Her head was spinning; she was on the verge of believing in the existence of magic, but everything turned out to be much more prosaic.
Nastya stood by the bookcase, holding a large school album filled with photographs from those years, and she gazed at each picture with tender admiration. For half an hour, the young woman had been unable to finish cleaning, succumbing to a wave of nostalgia. She lingered longest on the last photo, which captured her husband Artyom with his best friend Sasha. Not many years had passed since then, yet the young men had changed remarkably, grown up, and become real men.
During their school years, Sasha had been deeply in love with Nastya and had done everything possible to capture her attention. However, Nastya did not see in the kind and modest Sasha the partner of her dreams; she was far more drawn to his friend Artyom, who was considered the first handsome man at school and, in her opinion, the most cheerful guy of everyone she knew. Realizing that he had no chance, Sasha stepped aside so as not to stand in the way of his best friend’s happiness and his beloved. This act allowed him to retain the friendship, and the young men continued to stay in touch even after graduation.
Nastya, meanwhile, was enchanted by Artyom; she felt as if she were soaring on the wings of love and did not want to part from him even for a minute. This desire became Nastya’s primary criterion when choosing an institute. Without much thought, she enrolled in the same institute as Artyom, savoring every moment spent with her beloved. Artyom, too, was head over heels in love with Nastya, and during their fourth year at the institute, he proposed to her. The wedding of the young couple could not be called lavish, but all the guests were delighted by the joyous and warm atmosphere of the event. The newlyweds received many gifts, yet the most significant one was from Nastya’s parents—it turned out to be the most useful and generous present.
“Sweetheart,” began Lyudmila Ivanovna—Nastya’s mother—in an important conversation a few months before the wedding. “Your father and I have thought long and hard, and we’ve decided to give you and Artyom your grandmother’s apartment. You will live independently and depend on no one.”
“Wow, are you serious?” Nastya asked, her admiring glance shifting from her father to her mother.
“Of course, we are serious,” confirmed Vyacheslav Yuryevich—Nastya’s father. “We want your married life to be happy, and for that, you need your own little nest.”
“Thank you,” Nastya cried as she rushed into her parents’ arms, her joy boundless.
Not everyone, however, received this news with equal enthusiasm. Nastya’s younger sister, Ksyusha, did not appreciate her parents’ decision at all, as she too had her eyes set on having her own place.
“Why does Nastya get Grandma’s apartment?” she demanded indignantly from their parents. “I, too, deserve my own home.”
“Ksyush, now that Nastya has her own family, she needs it more; you can wait a while,” Lyudmila Ivanovna tried to reason with her daughter. “Don’t worry; we won’t leave you without an inheritance.”
“This is all in the future, and for now I have to make do with a rented apartment,” Ksyusha retorted, pouting, though she did not continue the argument.
Immediately after the wedding, Nastya and Artyom moved into a spacious one-room apartment, where they quickly carried out a cosmetic renovation to suit their tastes and settled into a peaceful married life. However, the tranquility of the young couple did not last long; merely six months after the wedding, Ksyusha knocked at their door.
“Hey Nastya,” she called one evening. “I have a problem—I really need your help.”
“What happened?” Nastya asked, worried.
“I’m having temporary difficulties at work; my salary has been slashed, and I can’t afford to pay for my rental anymore. Could I stay with you for a while?”
“With us?” Nastya was surprised. “Don’t you think it would be more logical to go back to our parents, since we only have a one-room apartment?”
“Nastya, you know I can’t get along with them; we’d only end up arguing. It would be better if I stayed with you,” insisted Ksyusha.
“Well, I need to discuss it with Artyom—what if he disagrees?” Nastya replied.
“Of course, I understand. Please talk it over,” Ksyusha said.
After her conversation with her sister, Nastya was plunged into heavy thought. She did not want to refuse Ksyusha’s help, yet sharing the apartment with her did not seem like a good idea either.
“I got a call from Ksyusha today; she wants to come live with us,” Nastya told Artyom when he returned from work.
“What happened with her?” Artyom asked without taking his eyes off his phone screen.
