Larisa stood at the kitchen window, watching the neighbor load a stroller into the trunk of her car. Forty-one years old, and she still depended on public transport and the rare chances to borrow her husband’s car.
Her design projects were scattered all over the city, clients insisted on meetings at inconvenient times, and she dragged herself through crowded buses with her portfolio tucked under her arm.
— Lar, what are you thinking about? — Igor walked into the kitchen, sipping coffee from his favorite mug.
— Oh, nothing special. — She turned away from the window. — Just thinking about work.
Igor came closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Years of marriage had taught him how to read between the lines.
— Thinking about the car again?
Larisa tensed slightly in his embrace. They had already discussed this topic more than once. His old Honda was always in use — his construction job required constant trips to different sites.
— One can’t just dream forever, — she said, trying to sound carefree. — My birthday’s coming soon… maybe a fairy with a magic wand will show up.
Igor kept silent, but something in his eyes changed. Larisa didn’t notice — she was already mapping out in her head the route to her next client with three transfers.
For the next two weeks, Igor behaved strangely. Long phone conversations he would cut short when she walked into the room. Mysterious smiles and vague answers to direct questions. Larisa began to suspect he was up to something.
— Igor, you do remember that I turn thirty-five in a week? — she asked at dinner, studying his face.
— Of course I remember. What, you think I forgot? — He looked almost offended. — I have a surprise for you.
— What kind of surprise?
— If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, — he winked. — But I think you’ll like it.
On Saturday morning, Igor woke unusually early and spent a long time in the bathroom, humming in the shower. Larisa lay in bed, listening to his simple tune, and felt her mood lifting.
— Dress nicely, — he said, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. — We’re going out on some business.
— What kind of business on a Saturday morning?
— You’ll see.
An hour later they were standing in a used car lot. Larisa looked at the rows of cars, unable to believe her eyes.
— Igor, are you serious?
— Pick one, — he said with a wide smile. — From what we can afford, of course. But choose.
Larisa walked around the lot twice. The red 2018 Mazda caught her attention immediately — compact, economical, yet roomy enough for her work materials.
— This one, — she said, unable to hide her excitement. — Can we look at it?
The salesman, a pleasant middle-aged man, praised the car sincerely. Papers were in order, condition excellent, one owner. Igor asked practical questions about fuel consumption and spare parts, while Larisa just sat behind the wheel imagining driving to work, free of bus schedules and rush-hour crowds.
— Deal, — Igor said, shaking the man’s hand. — We’ll pick it up Monday afternoon.
On the way home Larisa kept thanking her husband. She was already planning where to park it, what music she’d listen to, how surprised her colleagues would be. Her birthday promised to be truly special.
On Sunday evening, Igor’s sister Vika called. Larisa disliked these calls — they usually meant Vika needed something. Borrowing money, help with a move, solving another everyday problem. At thirty-five, Vika still hadn’t learned to handle difficulties on her own, preferring to turn to her older brother.
— Igor, I need to talk to you seriously, — Larisa overheard from the hallway.
The conversation lasted about an hour. Igor spoke quietly, but Larisa caught the intonation — first surprise, then sympathy, then something like resolve. When he returned to the living room, his face looked troubled.
— What happened? — Larisa asked, tearing herself away from the TV.
— Vika’s got problems, — he sighed heavily. — She… she’s pregnant.
— Pregnant? — Larisa stared at him. — And the baby’s father?
— She says it’s complicated. There’s no one she can count on. She’ll raise it alone.
Larisa nodded, but something clenched inside. She knew Vika well enough to understand — any problem of hers sooner or later became Igor’s problem too.
— And what does she want?
— Nothing concrete yet. Just… support.
On Monday morning, on her thirty-fifth birthday, Larisa woke with a festive anticipation. She already pictured how, after work, they would pick up the car, how she would drive it for the first time through the familiar streets.
Igor was unusually quiet at breakfast. Several times he started to say something, but stopped short.
— Why so gloomy on my birthday? — Larisa asked, pouring him coffee.
— Lar, I need to tell you something.
There was something in his tone that made her blood run cold.
— I’m listening.
— Vika called again last night. She… she really begged. She really needs a car. To take the baby around, go to doctors. And she has nothing.
Larisa set her cup down on the table and looked at her husband. In his eyes, she saw guilt and a kind of painful resolve.
— So?
— Sorry, but your gift will go to your sister—she needs it to take the baby around, — my husband decided to give away my car, but not so fast.
Larisa felt as if the world around her had frozen. Her husband’s words sounded unreal, as if she were hearing them through thick glass.
— Repeat that, — she said quietly.
— Look, Lar, try to understand. Vika’s situation right now…
— Repeat what you just said.
Igor sighed and repeated it, though less confidently:
— Vika will get the car. She needs it more.
Larisa stood up from the table. Her hands didn’t tremble, her voice was steady, but inside she was boiling.
