— We’ll take my mom out to a restaurant for New Year’s, so transfer your salary to my card, Katya’s husband announced.

— We’ll take my mom out to a restaurant for New Year’s, so transfer your salary to my card, Katya’s husband announced.

— Katya, when do you get paid? On Friday, right?

Katya stopped in the doorway of the hall, her keys still in her hand. Pasha came out of the room, his phone glowing in his palm. It was December twentieth, eight in the evening; outside, a blizzard was raging, while inside it was warm and smelled of fried potatoes.

— Tomorrow, she replied, pulling off her boots. Why?
— Great. Then for New Year’s we’ll take my mom to a restaurant, so transfer your salary to my card.
Katya straightened up; the bag with her documents slid off her shoulder onto the floor.
— What? Sorry?

— For New Year’s we’ll take my mom to a restaurant, he repeated, burying his face in his screen again, scrolling through something. I’ve already booked a table at Panorama on Sovetskaya. It’s a nice place—Mom’s wanted to go there for a long time.

Katya slowly picked up her bag and went into the kitchen. She switched on the kettle. Her head was buzzing after a long workday—clients had been calling nonstop from morning till night, all demanding deliveries of construction materials before the holidays, as if the world would grind to a halt without their bricks and cement.

— Pasha, she called, come here.

He came into the kitchen and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
— I’m listening.
— We’ve always celebrated New Year’s at home. Or at my mom’s. Why a restaurant?
Pasha sighed the way one sighs at a slow child.

— Because my mom worked like a dog all year without a vacation. You know how it is at her clinic—the chief accountant is always piling work on them. She deserves a proper celebration. Not standing at the stove in the kitchen, but something decent.
— All right, Katya nodded, taking a mug from the cupboard. And will my mom be coming too?
— Yours? Pasha frowned. Why?

— What do you mean, why? It’s New Year’s. A holiday. We’ve always celebrated together.
— Katya, try to understand. Mom specifically chose this place. She wants to spend the evening in a small circle. You, me, and her. You know—real family.
Katya put the mug down on the table and sat on a stool.

— And my mom? Will she be left alone?
Pasha shrugged.
— Lyudmila Petrovna is a modest person. She’ll be fine at home. She’s not used to places like that anyway.

— Not used to them? Katya’s voice dropped. Pasha, my mom has worked as a nurse for twenty years. She’s just as much a person as yours. Why should she sit alone while we’re at a restaurant?

— Because, — he straightened up, his voice turning harsher, — my mother deserves it. She raised me, invested in me. And Lyudmila Petrovna… well, she’s a simple person. Watching TV is enough for her.

Katya was silent. She looked at her husband as if seeing him for the first time. Four years of marriage—and only now had she heard these words.

— Besides, — Pasha went on, — I’ve already allocated the money. Thirty thousand for earrings for Mom—gold ones, she’s wanted them for a long time. Plus utilities, plus the car loan. So the restaurant will be paid only from your salary.

— We were saving for a vacation, Katya said quietly. We wanted to go to the sea this summer. Remember?

— We’ll go, he waved it off. We’ll save more. Katya, don’t freak out. It’s only once a year. A holiday.

— A holiday for your mom. And for mine?

Pasha rolled his eyes.

— Oh God, why are you clinging to this? If you want, invite your mom too. Pay another fifteen thousand and let her come.

— I don’t have fifteen thousand, Katya said. After your forty-five thousand, I’ll have ten left. For the whole month.

— Then it’s not meant to be, he spread his hands. Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just turned out that way.

He left the kitchen. Katya stayed sitting at the table. The kettle had boiled long ago and switched itself off. Outside, the blizzard howled. Somewhere in the neighboring apartment a baby was crying—the Beregovs’, the young neighbors, had recently had a son.

Katya took out her phone and opened her banking app. Her salary would arrive tomorrow. Fifty-two thousand. Forty-five of it to Pasha. That would leave seven thousand for groceries, for a transit pass, for everything else until next month.

She glanced at the calendar above the refrigerator. December twentieth. Ten days until New Year’s. Ten days until her mother would be left alone.

Katya got up and went into the room. Pasha was lying on the couch, watching some video on his phone.

— Pasha.

— Hm?

— I’ll transfer the money. But I want you to understand something. My mom will be alone. The first New Year after Dad died she wasn’t alone, because we were with her. And all the ones after that, too. And now, for the first time, she’ll be completely alone. Is that normal for you?

Pasha propped himself up on one elbow.

— Katya, your mom is an adult woman. She’ll manage. Besides, she has that neighbor—what’s her name—Vera Mikhailovna. They’ll celebrate together if anything.

— Vera Mikhailovna is going to Tver to visit her daughter, Katya said. Mom will be alone.

— Then invite her over, he said. In the evening, after the restaurant. We’ll be back by midnight.

— By midnight? Katya sat on the edge of the couch. Pasha, the restaurant is open until morning. Your mom will want to stay.

— Then we’ll stay, he lay back down, burying himself in his phone again. Once a year. Mom deserves it.

Katya said nothing more. She stood up and left. Sat in the kitchen. Took out her phone and texted her mom: “How are you?”

The reply came a minute later: “Fine, sweetheart. How’s work?”

“Okay. Tired. Mom, what are you doing for New Year’s?”

A pause. Three dots appeared on the screen, showing that her mom was typing. Then they disappeared. Appeared again.

“I’ll stay home. Watch TV. They’re broadcasting a concert.”

“Alone?”

