Katya
"Meow, meow!" I flinched when the cat started rubbing against my leg. "Meow!"
Hungry. Instead of rushing to pour him food, I picked him up, burying my face in his ginger fur. A British chinchilla, gifted to Nika for her fifth birthday, had become Bayun. Gentle and affectionate, but with a personality, of course. Dim gave him to us. VaDim. Vadim…
"Why do they call you Smoke?"
"I lit a firecracker in class and threw it into a trash bin. I still remember the smoke pouring out. It stuck after that."
"I thought it was because of your eye color."
"The guys didn't care much about my eyes."
"Then I'll call you Dim, behind your back."
"I agree, my Malvina."
"I'm not yours, Polonsky," I reminded him строго.
"Not yet…"
Dim… He's gone now.
I let Bayun jump down to the floor and automatically grabbed the cat food, noticing my hands trembling. I took a slow, steady breath. Yesterday, for the first time in a year, an asthma attack hit me. I thought I was almost cured, reduced to mild seasonal allergies. I was wrong. About many things.
I spent a sleepless night replaying the scene in the hallway. Analyzing every word Vadim said, dissecting myself. I couldn't believe it. Could this really happen? In a happy family?! No—maybe with someone else, but not with us! We loved each other… I smiled bitterly. Loved.
Every woman probably thinks it could never happen to her—because she believes in happily ever after.
I walked up to the mirror and looked at my reflection—I had managed to hold it together, not fall into hysteria. It hadn't fully hit me yet. The realization hadn't filled my soul. And in front of Vadim, I wanted to be strong. Proud. Self-aware. That's the woman he fell in love with—not some tearful fragile girl. Maybe something would stir in him. I didn't believe his declarations of love. That was fear of losing what was familiar. But was there still a spark for me? That was yet to be found out. And then what? I didn't know. Not at all. I had confidently and harshly declared divorce—but I wasn't ready for it. How could anyone prepare for that? My life had changed in an instant. What was built over years collapsed in a moment. Just three words and a preposition…
I have someone else…
"How wild," I whispered, looking around at my fortress. Here was my kitchen—with my dishes, glasses, and countless vases—I loved them in the interior! In the bedroom—my sheets and pillows. In the bathroom—my sponge. Only my husband was no longer mine. It was hard to grasp with my mind—and impossible for my heart to accept.
When did this happen? Where did I go wrong? What mistake did I make? When did I lose his attention so that he started looking at other women? I always tried to be beautiful, well-groomed, in shape. Fitness, spa, beauty salons, stylish, sexy, fashionable clothes. I wanted to be different for Vadim. I developed Nika—and developed myself along with her. I even learned a fourth language. They came easily to me, and university gave me a love for them. I tried not to be boring, not to grow dull with time. I supported social initiatives—to stay busy, including for my husband. So that sometimes he would wait for me, the way I waited for him.
My efforts weren't wasted. I wasn't some worn-out housewife—I could attract men. Vadim liked that others looked at me. His ego soared knowing that only he was desirable to me. My husband was a thousand percent sure of that. And he was right. We had passed the stage of infatuation, lost the thrill of novelty—but passion hadn't dried up. It had transformed into something deeper, more conscious. Our bed no longer held unexpected fireworks, but there was unity of bodies—when you know every cell, every millimeter, and can take your partner to the stars without fail.
Yes, even the deaf have heard about male polygamy—but beyond animal instinct to cover as many females as possible, there's a basic need to love and be loved. To return to a home where you are expected and accepted, listened to and supported. In wealth and poverty, sickness and health, sorrow and joy.
All we had left was sorrow.
I burst into hysterical laughter and couldn't calm down for a couple of minutes. Vadim hadn't even tried to justify himself. He apologized dryly. Of course, he wanted to save the family—but the undertone was clear: mine, mine, I want! And I had hoped for sincerity. I stayed silent, didn't push—but I waited. Things like that should come from the soul without prompting—only then can you believe them. Tell me everything, share your sin and confusion, and we'll decide together what to do next. Is there even anything left to save?
