“I’m choosing the plot — I’m the man! And you’re the one giving the money for it,” her husband declared resentfully.
“Seriously, Katya? You want to ruin everything over some two-hour drive?!” Igor’s voice trembled with indignation, and his face turned red as if he had just run a marathon.
“Two hours?!” Katya spun away from the kitchen window, where she’d been standing with a cup of cold coffee clasped in her hands. “Igor, it’s four hours round trip! Every weekend! That’s an entire day of our lives spent on the road!”
“And what about our plans? Everything we discussed for months?” He slammed his fist on the table, making the spoons in the glass jump. “We agreed to buy near my parents! They already know, my mom even made a list of the plants we’ll plant…”
Katya slowly set the cup on the windowsill and turned around. Something dangerous flashed in her eyes.
“Your mother made a list? How sweet. And who’s paying for this land, Igor? Who’s investing their money in a plot you can’t reach without wasting a whole day?”
“Our money!” he jumped up from his chair. “It’s our shared money!”
“My money,” Katya said quietly. “Eighty percent of the sum is my money. And I have the right to have a say.”
Silence fell. Igor looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. In a year and a half of marriage, they had never spoken this openly.
“So that’s how it is…” he slowly sat back down. “Now you’re counting pennies? Competing with salaries?”
“I’m not counting pennies.” Katya leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed. “I’m trying to be rational. My father is giving me six sotkas and offering me to buy the neighboring plot from the current owners. That’s another six. So twelve sotkas half an hour from home versus who-knows-how-many sotkas two hours from home.”
“Your dad’s plot,” Igor smirked, though nothing in his smirk was amused. “I see. So my parents don’t fit, but yours are perfect?”
“It’s not about parents!” Katya felt something boiling inside her. “It’s about the fact that I work ten hours a day so we can even afford this plot. And I don’t want to spend another four hours every weekend on the road!”
“Oh, so that’s what it is!” Igor stood up and began pacing the kitchen nervously. “So you’re supporting us? I’m some kind of freeloader, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“You didn’t say it, but you think it!” He whirled around to face her. “You think it every day! Every time you pay the mortgage, the groceries, everything else!”
Katya stayed silent. She couldn’t lie — sometimes she really did think that. Especially when she came home exhausted after a long shift at the beauty salon and found Igor on the couch with a beer, complaining about his low mechanic’s salary.
“You know what,” she said quietly, “maybe I should think about the plot separately from you.”
The words hung in the air like a verdict.
Igor froze in the middle of the kitchen. His face turned gray.
“What did you just say?”
“I said what I said.” Katya lifted her chin. “If it’s so important for you to be near your parents, buy there yourself. And I’ll buy the plot near my father.”
“We’re a family!” he shouted. “Aren’t we?”
“A family makes decisions together, not when one dictates the terms and the other is expected to silently pay!”
Igor clutched his head.
“Katya, what’s happening to you? We love each other… We were planning our future…”
“We were planning,” she nodded. “But for some reason all those plans boiled down to whatever was convenient for your parents.”
“My parents?” He stared at her in confusion. “What do my parents have to do with it?”
“The fact that your mother already made a list of plants! The fact that we never discussed any other options! The fact that when I started talking about rationality, you immediately decided I was against your family!”
Katya approached the table and grabbed her jacket from the chair.
“Where are you going?” Igor asked in fear.
“To my father’s. To look at the plot again. And seriously think about buying.”
“Katya, wait…” He tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away.
“No, I won’t wait. I’m tired of my wishes and my money not meaning anything in our decisions.”
“That’s not true!” He stepped toward the door, blocking her path. “It’s just… just that we already decided everything! My parents are expecting it, they’re counting on us…”
“And who’s counting on me and my needs?” Katya looked him straight in the eyes. “I work every day, I come home with no energy left, and you want me to waste my weekends on four-hour drives?”
“We wouldn’t have to go every weekend…”
“Then what’s the point of buying a dacha at all? For status?”
Igor opened his mouth but said nothing. Something flickered in his eyes — something that made Katya tense.
“Igor? Why do you need that particular plot?”
He looked away.
“I just… I just want to be close to my family…”
“You’re lying,” Katya said quietly. “There’s something else. Tell me the truth.”
A long pause. Igor let out a heavy sigh.
“My father wants to start a small business. A construction crew, and later maybe a building-supplies store. He thinks that if we have a plot nearby, I could… help him. You know, find orders, bring clients…”
“Oh, so that’s what it is!” Katya felt everything inside her twist. “So I’m supposed to buy a plot with my money so you can help your father build his business?”
“No! It’s not like that! It would be good for everyone…”
“For everyone except me!” she yanked the door handle sharply. “I’m going to my father’s. When I come back, I hope you’ll think about what you really want — a family or the chance to carry out your parents’ plans with my money.”
“Katya!”
But the door had already slammed shut.
Her father’s plot was in a quiet corner of the suburbs, surrounded by old pines and birches. Katya walked along the familiar path, breathing in the scent of needles and damp leaves. She had spent her whole childhood here — learned to tell edible mushrooms from poisonous ones, had her first kiss with her first love.