Another pause.

“Yes. Why, are you worried? Don’t be, Katyusha. I’m used to it.”

Katya put the phone down on the table. Sat and covered her face with her hands. Music was playing behind the wall—the Beregovs were probably putting their son to sleep. A quiet lullaby.

The next day, December twenty-first, Katya received her salary. At lunchtime she transferred forty-five thousand to Pasha. He sent back a thumbs-up emoji.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Mom will be happy.”

Katya didn’t reply. She put the phone in her desk drawer and went back to work. On her computer screen glowed an order—another client demanding delivery of blocks by the twenty-fifth. Katya began filling out the invoice.

— Shisterova, how are you? — Vera Kolesnikova, her colleague and friend, peeked into the office. — You look kind of rumpled.

— I’m fine, Katya said without looking away from the screen.

Vera came in and closed the door behind her.

— Lie more. What happened?

Katya was silent, continuing to type numbers into the table. Vera sat on the edge of the desk.

— Shisterova, I’m waiting.

— Pasha decided to celebrate New Year’s at a restaurant. With his mother. The three of us.

— So what? Vera didn’t get it. — You’ll go and celebrate.

— And my mom will stay home. Alone.

Vera froze.

— Wait. So Pasha took money for a restaurant for his mother, and your mom will be alone at home?

— Yes.

— And you agreed?

Katya stopped typing and leaned back in her chair.

— What was I supposed to do? He already booked the table. Bought his mom earrings for thirty thousand. Said his mom deserves a holiday.

— My God, Katya, Vera jumped off the desk. — Do you hear yourself? He didn’t even ask your opinion! He just ordered you to give him the money and go where he wants!

— Don’t shout, Katya glanced at the door. — They’ll hear.

— Let them! Vera waved her hand, though she lowered her voice. — Katya, this isn’t normal. Your mom was left alone after your father… well, you know. It’s been ten years, but she never met anyone. She’s alone! And the first New Year after he passed you were with her! And now you’re abandoning her for your mother-in-law’s whim?!

— Don’t say it like that, Katya turned back to the computer. — Natalya Anatolyevna really does work a lot.

— So what?! Does your mother work less?! She works as a nurse in a children’s clinic! You told me yourself what those shifts are like—twelve hours, without a proper lunch!

Katya was silent. Vera sat back on the desk and leaned closer.

— Listen to me carefully. Pasha is a mama’s boy. I realized that back at your wedding, when Natalya Anatolyevna changed the seating plan three times because she didn’t like her seat. And you silently put up with it. Four years you’ve been putting up with it. And you know where this leads?

— Where? Katya looked at her friend.

— To the day you wake up and realize there are three people in this marriage. You, Pasha, and his mother. And his mother comes first. Always.

Katya didn’t answer. Vera sighed and slid off the desk.

— At least think about it. Okay?

She left. Katya stayed sitting in front of the computer. The cursor blinked in an empty cell of the table.

That evening Katya came home and tried once more to talk to her husband. Pasha was sitting in the kitchen, chewing a sandwich and watching something on his tablet.

— Pasha, let’s discuss New Year’s again.

He looked up, chewed, swallowed.

— What’s there to discuss? Everything’s decided.

— No, not everything. I want my mom to be with us too.

Pasha set the tablet aside and wiped his hands with a napkin.

— Katya, we’ve been through this. I explained. Mom wants to spend the evening with close people. You, me, and her. Do you understand?

— And my mom isn’t a close person?

— She is, he nodded. — But it’s different. She’s the mother-in-law. Not my own mother.

Katya sat down opposite him.

— Pasha, are you serious right now? A mother-in-law isn’t a real mother, so she can sit alone at home on New Year’s?

— That’s not what I meant, he grimaced. — It’s just that my mom has already planned everything. She doesn’t like it when plans change. You know what she’s like.

— I know, Katya nodded tiredly. — That’s why I’m asking. Maybe you could call her? Tell her there’ll be one more person?

— Katya, why? Pasha picked up his sandwich again. — She’ll be upset. She’ll say I don’t appreciate her efforts. You know how she reacts to things like that.

— I do, Katya stood up. — And how my mom reacts when she realizes her daughter abandoned her on a holiday—that doesn’t matter?

Pasha fell silent. Finished his sandwich. Got up, went to the sink, washed his hands.

— Your mom is a reasonable woman, he said, drying his hands with a towel. — She’ll understand. And my mom won’t. So let’s not upset her.

Katya wanted to reply, but he had already left the kitchen. She stayed standing by the table. Snow was falling outside. On the windowsill lay a tear-off calendar—December twenty-first.

The next day, the twenty-second, Katya had to stay late at work. A major client demanded urgent delivery—a whole truck of cement to a construction site outside the city. Her boss, Oleg Krasnikov, asked Katya to personally oversee the shipment. She agreed—after transferring forty-five thousand to Pasha, she needed the money, and overtime was paid extra.

She got home around nine in the evening. Opened the door and heard voices in the kitchen. A woman’s voice. Natalya Anatolyevna.

— Pasha, are you sure she’ll dress appropriately? This is a respectable place.

— Mom, don’t worry. Katya’s reasonable.

— I’m not talking about reasonableness, her mother-in-law said irritably. — I’m talking about taste. Remember what she wore to your corporate party two years ago? That black sack of a thing.

— That was a dress, Pasha laughed.

— A dress, a sack, Natalya Anatolyevna clicked her tongue. — Anyway, make sure she dresses properly. So I don’t blush in front of people.

