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A Prank at the Cost of a Life: Why the Bride Was Afraid to Even Breathe Under the Bed

They went for coffee at the nearest cafe, a small place with fogged-up windows and worn chairs, where he ordered the cheapest Americano, and she did the same, even though the card in her secret pocket could have bought the entire establishment.

— You know, — he said, stirring his sugar, — I don’t care if I ever get rich or not. I want a normal life. Sunday breakfasts, some scruffy dog, a person I can just sit quietly with on the couch in the evening without the silence being awkward.

It was the password. The access code to a heart that had been on guard for so long, letting no one close.

For two years, Vadim passed her unspoken tests without a single mistake, not one slip-up. He never asked for money, even when, according to him, his car broke down or his salary ran out. He gave her wildflowers bought from grandmothers—cornflowers, daisies, some simple herbs. He explained that he couldn’t afford roses but thought these were more beautiful and honest.

He cut out coupons with her, and it didn’t seem humiliating or for show. — Look, a 20 percent discount on buckwheat, — he would say seriously, handing her a newspaper clipping. — You’re crazy, — she would laugh. — I’m frugal, those are different things.

When her car broke down, he made a forty-minute detour every morning for a whole week, waking up at 5:30 AM to get her to work on time. — You’re insane, — she said, — that’s gas, your time. — Time spent with you doesn’t count as wasted, — he would reply so sincerely that she would melt.

Snezhana introduced him to her father, who masterfully played the role of a retired construction foreman, supposedly visiting from a sanatorium in Truskavets, in an old jacket and speaking with a deliberately mixed Russian-Ukrainian dialect. After dinner at a cheap cafe on the outskirts, where Snezhana had intentionally taken them both, Fedor Grigoryevich pulled his daughter aside.

— He’s a good lad, — he said quietly, so Vadim wouldn’t hear, — but he’s soft. Listens to his mother too much.

— Dad, respecting one’s parents is a virtue.

— Respect and obedience are different things, daughter.

She dismissed it, attributing it to her father’s perpetual suspicion. At the time, it seemed like nitpicking, nothing more.

Vadim’s mother, Larisa Arkadyevna, lived in a cramped two-room apartment in a residential area of Kyiv, filled with crystal vases and dinner sets, yellowed photographs in frames, and crocheted doilies on every horizontal surface. Upon their first meeting, she looked Snezhana up and down, slowly and appraisingly, the way one might inspect a stain on the upholstery of a new sofa—with disdainful bewilderment.

— My Vadik is special, — she said instead of a greeting, offering the guest neither tea nor a seat at the table. — He deserves the best. Tell me, an office manager—that’s basically a secretary, right? Am I understanding correctly? How much do they pay?

— Enough, — Snezhana replied, hiding a smile behind a mask of modesty.

“Enough for what? For pantyhose?” was written in the eyes of her future mother-in-law. “If only you knew,” Snezhana thought then with secret triumph. “If only you knew.” And she imagined how, after the wedding, she would reveal the truth, how her mother-in-law’s face would stretch in amazement, how contempt would instantly turn to fawning. The naive dream of someone who still believed in justice.

The wedding preparations turned into an endless series of manipulations, each more elaborate than the last. Larisa Arkadyevna insisted on a huge guest list—120 people, half of whom Snezhana had never seen, explaining it was necessary to maintain the “family image.” She constantly tried to pay for the flowers, the musicians, or the hall decorations, but each time her card was declined. Her wallet was left at home, and the money was stuck in a bank transfer.

— What a shame! — Larisa Arkadyevna would sigh, biting her lip and demonstratively rummaging through her purse. — It must be a system error again.

— It’s okay, I’ll pay, — Snezhana would say, pulling out her unlimited credit card from a hidden compartment.

— Vadik, what an understanding fiancée you have!…

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