“Here’s what, sweetheart: you’ll sell the dacha, bring me the money, and I’ll pay off your husband’s debt,” her mother-in-law declared. But Angela came up with a plan of her own.
Angela cleared dinner from the table and sat down across from her husband. Tikhon had been silent for the third evening in a row, picking at his food with a fork and then going out onto the balcony. She had been patient because she believed he would speak when he was ready.
“Tikhon,” she said, placing her hand over his, “tell me what’s going on. I can see you’re suffering. We’ve been together for five years. Don’t I deserve the truth?”
He looked away. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to pull his hand back, but he didn’t dare.
“You’re going to be angry,” he answered dully.
“I’ll be angry if you keep staying silent,” Angela said gently. “Come on, tell me. Whatever the problem is, we’ll figure it out.”
Tikhon finally raised his eyes to her. There was no remorse in them. Rather, there was a calculating expectation — as if he was waiting to see how she would react.
“The bank sent a notice,” he began from a distance. “Remember Uncle Boris took out a loan for his boat two years ago? I signed as a guarantor.”
“What?” Angela slowly removed her hand. “You never told me about that.”
“I didn’t want to burden you. Boris was paying it himself, everything was fine. But now he stopped paying, penalties and fines piled up, and the bank came to me as the guarantor.”
Angela took a deep breath. She waited for him to continue because she could see from his face that this was not all.
“How much?” she asked shortly.
“Four hundred and twenty thousand. That’s what’s left of Boris’s loan. Plus penalties, about another one hundred and fifty.”
“Five hundred and seventy thousand,” Angela calculated. “All right. That’s unpleasant, but we can handle it. We need to talk to Boris, make a payment schedule, maybe refinance…”
“Wait,” Tikhon interrupted, leaning back in his chair. “That’s not all.”
Angela froze. She already knew she would not like the next words, but she still hoped she was wrong.
“The refrigerator, the washing machine, the dishwasher,” Tikhon listed, bending his fingers. “I told you I bought them with my salary. It was a loan. Another two hundred and forty thousand.”
“Eight hundred thousand,” Angela said quietly. “You lied to me for a year and a half. Every time I asked whether we had enough money, you lied.”
“I didn’t lie, I just…”
“You. Lied,” she repeated, and for the first time, hurt rang in her voice. “Fine. All right. Let’s think about what to do.”
She still hoped they would solve it together. That Tikhon had admitted his mistake and was ready to fix it. That five years of married life meant something.
She was wrong.
The next day, on Saturday morning, Angela opened the door and saw Galina Petrovna, Tikhon’s mother, standing on the threshold. Behind her stood her sister Valentina, who always appeared in other people’s affairs before she was ever invited.
“Good morning,” Angela greeted them carefully. “Come in. Would you like tea?”
“This is no time for tea,” her mother-in-law snapped, walking into the kitchen and sitting down on a chair with the look of a person who had not come to visit, but to hold a meeting. “Tikhon told me everything.”
“It’s good that he told you,” Angela nodded. “We really do need to discuss the situation. Boris is your brother, Galina Petrovna. Maybe we should talk to him? He isn’t refusing to pay, is he?”
“Boris is in a difficult position right now,” Valentina quickly inserted, sitting down beside her sister. “His boat hasn’t paid for itself yet. You can’t put pressure on a person.”
“You can’t put pressure on a person,” Angela repeated, hardly believing her ears, “but you can put pressure on Tikhon and me?”
Her mother-in-law tapped her nail on the table like a judge with a gavel.
“Here’s what, sweetheart: you’ll sell the dacha, bring me the money, and I’ll pay off your husband’s debt.”
Angela slowly sat down across from her. She wanted to make sure she had heard correctly.
“Please repeat that,” she said.
“What is there to repeat?” Galina Petrovna spread her hands. “You have a dacha you bought for pennies. There’s land, a house. If you sell it, there will be enough for the debt and still some left over. Otherwise, everything will be seized, the property will be inventoried, including your beloved apartment.”
“My dacha was bought before the marriage,” Angela replied in an even voice. “It is my personal property. My parents live and work there. My father built greenhouses there, my mother tends the garden. I will not sell it.”
“Oh, how principled we are,” Valentina snorted, crossing one leg over the other. “Your husband is in a hole. You’re his wife. That means you help him.”
“I am ready to help,” Angela said patiently, as if speaking to spoiled children. “But helping means looking for a solution together. It does not mean sacrificing something that belongs to me and my family. Boris is Galina Petrovna’s own brother. So maybe we should involve him in solving this too?”
“Borechka has nothing to do with this!” her mother-in-law flared up. “He ended up in a difficult situation, anyone can! And you are the wife, and that dacha of yours is nonsense, just a fence and some garden beds!”
“To you it is nonsense,” Angela’s voice hardened. “To me it is a place I bought with my own money. A place where my father gets up at five in the morning to water seedlings. A place where my mother has invested six years of work. I. Will. Not. Sell. It.”