Katya stood in the hallway listening. She pulled off her boots and listened as her mother-in-law discussed her taste. Pasha didn’t object. He just laughed.

She hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. Natalya Anatolyevna was sitting at the table with a mug in front of her. Pasha was standing by the window.

— Ah, Katya, her mother-in-law turned to her. — You’re home. Where have you been?

— Working, Katya replied curtly.

— I see, Natalya Anatolyevna nodded. — Well, the holidays are coming—you’ll get some rest. By the way, Pasha said you transferred the money for the restaurant. Thank you. It’ll be a lovely evening.

Katya silently walked past, opened the refrigerator, and took out a yogurt.

— Pasha and I were discussing the evening’s program, her mother-in-law continued. — I want us to arrive at seven. There’ll be live music, a cello. Very atmospheric.

— Fine, Katya opened the yogurt.

— And one more thing, Katya, Natalya Anatolyevna looked at her. — Please dress properly. This isn’t some little café in the courtyard. The crowd there is respectable.

Katya froze with the spoon in her hand.

— And how do I usually dress?

— You know, her mother-in-law waved her hand. — Your whole wardrobe is those… office suits. Gray, black. You need something festive. Dressy.

— I have a black dress, Katya said. — The one I wore to the corporate party.

Natalya Anatolyevna grimaced.

— Didn’t Pasha tell you? I’ll buy you a dress. I’ll choose it myself. A proper one. A beautiful one. So you look presentable.

Katya set the yogurt down on the table.

— Natalya Anatolyevna, thank you, but there’s no need. I have something to wear.

— Don’t argue, her mother-in-law cut her off. I’ve already decided. Tomorrow I’ll go to the store and choose something. And by the way, you should go to a hairdresser. Because that haircut of yours… well, you know.

Katya looked at Pasha. He said nothing. He stood by the window, staring at his phone, not even lifting his eyes.

— Pasha, she called.

— Hm? He glanced up from the screen.

— Don’t you want to say anything?

— About what?

— About what your mother just said.

Pasha shrugged.

— Well, Mom wants you to look nice. What’s wrong with that?

Katya wanted to reply, but her mother-in-law interrupted her:

— Exactly! Pasha is absolutely right. I’m not doing this out of spite. I want the evening to be perfect. For everything to look beautiful. Do you understand?

— I understand, Katya said quietly.

Natalya Anatolyevna finished her drink, stood up.

— All right, I have to go. See you tomorrow, Katya. I’ll bring the dress. And you make an appointment with a hairdresser. For the thirtieth, for example.

She left. Pasha walked her to the door. Katya stayed in the kitchen, standing and looking out the window. The snow had stopped. The sky was black, starless.

Pasha came back.

— Why are you sulking? he asked. Mom had good intentions.

— Good intentions, Katya echoed. Pasha, do you realize what she just said? That my taste is bad. That my haircut is bad. That I look inappropriate.

— That’s not what she meant, he waved it off. She’s just worried everything goes well.

— And you? Katya turned to him. What do you think? Do I look bad?

Pasha hesitated.

— No, of course not. You look fine. It’s just… Mom is used to a certain style. You know. She’s an accountant at the clinic—there’s a strict dress code. She appreciates when people look… well, solid.

— Solid, Katya nodded. I see.

She took the yogurt and went into the room. Pasha stayed in the kitchen.

On December twenty-sixth Katya called her mother. Lyudmila Petrovna answered right away; her voice sounded tired.

— Katyusha, hi, sweetheart.

— Hi, Mom. How are you?

— Oh, fine. Lots of work—before the holidays it’s always like this. Today we did medical checkups, tons of kids.

Katya lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

— Mom, what are you doing for New Year’s?

A pause.

— I’ll stay home. Watch TV.

— Alone?

— Katya, don’t worry so much. I’m an adult. I’ll manage.

— Mom, I feel sorry for you.

Lyudmila Petrovna sighed softly.

— Don’t feel sorry for me. You have your own life. You’re married. You should be with your husband.

— And with his mother, Katya added.

— Yes, her mom was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, Listen—Natalya Anatolyevna… is she a good person?

Katya closed her eyes.

— I don’t know, Mom. Honestly. I don’t know.

— I see, her mom fell silent again. Then she added, The main thing is that you’re okay. Do you understand? I’ll get through one evening. But you… you have to be happy.

— I’m not happy, Mom, Katya opened her eyes. I feel awful. Because you’ll be alone, and I’ll be in a restaurant eating expensive food and pretending everything is fine.

— Katyusha, her mom said firmly, don’t talk like that. He’s your husband. He wants to do something nice for his mother. That’s normal. Don’t blame him.

— I’m not blaming him, Katya sat up. I just… Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it turned out this way.

— Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. Truly. It’s all right.

But her mom’s voice trembled. Katya heard it. And in that moment she understood: her mother was holding on with all her strength, pretending everything was fine so her daughter wouldn’t worry.

— Mom, I love you.

— And I love you, Katyusha. Very much.

They said goodbye. Katya set her phone down on the couch and sat in silence. Pasha came into the room.

— Who were you talking to?

— My mom.

— How is she?

— Bad, Katya looked at her husband. Pasha, she’s not okay. She’ll be alone on New Year’s.

He sat down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

— Katya, why are you winding yourself up? Your mom is a strong woman. She’ll manage. One evening. It’s not a big deal.

— It’s not a big deal to you, Katya shrugged his hand off. Because your mom won’t be alone. She’ll be in a restaurant. On my dime.

