Alya froze in the bedroom doorway, watching Misha hurriedly tie the laces on his scuffed sneakers. His movements were rushed and twitchy—as if he were trying to escape a conversation he couldn’t avoid.
“So you’re going to an interview in a tracksuit?” she asked. There was no anger in her voice, only surprise.
Misha didn’t lift his head, still fussing with the laces.
“What’s the big deal? Programmers can.”
“To the Lastochka café? Since when do IT companies rent offices there?”
His hands stopped. A single second of silence told her everything.
“How did you—”
“You forgot to log out on the tablet,” Alya said. “Your messages with Sveta were… very enlightening.”
Three months earlier, Alya had been at the kitchen table sorting through a pile of bills and receipts. The numbers swam before her eyes—utilities, loan installments, overdue penalties. In the next room Misha was stretched out on the couch, absorbed in his phone.
“Mish, they’ll shut off the electricity again if we don’t pay,” she said, setting aside another bill stamped in red.
“Mmm,” came an indifferent grunt from the couch.
“Listen… could you at least take something temporary? A warehouse job. Sergey said he could get you in…”
Misha snapped upright like he’d been zapped.
“I’m a programmer! I’m not going to work as a loader! I have a college degree!”
“A degree that hasn’t put food on the table for a year,” Alya said so quietly she hadn’t meant him to hear—but he did.
“It’s temporary! You’ll see, I’ll find a real job soon. The market’s just down right now.”
At that moment a sharp ring at the door cut through their argument. Misha’s parents were standing on the threshold—his mother wearing the victorious look of someone arriving to collect a prize, his father with a face like stone.
“Kids, we’re here!” his mother announced, sweeping into the apartment without waiting to be invited. “Alyechka, you’re so pale. Is Misha treating you badly?”
“Mom, everything’s fine,” Misha grumbled, burying himself back in his phone.
“Fine?” his father looked around their modest place. “You haven’t made the loan payment for three months! We co-signed for you!”
Alya stood, forcing herself to stay calm.
“You’re the ones who insisted on that wedding. My mom said we should just register quietly, but you—”
“Oh, so it’s all our fault now?” her mother-in-law lifted her hands dramatically to the ceiling. “We wanted our son to have a beautiful wedding! So people wouldn’t say we’re poor!”
Misha’s father pulled out a calculator and started clicking the buttons with the air of a head accountant.
“So how long is left?”
“Four years. Thirty thousand a month,” Alya answered, worn out.
“And how much do you earn?”
“Fifty.”
“See? That’s enough,” her mother-in-law nodded, satisfied. “Twenty thousand is plenty for food.”
“And utilities? Transportation? Clothes?” Alya stared at them, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“Mishenka will find a job soon, right, sweetheart?”
“Of course, Mom. I sent out resumes just the other day.”
Alya said nothing. She got up and walked toward the bedroom. Through the not-quite-closed door her mother-in-law’s loud voice carried clearly:
“My friend Galina says her daughter-in-law supports her husband and she’s happy! And this one is always unhappy. Mishenka, maybe you should look at other girls. Sveta still isn’t married…”
Another month passed, and things only got worse. Misha stopped even pretending to job hunt. Alya came home every day to the same sight—him sprawled on the couch with his phone.
“Mish, could you at least wash the dishes?” she said, kicking off her shoes at the door.
“I’m a programmer, not a housewife!” he snapped without looking up.
“You’re unemployed! It’s been a year!”
“Not a year—ten months. And if you don’t like it, let’s get divorced!”
“And who’s going to pay the loan? Your parents?”
Misha fell silent. They both knew the answer.
That weekend Alya’s mother came to visit. She hugged her daughter and immediately noticed the change.
“Sweetheart… you’ve lost weight. How are you living like this?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Did Misha find work?”
“He’s looking.”
“He’s been ‘looking’ for a year? Alya, maybe stop dragging him along—you’re falling apart.”
“We have a loan, Mom. The wedding loan. His parents took it out.”
“Then let them pay it!”
“It was transferred into my name,” Alya admitted. “My mother-in-law said the bank would charge less interest that way.”
Her mother shook her head.
“Oh, honey… you really got trapped. Does Misha at least help around the house?”
Just then Misha walked in.
“Hello, Elena Petrovna,” he said. “Alya, what’s for dinner?”
“There are cutlets in the fridge. Heat them up.”
“Can’t you do it? I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?” her mother finally snapped. “Tired of lying on the couch?”
“Elena Petrovna, don’t interfere in our family!”
“What family?” the mother shot back. “One where the husband hangs off his wife’s neck for a year?”
After her mother left, Misha exploded into a full-blown fight.
“You did that on purpose—turned your mother against me!”
“Misha, she’s telling the truth. You can’t even heat up your own dinner!”
“I’m a man! That’s women’s work!”
“And a man’s job is to earn money. Where’s your money?”