Tikhon entered the kitchen. He had been standing in the hallway listening, but he had not come out until he was called.
“Tikhon,” Angela turned to him, “did you hear what your mother is suggesting? Do you agree with this?”
He hesitated. Rubbed his neck. Looked at his mother, then at his wife.
“Well, what else can we do, Angela? I have to pay. We need money now, not in a year. The dacha is just a plot of land…”
“Just a plot of land,” Angela repeated. “I see.”
At that moment, something changed. Not in her voice, not in her face, but in the very air between them. Tikhon felt it, but wrote it off as his wife’s nerves.
“There, good girl,” Galina Petrovna nodded. “See, even Tikhon understands. That means it’s decided.”
“Nothing is decided,” Angela said sharply. “And it will not be decided. I said no.”
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips. Valentina exhaled indignantly. Tikhon stared at the floor.
“You will regret this,” Galina Petrovna said quietly, rising. “When the bank starts taking everything, you’ll come running and crying. Only then it will be too late.”
Two days later, Angela received a call from Denis, Tikhon’s friend.
“Angela, hi,” he began cheerfully. “Listen, forgive me for interfering. But is Tikhon all right? Maybe he needs help? He says you’re refusing to participate in solving the problem.”
“Denis,” Angela tried to stay calm, “do you know what this ‘problem’ actually is?”
“Well, some loans. I didn’t get into the details, but…”
“His uncle took out loans, Tikhon became a guarantor without telling me a single word. And now his mother wants me to sell my dacha, which I bought before marriage, to cover someone else’s debts. Someone else’s.”
Denis fell silent. Then he cleared his throat.
“Well, still… it’s a family matter,” he mumbled. “A husband and wife are one flesh. You have to help.”
“Who am I supposed to help, Denis?” Angela’s voice grew firm. “The man who lied to me for a year and a half? Or his uncle, who rides around on a boat while I’m supposed to kick my parents off their land?”
“Come on, Angela, don’t exaggerate. You’re a woman, you’re wiser. Meet them halfway.”
“Denis, I’m going to hang up now,” Angela said calmly. “And if Tikhon asks you one more time to call me with lectures about wisdom, I’ll pack his suitcase faster than you can dial my number. Goodbye.”
She ended the call. Her hands were not shaking; her head was clear. Anger — clean, sober anger — became fuel, not a brake.
That evening Valentina came over alone, without Galina Petrovna. Angela opened the door and silently stepped aside.
“I didn’t come to argue,” Valentina began from the doorway. “I came as a human being. Understand, Galka is worried about her son. She doesn’t mean harm.”
“Doesn’t mean harm,” Angela repeated. “She demands that I sell my property to cover her brother’s debts. Your brother’s debts. She doesn’t mean harm. Fine.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” Valentina sat down at the table, placing her bag on her knees. “Tikhon isn’t a stranger to you, after all. The debt is growing, the penalties are ticking.”
“I suggest what I suggested from the very beginning,” Angela answered clearly. “Boris sells the boat he bought on credit. Tikhon refinances his consumer loan. We make a schedule. But the dacha stays untouched.”
“Boris will not sell the boat! He needs it, the season is starting!”
“And I need the dacha. My parents need the dacha. Valentina Petrovna, this conversation is over. I gave a concrete solution. If you don’t like it, that is your problem.”
Valentina stood up, turning crimson.
“You think you’re smarter than everyone else?” she hissed. “We’ll see how you sing when Tikhon leaves. Who will need you then, with your dacha and garden beds?”
“I will,” Angela answered. “I will need myself.”
Valentina left. Angela stood in the hallway, listening to the fading sound of her heels. Not a shadow of doubt. Not a gram of pity for those who had no pity for her.
An hour later, Svetlana called — the very friend from whom Angela had once bought the dacha.
“Angela,” Sveta’s voice was warm, “some little birds told me they’re pressuring you. Tell me.”
Angela told her everything from beginning to end. Sveta listened without interrupting.
“Here’s how it is,” Sveta said after a pause. “You will not sell the dacha. That is not even up for discussion. Your parents work there every day. And I’ll tell you this: when my husband went bankrupt, I lost everything I sold in a panic. Every last ruble went into someone else’s debts. Don’t repeat my mistake.”
“I’m not planning to,” Angela answered firmly.
“That’s my girl. And if Tikhon keeps pressuring you, come to me. The room is free, you have the keys. And one more thing — I know a good consultant for bank debts. Not that nonsense they advertise on TV, but a real one. He’ll help you sort out refinancing and the guarantor issue.”
“Sveta, you’re gold,” Angela smiled for the first time in three days.
“I’m not gold, I’m broken glass,” Svetlana laughed. “But I know where it cuts.”
The next evening Angela came home and found a meeting in the apartment. Galina Petrovna, Valentina, and Tikhon were sitting at the table. Printouts lay before them — bank statements, some spreadsheets, a calculator.
“Oh, and here comes the mistress of the house,” Valentina drawled with a crooked smile.