Pasha pressed his lips together.

— There you go again. Katya, I explained. My mom deserves it.

— And mine doesn’t? Katya stood up. My mom has been alone for ten years after Dad died. She works as a nurse, takes two shifts just to make ends meet. Doesn’t she deserve at least not to be alone on a holiday?

— She does, Pasha stood up too. But I can’t make everyone happy! I chose my mom. That’s normal.

— No, Katya shook her head. It’s not normal. What would be normal is asking me. Asking what I think. But you just ordered me. Give me the money, and that’s that.

Pasha stepped toward the door.

— You know what, Katya? I’m tired of these talks. The decision is made. Period. If you feel that sorry for your mom, invite her over after the restaurant. We’ll be back by midnight.

— You said we’d stay until morning, Katya reminded him.

— Well, maybe we’ll leave earlier, he shrugged. We’ll see.

He left. Katya remained standing in the middle of the room.

The next day, December twenty-seventh, Natalya Anatolyevna called Katya at the office. The secretary transferred the call to Katya.

— Yekaterina, it’s me.

— Hello, Natalya Anatolyevna.

— I wanted to talk about the menu. Pasha gave me your card details—I want to add a few things to the order.

Katya froze with the receiver to her ear.

— Sorry—what card?

— The one you used to transfer money for the restaurant. Pasha gave me the details so I could adjust things if needed.

Katya went cold.

— Natalya Anatolyevna, that’s my personal card.

— So what? her mother-in-law spoke irritably. Pasha gave it to me, which means he allowed it. Don’t worry, I’ll stay within the budget. I just want to add red caviar and a couple bottles of good wine.

— How much will that cost? Katya asked.

— Oh, about eight thousand. Maybe nine.

Katya closed her eyes.

— Natalya Anatolyevna, can I talk to Pasha first?

— Talk about what? her mother-in-law raised her voice. Yekaterina, this is my holiday! I want everything perfect! And you’re interrogating me! Pasha allowed it, do you understand?! Allowed it!

— All right, Katya said quietly. All right. Add it.

— That’s a good girl, her mother-in-law instantly changed her tone. I knew you’d understand. You’re a sensible girl, after all. Even if you do wear those jeans all the time.

She hung up. Katya set the phone down on the desk, opened her banking app, and checked the balance. Eight thousand two hundred rubles had indeed been charged. Ten minutes ago.

She stood up and left the office, walked into the corridor, pulled out her phone, and called Pasha. He didn’t answer right away.

— Yeah, Katya.

— Did you give your mother access to my card?

A pause.

— Well… technically, yes.

— How could you?! Katya almost shouted. Those are my money! My card—personal!

— Katya, calm down, Pasha spoke quietly, apparently at work. Mom just wanted to adjust the menu. I gave her the details so she could add a couple items. It’s not a big deal.

— Eight thousand, Pasha! Katya clenched the phone in her hand. She charged eight thousand without my consent!

— Well, it’s not a million, he sighed. Katya, why are you freaking out? Mom wants caviar and wine. It’s a holiday. Once a year.

— Pasha, I didn’t agree to this. Do you understand? You gave a stranger access to my account!

— A stranger?! Pasha’s voice hardened. That’s my MOTHER! She’s not a stranger!

— To my bank account she is, Katya exhaled. Pasha, it’s illegal. It’s… how is this even—?

— Listen, I’m at work, Pasha cut her off. We’ll talk tonight. And stop hysterics. Mom tried, chose the best. And you’re causing a scene.

He hung up. Katya stood in the corridor staring at her phone. Oleg Krasnikov, her boss, walked past, saw her, and stopped.

— Shisterova, everything okay?

— Yes, Katya nodded quickly. Everything’s fine.

He looked at her closely.

— You’re pale. Maybe go home?

— No, thank you. I’ll finish my work.

He nodded and went on. Katya returned to her office, sat down at her desk, opened the order spreadsheet, and started filling in the next line. But her hands were shaking.

That evening at home there was a fight. Katya came in and immediately started:

— Pasha, we need to talk.

He was sitting on the couch watching hockey.

— After the game.

— Now, Katya walked over, took the remote, and turned off the TV.

Pasha turned to her.

— What the hell are you doing?

— You gave your mother access to my card. She charged eight thousand. Without my permission. Do you realize how wrong that is?

Pasha stood up.

— I realize you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Mom added a couple items to the menu. So what?

— So it’s my money! Katya stepped toward him. Mine! I earned it! And I get to decide what I spend it on!

— You did decide, Pasha crossed his arms. When you transferred forty-five thousand. The rest is pocket change.

— Eight thousand isn’t pocket change!

— To me it is, he shrugged. Katya, you’ve got problems with priorities. You can’t tell what matters from what doesn’t. What matters is my mom being happy—she deserves it. And you’re clinging to a few pennies.

Katya took a step back.

— Pennies. Eight thousand rubles—pennies.

— Yeah, Pasha spread his hands. In the grand scheme of the holiday—pennies. Katya, why are you freaking out? I don’t get it.

— You don’t get it, she repeated. Fine. Then let me explain. I have two thousand rubles left to live on until the end of the month. Because you took forty-five, your mom charged eight, and I have two thousand left for food, my transit pass, and everything else. Do you get that?

Pasha was silent. Then he said:

— Well, I can lend you some.

— Lend me, Katya laughed. From my own money.

