“You’re joking, right?” Vlad’s voice shook—not from surprise, but from holding back words he’d regret later. He sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the untouched sushi takeaway he and Christina had ordered. “You actually bought yourself a Porsche?”
“Not a Porsche, a Taycan. Electric. You could at least get the name right if you’re gonna judge me for it,” Christina replied, not even glancing up from her phone. Her colleague’s Instagram post showed some conference in Geneva—everyone in blazers, sipping champagne. Typical.
The flat smelled of wasabi, irritation, and freshly scrubbed bathroom tiles—Christina had automatically wiped them down before Vlad arrived, even though she knew it wouldn’t help.
“I just don’t get why you’d need a car like that,” Vlad stood abruptly, pacing the kitchen. “You’re not a racer. You’re not loaded. Do you think people will respect you more if you’re driving some… spaceship?”
“Yes. Exactly. And I won’t have to park in the middle of nowhere—actual charging spots exist, you know. Plus, guess what? Taycan’s got adaptive cruise. It’s not about showing off, Vlad. It’s comfort. Safety. And—ta-da!—my money.”
“You heard what Dad said,” Vlad pressed, like he’d rehearsed the line all night.
“Sadly, my ears still work.” Christina finally put her phone down. “He said a woman shouldn’t drive a car like that because it ‘stirs up unhealthy excitement in male company.’ Direct quote, by the way.”
“He’s just worried. Old-school.”
“He’s fossilised, Vlad. And you’re heading the same way if you don’t say something vaguely supportive right now.”
Vlad opened his mouth, then shut it. Like an old telly with sound but no picture.
“Why couldn’t you talk to me first? We’re family. I could’ve—”
“What? Suggested I get a Kia Ceed like your mum? Or scrap the idea and buy your granddad’s old estate?”
He smirked, but it wasn’t happy. “Cheers for the trust.”
Christina sighed, looking at him like a wobbly stool—still standing, but you wouldn’t risk sitting on it.
“Vlad, have you ever felt like you could just… do what you want? Without checking with everyone else’s opinions, expectations, tantrums?”
“I don’t earn what you do, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Not about money. About freedom. Inside.”
He shrugged, like the words gave him hives.
“You knew my parents weren’t like that. You knew what you were signing up for.”
“I hoped they’d at least start respecting me. Or you would.”
The silence thickened, denser than last night’s dodgy kebab shop rice. Vlad sat back down, eyes on the floor.
“They just think you should be more… feminine.”
“Ah. Preferably licence-free, opinion-free, and endlessly grateful for a wedding ring?” Christina gave a bitter laugh. “Sorry, love, I’m not a side dish to your borscht. I’m a grown woman.”
He looked away. And then, absurdly, the door knocked—too firm for Deliveroo, too quiet for a neighbour.
“Mum,” Vlad exhaled, standing. “She wanted to swing by, see how we’re doing.”
“She ‘happened’ to be nearby? Or’s she tracking my car now?” Christina arched a brow, smoothing her blouse as she stood.
“Just… go easy, yeah?”
“I’m already shower-gel soft. You’re the one who needs to stop being a sponge.”
The door opened. Anna swept in with an M&S bag, looking less like a guest and more like an inspector.
“Hello, my dears. Brought you a healthy salad—no nasties. You could do with a bit of looking after.” Her gaze slid to Christina’s heels. “All dressed up? Big plans?”
“This is how I always look. Can’t afford to dress like a pensioner on maternity leave.”
“Who’s that meant to be?” Anna frowned.
“Abstract concept. But if the shoe fits…”
“Vladik, you let her speak to me like this?” Anna turned to him, ignoring Christina like an office printer on holiday.
“He’s not my minder. Or my translator from English to Family,” Christina said, grabbing the sushi from the kitchen. “Tea? Or shall we skip to the part where you lecture me about my disgraceful car?”
“You’re sharp. That’s good.” Anna smiled. “Nikolai and I need a car like that—for the countryside, visiting family. What’s it to you? Just for show?”
“Yep. Also revenge. On you.” Christina said it calmly. Like a surgeon noting an appendix had burst.
A pause. Even Vlad seemed to realise something serious had just happened. Christina put the sushi back.
“Sorry. I’m done pretending this is normal.”
“Pretending what’s normal?” Anna blinked.
“All of it. You dropping by like a parole officer. Vlad freezing like a childhood statue. Being told how to live, dress, spend. I’m done.”
She kicked off her heels—armour discarded—and walked to the bedroom. Vlad stood gaping; Anna turned to him, fury brewing.
“She humiliates me, and you just stand there sniffing your socks! This isn’t how a marriage works!”
“It’s not going to,” Christina called from the bedroom. Calm. Steel underneath.
Christina woke to a noise like an earthquake—or at least a broken lift. It was the wardrobe, slammed so hard the old building’s pipes rattled. Vlad was digging for papers. Hers, of course. The car.
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice was hoarse, yesterday’s row still clinging to it.
“Where’s the V5C?” Vlad didn’t turn. He wore those worn-out joggers he usually reserved for router tantrums or half-arsed pasta.
“Same place your backbone is. Buried under layers of parental fear.” She walked past him, deliberately ignoring his rummaging. “Won’t find it. Left it with my solicitor. Surprise—it’s in my name only. No transfers. No permissions. No Dad.”
“You can’t do this! We’re family!”
“And you can root through my things because your masculinity’s in crisis and Mummy’s whispering in your ear?”
He straightened, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. For a second, she almost pitied him. Almost.
“Dad said you’re acting like some… feminist.”
“How dreadful!” Christina clutched her chest mockingly. “Did he faint? Need smelling salts?”
“They’re just worried. They want stability. Respect. A proper wife!”
“Proper? What’s that—apron ready? Serve borscht on command? I’ve got a job, Vlad. Flights, teams, responsibilities. I’m not on the shelf, I’m running logistics across Europe.”
“I don’t care! I want you home! Not globetrotting, buying tanks!”
“It’s not a tank. It’s my ship. I’m the captain. And you?” She glanced out the window, where her silver Taycan gleamed, taunting the row of Ford Fiestas below. “Not crew material.”
He stepped closer. Jaw set, eyes dark.
“You think you’re better than us? Looking down on my parents, on me? You married into this family.”
“Yeah. Except your ‘family’ is a panic room with rules and shouting. I’m an add-on, not a person. I don’t even have a name anymore—just ‘her,’ ‘the wife,’ ‘the one with the car.’”
He grabbed her wrist. Not gently. Like someone out of options.
“Vlad. Let go.” Ice in her tone.
“We’re going to my parents’. Today. Talking this out. Properly.”
“First, you let go. Then, you leave. Then? If I’m feeling generous, I might text.”
He released her like she’d burned him. Stepped back.
“You’re ruining everything!”
“Everything?” She scoffed. “Two years, Vlad. One decent, one under your mum’s surveillance. You think I didn’t notice the hushed hallway calls? Her ‘how to tame a shrew’ tips?”
“You’re delusional!”
“I’m a person. Choosing my life. What are you?”
He grabbed his jacket, keys. At the door, he turned:
“You’re just selfish.”
“And you’re just a son. Mummy’s boy.”
The door slammed. Silence rang after it.
That evening, Anna texted:
“Knew you weren’t right for Vlad. Too proud. Women like you end up alone—just you and a car that won’t keep you warm at night.”Christina smiled, turning the key in her Taycan’s ignition, and drove away without looking back—her future wide open like the empty road ahead.
