Alka Stood in the Bedroom Doorway Watching Misha Tie His Sneakers—Hastily, Nervously, As If Running From the Inevitable
Alka lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Misha fumble with the frayed laces on his old sneakers. His movements were hurried and twitchy — the motions of a man desperate to escape before a conversation could start.
“So you’re going to an interview dressed in a tracksuit?” Her voice wasn’t angry — just surprised.
Misha didn’t look up.
“What’s wrong with that? Programmers can.”
“At the Lastochka café? Since when do tech companies rent tables there?”
His hands froze. A beat of silence — enough to give him away.
“How did you—”
“You forgot to log out on the tablet. Your chats with Svetka were… enlightening.”
Three months earlier, Alka had been at the kitchen table surrounded by bills. Numbers blurred before her eyes — utilities, late fees, loan payments. Behind her, Misha lay sprawled on the couch, glued to his phone.
“Misha, they’re threatening to shut off our electricity again.” She set down a bill stamped in red.
“Mmm,” he hummed from the couch, not even glancing up.
“Maybe you could take that temporary job at the warehouse? Seryoga said—”
“I’m a programmer!” he snapped upright like she’d shocked him. “I’m not going to be some loader. I have a degree!”
“A degree that hasn’t fed us in a year,” she murmured — too quietly, she thought. But he heard.
“It’s temporary! I’ll find a real job soon. The market’s just down right now.”
A sharp knock at the door cut the argument short. Misha’s parents stepped inside — his mother triumphant, his father stone-faced.
“Kids, we’re here!” his mother announced, gliding in without invitation. “Alechka, you look pale. Is Misha upsetting you?”
“Mooom,” Misha groaned, sinking deeper into his phone.
“How can everything be normal?” his father barked. “You haven’t paid the loan in three months! We co-signed!”
Alka inhaled, steadying herself.
“You insisted on that big wedding. My mom said we could just sign the papers quietly, but you—”
“Oh, so now we’re the villains?” his mother raised her hands to the ceiling. “We wanted a proper wedding for our son! So people wouldn’t say we’re poor!”
Misha’s father whipped out a calculator.
“And how much is left?”
“Four years,” Alka said. “Thirty thousand a month.”
“And how much do you make?”
“Fifty.”
“Well, that’s plenty,” his mother said cheerfully. “Twenty thousand is enough for food.”
“And utilities? Transport? Clothes?” Alka stared in disbelief.
“Misha will find a job soon. Right, son?”
“Of course, Mom,” Misha said without looking up. “I sent out some résumés.”
Alka walked to the bedroom, shutting the door almost fully. Through the crack she heard his mother again:
“My friend Galina says her daughter-in-law supports her husband and is happy! And this one complains nonstop. Misha, you should look at other girls. Svetka is still single…”
A month passed — and things got worse. Misha gave up even pretending to job hunt. Every evening, Alka returned from work to find him in the exact same position: sprawled on the couch, scrolling endlessly.
“Misha, could you at least wash the dishes?” she asked, dropping her shoes at the door.
“I’m a programmer, not a housewife!” he snapped.
“You’re unemployed! For a year!”
“Not a year — ten months. And if you don’t like it, let’s get divorced!”
“And who’ll pay the loan? Your parents?”
Silence. They both knew the answer.
That weekend, Alka’s mother visited. She hugged her daughter tightly.
“Sweet girl, you’ve lost weight. How are you living here?”
“We’re fine, Mom.”
“Misha found work?”
“He’s… looking.”
“For a year?” Her mother frowned. “Alya, enough. You’re breaking down.”
“We have a loan, Mom. Wedding loan. His parents insisted.”
“Then let them pay.”
“They convinced me to put it in my name. Said the interest would be lower.”
Her mother sighed.
“Oh, daughter… you got trapped. Does Misha at least help around the house?”
At that moment, Misha strolled in.
“Hello, Elena Petrovna. Alka, what’s for dinner?”
“There are cutlets in the fridge. Heat them up.”
“You can’t do it? I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?” her mother snapped. “Lying on the couch?”
“Don’t interfere in our family!”
“What family?! The one where the husband leeches off the wife?”
After her mother left, Misha exploded:
“You turned her against me on purpose!”
“She’s telling the truth, Misha. You won’t even warm up your own food!”
“I’m a man! That’s women’s work!”
“And a man’s work is to earn money! Where’s yours?”
“It’s coming! When I get a job offer from a serious company, then we’ll see who’s in charge!”
“You’ve said that for a year.”
“I’m sick of your nagging! I’m going out!”
He slammed the door. The echo rattled through the apartment. Alka stood there trembling. Then Misha’s phone buzzed — he’d left it behind. The screen lit up:
Svetka: Tomorrow at 3? At Lastochka? Like old times 😉
Her hands shook as she unlocked it — his birthday as the password. And then she saw it:
Misha: I miss you
Svetka: When will we meet?
Misha: My wife’s suffocating me. Controls every step.
Svetka: Poor baby. You need support.
Misha: You always understood me.
Svetka: Remember our nights? Want to repeat?
Misha: Alka thinks I’m going to interviews 😂
Three weeks.
Three weeks of lies.
The next day, Alka took sick leave and positioned herself across from Lastochka at 2:50 p.m. Misha appeared right on time — in the same tracksuit, pretending to come “after a morning run.” Then Svetka arrived in a tight dress.
Ten minutes later, Alka walked in.
They sat in the far corner. Svetka was stroking his hand; he was whispering something into her ear.
“Am I interrupting?” Alka said, taking a seat.
Misha turned pale.
