Marina had already adjusted the festive table for the third time, even though it had been perfect from the very beginning. The napkins lay in perfect symmetry, as if measured with a ruler, and the crystal glasses scattered light as though they weren’t made of glass at all, but of ice carved from tension itself. The smell of roasted meat drifting from the kitchen filled the apartment — a heavy, warm, almost too perfect aroma that seemed to promise trouble more than celebration.
Today was not just Valera’s birthday.
Today was “Day X.”
— Marin, can you hear me? — Valera’s voice crackled nervously through the phone, as if it were already arguing with the air. — Arkady Borisovich is coming with his wife. Inga.
Marina’s hand froze on the kitchen towel.
— Inga? — she asked slowly. — Your ex-wife?
— Don’t start! — the man cut her off immediately. — Inga is with Arkady now. And this… this is our key. If she says even one word in my favor, I’ll become deputy director. If not, it’s over. So you smile, understand? And don’t criticize anything. Inga isn’t used to your cabbage-life standards.
The line went dead.
Marina stood there for a long time, staring at the phone. Five years of marriage. Five years of saving, cleaning, and the words “it’ll get better someday.” And now she was expected to be a hostess for a woman her husband still spoke of as if she were a lost trophy.
The door opened — with a key.
Svetlana Petrovna, the mother-in-law, walked in as if the apartment belonged to her.
— Stuffy, like a storage closet — she declared immediately. — This isn’t good for Valerik.
Behind her, Antoshka slipped in as well, quietly, like a bad thought.
— Grandma says I’m dirty… — he whispered.
Marina knelt down to him.
— Go wash your hands. Guests are coming today.
Svetlana was already inspecting the plates.
— What’s this? — she poked at the salad. — Mayonnaise? Inga doesn’t eat this. She eats arugula. And order in life.
— This is Valera’s birthday — Marina said calmly. — Not a dietary exhibition.
— Valera likes it when his wife doesn’t embarrass him — the mother-in-law snapped back.
And then the doorbell rang.
The air changed.
Valera burst in.
— They’re coming. Smile. And don’t speak.
Inga stood in the doorway.
She hadn’t aged — she had simply become more expensive. Her gaze was cold, like a well-paid decision. Her coat cost more than half the apartment’s furniture.
— Hello everyone — she said slowly, immediately looking at Valera.
As if Marina didn’t exist at all.
— The elevator is too small, Arkady came up on foot instead — she added indifferently.
Svetlana melted instantly.
— Ingachka! How beautiful you are!
Inga gave a faint smile.
— You too… are holding up.
She handed her coat to Marina.
— Put it away. Carefully. It’s cashmere.
That was the first moment Marina’s hand trembled.
The evening slowly turned into a badly staged play. Valera revolved around Inga, Svetlana admired her, and Marina gradually became a background figure in her own home.
— Still working in logistics? — Inga asked.
— Yes, but I’m improving! — Valera stammered.
— Your apartment… is cute — Inga looked around. — A bit… poor, but clean.
Valera’s face tightened.
— Marin, I told you we should’ve ordered from a restaurant!
— I cooked for two days — Marina said quietly.
— That’s the problem — Svetlana added. — This isn’t food.
And before anyone could stop her, the salad landed in the trash.
Silence.
Marina stood up.
She slowly lifted the “herring under a fur coat” dish.
— Don’t be offended — Inga laughed. — It’s just a matter of development…
Marina turned the dish over in one motion.
The salad landed on Inga’s dress.
The beige perfection ceased to exist in an instant.
— Have you lost your mind?! — Valera screamed.
Svetlana’s hand struck.
The sound of the slap was too clean for this apartment.
— Get out of this house!
Marina straightened slowly.
— This is my apartment.
The silence now was heavy.
A deep voice spoke from the doorway.
— Enough.
Arkady Borisovich.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.
— Tomorrow. HR. You’re fired.
Valera collapsed under his gaze.
And then everything was decided.
The door closed behind them.
Marina stood there for a moment, as if unable to decide whether it was over or just beginning.
Antoshka gently touched her hand.
— Mom… is it over now?
Marina looked at him, then at the ruined table, at the shattered celebration.
Then she smiled — for the first time that day, truly.
— Yes — she said quietly. — Now the real party begins.
