“Did you spoil them?” I turned to him. Anger began to boil inside me. Cold, sticky. “Vitya, we’ve been living on pasta for a month. The eldest, Alina, has torn boots, she’s wearing sneakers, and it’s below zero outside. And you’re buying two thousand for a kilo of moldy cheese? For your mother?
“Mom is holy!” Vitya raised his finger. “She raised us. She sacrificed her life for us!” And you… can only whine. “There’s no money, there’s no money.” You have to work harder!
– I work, Vitya. I have two jobs. And even at home, I wash the stairs in the evening while you lie on the couch.
“Oh, don’t start! He’s washing. Absolutely.” he waved and went into the room. A minute later, the sound of the TV came from there. News. Politics again.
I sat down on the bar stool. My feet throbbed. My right shoe, which I hadn’t even taken off (I’d forgotten in my hurry), was pressing on my ankle. I took it off. The socks were gray and unwashable.
I looked at the refrigerator. There, on the top shelf, was a treasure. At least ten thousand crowns. Fish, caviar, balyk, cheeses.
He took all this from his “bonus” which he didn’t tell me about. I found out by accident when I saw the text message from the bank on his phone while I was taking a shower.
“Credit: salary – 75,000 hryvnia.”
He said he got thirty. The rest were supposedly deductions, penalties.
And he went and beat them all up on his mother’s wedding day.
To Tamara Petrovna.
To the woman who never wished her grandchildren a happy birthday. Who called me a “widow” and a “country goose.” Who lived in a three-room apartment downtown and rented out a one-room apartment, but never helped us with a penny.
My nose itched. Nervousness.
The evening passed in silence. Vitya watched TV, I did my homework with Alina. Vanya played on the carpet.
In the morning, my husband got up early. He put on his holiday shirt.
“I’m going to mom’s. I’ll help cook. And you come at two o’clock. And get the kids dressed properly, because they always look like tramps.”
He took the treat bags out of the fridge.
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