“Andryusha, please! I really don’t know what to do, water is gushing everywhere, I’m about to flood the neighbors, and you know that witch downstairs — she’ll make my life hell! My hands are shaking, I can’t even find the valve!” The voice on the phone was so sharp and desperate that it could be heard clearly from the other side of the table, even though the call wasn’t on speaker.
Tatyana slowly put her fork down on the plate. The clink of metal on porcelain sounded like a gong in the cozy, quiet kitchen — as if announcing the start of yet another round in the ongoing battle she’d been fighting for three years. Across from her sat her husband, Andrey, biting his lip guiltily as he looked from the cooling home-cooked stew to the glowing smartphone screen.
“Lara, calm down,” he mumbled into the phone. “Which valve? The one under the sink or in the bathroom? You need to shut off the main water supply.”
“I don’t know where that is! Andryusha, please come over, I’m begging you! I’m scared! What if it’s boiling water? I’m here alone, I’m really afraid!”
Andrey looked up at his wife. In his eyes, Tatyana saw that same mix of pleading and resignation she’d grown all too familiar with lately.
“Tanya, do you hear this? She’s going to get flooded. Lariska, she doesn’t know anything about this stuff, she’s like a child. I have to go.”
“Of course you have to go,” Tatyana replied in an even tone, hiding the storm raging inside. “It’s not our wedding anniversary tonight. And we totally didn’t plan this evening for two weeks. And I definitely didn’t spend three hours at the stove. Go, Andrey. Go save Larisa. She’d be lost without you.”
“Could you not start, please?” Andrey jumped up, fussing as he grabbed his car keys. “We’re childhood friends. She’s in trouble. I’ll be quick, one foot here, one there. I’ll fix the leak and be right back. Put the stew in the oven to keep it warm.”
The front door slammed. Tatyana was left alone in the apartment, surrounded by the delicious smells of a celebratory dinner and a bitter taste of disappointment. She got up, walked to the window, and watched as her husband’s car sped away into the night.
Larisa. That name had become the third wheel in their marriage. Childhood friend, old classmate, “one of the guys” — that’s what Andrey always called her. She’d suddenly reappeared after her own divorce and firmly settled herself in their lives. At first, it was occasional requests: help moving things, setting up her computer. Andrey, always a good soul, ever the handyman, naturally obliged.
My husband’s friend started asking for his help way too often, and I had to step in
But as they say, appetites grow with eating. Larisa’s requests turned into a series of emergencies. One day she’d have a flat tire on the highway, another day a shelf would crash down in her bathroom, then it was an urgent need to assemble a wardrobe because “my stuff is piled up and I have nowhere to live.” And every single time, these crises happened exactly when Tatyana and Andrey had plans together.
Tatiana wasn’t the jealous, hysterical type. She understood that friendship was just friendship. But her feminine intuition kept quietly telling her that this wasn’t about broken faucets. Larisa was quite striking—well-groomed, with a smoldering gaze and this way of talking to men like they were gods descended from Olympus. She played the “helpless girl” card like a pro, and Andrey always fell for it, squaring his shoulders and feeling like a heroic savior.
Tatiana put the dinner away in the fridge. She’d lost her appetite. Andrey came home three hours later, dirty, tired, but clearly pleased with himself.
“Phew, just in time! There really was about to be a flood. The siphon broke. Had to fiddle with it for a while and even rushed to the 24-hour store for some gaskets. Larisa totally freaked out, even had to drink some valerian drops.”
“Did your damsel at least offer her rescuer some tea?” Tatiana asked, pretending to read her book.
“She did. And gave me some pie, too. She’d baked an apple charlotte. She sends her regards and says sorry for ruining our evening.”
“Gave you pie?” Tatiana thought to herself. “So, while water was supposedly gushing all over and she ‘couldn’t find the valve,’ she had a charlotte baking in the oven? That’s an interesting story.”
She said nothing out loud. Starting a fight was pointless—Andrey would instantly go on the defensive, accusing her of being heartless and unreasonably jealous. She needed a subtler approach. Tatiana decided: next time, she wouldn’t stay home. Next time, she’d go save Larisa right along with her husband.