“Alya… this isn’t what it looks like—”
“Oh? Is this the interview? For the position of lover?”
“We’re just talking,” Svetka said sweetly. “Old friends.”
“Who meet in secret while the wife is at work paying all the bills?”
“Alya, let’s not do this here—”
“No. We’ll do it here. I’ve carried you and your loan for a year. A year of excuses. And you spend your time playing boyfriend?”
“Stop yelling! People are watching!”
“Great! Let them watch what a parasite looks like!”
Misha jumped to his feet.
“You can’t talk to me like that!”
“I can! I’m the one supporting you!”
“It’s temporary!”
“A year is temporary? You didn’t even send résumés! I checked your email!”
“You went through my things?!”
“Our tablet! Which I paid for!”
Svetka rose quietly, trying to slip away.
“Stop,” Alka said. “If you understand him so well — take him. And his mother. And his debt.”
“Alya, you’re overreacting—”
“I’m leaving. To my parents. You can live however you want. Alone.”
“You can’t just walk out! We have a loan!”
“A loan your parents made me take. Let them pay.”
Later, while she packed her suitcases, the door flew open. Misha rushed in.
“Alya, let’s talk calmly!”
“About what? Your lies? Your cheating? Or the loan scam?”
“No one scammed you!”
She turned — her eyes cold enough to make him step back.
“Really? Then why is the loan in my name while your parents spent the money?”
“They wanted a beautiful wedding!”
“At my expense.”
A knock on the door. She knew that knock — his parents.
“We know everything!” his mother stormed in. “Svetka called! How dare you humiliate our son?!”
“I humiliated him?” Alka laughed. “He was cheating!”
“They were just talking! And you made a scene! The whole town is gossiping!”
“I don’t care about your town.”
His father barked:
“Alka, you owe Misha an apology.”
She actually laughed.
“For what?”
“For insulting him and Svetlana!”
“I stated facts.”
“He’s your husband! You must support him!”
“I did. For a year. I’m done.”
A taxi honked outside.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“If you go — don’t come back!” his mother shrieked.
“I won’t.”
Her parents received her wordlessly — with embraces that spoke louder than anything.
After an hour, another knock. Misha.
“I want to talk to my wife!”
“You don’t have a wife,” her father said. “Go home.”
“We need to discuss the loan!”
“Your problem,” her father snapped.
Alka stepped forward.
“Leave, Misha.”
“Alya, let me explain—”
“Explain what? The cheating? The lying? The year of doing nothing?”
“I did look for work!”
“I checked your browser history. You played games and watched porn.”
“You invaded my privacy!”
“On a computer I bought.”
He switched tactics — his usual move when cornered.
“Let’s start over. I’ll change.”
“No. Tomorrow I file for divorce.”
“And the loan?”
Ah. The only thing he really cared about.
“The loan,” she said calmly, “is on you. I have the messages from your mother admitting she tricked me into signing. And the receipts showing where all the money went. On your family.”
He turned gray.
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“I would. And I will. Goodbye.”
Her father escorted him out.
A week later, Misha’s entire family marched into her parents’ house.
“We are willing to forget everything,” his mother declared grandly, “if Alka apologizes and comes back.”
Alka’s mother rose — small, fragile, but suddenly powerful.
“Apologize to whom? Your son the freeloader?”
“He’s not a freeloader! He’s job searching!”
“For a year? Any real man would’ve taken ten temporary jobs by now!”
“Misha is not like ‘any man.’ He has a degree!”
“Which lies in the couch with him!”
“How dare you—”
Her father cut in, voice booming:
“How dare you trick my daughter into a loan and dump your son on her?!”
“We wanted a nice wedding!”
“Using her money! Now let your son deal with the consequences!”
“He can’t!” the mother wailed. “He has no job!”
“So let him find one!”
“Where? Who would hire him?!”
“At a construction site! A warehouse! As a janitor! Plenty of jobs!”
“My son will never be a janitor!”
“Then let his lover support him!”
“Svetlana is a respectable girl! Unlike your daughter!”
“Respectable? Meeting with a married man? Very respectable.”
Misha finally piped up:
“Alya… forgive me. I’ll stop.”
“Stop what? Lying? Cheating? Or sitting on my neck?”
“I’ll find work!”
“When?”
“Soon!”
“You’ve said that for a year. Enough. Divorce.”
“You’ll regret this!”
“I already don’t.”
His mother screeched:
“We’ll sue you! Make you pay the loan!”
“Please do,” Alka smiled. “I have all the evidence.”
They left, slamming the door.
A month later, life was settling. On her way home, Alka ran into Svetka.
She looked exhausted.
“Hi…” Svetka said hesitantly.
“Hi.”
“Is it true… Misha really didn’t work for a year?”
“Yes. Why?”
“He moved in with me. Said he’d find work. But he just lies around. And his mother keeps calling, telling me to take care of him.”
“Sorry,” Alka said simply. “Now you know.”
“I didn’t realize… he said you didn’t appreciate him…”
“Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Alka walked on. Behind her, Svetka stood frozen — just beginning to understand the trap she’d stepped into.
At home, the smell of cake greeted her. Her parents were at the table, smiling mysteriously.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“We’re celebrating your freedom!” her mother said. “And your new job!”
“How did you—?”
“They called to congratulate you.”
Alka laughed. A new position, a better salary, a fresh start — finally a life without parasites, liars, and someone else’s entitlement.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Misha:
“Alya, let’s talk. I feel terrible.”
She deleted it, blocked the number, and set the phone aside.
Enough. She’d spent a year feeding a parasite. Not a second more.
The evening sky outside was dimming — but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
