“Did a good deed—and got blackmailed: either give up the car, or get married again in court, but this time for property division.”
“Either the car or a divorce,” said the greedy toad, not expecting to be sent packing with nothing but a suitcase and an empty fridge.”
“Marina, what would you think if I got married?” asked her father at dinner, looking oddly rejuvenated lately.
“Wonderful!” his daughter replied sincerely. “It’s time to stop being a widower, Dad. You’re still so young and very handsome. I think Mom would be very happy too.”
“You’ll like her,” said her father, pleased that Marina approved of his future marriage. “Oh, and by the way—she has a daughter your age. I think you’ll definitely become friends.”
To be honest, he would have married anyway—he really liked Raisa Mikhailovna. But it was much more pleasant for Vladimir Semenovich that everything was happening in full agreement with his daughter.
Their mother had died when the girl turned ten. Cancer—she was gone within six months. Now beautiful Marina was already twenty-five and had recently gotten married.
The young couple decided to live with Vladimir Semenovich in his large three-room apartment: father and daughter loved each other very much. Besides, it would have been lonely for a man to live alone.
And then he decided to marry! Well, as they say, best wishes to the happy couple.
The new wife didn’t really appeal to the girl. She seemed fine: pretty, not stupid, presentable in public, and a good homemaker.
But something felt off—too sugary-sweet, maybe. Still, if Dad liked her, that was enough; after all, he was the one living with her.
The “young wife” set a condition: move in with me—she had a large apartment in a residential district. Her daughter was also married and living with her husband in a small two-bedroom they had bought on a mortgage.
So Dad moved into a new life; Marina and Roma stayed behind on their own.
The girl was very close to her father, and he to her.
For a long time, she had lived with him and her grandmother, who had come from the village right after the daughter-in-law’s death: one son and a small granddaughter couldn’t manage the household alone.
So Grandma Lida, leaving behind her ducks, chickens, farm, and husband, selflessly rushed to help her son, taking Marina to the village every summer for three months.
After her father moved in with his second wife, Marina missed him very much—they had always been close. So she needed to maintain their relationship.
But as it turned out, she wasn’t welcome there: the new wife had her own daughter, Irochka.
And like in the movies, it was Irochka who got the treats. Marina, figuratively speaking, was always sent into the winter forest to pick snowdrops.
The retired father received a decent military pension. On top of that, he taught basic military training at a school. And he put all his money into the shared household, as he had always done.
If Marina had needed anything, he certainly would have helped his beloved daughter. But she and her husband both worked prestigious jobs with good salaries. So all of Vladimir Semenovich’s income ended up in the clever hands of Raisa.
What else did you expect? Irochka had recklessly gotten herself into a mortgage—with her tastes and desire to live the high life! So her stepfather’s money was very convenient.
And not just his money: the income of his daughter also wouldn’t leave Raisa Mikhailovna in peace.
“Why doesn’t Marina help you?” she asked one evening over dinner.
“Should she?” Volodya reasonably replied.
“Children must help their elderly retired parents!” the woman declared categorically.
“And help with what, may I ask?”
“In general!”
“Well, I have a good income myself, if you haven’t noticed! And you’re not retired yet.”
“Yes, not retired. But Irochka helps me!” Raisa lied—Irochka could barely help herself!
And she looked triumphantly at her husband.
“I don’t need any help!” Vladimir unexpectedly cut her off.
The rest of dinner passed in complete silence: Raisa pouted. He simply didn’t want to talk.
For the first time, Vladimir Semenovich began to think: something about this was starting to smell bad.
He had never controlled his “young” wife’s spending, but suddenly realized that the lion’s share of his money was “dispersing into the area,” disappearing into nowhere.
Well, not exactly nowhere: it was going to a well-known address—Raisa’s daughter, the silly Irochka, a wide-eyed ninny wasting ridiculous sums on the latest smartphone.
The conversation went nowhere. So later the wife made several more attempts in that direction.
But in every case, the man would simply fall silent, unwilling to argue further: it could turn into a quarrel, and Vladimir was not a confrontational person.
More and more often, he began to think that not everything that glitters is gold. And that perhaps he had rushed into marriage a little too quickly.
To be honest, Vladimir Semenovich would have gladly gone back to his previous calm and comfortable life. But he was ashamed: to make such a blunder at his age!
So he left everything as it was: let things run their course. And Irka kept receiving money to cover her mortgage.
A year passed. In his daughter’s family with Roma, everything was peaceful. Vladimir noticed his wife’s hostility toward Marina and began visiting them himself after work.
He tried not to advertise these visits after Raisa had thrown an unexpected tantrum about it.
“But why, Raya?” her husband was bewildered. “What’s so terrible if I drop by to see my girl?”
“You have no business being there!”
“So you can traipse over to Irka’s twice a week, but I can’t visit my daughter once a month?” said the usually polite man, suddenly making it personal. “Why?”
“Because she’ll squeeze money out of you!”
