— Natasha, did he avoid paying for himself again?
Lenka was standing near the checkout, shaking her head. Natasha held a receipt totaling three thousand rubles in her hands. It was groceries intended for one week. For two people, although she lived alone.
— He left his wallet at home, — Natasha said as she reached for her credit card. The credit card again.
— Forgotten it three times this week? Your Vitya sure knows how to get comfortable.
— Don’t start. He’s going through a difficult period. Looking for work.
— He’s been searching for six months. But he wants to eat every day.
Natasha stayed silent. She paid and dragged the heavy bags toward the exit. Outside, Viktor was waiting. Handsome as a picture. His dark hair was slightly longer than usual. His brown eyes looked sleepy. His smile twisted something deep inside her.
— Did you buy meat? — he asked instead of saying thanks.
— I did. And your favorite cheese.
— Excellent. Let’s go; I’m hungry.
He headed toward the bus stop without offering to help with the bags. Natasha followed behind, carrying the heavy load. On the minibus, he sat by the window; she sat beside him, holding the bags on her knees.
At home, while Natasha cooked dinner, Viktor sprawled on the couch, watching something on his phone, occasionally chuckling.
— Don’t forget sour cream. Meat needs sour cream.
— I haven’t forgotten.
— And make the salad. The one with tomatoes.
— I will.
Chopping vegetables, Natasha wondered, when did it all change? Not long ago, he was different—he’d invite her to the movies, bring flowers. Once, for their first date.
But gradually, unnoticed, who did he turn into? A freeloader? No, she preferred not to think that way. He loves her, probably.
On her birthday, Natasha hoped for a surprise. Twenty-five years was not a milestone, yet significant. Perhaps a restaurant? Or at least a café?
Viktor showed up with a bouquet—three wilted roses.
— Happy birthday, — he said handing over the flowers.
— Thank you. Are we going anywhere?
— Where? I have no money. You know that.
— Maybe we could just take a walk?
— It’s cold. Let’s stay home. You better cook something tasty.
That night Natasha prepared delicious dishes, including salads, a main course, and even bought a cake. All for herself.
During dinner, Viktor ate silently, then commented:
— You cook well. You’d make a great wife.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was that a hint? A proposal?
— To someone, — he added. — Someday.
Before New Year’s, Natasha saved for two months, cutting back on everything. At work, she had only tea and cookies for lunch. New tights? She postponed that. She walked instead of taking public transport to save money.
She purchased a watch for Viktor—a handsome men’s model in a black case. The pawnshop told her it was a good brand and a valuable piece.
Viktor unwrapped the gift and whistled.
— Wow! Expensive, right?
— Not really, — Natasha lied.
— Cool. Thanks.
He put it on, twisting his wrist admiringly. Then he asked,
— What’s for dinner?
She expected a reciprocal present: at least a card, chocolates, or a trinket.
Nothing.
— Vitya, you…
— What? A gift? Natasha, I’m unemployed, you know.
She understood. Always had.
In February, Natasha fell ill. High fever nearly forty, coughing, weakness. She called Viktor.
— Bring some medicine, please. I’ll send you a list.
— I can’t. I arranged to meet up with the guys.
— Vitya, I feel awful.
— Take something. Aspirin, raspberry tea.
— I have nothing at home.
— Too bad. We’ll talk later.
Lenka brought the medicines instead, sitting at the edge of the bed, giving a reproachful stare.
— Where’s your prince?
— Busy, — Natasha croaked.
— Busy? Of course. Natasha, how much longer?
— What?
— To put up with this. He’s using you!
— He loves me.
— Loves you? Where is he now? Why isn’t he here?
Natasha turned to the wall, unwilling to hear the truth.
The incident in the village was the final straw.
Natasha went to help her aunt with chores. On the return trip, the bus broke down halfway, forcing everyone to get off in a small village.
— The next one comes in the morning, — the driver said.