— I see. Then I have something to tell you too. — She leaned on the back of the chair. — If you’re planning to arrange your little sister’s fate, then move in with her. Out of my apartment. In my car, the one you decided to give her.
— Lar, what are you saying? I don’t understand…
— There’s nothing to understand. This is my late mother’s apartment, it belongs to me. And the car you promised me was supposed to be mine too. If you think Vika’s problems are more important than our relationship—fine. But then live with her and solve her problems.
— You can’t be serious…
— I am more than serious. — Larisa looked at him intently. — I will file for divorce. And this is not a joke, and not an attempt to scare you. I’m just tired of being second to your sister.
Igor turned pale. In all the years of marriage, he had seen his wife tired, upset, sometimes irritated. But he had never heard such cold determination in her voice.
— Larisa, wait. Let’s discuss…
— There’s nothing to discuss. You made your decision—I made mine. You have until tonight to think about what’s more important to you.
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
— Where are you going?
— To work. On my birthday. By bus. As usual.
The door closed with a soft click.
At work, Larisa threw herself into projects. Colleagues congratulated her, asked about evening plans, but she answered briefly. By lunchtime, her phone was ringing constantly with calls from Igor, but she didn’t pick up.
Around three o’clock, Vika called.
— Larisa, what is this childishness? Igor says you’re arguing over the car.
— Hello, Vika. Not about the car. About my husband thinking it’s normal to give away someone else’s gift without asking the person it was meant for.
— Oh, come on! It’s just a car. I’m having a baby, I really need it more.
— Vika, have you thought about getting a job and buying a car yourself? Like adults do?
— I’m pregnant! It’s hard for me!
— I see. Maybe it’s time to grow up?
Larisa hung up. Her hands shook with anger, but she felt a strange relief too. For many years, she had tolerated Vika’s interests always coming first in their family. Today, her patience had run out.
She returned home around seven in the evening. Igor was sitting in the kitchen, hair disheveled, staring at the wall.
— Well, have you decided? — she asked, taking off her jacket.
— Lar, I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I mean, I thought you’d understand. Vika’s pregnant…
— Igor, I’m thirty-five. I’ve dreamed of a car my whole adult life. You promised to give it to me, I believed you, I was happy. And then you decided your sister was more important than your wife. Am I understanding this correctly?
— It’s not like that…
— How is it, then?
Igor was silent, then sighed heavily:
— I called the seller. Told him we’d take the car as planned.
— And?
— I also told Vika there wouldn’t be a car. She… she was very upset.
— I can imagine. And what did she say?
— She called me… I won’t repeat it. She said I was betraying the family for my wife.
Larisa snorted:
— Funny. So a wife isn’t family?
— Of course she is family. Lar, forgive me. I gave in to her tears, didn’t think about you. Shall we go get the car tomorrow?
Larisa looked at her husband carefully. In his eyes, she saw genuine remorse, but also something else—fear of losing her.
— Fine. Let’s go.
The next day they picked up the red Mazda. The salesman looked at them curiously—apparently yesterday’s phone conversations had seemed odd. Larisa sat behind the wheel, carefully drove out of the lot, and finally felt truly free.
Vika didn’t call for three days. When she finally did, her voice sounded uncertain.
— Igor, I need to tell you something, — Larisa overheard from the hallway.
The conversation was short. When Igor returned to the room, his face was both confused and angry.
— What happened? — Larisa asked.
— Vika admitted she isn’t pregnant. She said she lied because she thought—since you’re buying the car, she could ask for it.
Larisa put down the magazine she had been flipping through and looked at her husband:
— So she deliberately lied to you to get my gift?
— That’s what it seems.
— And what did you tell her?
— That I don’t want to talk to her anymore. At least, for a while.
Larisa nodded. She didn’t feel triumphant—only tired from the pointless drama they had all endured.
— Igor, do you realize that if I hadn’t issued the ultimatum, you would have given her the car? And we would never have known that she was lying?
Igor sat on the sofa beside her:
— I know. And I also know that I act like an idiot when it comes to Vika. She’s always known how to pressure me.
— That’s no excuse.
— I know. I’m sorry. And… thank you for not letting me make a foolish mistake.
Larisa took his hand:
— Next time, before making decisions that affect both of us, consult me. Agreed?
— Agreed.
Outside, the city buzzed with evening life. In the yard stood the red Mazda, no longer just a means of transportation, but a symbol that there are boundaries in a family that must not be crossed. And that sometimes you have to be ready to defend them.
Larisa leaned back against the sofa and thought that her thirty-fifth birthday, even if a day late, had indeed become special. Not just because of the car, but because she had finally said what she should have said many years ago.
Vika never wished her a happy birthday. But Larisa wasn’t upset—some relationships are better left unmaintained than upheld on false pretenses. And every morning, the car waited for her in the yard, ready to take her wherever she needed to go, without regard for bus schedules or other people’s plans.