“Tikhon, what is this?” Angela set down her bag and stood in the doorway.
“Angela, sit down,” Tikhon’s voice was tense, but in it she heard a note she had never noticed before. False confidence. “We need to have a serious talk.”
“I’ll stand. Speak.”
“The debt grows every day,” Tikhon began, jabbing a finger at the papers. “Look here: in six months it will already be more than a million. If we sell the dacha now, we can close everything and forget about it. Later we’ll buy another one, better.”
“‘Later we’ll buy another one,’” Angela repeated. “With what money, Tikhon? With the loans you won’t tell me about again?”
Her mother-in-law slapped her palm on the table.
“Enough of this performance!” she barked. “Your husband is drowning, and you’re sitting on that dacha like a hen on an egg! Sell it and stop showing off!”
“Galina Petrovna,” Angela said evenly, “your brother Boris took on debts. Your son signed as a guarantor without telling me. Your son took another loan and lied to me for a year and a half. And now you, your sister, and your son are demanding that I pay for it. Doesn’t anything seem wrong to you?”
“It seems to me that you have no conscience!” Galina Petrovna shrieked.
“And it seems to me,” Angela took a step forward, “that you have a very selective memory. When I asked whether Boris could sell the boat, you said he needed the season. Don’t my parents need the season? Don’t they need the greenhouses my father built for two summers?”
“Greenhouses!” Valentina snorted. “What a joke! We’re talking about a bank debt, and she’s talking about tomatoes!”
“We are talking about my property,” Angela cut her off. “I said no. Three times.”
Tikhon stood up. He came right up to his wife, looming over her — he was a head taller.
“Angela, I am asking you for the last time,” his voice became low, threatening. “Sign the agreement for the sale. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” she did not step back.
“Otherwise I’ll find a way myself. The documents for the dacha are in the top drawer. I don’t need your signature to…”
Angela did not let him finish. With a short, strong movement, without swinging her arm, she slapped him across the face. The sound was dry and deafening. Tikhon stumbled back toward the wall, clutching his cheek. Galina Petrovna gasped. Valentina jumped up.
“You,” Angela stepped toward him, and he — a large, healthy man — stepped back, “will never threaten me again. The documents for the dacha are mine. They are not at home, they are with my father. You can rummage through the drawers as much as you like — they’re empty.”
“You… you’ve lost your mind!” Tikhon breathed out.
“No, Tikhon. I can finally see clearly. You weren’t solving the problem. You were looking for someone to dump it on. And you thought I was a convenient target.”
She turned to Galina Petrovna and Valentina.
“Get out of my apartment,” she said quietly, but in such a way that both women stepped back. “The apartment is registered in my mother’s name. If you want to check, request an extract from the registry. And now — get out.”
“Tikhon!” Galina Petrovna screeched. “Do you hear what she’s saying?! Do something!”
“Tikhon,” Angela shifted her gaze to her husband, “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning. You may stay in this apartment only as long as you behave like a human being. But if you or any of your relatives try to take my property again, I will call the district police officer, and you will pack your things under his supervision.”
Her mother-in-law and Valentina left. Silently. Without slamming the door — they were too stunned to make a loud fuss.
Tikhon sat on the chair, holding his cheek.
“Are you serious?” he rasped.
“Absolutely,” Angela answered. “I have already called a specialist in bank debts. Tomorrow at eleven we have a meeting. If you want to solve the problem, come. If you want to keep looking for someone to blame, then look — but not here. Not with me.”
She went into the bedroom and closed the door. Tikhon was left alone. The papers on the table now seemed meaningless.
In the morning, Kirill, Tikhon’s younger brother, came to see Angela. She opened the door and was surprised: Kirill had never come without warning before.
“I know everything,” he said from the threshold. “Marina told me. I’m ashamed, Angela. Ashamed that my brother is behaving this way.”
“Come in,” she said, letting him in and pouring coffee.
“I talked to Boris,” Kirill sat down at the table. “He doesn’t want to sell the boat, but I explained it to him differently. If he doesn’t close his part of the debt, I’ll tell his wife what he really spent the second part of the loan on. It wasn’t the boat.”
“What was it?” Angela raised an eyebrow.
“Gifts for a certain lady from a neighboring town,” Kirill smirked. “Boris thought no one knew. But I accidentally saw him in a jewelry store last March. He definitely wasn’t choosing that necklace for his wife.”
“And he agreed?”
“Like a lamb. He’s putting the boat up for sale this Saturday. He’ll be very happy if nobody finds out his little secret.”
Angela took a sip of coffee. For the first time in a week, she felt not even relief — but justice.
“Thank you, Kirill,” she said. “You’re the only one in Tikhon’s family who acted like a decent person.”
“Marina is on your side too,” he added. “Yesterday she had such a conversation with Mother that the windows shook. She said, ‘If you keep attacking Angela, I won’t set foot in your house again.’”
“Marina did well.”
“And Tikhon is an idiot,” Kirill finished sharply. “Sorry, but that’s the truth.”