I'm not a saint—I can be harsh—but I'm not such a maximalist anymore to divorce over suspicions and fantasies that aren't yet confirmed. Maybe the worst hasn't happened yet—maybe there hasn't been that ultimate betrayal: of the heart combined with the body.
Maybe…
I got carried away with a colleague…
Would I have believed that it hadn't gone beyond unintended attraction—without physical or emotional involvement? I don't know. Would I have forgiven him if he had truly repented? I don't know. For now, Vadim had left to think. Quite possibly to think about whether he loved me, or whether this new feeling had already taken root, grown deep into his heart. When love dies, it happens exactly like this: it atrophies over the years, and when the time comes, it falls off—like a lizard's tail when it's grabbed. Or maybe not by accident? Either way, the wound would bleed…
"Mom," I said after a short beep, "are you at work? Can I come over?"
Five minutes later, I was already speeding toward Botkin Hospital. My mom headed the oncology department there—she knew how to comfort people. And my case wasn't the worst. For the universe, of course. For me—it was a complete catastrophe.
As luck would have it, I found her in the doctors' room, usually buzzing with staff. I knocked briefly, went in, quickly scanned the situation: besides her, there was Aunt Taya, the cleaner—she'd worked here forever. Just like Mom.
"Hello, Katya. Is it urgent? I have rounds in ten minutes," Nina Mikhailovna asked, giving me a once-over before returning to her computer. At work, she was a doctor first—and only then a wife, a mother, a grandmother.
"Mom…" I squeaked—and broke down crying.
"Katya!" she gasped.
"Holy Mother of God," I heard Aunt Taya exclaim.
A second later, familiar arms wrapped around me—caring, maternal.
"My girl, what happened? Nika? Vadim?" she stroked my hair—light like hers—soothingly, gently. She had delivered bad news to people so many times that she was ready for anything—afraid of nothing. "Don't cry, Katyusha. Don't cry."
"Vadim is cheating on me," I wailed, sobbing. Vividly imagining how he might have done it. How he undressed that other woman—the colleague—how he ignited her with slow kisses, awakened intoxicating passion. He knew how to do that. Always had.
"Alright, let's sit down," she guided me to the table. "Aunt Taya, put the kettle on."
"Of course, of course," she said—and then sat down with us. Curious, of course! Other people's troubles and suffering always attract more interest than all the happiness in the world. That's human nature.
Mom stroked my hand until the sobbing subsided and handed me a handkerchief. By then, tea and some bagels had appeared.
"What happened between you two?"
I recounted my conversation with my husband in quite some detail. Maybe they'd suggest something. They say it's easier to see from the outside. And they certainly had more experience than me.
"Are you sure about your decision, Katya?"
"What are you suggesting?" I snapped. "That I forgive him?!"
Of course I wasn't sure. But I was putting on a brave face.
"Katya…"
"Mom, he didn't even ask for forgiveness! He just doesn't want to give up what's his. Like I'm some object that belongs to him!"
"You don't know that for sure," she countered gently. "Life, you know, is complicated. Believe me, I've seen a lot: men who left their wives after mastectomies, and those who fought with everything they had just to spend one more day by their side. I understand people a bit. Vadim is not the worst man."
"A man, yes—but not a husband!" I cut in angrily. Though Vadim couldn't really be called a bastard—at least not until recently.
"Does he hit you? Drink a lot? Is he lazy?" Aunt Taya chimed in.
"No, of course not," I frowned. Vadim was a man. A real man, in the truest sense. Not a prince, far from perfect—but there was a wild energy about him, a primitive magnetism. He even smelled of some raw masculinity—and it wasn't just the H24 by Hermès he had worn for years (once I thought my husband was consistent not only in his choice of perfume. The key word—thought).
Vadim was the kind of man women hunted. They secured invitations to exclusive parties, charity events, economic forums—just to get close. Handsome, rich, intelligent, tough, dominant. With smoky gray eyes, a tanned, trained body, and incredibly sensual lips shaped like an ancient bow. At the peak of his masculinity and business success. Men like that are impossible to refuse—and even harder to keep.