“It’ll come! Soon! I’m going to get an offer from a serious company and then we’ll see who’s the boss around here!”
“You’ve been saying the same thing for a year.”
“I’m sick of your whining! I’m going for a walk!”
The door slammed and echoed through the apartment. Alya stood alone, a tight knot rising in her throat. On the table lay Misha’s phone—he’d left it behind in his rush. The screen lit up with a new notification.
“Sveta: Tomorrow at 3:00 PM at Lastochka? Like the old days ”
Alya’s hands shook as she picked up the phone. She remembered the passcode—Misha’s birth date. The chat opened and the bitter truth spilled out.
Misha: “I miss you.”
Sveta: “Me too. When will we see each other?”
Misha: “My wife’s driving me crazy, controlling my every step.”
Sveta: “Poor thing. You need support.”
Misha: “You always understood me.”
Sveta: “I remember our meetups. Want to repeat them?”
Misha: “Alya thinks I’m going to interviews.”
Sveta: “Smart boy ”
Three weeks of messages. Three weeks of nonstop lies.
The next day Alya called in sick to work. At 2:50 PM she stood across from the Lastochka café, watching the entrance. Misha showed up right on time, wearing a tracksuit—supposedly after his “morning run.” A few minutes later Sveta arrived in a tight dress.
Alya waited ten minutes, then walked in.
They were seated in the far corner. Sveta was stroking Misha’s hand, and he was leaning close, whispering into her ear.
“Am I interrupting?” Alya said, dropping into the empty chair at their table.
Misha went instantly pale.
“Alya… this isn’t what you think…”
“This is the interview?” she asked. “For the position of mistress’s boyfriend?”
“Alyechka, we’re just talking,” Sveta put on an innocent smile. “Old friends.”
“Old friends who meet in secret while the wife works and pays for everything?”
“Alya, let’s talk at home…”
“No. We’re talking here. Right now. For a year I’ve carried you and your loan. For a year I’ve listened to empty promises. And while I’m doing that, you’re out here having fun with your ex?”
“Don’t shout! People are staring!”
“Let them stare! Let everyone know what kind of parasite you are!”
Misha shoved back from the table and stood up sharply.
“You don’t have the right to talk to me like that!”
“I do. I’m the one supporting you!”
“It’s temporary!”
“A year is temporary? Misha, you didn’t even send resumes! I checked your email!”
“You went through my personal things?”
“The tablet—our tablet. The one I bought with my money!”
Sveta stood slowly, trying to slip away unnoticed.
“I should probably go…”
“Stop,” Alya said, turning to her. “If you understand him so well, take him. Take his mommy and his debts along with him.”
“Alya, you’re being emotional…”
“I’m leaving. Going to my parents. And you can live however you want. Alone.”
“You can’t just leave! We have a loan!”
“The loan your parents took out. Let them pay it.”
Alya packed the last of her things with methodical calm. Every movement radiated a hard, settled decision. The apartment that had once felt like home now seemed чужой—like a stage set for a play in which she’d spent too long acting a part that wasn’t hers.
Keys rattled in the lock. Misha burst into the room, breathless and disheveled.
“Alya, let’s talk calmly!”
She didn’t stop packing. Didn’t even look at him.
“About what? About how you lied for a year? Or about how you and your mother tricked me into that loan?”
“No one tricked you!”
She finally turned. Misha actually took a half-step back—there was so much coldness in her eyes.
“No? Then why is the loan in my name while your parents spent the money?”
“They wanted a beautiful wedding for their son!”
“At my expense.”
A doorbell rang, sharp and commanding. Alya cursed under her breath—she recognized that ring. Familiar figures filled the doorway.
“We know everything!” her mother-in-law stormed in like a fury. “Sveta called! How could you disgrace our son like that?”
Alya slowly straightened to her full height. The patience she’d been hoarding for months finally ran out.
I disgraced him? He was meeting his mistress!”
“They were just talking! And you threw a tantrum! Now the whole town is gossiping!”
“I don’t care about your town.”
Her father-in-law, silent until then, stepped forward. His voice had that habitual managerial command.
“Alevtina, you must apologize to Misha and Svetlana.”
Alya nearly laughed at the absurdity.
“Why would I?”
“You insulted them!”
“I told the truth!”
“Misha is your husband. You must support him!”
“I supported him for a year. Enough.”
A taxi horn sounded outside like a school bell at recess—release at last. Alya grabbed her bags and headed for the door.
“If you leave, you won’t come back!” her mother-in-law shouted after her.
“I’m not planning to.”
Her parents met her in silence—sometimes words are unnecessary. Her father hugged her tightly, her mother cried, and in those arms Alya felt more support than she had during the entire year of marriage.
“You did the right thing,” her father said quietly. “Stop feeding that leech.”
An hour of breathing room—and then another knock. Alya knew who it was before her father even opened the door.
“Is Alevtina home?”
“For you, she isn’t,” her father blocked the doorway.