“Some problems at work—a salary cut, and now she can’t pay for her place.”
“Well, if that’s the situation, then of course, let her come,” Artyom replied without hesitation.
“I didn’t expect you to agree so easily,” Nastya remarked, surprised.
“What’s the matter? She’s your sister—one must help family,” Artyom replied.
“Yes, you’re right.”
Artyom’s words invoked a sense of guilt in Nastya, and she decided to accept Ksyusha’s request. “She said it wouldn’t be long—maybe nothing terrible will happen,” she thought as she went to call her sister with the good news.
Within a week, Ksyusha moved in with Nastya and Artyom, taking up a significant portion of their spacious one-room apartment.
“Wow, you have so many things!” Nastya gasped in horror, staring at the pile of bags spread across the apartment.
“It just seems that way. I’m going to sort them out now, and you’ll see I don’t have nearly as much as it looks,” Ksyusha assured her sister.
“Are you sure you won’t be here for long?” Nastya asked, still astonished by the number of belongings.
“Yes, as soon as my work situation improves, I’ll move out. I promised,” Ksyusha replied.
Indeed, after unpacking her bags, the situation improved considerably, yet Nastya could not wait for the day Ksyusha would finally leave. Perhaps she would have continued to suffer the inconveniences of sharing the apartment with her sister had her thoughts not been preoccupied with a more important event.
“So, are you ready to become a dad?” Nastya asked Artyom with a broad smile.
“A dad? What do you mean…” he stood there, his eyes widening as he looked at his wife.
“Don’t just stand there—our baby is coming!” Nastya cried out, throwing herself around her husband’s neck.
Artyom, finally coming to his senses, began to rejoice as well—this news had caught him off guard.
As soon as Ksyusha got home from work that day, she too was told the joyful news.
“Am I going to be an aunt?”
“Yes, and I hope you’ll be a really good one,” Nastya nodded.
“Wow, that’s amazing, that’s wonderful!” Ksyusha hugged her sister.
Upon learning about the impending addition to the family, Nastya stopped feeling irritated by her sister’s presence. She had thought that with a baby, living together would become impossible, but for now, she even began to see some advantages. For the first few months, Nastya didn’t feel very well, and Ksyusha’s help around the house proved to be very timely. It seemed that nothing could shatter the idyll that had formed in their home—but fate had other plans. Preparing for the upcoming expenses for the baby, Nastya decided to check how much money she and Artyom had managed to save and went to their family stash.
“Strange.” Nastya recounted the money, which seemed to have diminished significantly. “No, I’m sure I put my entire bonus here—I know something is wrong,” she decided, and went to talk to her husband.
“Did you take any money out of the stash?” she asked Artyom.
“No, why?”
“It’s less than before.” Nastya did not expect a negative answer from her husband, and now her anxiety deepened.
“How much is there now?” Artyom asked.
“One hundred and thirty thousand.”
“That’s exactly what was there—I’m telling you,” Artyom reassured her.
“No, I clearly remember it being…”
“Calm down,” her husband interrupted, “you must be mistaken; it happens in your condition.”
“Well, maybe you’re right.” Artyom’s confidence somewhat eased Nastya’s worries, though it did not dispel them entirely.
Perhaps Nastya would have forgotten about the money, but the oddities were not over. One day, upon arriving home, she noticed that the sofa had moved from the center of the room closer to the window.
“Did you rearrange the furniture?” she asked Artyom.
“What rearrangement?” Artyom replied in surprise.
“The sofa—it wasn’t here before,” Nastya pointed out the change.
“Honey, are you all right?” her husband asked, concerned.
“Maybe Ksyusha can tell me,” Nastya pleaded with her sister.
“Come on, sister, the sofa has always been here,” Ksyusha responded.
“No, that’s not where it was,” Nastya insisted.
“You really need to get some rest,” Artyom approached and embraced his wife.
Nastya clutched her temples; something abnormal was happening around her. The next day, to her astonishment, she again discovered the sofa in the center of the room. “Okay, I need to start keeping a journal—something’s definitely not right with me,” Nastya thought, deciding this time not to mention anything to her husband or sister.