And I had refused him. Sent him away again and again. At nineteen, men like Vadim Polonsky only repelled me. I was a young maximalist, trying on different identities, searching desperately for my own.
And he was a typical representative of the capital's elite—confident he could get anything, just by snapping his fingers. No, he didn't kidnap girls off the street like Uday Hussein, but he didn't need to—girls jumped into his flashy car themselves. I didn't want to be just another rich boy's whim.
But that wasn't even the main reason. Vadim scared me. His intensity. His relentless stubbornness. His determination was like an armor-piercing bullet—once it locked on, it would tear everything apart. I felt that one day he'd become a shark—and I wasn't brave enough to tame him.
And I didn't.
It took me ten years to understand that.
"Well then why are you crying?!" Aunt Taya burst out, snapping me back to reality. "A good man doesn't just lie around waiting to be picked up! And if he strayed—" she waved her hand dismissively, "they're all like that! What matters is he brings money home and doesn't drink it away!"
I even laughed from the tension. Oh, these pieces of advice! Endure, woman, endure! You got married—now carry your cross. Even if it crushes you, even if you can't breathe. You're a woman—you can endure anything.
"And you have a child," Aunt Taya continued. "Why raise her without a father?"
"Thank you for the advice," I replied dryly, turning to my mother.
"Aunt Taya," she said firmly, "the patients are waiting for you."
"Oh dear, I'm going, I'm going, Nina Mikhailovna," she jumped up quickly, grabbing her mop and bucket, and hurried out.
"She's right about one thing…"
"Mom!" I couldn't hold back.
"Only that you shouldn't make rash decisions. Remember how beautifully Vadim courted you, how he pursued you…"
Courted me? Ha! He threw money around, showed off, wanted to win me—the untamed one. A trophy. A prize. A toy with an interesting mechanism inside. Later he changed, and so did his attitude toward me—but not immediately. Not at all immediately.
Moscow, April, 2011
"Damn!" I muttered under my breath as I stepped out of the entrance. A black tinted BMW was parked in such a way that there was no getting past it—so everyone could see, and the driver could see everyone. "What do you want?" I crossed my arms defensively, making it clear I didn't appreciate his attention.
"Malvina, why are you so difficult?" Vadim didn't even bother getting out—just lowered the front window.
"I'm tired of you," I snapped and tried to walk around the car. Yeah, right! I stepped left—the BMW followed. I darted right—it moved there too. And this wasn't some teenager—this was a grown twenty-five-year-old man blocking my way! "Do I need to smash another one of your cars?!" I burst out.
I'd been running from him for a month already—the diplomatic phase was over. Now I was aggressively defending my personal boundaries. For a student of MGIMO's international faculty, that was definitely a fail in negotiations.
"Go ahead," Vadim agreed easily, "but this time you'll pay in kind."
I wasn't planning on doing anything like that, so I jumped straight into a flowerbed filled with thick, thorny rosehip bushes. If the front entrance was blocked, I'd escape through the back.
"Not so fast, Malvina," Vadim caught up with me in the alley between buildings. He pulled me close, crushing me against his broad chest under a light blue shirt. I didn't even try to break free—it was useless. He was bigger, taller, stronger. Muscles shifted under my palms, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong arms with sparse hair and thick veins. Tense. Angry. Fierce. It was obvious from his eyes. He was tired of playing with me—but he wasn't used to losing. "I won't back off, Katya. Stop resisting."
I tilted my head up, defiantly lifting my chin, twisting my lips into a mocking smile. I was tall—but he was taller. He stared without blinking, trying to break my will, but I wouldn't give in.
"I don't like you, Polonsky. Leave me alone!" Yes, I knew his last name. I knew who his father was, knew what Vadim did. Power, money, connections, politics—the state.