— Katya, I don’t want to fight, Pasha came closer. Let’s not ruin the holiday. It’ll all work out. You’ll make it to payday somehow. You’ll just live more frugally for a couple weeks. You won’t die.

Katya stared at him—at the husband she’d lived with for four years—as if seeing him for the first time.

— I won’t die, she repeated. Right.

She turned and went to the bedroom. Lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Pasha didn’t follow. He turned the TV back on. The game continued.

On December twenty-ninth Natalya Anatolyevna came with the dress. Katya was home; Pasha was at work. Her mother-in-law rang the doorbell and came in with a large bag from an expensive store.

— Katya, look what I bought you!

She laid a dark blue dress on the couch—long, closed, with a high collar. Completely bland, faceless.

Katya looked at it.

— Thank you, but I already have a dress.

— Oh, come on, Natalya Anatolyevna waved her hand. That black one of yours? It’s gone out of fashion. This is classic—always in style. Try it on.

— Natalya Anatolyevna, really, there’s no need. I’ll wear mine.

Her mother-in-law frowned.

— Yekaterina, I went out of my way for you, I chose it. Do you even understand how much time that took me? And you’re turning your nose up at it.

— I’m not turning my nose up, Katya stood up. I just want to wear my own dress.

— Your dress is not appropriate, Natalya Anatolyevna snapped. It’s cheap. You can tell immediately. And we’re going to a respectable place. I don’t want people looking at you sideways.

Katya felt something tighten inside her.

— No one will be looking.

— They will, her mother-in-law raised her voice. Yekaterina, do you hear me? I’m telling you as someone with experience. In places like that, people can see right away who’s who. And if you show up in that black rag of yours, everyone will understand that you’re… well, from the common crowd.

Katya was silent. Natalya Anatolyevna continued:

— I don’t want to hurt you. Truly. But you have to know your place. You are my son’s wife, and you must look the part. Do you understand?

— I understand, Katya said quietly.

— That’s a good girl, her mother-in-law softened. Try it on. You’ll see—it’ll suit you.

Katya took the dress, went into the bedroom, and closed the door. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw a tired woman with dull eyes.

She put the dress on. It was too big. It hung on her like a sack. Katya went back into the living room.

— There, Natalya Anatolyevna assessed her. Good. Though it’s a bit large. But that’s fine—you’ll cinch it with a belt.

— I don’t have a belt for this dress, Katya said.

— I’ll buy one, her mother-in-law nodded. Tomorrow I’ll buy it and bring it. And did you book a hair appointment?

— No.

— What do you mean, no?! Natalya Anatolyevna threw up her hands. Yekaterina, you’re a grown woman! How can you go to a restaurant with that hairstyle?!

Katya looked at her.

— What’s wrong with my hair?

— Everything, her mother-in-law pressed her lips together. That haircut of yours—it’s for the office. For your paperwork. Not for a celebration. You need styling. Curls, for example.

— My hair is short, Katya said wearily. Curls won’t work.

— They will if you make an effort, Natalya Anatolyevna pulled out her phone. I know a good stylist. I’ll book you for tomorrow afternoon.

— Don’t, Katya took the dress off right there in the room and tossed it onto the couch. I’m going as I am.

Her mother-in-law froze.

— What do you mean, “as you are”?

— I mean in my own dress and with my own hair.

— Yekaterina, Natalya Anatolyevna stood up, her voice turning cold. Are you not hearing me? Or are you choosing not to hear me?

— I hear you, Katya met her gaze. I just don’t want to wear your dress.

Silence fell. Natalya Anatolyevna went pale, then flushed.

— How dare you talk to me like that?!

— I’m speaking normally, Katya didn’t look away. You bought a dress without my consent. I didn’t ask for it. And I’m not wearing it.

— Pasha will hear about this! her mother-in-law grabbed her bag. He’ll tell you!

— Let him, Katya shrugged.

Natalya Anatolyevna turned and left, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled.

Katya stood in the middle of the room. Ten minutes later, Pasha called.

— What the hell are you doing?!

— Hi, Katya sat down on the couch.

— Mom is in tears! She says you were rude to her!

— I wasn’t rude. I refused to wear a dress she bought without my consent.

— Katya, she was trying for you!

— Pasha, I didn’t ask her to.

— But she wanted to help! he shouted. She wanted you to look decent! And you told her straight to her face you wouldn’t wear it!

Katya closed her eyes.

— I’m wearing my own dress. The black one. The one I bought with my own money, by the way. And the one I like.

— Nobody likes it, Pasha cut her off. Except you. Mom’s right. It’s cheap.

— Well, sorry, Katya opened her eyes. I can’t afford dresses that cost thirty thousand. I have two thousand rubles left in my account after your restaurant.

— There you go again! Pasha exhaled. Listen, I can’t talk to you right now. I’ll be home tonight and we’ll deal with it. But you will apologize to Mom. Got it?

— No, Katya said.

— What do you mean, no?

— I won’t apologize. I have nothing to apologize for.

Pasha said something, but she had already hung up. She set the phone beside her and just sat there.

That evening Pasha came home gloomy. He went into the kitchen, poured himself water, and drank it in one gulp. Katya stood in the doorway.

— So, he said without turning around. Are you going to apologize?

— No.

He spun around sharply.

— Then you’re not going to the restaurant at all.

— Fine, Katya nodded. I won’t go.

Pasha blinked.

— What do you mean?

— Exactly that. I’m not going. Go with your mom, just the two of you. Have a nice evening.