That next time came alarmingly soon. On Saturday morning, they were getting ready to head out to the dacha. The weather was perfect, the May sun was warm, there was already marinated shashlik in the trunk, and Tatiana was picturing her and Andrey sitting on a veranda, clinking glasses of wine.
Andrey’s phone rang while he was loading bags of charcoal into the car. Tatiana tensed up. She recognized the ringtone—it was the special one he’d set for Larisa.
“Yeah, Lar? What? It’s sparking?—” Andrey’s face fell. “How badly? Does it smell like smoke? Okay, don’t touch anything, flip the circuit breakers in the hallway! Yes, got it. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up the call and gave his wife a guilty look. She was standing at the gate with a tray of petunias in her hands.
“Tanya, here’s the thing…”
“The socket?” she interrupted.
“Worse. The fuse box is sparking. She says the smell of burning is all over the apartment. She’s worried the wiring might catch fire. You can’t count on the maintenance electrician from the building on a Saturday, and private electricians charge a fortune and take forever to arrive.”
“I see,” Tatiana calmly set the tray of seedlings down on the ground. “So, the dacha’s off?”
“No, why would it be off? We’ll just swing by her place, I’ll check things out. If it’s serious, I’ll call emergency, if it’s minor, I’ll fix it myself. It’s almost on the way. Just a little detour. Won’t take more than an hour.”
“Alright,” Tatiana nodded. “I’m going with you.”
Andrey was caught off guard.
“Why? You’re not an electrician. Just stay home, I’ll be quick.”
“No, Andrey. We’re going to the dacha. Together. We’ll stop by Larisa’s, you fix it, and we go on our way. I don’t want to just sit here waiting for something to happen. Besides, I haven’t seen Larisa in ages—I’ll at least say hello.”
Andrey hesitated, but there was nothing he could say. They got in the car. He was tense the whole way, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Tatiana, meanwhile, stayed perfectly calm on the outside, though inside, every part of her felt tightly wound like a spring.
Larisa greeted them in a silky robe barely covering her knees, her makeup flawless. When she saw Tatyana step out of the car, her face changed for just a split second—her lips twitched downward, and disappointment flashed in her eyes—but almost instantly, her radiant smile returned.
“Tanechka! What a surprise! And look at me… caught unprepared, all flustered and messy!” she said theatrically, adjusting her perfectly styled hair. “Come in, come in. Andryusha, you’re my savior—something’s going on in the entryway! It’s crackling and buzzing!”
They came inside. In the hallway, there was indeed a faint smell of burnt plastic. Andrey immediately headed for the fuse box, already taking a screwdriver with a tester out of his pocket.
“Oh, Tanyush, why are you standing in the doorway? Come into the kitchen, let’s have some coffee while the men work,” Larisa chirped, trying to steer Tatyana away from the scene.
“No, thanks, I’ll stay here,” Tatyana replied firmly. “What if Andrey needs help? Maybe to hold something, or shine a flashlight.”
“A flashlight?” Larisa giggled. “Oh, come on. Andryusha is a pro – he could fix anything with his eyes closed. Right, Andryush?”
Andrey, tinkering with the wires, mumbled something in response.
“Lara,” Tatyana said, gazing intently at her husband’s friend. “Why didn’t you call the management company? Their emergency service works around the clock. This is electricity – it’s dangerous.”
“Oh, you have no idea! The guys who work there are so rude! They show up dirty, in boots, make a mess, and snap at you. But Andryusha—he’s one of us. He’s a sweetheart. I only trust him with these things.”
“My husband’s golden hands,” Tatyana said pointedly, “were supposed to be flipping skewers over the grill today. We were on our way to the dacha.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I ruin everything!” Larisa put her hands together as if praying. “I’m such a mess! Everything falls apart when you’re alone in the house, everything breaks. It’s tough, Tanyush, you have no idea. You’re lucky—you’ve got your stone wall to rely on.”
Andrey finished his work about fifteen minutes later.
“A contact was loose and had gotten a bit burnt. I cleaned it up and tightened everything. But, Lara, you really should replace the circuit breaker—it’s old.”
“Oh, Andryushenka, could you do that for me?” Larisa immediately leaned on his shoulder, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust. “Will you get the right one? I’ll give you the money. And install it, too?”
“Andrey won’t be able to,” Tatyana answered for him. “We’re going to the dacha and we’ll be back late. And next weekend we have theater tickets. Call an electrician, Lara. Andrey will write down the circuit breaker model you need on a piece of paper.”
