand rubles—they brought in cash two hours ago.”
“Perfect,” Katya smiled. “Everything’s going according to plan. According to the contract, the person who made the first payment has the right to make changes to the menu or program, right?”
“Yes, until the hot dishes are served in full. Right now, we’re just serving the cold appetizers. What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to take my share,” Katya took out a copy of the contract and her passport from her handbag. “My deposit was fifty thousand. I’m not canceling the banquet, I just want to get the equivalent of that amount right now. The restaurant can accommodate this request since the final sum’s been paid in full with their second payment, correct?”
The administrator looked at the contract, then at Katya. Genuine sympathy flashed in her eyes.
“You know, Ekaterina… Your ex-fiancé was here three hours ago, causing a scene with the waiters, demanding free alcohol beyond what was included. We’ll return your fifty thousand from the register right now as part of your advance, and we’ll just cut that amount from their banquet menu. They were just ordering expensive sturgeon and premium cognac for the main course. We’ll remove those from the service. For their hundred thousand, they’ll get exactly what they paid for—chicken and local vodka.”
“You’re a saint,” Svetka whispered, standing beside her.
“Go ahead with the paperwork,” Katya nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, Katya was holding a stack of five-thousand-ruble notes. Fifty thousand rubles were now back in her hands.
“So, Svetik, shall we go congratulate the birthday crowd?” Katya tucked the money into her purse.
“Definitely. I wouldn’t miss this show for anything.”
They pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside the hall.
The atmosphere was in full swing. Around a huge table sat thirty or so people—relatives from Samara, some of mom’s friends, and Igor Vasilievich’s colleagues. At the place of honor in the center sat Tamara Petrovna in a bright red dress and Igor Vasilievich in a jacket that was obviously too small for him. Artyom sat at the end, sullen, a glass of vodka in hand.
Just as Katya entered, the music faded—the toastmaster was about to announce another round. Artyom spotted Katya first. He choked on his vodka and jumped up from his seat.
“You? What are you doing here?” he shouted across the hall. “Did you come here to embarrass yourself? No one invited you!”
The guests at the table fell completely silent. Tamara Petrovna pressed her lips together and turned away in a clear display of disapproval.
“Katya, just leave while you still can,” Igor Vasilievich said sternly. “We never asked for your share, we paid for everything ourselves. Don’t ruin our celebration.”
Katya walked into the center of the hall, completely unfazed by their angry stares. The guests started whispering to each other. Aunt Lyuba from Samara called out loudly, “And who is that? The ex-bride or something? Why did she even show up?”
“Hello, dear guests!” Katya announced loudly and clearly, smiling. “I’m not here to ruin your party. On the contrary, I came to congratulate Tamara Petrovna and Igor Vasilievich on their pearl wedding anniversary!”
“Katya, shut your mouth and get out!” Artem rushed over, trying to grab her arm, but Svetka swiftly blocked his way with the sharp heel of her shoe.
“Hands off,” Svetka said calmly.
“I just wanted to say,” Katya continued, addressing the now-silent guests, “that this wonderful banquet is happening thanks to… me. Or rather, the fifty thousand rubles I paid as a deposit. But since there won’t be a wedding—because your wonderful Artem turned out to be a gold-digger and a mama’s boy, trying to steal money from my sick mother…”
“What nonsense are you saying?!” Tamara Petrovna shrieked, jumping from her seat. “You’re lying! My son is an honest man! You villain! You witch!”
“…so anyway,” Katya went on, raising her voice over her mother-in-law’s shrieks, “I just got my fifty thousand back from the restaurant’s cashier.”
A dead silence filled the hall. Even the toastmaster dropped his microphone, which let out a nasty squeal.
“How did you get it back?” Artem blanched. “That’s impossible. We paid for everything!”
At that moment, three waiters entered the hall. But instead of the promised huge platters of baked sturgeon and expensive bottles of cognac, they began setting down deep plates filled with simple stewed potatoes, dry chicken legs, and the cheapest vodka bottles with plastic caps. The administrator herself walked up to the jubilee table and, loudly enough for everyone to hear, declared:
“Respected Ivanov family, since the amount of fifty thousand rubles from your advance payment has been returned to its rightful owner, your balance has decreased. According to your remaining payment of one hundred thousand rubles, the expensive hot menu and premium alcohol have been canceled. You are now being served the standard economy menu. Have a pleasant evening.”
The administrator turned around and left.
Chaos erupted at the table. Aunt Lyuba from Samara, who had been waiting for delicacies, poked at a bluish chicken leg with clear disgust.
“What kind of food is this?” she shouted. “Toma, you dragged us halfway across the country to feed us this blue bird? Where’s the sturgeon you bragged about on Telegram? Where’s the cognac?”
“Lyuba, wait, this is a mistake!” Tamara Petrovna darted around the table, her face matching the red of her dress. “Artem, do something! Igor, why are you just sitting there?!”
Igor Vasilievich just sat there, staring blankly at his lonely plate of potatoes. The guests were getting louder; some were already reaching for their jackets.
Artem stood in the middle of the hall, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on Katya with a wild mix of fury and helplessness.
“You… you bitch, Katya,” he hissed. “You ruined our whole anniversary. Now the relatives will be laughing at us.”
“At least it’s honest, Artem,” Katya replied with a gentle smile. “You celebrate with as much as you managed to scrape together. Take care of your parents yourself, just like you always wanted. I’m leaving. My flight is tomorrow, I’m taking Mom to Kislovodsk.”
Katya turned around and headed for the exit with a light, floating walk. Behind her, a massive family scandal was erupting: Aunt Lyuba was loudly demanding her money back for the tickets, Tamara Petrovna was sobbing uncontrollably, blaming her son for being stingy, while Artem was desperately trying—and failing—to drown out the chorus of unhappy relatives.
Outside, it was still raining, but Katya felt as if the brightest sun was shining above her head. She pulled her phone from her purse and texted her mom: “Mom, pack your things. We’re flying tomorrow. Everything is going to be just wonderful.”