— Katya, what are you talking about? he stepped toward her. It’s New Year’s! You’re supposed to be there!

— Why am I “supposed to”? Katya looked at him. So I can sit in a dress I hate, listen to how much of a loser I am, how lucky I am that your mom puts up with me?

— She didn’t say that!

— She did, Katya stepped closer. She said it in front of me. Two years ago, at your corporate party. Remember? We were sitting at the same table. She said: “Katya, Pasha is lucky he’s so patient. Not every man would put up with a girl with such… modest means.” You were sitting right there. And you kept quiet.

Pasha looked away.

— That’s not what she meant.

— That’s exactly what she meant, Katya turned away. Go to the restaurant. With your mom. I don’t need it.

She went into the bedroom. Pasha didn’t follow.

On December thirtieth Katya woke up early. Pasha was sleeping on the couch in the living room—after yesterday they hadn’t spoken. She got dressed, packed a bag, and left the apartment quietly.

At work a surprise was waiting. Oleg Krasnikov called her into his office.

— Shisterova, have a seat.

Katya sat down. Her boss opened a folder on his desk.

— I wanted to talk to you about your work this year. You’ve shown good results. Clients are satisfied, orders have been completed on time. I’ve decided to raise your salary starting in January.

Katya blinked.

— Really?

— Really, he nodded. Plus fifteen percent. And a December bonus—thirty thousand. You’ll receive it tomorrow.

— Thank you, Katya felt her eyes fill with tears.

Krasnikov looked at her carefully.

— Shisterova, are you all right?

— Yes, she nodded. It’s just… thank you. I really need this right now.

He didn’t ask questions. He nodded.

— All right. Go back to work. And happy holidays.

Katya left his office. In the hallway she ran into Vera.

— Well? Did he call you in? her friend looked worried.

— He gave me a raise, Katya smiled. And a bonus.

Vera hugged her.

— That’s great! So you didn’t bust your back all year for nothing. Katya, good for you.

They went back to their office. Katya sat at her desk, took out her phone, and texted her mom: “Mom, I got a bonus. Thirty thousand. I’ll come tomorrow and bring you ten. Buy yourself something.”

Her mom didn’t answer right away: “Katyusha, don’t. Keep it for yourself.”

“No, Mom. Take it. Please.”

Her mom sent a heart. Katya put her phone away and got back to work.

That evening she came home. Pasha was sitting in the kitchen; a cake box was on the table.

— Hi, he stood up. Katya, let’s make up.

Katya set her bag on the floor.

— Pasha, I’m tired. Not today.

— But tomorrow is New Year’s, he stepped toward her. Katya, let’s not ruin the holiday. I talked to Mom. She agrees she went too far. She’ll apologize. Really.

— All right, Katya nodded. I’m glad.

— So you’ll go to the restaurant?

She looked at him.

— No.

— Why?!

— Because I don’t want to.

Pasha clenched his fists.

— Katya, I’m trying to find a compromise! Mom is ready to apologize! What else do you need?!

— I don’t need her apology, Katya walked into the kitchen. I need you to understand one simple thing. Tomorrow my mom will be alone. She’ll sit at home and celebrate New Year’s in front of the TV. Alone. And I’ll be in a restaurant with you. And you know what the worst part is? I’ll be ashamed. Ashamed in front of her. In front of myself. Do you understand?

Pasha was silent. Then he said:

— I can’t cancel the restaurant. Mom already paid for everything.

— With my money, Katya reminded him.

— With ours, he corrected. Katya, we’re husband and wife. We have a shared budget.

— Shared? she laughed. Pasha, you took forty-five thousand from my salary. Your mom charged another eight. Is that a shared budget?

— It’s a one-time expense, he turned away. For the holiday.

— Fine, Katya pulled out her phone. Then let’s count. In four years of marriage, how much money has gone to your mom? For gifts, trips, her anniversary?

— Don’t start counting, Pasha raised his hand. She’s my mother. I’m obligated to take care of her.

— And you’re not obligated to take care of mine?

— I’m not! he turned to her. Because she’s not my mother! Do you understand?! She’s yours—so you take care of her!

Katya froze.

— Say that again.

Pasha realized what he’d said. He hesitated.

— That’s not what I meant—

— Say it again, Katya stepped closer. My mother is not your responsibility. Right?

— Katya, I didn’t mean it on purpose—

— Answer the question.

He sighed.

— Well… technically, yes. My mother is my responsibility. Your mother is yours. That’s logical.

Katya nodded. Turned around. Went into the bedroom. Took a bag out of the closet and started packing her things.

Pasha followed her in.

— What are you doing?

— Packing, she said without turning around.

— Where are you going?

— To my mom’s. I’m spending New Year’s with her.

Pasha grabbed her by the wrist.

— Wait. You can’t just leave like this.

— I can, Katya pulled free. Pasha, let go.

— No, he stepped in front of her. We have to talk.

— We already talked, Katya went around him. You said everything I needed to hear. My mom is my responsibility. Your mom is yours. Great. That means I’ll go to my mom, and you can go to yours.

— Katya, that’s not what I meant! he followed her. I meant… well, you understand!

— I do, she zipped up her bag. I understand everything now, Pasha. Finally.

She picked up the bag. Pasha blocked her path to the door.

— If you leave right now, I won’t forgive you.

Katya looked at him.

— Okay.

She went around him and left the apartment.

On December thirty-first, Katya woke up in her old room at her mother’s place. Lyudmila Petrovna was already up, cooking something in the kitchen.