Larisa looked at Tatyana with open hostility but quickly switched her attention back to Andrey:
“At least have some coffee! I bought éclairs—your favorite pastries!”
“Thank you, we’re full,” Tatyana cut her off, taking her husband by the arm. “Let’s go, Andrey. We’re on a schedule.”
When they left the building, Andrey exhaled in relief, but immediately started defending his friend:
“Tanya, why were you so harsh? She meant well, honestly.”
“She meant well by hanging all over you, Andrey. Don’t you see it? That robe, those looks… She’s not looking for help, she wants your attention.”
– Oh, come on, stop making things up! We’ve known each other forever, I’m like a brother to her!
– Exactly. Like the kind of brother who can fix her outlets, listen to her problems, and stroke her ego. A very convenient brother indeed.
They went off to the dacha, but the uneasy feeling lingered. Tatyana knew: this wasn’t over. Larisa wouldn’t back down so easily. She enjoyed having power, loved pulling strings and watching someone else’s husband jump at her call.
The turning point came two weeks later. Andrei was away on a business trip and was supposed to be back Friday night. Tatyana was preparing dinner, looking forward to their reunion. At six o’clock, Andrei called.
– Tanya, listen, I’ll be a little late. I’m already in the city, but Larisa just called… She has some kind of emergency.
– What is it this time? – Tatyana’s voice turned icy. – A meteorite fell on her balcony?
– No, she bought a new curtain rod, heavy, wrought iron. Tried to put it up herself—well, pretty dumb of her—and dropped it on her foot. Says her toe is swollen, she can’t walk. And the rod’s lying in the middle of the room, blocking the way. She’s asking if I can stop by, lift it, and pick up some ointment at the pharmacy. I’ll be quick.
Tatyana took a deep breath.
– Andrei, listen. You go home. I’ll go to her myself.
– You? – her husband was surprised. – Why?
– Because I’m a woman. I know exactly which ointment to buy. And I can help with her foot, redo the bandage. You’re tired from your trip. Go home, warm up dinner. I’ll be at her place in half an hour.
– Well… okay. If you want to. Just don’t argue with her, okay? She’s already in pain.
Tatyana hung up and sprang into action. She had no intention of going to Larisa to treat her foot. She was going to treat the situation.
She went online, found a ‘man for an hour’ service, and picked the most strict and professional handyman based on reviews. Then she used a delivery service to order a set of painkillers and an elastic bandage to Larisa’s address.
Then she got into her car and drove over.
When she arrived at Larisa’s building, she saw the pharmacy courier just about to ring the intercom. Tatyana caught him, took the package, and went up. The door was unlocked—Larisa must have been expecting Andrei and left it open so her ‘rescuer’ could walk in unimpeded.
Tatyana walked into the apartment without knocking.
The living room was dimly lit, candles burned, a bottle of wine and two glasses sat on the table. Larisa was lounging on the couch in the same silk robe, one leg stretched out. The curtain rod really was lying on the floor, but it looked as if it had been placed there carefully, not dropped.
Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Larisa moaned theatrically:
– Andy, is that you? I’m in so much pain… Did you get the ointment?
Tatyana entered the room and switched on the bright overhead light. The romance of the dim candlelight was instantly erased, exposing the ridiculous setup.
Larisa jumped up from the couch, completely forgetting about her ‘injured’ foot.
– Tanya?! What are you doing here? Where’s Andrei?
– Andrei’s at home, having dinner, – Tatyana replied calmly as she set the bag of medicines next to the wine. – I brought you the ointment. And some help.
– What help? – Larisa blinked in confusion, realizing her plan had failed. – I needed Andrei! He’s strong, he can hang the curtain rod!
– A specialist will hang the curtain rod, – Tatyana said.
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Tatyana went to answer it. Standing on the doorstep was a sturdy man in overalls, carrying a toolbox.
“Did someone call for me? I’m the handyman. Heard you need a curtain rod put up?”
“Yes, please come in,” Tatyana invited him. “Over there, in the room. The lady will show you where to put it up.”
The handyman walked into the room, inspected the wall and the curtain rod with a businesslike look, then took out his drill.