“I think you’re looking in the wrong direction when it comes to money-squeezing. Marina, of all people, doesn’t do that.”
“What are you hinting at?” Raisa bristled—her sore spot had been touched: her beloved Irka had no idea how to handle money.
“I’m not hinting at anything,” her husband replied wearily. “I’m just very tired of these constant money talks.”
And he walked into another room. Raisa, meanwhile, started thinking about what else she could do to increase the financial flow from her husband’s relatives: after all, Marisha and Roma were doing quite well, as she heard from mutual acquaintances.
Another month passed, and Roma bought himself a good, rather expensive foreign car. And they didn’t even have to sell the old one: their salaries allowed it!
To celebrate, the young couple decided to host a small gathering at a café. They invited family and a couple of friends to share congratulations—this was a big event these days!—and to enjoy themselves.
“So, what are you planning to do with the old car?” Raisa Mikhailovna asked once everyone had satisfied their initial hunger.
“What’s there to do with it?” Roma replied casually. “It’s sitting in the garage, not asking for food! Besides, Marisha wants to learn to drive—she said she doesn’t want to fall behind me!” He looked at his wife with love.
“Well, I think you should give the old car to Irochka!” the woman suddenly announced.
“And why would we do that?” Marina asked, genuinely surprised. “On what grounds?”
“Because you should share, as the Lord says! Why not help your sister?”
“You have, if I’m not mistaken, two coffee machines. But I didn’t notice any desire to give one to us,” Marina replied calmly.
Then she added:
“And besides, not long ago Ira and her husband came back from an overseas vacation. Before that, she got some very expensive implants—she bragged about them herself!
I spent the whole summer at the dacha, and I don’t have implants. Why not use that money to buy herself even a cheap car?”
“Implants are none of your business!” Raisa flared up.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Marina unexpectedly agreed. “But then we’ll decide ourselves who gets our cars.”
“And you, dear son-in-law,” the woman turned to Roma, “you could also help your relatives.”
“Share, you mean?” Roman asked sweetly.
“Yes, share! And stop making that face!”
“I’m not an amoeba to share,” Roma unexpectedly cut her off, always polite until now. “Besides, I noticed two diamond rings on Ira’s fingers.
So, by your theory, dear Raisa Mikhailovna, your daughter should immediately take off one of them and give it to Marisha—she doesn’t have a single one!
Then, maybe, I’ll consider your idea of giving our old car for your use!”
The table fell silent. But the father’s wife would not back down—nor did she intend to share her daughter’s diamonds, earned through “hard work”: two sparkling rings…
“All right! If you won’t give the car to us, give it to your father!” she suggested.
“What for?” asked Vladimir Semenovich, who had been silent until then. “I manage fine with public transport. And if I need to—I’ll call a taxi. I still have money for that!”
“What money!” Raisa snapped.
Everyone exchanged surprised looks: his military pension plus a teacher’s salary made for a decent sum.
“Then I’m filing for divorce!” shouted the beautiful woman, suddenly turning into a market shrew.
“What do you mean—divorce?” Vladimir Semenovich was taken aback. “I don’t understand!”
“What’s there to understand: either divorce or give us the car!”
Father paused for a moment, then quietly said:
“Then, of course, only divorce.”
Raisa Mikhailovna had not expected this at all. Losing a good source of money because of her own foolishness was never part of the plan—the mortgage still had years to go!
And she had been eating much better lately: her half-time salary left much to be desired.
“I’m filing for divorce!” she repeated, but now with less certainty.
“I heard you, Raya,” her husband said tiredly. “I agree.”
“And I’ll divide the property!”
“Divide away—that’s your favorite hobby! But what do you think you’ll divide? We haven’t acquired any joint property. Unless, of course, you mean Roma’s newly bought car!”
At that, one of Marina’s friends burst out laughing, and soon everyone joined in, except Raisa’s daughter and her son-in-law.
Marina then said:
“Well, Mom and Sister, I see you’ve eaten. We’ve discussed everything, so we won’t keep you. You’d better hurry if you want to file your paperwork—the court closes soon.”
Raisa was silent, digesting what she’d heard. Then she nodded to Ira and her husband, and they all stood up and left without a word.
“Well, you see how it turned out?” Vladimir Semenovich said sadly, clearly ashamed of his wife, who turned out not to be a princess, but a wart-covered toad. “And I was planning to divorce anyway.
But I kept putting it off: first, I had to admit to myself that I’d made a fool of myself, and that’s the hardest thing.”
“Dad, it’s not the end of the world!” said Marina. “You’re amazing! And your lady friend is to blame herself: no need to lay claim to what isn’t hers!”
“Exactly!” agreed the friends and Marina’s husband.
Then the slightly gloomy—but still dashing—Vladimir Semenovich stood up and raised a toast:
“Well then, let’s drink to making sure there are no foolish women blocking our roads in the wrong places!”
And Roma added:
“Who’ll have no one to blame but themselves later!”
And he clinked glasses with his father-in-law.