— Sweetheart, wake up. I made an omelet.

Katya went into the kitchen. Her mom set a plate in front of her.

— Mom, I’m sorry.

— For what, Katyusha?

— For how it turned out.

Lyudmila Petrovna sat down opposite her.

— Nothing “turned out.” You’re here. With me. And I’m happy about that.

Katya smiled.

— I’m happy too, Mom.

They spent the day together—cooking, watching old movies. Lyudmila Petrovna didn’t ask questions about Pasha. Katya stayed quiet, too.

Toward evening Katya checked her phone. Not a single message from her husband. Not one call. She texted him: “I’m spending New Year’s with Mom. Happy New Year.”

He read it. Didn’t reply.

At eleven p.m. she and her mom set the table—simple, no frills: salads, a hot dish, compote. Lyudmila Petrovna put on a festive dress she had bought ten years ago. Katya changed too—into that very black dress Natalya Anatolyevna hated so much.

— Mom, you’re beautiful, Katya said.

— And you, sweetheart, her mom stroked her cheek.

They sat down at the table and turned on the TV. A concert was playing. Lyudmila Petrovna poured champagne for both of them.

— Let’s drink to you, she said. To my smart girl. To you being happy.

Katya felt a lump rise in her throat.

— Mom, I don’t know if I will be.

— You will, her mom took her hand. You will. Everything will get better.

They clinked glasses and drank—and at that moment Katya’s phone rang. Pasha.

She answered.

— Yes.

— Where are you? His voice was tight.

— At Mom’s. I told you.

— Katya, come here. We’re at the restaurant. Mom is asking where you are.

Katya looked at her mom. Lyudmila Petrovna was smiling at her.

— No, Pasha. I’m not coming.

— Why?!

— Because I’m here. With Mom. And I’m good here.

A pause.

— So you’re serious? You’re abandoning me on New Year’s?!

Katya closed her eyes.

— Pasha, you abandoned my mother first.

— That’s different!

— No. It’s the same.

She hung up. Turned her phone off. Put it on the table.

— Katyusha, maybe you should go after all? her mom asked softly. I don’t want it to be because of me…

— No, Mom, Katya hugged her. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay here with you—where I belong.

They welcomed the New Year together. They watched the chimes strike midnight, clinked glasses, hugged—and Katya felt good. Calm. The way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

On January first Katya woke up late. Her mom was already in the kitchen.

— Happy New Year, sweetheart.

— Happy New Year, Mom.

Katya turned her phone on. Several missed calls from Pasha. Not a single message. She texted him: “I need my things. I’ll come today and pick them up.”

An hour later he replied: “Take them.”

Katya came to their apartment around two. She opened the door with her key. Pasha was sitting in the kitchen—gloomy, dark circles under his eyes.

— Hi, she said.

— Hi, he didn’t look up.

Katya went into the bedroom, took a suitcase out of the closet, and started packing. Pasha came in after her.

— Are you serious?

— Serious about what? Katya didn’t turn around.

— You’re leaving?

— Yes.

Silence. Then Pasha said:

— You humiliated me yesterday.

Katya stopped and turned toward him.

— Me? Humiliated you? How?

— Mom was furious, he crossed his arms. She talked all evening about how ungrateful you are. That I shouldn’t have married you. That I should’ve chosen a more decent girl.

Katya nodded quietly.

— And what did you say?

Pasha looked away.

— Nothing.

— Of course, Katya laughed. As always. Nothing.

She went on packing. Pasha stepped closer.

— What was I supposed to say?! She was right! You ruined our holiday! I booked that restaurant for her! Spent money! And you just didn’t show up!

— My money, Katya corrected. You spent my money. Without my consent.

— Oh my God, here we go again! Pasha dragged a hand down his face. Katya, how long are you going to keep at this?! That’s my MOTHER! I had the right to spend money on her!

— My money, Katya repeated. That I earned. That you took without asking whether I wanted to.

— You’re my wife, Pasha stepped toward her. We have a shared budget.

— No, Katya snapped the suitcase shut. Not anymore.

Pasha froze.

— What do you mean?

— I’m leaving, Pasha. For good.

— Where to?

— To my apartment. The one we were renting out. The tenants moved out for New Year’s.

Pasha was silent. Then he said:

— You’ll come back.

— No.

— You will, he nodded. You’ll cool off and you’ll come back. Because you love me.

Katya looked at him—at the husband she’d known for four years—and suddenly realized: she didn’t love him. She hadn’t for a long time.

— No, Pasha. I’m not coming back.

She picked up the suitcase. Pasha didn’t move.

— I’m not going to chase after you, he said. It’s your own fault. You ruined everything.

— I know, Katya nodded. I’m at fault. I put up with it for four years—while your mother humiliated me, while you stayed silent, while you put her first. That’s my fault. I should’ve left sooner.

She walked out of the apartment. Pasha didn’t follow.

Katya arrived at her own place and opened the door. It smelled stale—the tenants, apparently, rarely aired it out. The walls were dirty, stains on the floor.

She set down the suitcase and walked through the rooms: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. Everything needed repairs.

There was a knock. Katya opened the door. On the threshold stood her downstairs neighbor, Grigory Petrovich, a retired military man.

— Hello, Yekaterina. You’re back?

— Hello. Yes, I’m back.

He nodded, looked into the apartment.

— Your tenants made quite a mess. If you need help with repairs, come to me. I’ve got tools.

— Thank you, Katya smiled. I definitely will.