“Alright, the wall’s concrete, needs number six wall plugs. I’ve got them. Ma’am, where’s your stepladder?”
Larisa was sitting on the couch as red as a tomato. She glared at Tatyana with hate in her eyes.
“You… why did you do this?” she hissed, just as the handyman began drilling, drowning out her words.
“Me?” Tatyana feigned sincere surprise. “I’m just helping. You asked for help—here are the medications, here’s the handyman. Everything’s paid for, don’t worry. Andrey doesn’t have time, he’s tired, he wants to be with his wife. But you needed that curtain rod put up, right? Or is it my husband that you needed?”
Larisa jumped up, forgetting she was supposed to be limping.
“Get lost!” she shouted. “You act like such a saint! Andrey’s going to lose his mind with your perfection soon! He needs fun, lightness, but you’re just a stuffy teacher!”
“Maybe,” Tatyana nodded. “But he keeps coming back to me. And you keep inventing new problems so you can lure him over for an hour. Doesn’t that feel humiliating? You’re a beautiful woman, Lara. Find a single man. Stop begging at someone else’s door.”
“Get out!” Larisa screeched.
“Of course. The handyman will be done in twenty minutes. The job’s paid for. Goodbye, Larisa. And take care of your leg; you’re moving awfully fast for an invalid.”
Tatyana left the apartment feeling incredibly light. She had done it. She didn’t cause a scandal with her husband, she didn’t pull her rival’s hair. She simply showed everyone how things truly were.
At home, Andrey greeted her anxiously.
“How is she? Did she hurt her leg badly? I called, but she’s not answering.”
Tatyana sat down at the table, poured herself some tea, and looked at her husband.
“Her leg is fine, Andrey. She was practically running around the apartment. The handyman from the service is putting up her curtain rod, I already paid for it.”
“A handyman? Why? I could have done it myself…”
“Andrey, sit down,” Tatyana gestured to the chair across from her.
Her husband obediently sat down.
“Tell me honestly—did you really not realize what was happening? Candles, wine, a robe, asking you to come over when I’m not there or when we’re busy?”
Andrey blushed. He lowered his gaze and started crumbling his bread.
“Well… I guess I had a feeling. But I didn’t want to believe it. We’re friends. I thought if I just pretended not to notice, it would go away on its own. It felt awkward to refuse her; she seemed so lonely, so weak.”
“Weak?” Tatyana smirked. “Andrey, she was manipulating you like you were a schoolboy. By trying so hard to be good to her, you let me down. You stole time from our family to boost her ego. Today, I saw it all with my own eyes. Wine, two glasses—she wasn’t waiting for a handyman, Andrey. She was waiting for you.”
Andrey was silent. He was ashamed. He remembered all the times Larisa “accidentally” touched his hand, looked into his eyes for too long, praised him while putting Tatyana down.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I’m an idiot.”
“A little bit,” Tatiana agreed. “But you’re a kind idiot. And I love you. But from this day forward, Andrey, our help for Larisa is over. She now has the number for the ‘Husband for an Hour’ service. If something breaks, she can call them. If she’s bored, she can call her other friends. You’re not her emergency rescue anymore. Deal?”
“Deal,” Andrey said firmly. “I get it. Really. Thank you for going there. If I had shown up and saw those candles… it would’ve been much worse.”
Larisa never called again. Not a week later, not a month. Apparently, her pride (or what was left of it) didn’t let her keep in touch with a family that had seen through her and made her look ridiculous.
Six months later, Tatiana bumped into Larisa at the mall. Larisa was strolling arm in arm with a well-dressed man, carrying shopping bags from fancy boutiques and looking quite content. Their eyes met. Larisa paused for a second, raised her chin, sniffed dismissively, and walked right by as if they were complete strangers.
Tatiana just smiled. She was genuinely happy for Larisa. Finally, Larisa had found someone who could fix her leaky faucets and hang her curtains—legitimately. And at last, in Tatiana and Andrey’s home, there was peace and quiet, with no more urgent calls demanding they save the world from a troublesome toilet tank.
Nowadays, the evenings were theirs. They’d drink tea, plan their next vacation, and knew for sure: if they decided to head out to the dacha, they’d make it there. Because you’ve got to guard the boundaries of your own family—even when the intruder pretends to be the most helpless creature on earth.