“I’m her husband! I have rights!”
“What husband? You’re a parasite.”
“This is our family business!”
It was. Now it’s over. Leave.”
“I need to talk to Alya!”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Let her say it herself!”
Alya knew she’d have to finish it personally. She stepped into the hallway and looked at the man who had once seemed like a prince.
“Go, Misha.”
“Alya, talk to me! I’ll explain everything!”
“Explain what? That you lied for a year? That you met your mistress? That you didn’t look for work?”
“I did look!”
“You’re lying. I checked your browser history. You played games and watched porn.”
“You went through my stuff!”
“The computer I bought!”
He shifted into attack mode, the same way he always did when cornered.
“Let’s start over! I’ll change!”
“No. Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce.”
“And the loan?”
There it was—the real question. Not “how will I live without you,” not “I love you,” but “the loan.” Alya gave a short, bitter smile.
“Your problem. I have documents—your mother’s messages where she admits she transferred the loan into my name by deception. And receipts showing where the money went. It all leads straight back to your family.”
Misha’s face turned a sick, earthy gray.
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“I would. Leave.”
Her father said nothing—just took Misha by the shoulder and walked him out.
The week flew by in a blur of paperwork and lawyers. The final act of the drama played out at her parents’ house—the enemy delegation arrived in full.
“We’re prepared to forget this whole incident,” her mother-in-law declared solemnly, as if granting a royal pardon, “if Alevtina comes back and apologizes.”
Alya’s mother rose from her chair. Small and fragile as she was, she suddenly looked like a warrior.
“Apologize to whom? To your lazy son?”
“He’s not lazy! He’s searching!”
“For a year? Any man would’ve changed ten jobs in that time just to feed his family!”
“Misha isn’t ‘any man’! He has higher education!”
“Which has been lying in the couch cushions for a year!”
“How dare you!”
Alya’s father, who had been holding himself back, finally snapped.
“And how dare you put my daughter in chains? Hang a loan on her through deception?”
“We wanted a beautiful wedding!”
“On someone else’s money! Now let your son figure it out himself!”
“He can’t! He doesn’t have a job!”
“Then let him go get one!”
“Where? Who would hire him?”
“Construction! Warehouse! Janitor! There’s work everywhere!”
Her mother-in-law flared up like a match.
“My son will not be a janitor!”
“Then let his mistress support him!”
“Svetlana is a respectable girl! Not like your daughter!”
“Meeting a married man in secret? Very respectable.”
Misha, who had been sitting in a corner the whole time, suddenly sprang to life.
“Alya, forgive me! I won’t do it again!”
Alya looked at him with curiosity, as if studying a strange animal.
“Won’t do what? Lie? Cheat? Live off me?”
“I’ll find a job!”
“When?”
“Soon!”
“You’ve said ‘soon’ for a year. Enough. Divorce.”
“You’ll regret it!”
“I already don’t.”
Her mother-in-law jumped up.
“We’ll sue you! We’ll make you pay that loan!”
Alya smiled—calmly, almost kindly.
“Go ahead. I have all the evidence. And witnesses. The café was full.”
“What evidence?”
“That you transferred the loan by deception. That you spent the money on yourselves. That Misha hasn’t worked for a year. And that he cheats.”
“Lies!”
“The truth. And the court will confirm it.”
They exchanged glances. Her father-in-law, clearly realizing the bluff wouldn’t work, backed down.
“Fine. Divorce, then. But split the loan.”
“No. You took it—you pay it.”
“That’s illegal!”
“And transferring it through deception is legal?”
There was nothing more to say. They left, slamming the door so hard it rattled—one last chord in the symphony of their outrage.
A month later life began to straighten out. Alya was coming home from work when she spotted a familiar figure. Sveta didn’t look like herself anymore—fatigue lay across her face in heavy shadows.
“Hi,” she said uncertainly.
“Hi.”
“Listen… can I ask something? Is it true Misha didn’t work for a year?”
Alya stopped and studied her former rival.
“It’s true. Why?”
“He moved in with me. Promised he’d find a job. But he just lies around and complains. And his mother keeps calling, demanding I support him.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“I didn’t know… He said you just didn’t understand him…”
“Now you do. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Alya walked on without turning back. Behind her, Sveta stood there—only just beginning to understand what she’d gotten herself into.
At home the air smelled of celebration cake. Her parents sat at the table wearing secretive smiles.
“What are we celebrating?” Alya asked, surprised.
“Your freedom, sweetheart!” her mother hugged her tight. “And your new job!”
“How do you know?”
“They called and congratulated you. We’re proud of you for saying yes.”
Alya laughed. A new position, a new salary, a new life—without parasites, liars, and other people’s ambitions.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Misha: “Alya, let’s meet. I feel terrible.”
She deleted it, blocked his number, and set the phone down.
Enough. She fed a parasite for a year. Not one more second.
Outside, evening was falling—but for the first time in a long time it didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.