Grigory Petrovich left. Katya closed the door, sat down on the floor in the middle of the room, took out her phone, and looked at the screen. Not a single message from Pasha.

And suddenly she felt light. For the first time in a long while—light.

January flew by. Katya lived in her apartment and did repairs in the evenings. Grigory Petrovich really did help—lent her tools, showed her how to fill cracks in the walls. Sometimes he stopped by and brought food.

— You’re living alone, so you don’t cook much, he would explain. I made borscht—brought you some.

Katya thanked him. Sometimes they sat in her kitchen and talked. Grigory Petrovich told her about his service, about his wife who had left five years ago. Katya listened.

Pasha didn’t call. Didn’t write. Katya waited the first two weeks. Then she stopped.

On January twenty-eighth she was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea. Snow was falling outside. Her phone lay on the table. Katya stared at it, then picked it up, opened a browser, and typed: “How to file for divorce through Gosuslugi.”

She read the instructions, went to the website, filled out the application, got to the “Submit” button—and froze.

Four years of marriage. Four years of hopes, plans, dreams. All of it would end with one press of a button.

Katya pressed it.

Application submitted. The court hearing will be in a month.

She set the phone down, stood up, and went to the window. The snow was falling thicker and thicker, the city sinking into white.

Katya smiled—for the first time in a month, a real smile.

The next day she texted Pasha: “I filed for divorce. Court in a month. Come or don’t—your choice.”

He replied an hour later: “Ok.”

Two characters. For four years. For everything that had been between them.

Katya deleted the chat, blocked his number, and felt relief.

February was cold. Katya worked, did repairs, visited her mom on weekends. Lyudmila Petrovna didn’t question her about Pasha—she just hugged her daughter, fed her, let her go.

Vera at work supported her as best she could.

— You did the right thing, Katya. Good for you.

— I don’t know if it was right or not, Katya shrugged. I just did it.

— It was right, Vera nodded. Trust me.

Oleg Krasnikov knew too. One day he came into the office and placed an envelope on her desk.

— What’s this? Katya was surprised.

— An advance, he shrugged. You need money right now. For repairs.

— Oleg Vyacheslavovich, I can’t just take it.

— It’s not “just.” He turned toward the door. It’s an advance for a future project. We have a big order in March—you’ll be handling it. So take it. You’ll earn it.

He left. Katya opened the envelope. Fifty thousand rubles.

That evening she called her mom.

— Mom, they gave me an advance. A big one.

— That’s good, sweetheart.

— Mom, I want to buy you a new coat. The one you’ve wanted for so long. In that store, remember?

Lyudmila Petrovna was silent. Then softly:

— Katyusha, don’t. Save it for yourself.

— Mom, please. Let me do something nice for you.

Her mom started to cry. Katya could hear it through the phone.

— I’m so proud of you, Lyudmila Petrovna said. So proud, sweetheart.

On February twenty-fifth there was the hearing. Katya came early and waited in the corridor. Pasha didn’t come—he sent a representative.

The judge read the petition and asked whether there were any property claims. Katya said no. Pasha’s representative said no as well.

— The marriage is dissolved, the judge announced.

That was it. Four years ended with one sentence.

Katya walked out of the courthouse. It was sunny outside. The snow had begun to melt, streams running along the sidewalks.

She took out her phone and texted her mom: “It’s done. Divorced.”

Her mom replied immediately: “Come over. I’m waiting.”

Katya caught a taxi and went to her mother’s. Lyudmila Petrovna opened the door and hugged her. They stood embracing in the hallway.

— It’s all right, her mom whispered. Everything will be all right.

— I know, Katya pressed close. Mom, I know.

March arrived with warmth. The snow melted within a week. The city woke up from winter. Katya finished renovating the apartment. Grigory Petrovich helped assemble a new wardrobe and hang shelves.

— There you go, he looked around. Now it’s beautiful.

— Thank you, Katya poured him tea. I couldn’t have managed without you.

— Oh, come on, he waved it off. I’m glad to help.

They sat in the kitchen. Birds were singing outside—the first spring birds.

— Yekaterina, Grigory Petrovich looked at her. Don’t worry. Everything will work out. You have your whole life ahead of you.

— I know, Katya smiled. I’m not worried. I feel good.

And it was true. She felt good. For the first time in four years—truly good.

The next day Vera called and invited her for a walk. Katya agreed. They walked through the park, drinking coffee from paper cups.

— How are you? Vera asked.

— Good, Katya nodded. Really good.

— Is Pasha trying to reach you?

— No. And he doesn’t need to.

Vera put an arm around her shoulders.

— I’m proud of you, Katya. You’re strong.

— I just did what I had to, Katya shrugged. I left.

They walked a little longer. Then Vera went home—her kids were waiting. Katya stayed in the park. She sat on a bench, watching children run, young mothers push strollers, old men feed pigeons.

Life went on. Without Pasha. Without his mother. Without their whims and demands.

Katya took out her phone and texted her mom: “Mom, I’ll come this weekend. Want to go to the movies?”

Her mom replied instantly: “Of course, sweetheart! I’ll be waiting!”

Katya put her phone away, stood up from the bench, and headed home—to her own apartment. Hers. Where no one would tell her what to wear, how to look, where to go.

Where she was free.

And for the first time in a long time, Katya felt happy. Not the artificial, strained happiness she’d had with Pasha. Real happiness—something that came from inside.

She walked down the street with a smile on her face. A real smile.

Life went on. And it was good.