It was March, cold and early dark. Natasha stood on the roadside, unsure of what to do next. No taxis picked up passengers here; none drove this route. The city was roughly forty kilometers away.
She called Viktor.
— Vitya, I’m stuck. The bus failed. Can you come get me?
— Where?
She named the village.
— That’s far! An hour there and back.
— Vitya, I have no one else to call.
— Can’t you stay overnight there?
— Where? Outside?
— Don’t know. Ask in a shop or something. Come in the morning.
— Please, Viktor!
— Natasha, I can’t. They’re showing Formula One on TV. I bought beer and settled in. Don’t want to go anywhere.
— But I…
— You’re a grown girl; you’ll manage. Bye. The race is starting.
He hung up.
Natasha stood there with the phone in her hand, refusing to believe it. «Formula One. Beer. Doesn’t want to go anywhere.» And she was left alone in the cold dark.
She called Lenka.
— Girlfriend, help me. Stuck in a village.
— Where?! I’ll send Sergey right away!
Within an hour, Lenka’s husband arrived, silently put her in the car, and turned on the heater.
— Freezing?
— Yes.
— Where’s your lover?
— Home.
— I see.
They drove without words. Natasha stared out the window, reflecting on her memories.
How Viktor never met her after work, never helped carry bags, never visited when she was sick, and gave her three half-wilted roses on her birthday.
And she? She cooked, washed, cleaned. Took loans to feed them both. Bought presents.
For what?
- For his handsome eyes?
- For his smile?
- For the nights he occasionally stayed the night?
— We’re here, — Sergey said.
— Thanks. How much for gas?
— Don’t mention it. You’re Lenka’s friend.
Back at home, Natasha sat in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone and staring at Viktor’s name in her contacts.
And then she deleted it.
The next morning, he called from a different number.
— Natasha, did you change your number? I couldn’t reach you.
— No. I deleted your number.
— Why?
— I’ve had enough.
— Enough of what?
— Everything. You. Your selfishness. Your indifference.
— What are you talking about? I’ll come tonight, we’ll talk. And have dinner. Buy some meat; I want barbecue.
Natasha even laughed. Unbelievable. He wanted barbecue.
— Vitya, go to hell.
— What?!
— Go to hell. Buy and cook your barbecue yourself. And eat it alone.
— Natasha, what’s wrong? We…
— What «we»? Love each other? No, Vitya. You only love yourself. I loved a beautiful image, one you never were.
— You…
She hung up and blocked his number.
Later, tears came—tears of hurt, anger at herself. So much time lost. So much money. So many shattered hopes.
Lenka came in; she had the keys.
— Well, have you finally come to your senses?
— I have.
— And how does it feel?
— Painful. Embarrassing. How could I be such a fool?
— We’re all fools when in love. The important thing is to wake up in time.
«The harshest lessons in love often come with the deepest pain.»
Six months passed. Natasha paid off her credit card—she found she didn’t owe much. Without Viktor and his demands, money was sufficient.
She bought a new dress, went to the movies with Lenka, and enrolled in English classes she’d long wished to take.
Viktor tried to return. He called from different numbers and lurked near the store. Promised to change, find a job, even proposed marriage.
Natasha looked at him and wondered—did she ever truly love this man? Handsome, yes. But empty inside. Like a Christmas ornament—shiny on the outside, hollow within.
— Give me a chance, — he pleaded.
— No.
— Why not?
— Because I’m giving myself a chance. For a normal life. Without you.
He left and never returned.
Natasha moved forward. She worked, socialized with friends, read books. Sometimes reflecting on that chapter, she considered it a costly, yet valuable lesson.
Love isn’t about enduring humiliation. It’s not about feeding a freeloader or longing for crumbs of attention.
True love entails reciprocity, care, and respect.
None of those were present in Viktor. Thankfully, she recognized it in time.
Although the price was high, some lessons can only be understood through personal experience.