“Thinking?” her father asked. He was sitting on the old swing he once built for her.
“Thinking, Dad.” She sat down on a stump beside him. “How did you know Mom was your person?”
Anatoly Petrovich smirked.
“When on the very first day we met she told me I was hammering nails wrong. And showed me how to do it properly.”
“And you didn’t get offended?”
“I did.” He laughed. “I sulked for three days. Then I realized she was right. And that I liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell the truth.”
Katya stayed silent, looking at the old house of her childhood.
“And Igor is afraid,” she said quietly.
“Afraid of what?”
“That I’m stronger than him. That I earn more. That I can make decisions without him.”
Her father nodded.
“Some men see a woman’s strength as a threat. Others see it as a gift.”
“Dad…” Katya turned to him. “Are you really ready to give me six sotkas?”
“I am. They’re just standing there unused. And you…” he looked at her with pride, “you can build something real here.”
“And if Igor doesn’t agree?”
“Then you’ll build on your own.” Her father rose from the swing. “Katya, you’re a grown woman. You have a profession you love. You have money you earned honestly. And you have the right to happiness. Don’t let anyone — not even your husband — dictate the conditions of that happiness.”
When Katya returned home, it was already dark. Igor was sitting in the kitchen with a notebook, writing something.
“I calculated,” he said without lifting his head. “If we buy the plot near my parents, we’ll have to take out a loan. Your savings are only enough for the down payment.”
Katya took off her jacket and sat across from him.
“And?”
“And that means we’ll be paying the loan for about ten years. But if we buy the plot near your father…” He finally looked up. “We can buy it outright, debt-free.”
“Are you ready to give up the plans with your parents?”
Igor was silent for a long time.
“I’m ready to think about it. But…” he looked at her carefully, “I want to know that this is our shared choice. Not yours. Ours.”
“And are you ready for it to truly be our choice?” Katya asked. “Or do you need me to agree to whatever is convenient for you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “I need time to think.”
“How much time?”
“A week.”
Katya nodded.
“A week it is. But I won’t wait longer. And I won’t change my decision if you aren’t ready to compromise.”
That week dragged on endlessly. They spoke little, carefully avoiding sharp subjects. Igor went to his parents several times and came back gloomy and silent. Katya visited her father every evening after work, walked around the plot, dreamed about the house she could build there.
On Friday, Igor came home with red eyes.
“I argued with my father,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “He doesn’t understand why I changed my mind. Says you influenced me.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That it’s my decision.” He looked at her with tired eyes. “Katya… will we manage? If we buy the plot near your father, if we start building a house… will we manage together?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “But I do know we won’t manage if one of us sees themselves as a victim.”
“And I do feel like a victim,” he admitted quietly. “It feels like because I earn less, my voice sounds quieter.”
Katya came up to him and sat beside him.
“Igor, it’s not about the money. It’s about the fact that when we were making the decision to buy land, you never asked what I wanted. You immediately decided you knew what was best for both of us.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?” he took her hand. “I don’t know how to be your equal.”
“Do you want to learn?”
He nodded.
“Then let’s start with the plot,” Katya said. “Tomorrow we’ll go to my father’s together. You’ll look at the land and tell me what you really think. Honestly. And we’ll make the decision together.”
“And what if I don’t like it?”
“Then we’ll look for a third option.” She squeezed his hand. “An option that works for both of us.”
The next day they drove to her father’s in silence. Katya stared out the window, thinking about how much depended on this trip. Not just the plot — their marriage was hanging by a thread.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Igor said when they reached the land.
“It is,” Katya agreed.
They stood in the middle of the six sotkas her father was ready to give his daughter. Old apple trees, overgrown raspberry bushes, a small pond in the far corner.
“You could build a good house here,” Igor said thoughtfully. “And a workshop. I’ve wanted to get into woodworking for a long time…”
“Really?” Katya was surprised. “You never mentioned it.”
“Talking and doing are different things.” He turned to her. “I’d drive out to a place like this every weekend.”
“So… is that a yes?”
Igor looked at her for a long moment.
“And will you respect me? Even if I earn less than you?”
“I will — if you stop being angry at me because of it.”
“Deal?” He held out his hand.
“Deal,” she shook it.
But as they drove home, Katya thought about how the real test of their relationship was only beginning. Buying the land was just the first step. Ahead of them lay building a house, making hundreds of big and small decisions, and the daily effort of remaining equal partners.
“What are you thinking about?” Igor asked.
“That the plot is only the beginning,” she replied.
“The beginning of what?”
“The beginning of either learning to be a family, or…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Some things were better left unsaid — for now.
“Or what?” he insisted.
“Or realizing that we’re not right for each other.”
Igor remained silent for a long time. Then he said:
“I’ll try. I promise.”
“And I will too,” Katya said.
But deep down she knew: sometimes wanting isn’t enough. Sometimes people simply can’t change enough to become happy together. And a plot of land, no matter how wonderful, can’t change that.