Over the following weeks, the strange happenings in Nastya’s apartment did not cease—sometimes all the food was excessively salted even though she hadn’t added a single grain, other times items vanished from their places only to reappear later. Nastya kept a journal and took photos of the apartment’s condition in an effort to prove to Artyom that she was not losing her mind. She suspected that Ksyusha was behind these odd happenings and tried every means to expose her. Artyom, on the other hand, dismissed everything as nonsense, insisting that all Nastya needed was rest and peace. Eventually, after yet another account of the rearrangement in the apartment, Artyom had enough.
“You’ve completely lost your mind; why don’t you transfer the apartment title to me?” he said to his pregnant wife.
“Why?” Nastya looked at Artyom in astonishment.
“Something is seriously wrong with you—what if you end up giving away the apartment to some swindlers, and we end up living on the streets?”
“Don’t worry; that will definitely not happen,” Nastya assured him.
“Perhaps you should reconsider, as it would indeed be safer,” Artyom suggested again.
“I’m perfectly fine!” an enraged Nastya shouted as she stormed out of the room.
After Artyom and Nastya’s wedding, Sasha maintained occasional contact with them. Although he seldom visited, he regularly called Artyom to inquire about their well-being. During one such conversation, Ksyusha was sitting right next to Artyom, and as soon as he hung up with Sasha, she started chatting with him. Distracted by Ksyusha’s question, Artyom forgot to press the mute button, and Sasha inadvertently became a witness to their dialogue.
“When is she going to get out of here? You promised that the apartment would soon be ours,” Ksyusha exclaimed indignantly.
“You know Nastya—she’s not that easy to break. She still doubts that there’s anything wrong with her head.”
“I’m tired of waiting—I want to be with you. I want to live in this apartment as my own, not as a guest. Come up with a way to make this happen faster,” Ksyusha said tearfully.
Horrified by what he heard, Sasha’s emotions overflowed. “How can Artyom act this way? And what about Ksyusha?” he wondered. Deciding that immediate action was necessary, he called Nastya.
“Hi, aren’t you at home right now?” he asked as soon as she answered the phone.
“No, I just left the clinic. What’s up?”
“Send me your address—I’ll be over right away. We need to talk,” Sasha said.
Within half an hour, they were sitting in his car, and the young man recounted the conversation he had overheard.
“I knew it—I never believed all their insistence that I was going crazy,” tears welled up in Nastya’s eyes. “How could they do this? I just don’t understand.”
“I can’t understand it either, but we will definitely figure something out,” Sasha tried to comfort her.
“What can be done? I’ve been betrayed, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And what do you plan to do about it?” Sasha asked.
“I’m going to expose them for who they are and send them packing,” Nastya replied, clenching her fists.
“I’ll help you,” Sasha volunteered readily. “I have call recording activated on my phone—it’s very useful for work. I also have a recording of that conversation.”
That very day, they went together to Nastya’s apartment and demanded an explanation from Artyom and Ksyusha, presenting them with the recording from Sasha’s phone. They didn’t resist—the evidence was too damning, and no justification could save them.
“Why on earth did I even marry you? If I hadn’t, you’d be living with Ksyusha, and my life wouldn’t be ruined!” Nastya screamed at Artyom.
“We only got together with her after the wedding,” Artyom tried to justify himself, as if that could change anything.
“And you—how could you?” Nastya launched herself at her sister.
Ksyusha stood silently, not attempting to say a word. The scene dragged on for a long time, and eventually, Nastya expelled from the apartment her treacherous sister and her unfaithful husband.
What had happened made Nastya see just how mistaken she had been in her choices. It turned out that her true happiness had always been right there beside her, but she had failed to notice it. Sasha supported her as best as he could, and over time she came to realize that he meant more to her than just a friend. Sasha even accepted Nastya’s baby as his own—he was truly happy to have such a wonderful family with the girl he had always loved.
As for Artyom and Ksyusha, it wasn’t long before they separated. Whether guilt ever tormented them, Nastya never found out, because every time her sister attempted to rekindle their relationship, she was met with refusal.