"You're lying!" he hissed through clenched teeth, locking his gaze on my lips. He wanted to devour me—along with everything else. He radiated rawness and lust from a mile away. Maybe he could have taken me by force, drained me completely—and justice might never have caught up with him. Men like him were allowed too much. But he wanted it differently: for me to love him, to cry, to beg. To worship him and run to him like a trained dog. To hold my heart in his hands and juggle it until it shattered. "You're trembling, my taut string," he ran his hands over my back, burning. "You smell like ripe peaches, my Malvina…" he leaned in, whispering right against my lips. His arousal pressed into my stomach, burning through the thin fabric of my blouse. I should've zipped my jacket all the way up! We had never kissed, never touched intimately—but we constantly exchanged energy. Like wild animals in heat—untamed, ruthless. We fucked with our eyes when our gazes pierced each other, with our teeth when we clenched our jaws, with our hands when we pushed away and tried to hold on. Even I admitted—the air thickened and heated when Polonsky was near. It was attraction on an instinctive level. But we weren't animals. Not alpha and omega losing reason in heat. We were human. We chose with our minds and hearts.
"Let go, Polonsky!" I managed to break free and jump back. I was breathing hard, like I'd run a marathon—but I didn't rush to leave. I waited.
"You, Ekaterina Rumyantseva, are a small, stubborn bitch."
"So you'll leave me alone?" I asked cautiously, not wanting to scare away my luck.
Vadim walked up slowly, took my chin between two fingers, and stared into my face with a hungry, searching look.
"No, Katya. I won't."
I sighed heavily, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm.
"Your eyes…" he said unexpectedly softly. "No one has ever looked at me like that…" he released me abruptly and walked away.
Vadim Polonsky disappeared for exactly two days.
But he didn't really disappear.
Reminders of him were everywhere across Moscow—within the Third Ring Road. Billboards with my photo and an invitation to go on a date with a secret admirer (he didn't expose himself publicly!) filled the streets and highways. It felt like some insane dream! People at university kept pestering me—asking questions, laughing. A week later, people started recognizing me in the metro!
"Stop tormenting your guy!" someone shouted after me as I approached my ten-story building. If Vadim's car had been there—I would've smashed his windshield! And scratched his face! What a show he'd put on!
I opened the vestibule door and immediately sensed something was off: usually, bouquets of roses in every color imaginable didn't cover every available surface. Maybe they were for the neighbors… Three families and Aunt Vera with her two cats—who were the flowers for?
"Mom?" I called from the doorway, glancing at a pair of expensive Baldinini shoes. Looks like we had guests.
"— Oh, Katya's back," I heard, and then Mom appeared herself. "And we have guests." I frowned gloomily and cautiously headed to the kitchen. Even before reaching it, I heard my grandmother's cheerful clucking. She's lively and loves young people. And that very "young person" was here too—Vadim Polonsky, in the flesh.
On the table stood a plate of some elaborate pastries—works of art, honestly!—tea was steaming, tartlets, and next to them a jar of black caviar. Think anyone was eating that? Nope! For example, this pampered rich boy was happily devouring Mom's pea soup with crunchy bread my grandmother baked herself using a special recipe. French bakeries could only dream of it!
"Ekaterina!" Grandma Masha exclaimed. "Why have you been hiding your fiancé from us, hmm?"
"He's not my fiancé!" I protested irritably.
"But I very much hope to become one," Vadim added softly.
So that's how it is… He decided to go through my family. Polonsky pursued me on a grand scale and didn't hesitate to use any means. So far it was harmless enough, but what would he resort to when he got tired of chasing? Just take what he wanted?..
"Just don't drag my family into your games, got it?"
"What games, Malvina?" Vadim pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and slowly inhaled, lazily slicing the air with a stream of smoke.
"Leave me alone. You won't get anything from me. Go back to your world."
"And where would that be?"
"The Garden Ring."
"So you're only Malvina on the outside," Vadim said thoughtfully, then suddenly shot his hand forward. "And that thing between your legs doesn't bite, does it?"
I jumped back, not letting him touch me. His closeness confused me—pushing me away and pulling me in at the same time. Sometimes I even thought about sleeping with him just so he'd realize I was completely ordinary and finally leave me alone! But holding out became a matter of pride. I was sure Vadim Polonsky had turned down plenty of women himself—rewarding them with contemptuous looks or discarding them once his interest was satisfied. Let him now find out what it's like to be rejected!
Turned out, "no" was a completely unknown concept for Polonsky. Apparently, he was one of those men it's easier to give in to than to explain why you don't want to. Still, he changed tactics: started asking around, genuinely took an interest in my life.
"Katya, can you imagine," my friend Svetka not only showed up late to class but also distracted me like crazy, "we got a million transferred to the fund!"
"Seriously?!" I exclaimed, both doubtful and excited. We'd been volunteering for a year already. Recently we'd launched a campaign to raise money for surgery for a one-month-old baby—congenital blindness, but treatable. Not for free, of course. We set up donation boxes in stores, started petitions, even SMS campaigns—but the funds were coming in too slowly. And now this!
"Yeah, and from a certain Mr. Polonsky you happen to know."
Of course! Another way to pressure me. I wonder if there was a note attached: if Katya Rumyantseva doesn't spread her legs for me—the surgery for Nikita Kotov is canceled?
"Katya, maybe give him a chance? You've been brushing him off for four months already."
I didn't answer. Vadim was six years older, and everything about him was too much: too handsome, too rich, insanely confident, and terrifyingly stubborn. He moved in circles I couldn't even dream of, and I was afraid of becoming dependent on a man like that. He didn't want to play games with me. Especially considering how we met and our first "date."
"— Hi, Malvina," Vadim met me at the university exit. "Can I invite you to dinner? You must be hungry."
"Leave me alone, Polonsky, I don't have time for you," I tried to get around him quickly. I was already expected somewhere, and I still had to get there…
"Oh, come on," he quickly pulled me closer and looked into my eyes. "Katya?"
I didn't struggle as usual.
"Is everything okay? You look pale."
"I need to go, let me go," I pressed my hands against his broad, steel-hard shoulders.
"What's wrong? Tell me!"
"A five-year-old child got lost in Losiny Ostrov yesterday. They still haven't found him. We're going to search the forest," and I started struggling again. Like any woman, I reacted very strongly to anything involving children's lives and health. It's instinct. No evolution can change that.
"Let's go," he said shortly and led me to a Porsche parked under a "no parking" sign.
It was already dark, and the boy still hadn't been found. I was torn apart by horrible thoughts. Statistics said that if a child wasn't found within the first 24 hours, the chances of a good outcome dropped with every passing hour. The modern world is cruel and unfair to the weak, and I was afraid to even imagine what could have happened to him. My imagination fed me the worst, most disgusting possibilities.
"They found him!" someone shouted ahead, and we exchanged glances and ran toward the flickering flashlight beams.
They found him in a ravine. He was alive, but with a broken arm and hypothermia. It was only early September, but already so cold—and there was a stream nearby. At night it must have been freezing and damp.
"Thank God!" I exhaled hoarsely and turned to Vadim. His thick brows were furrowed, but his full, beautiful lips curved in a restrained, barely noticeable smile. I could see in his eyes he felt relief too. "A leaf," I said, pulling it from his dark hair—shaved at the temples and styled on top. Now it was messier than usual, but somehow more masculine than his perfect polished look.
"You're crazy, Katya. Seriously. Completely insane," he said, hands on his hips, watching the commotion.
I couldn't hold back and wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my whole body against him.
"I love you, you little fool," he whispered and pressed his lips to mine. The first kiss—so горячий. We kissed like mad. We couldn't pull away from each other. Every day we'd spent refusing the inevitable, we made up for in that moment.
I believed him. Believed that I meant more than even the most valuable trophy for a persistent hunter. There were still many difficulties between us. But after that first "I love you," a sense of safety settled in my chest. I believed it was forever.
I was wrong. It happens.
Present time
"Mom, will you take us in if we get kicked out?" I asked in an exaggerated tone, as if it were nonsense—but I wasn't sure anymore. About anything. Especially about my husband.
"What nonsense!" Mom played along, but squeezed my hand, showing that Nika and I would never be alone in this world.