Alicia was finishing college, standing at a pivotal moment in her life. A time to embrace full independence, to decide her future—her career, her family. She was anxious, knowing she had to make the right choice. Her parents couldn’t afford to give her another shot at education.
Alicia’s father was 62, her mother 54; she was their late child. Her older brother, Anthony, died two years ago, losing control of his car in the rain. Her parents barely coped with the loss, and Alicia saw how it aged them. They put on a brave face for her, but she understood their pain. She’d loved her brother dearly and missed him terribly. That’s why she couldn’t afford to mess up her future. She needed to support her parents, not burden them. But explaining this to her boyfriend, whom she’d been dating since her sophomore year, was tough.
Paul was far less responsible, solving most problems with his father’s money—he owned a construction firm. Academic debts? Bribes. Social connections? Lavish parties he threw. Paul was a good guy who loved Alicia, but his reliance on his dad’s wealth unsettled her. They were worlds apart.
— So, — Paul hopped onto the couch, feet up, resting his head on Alicia’s lap, covering her beloved Bulgakov novel. — Plans for tonight?
— Reading, — she smiled. — You creased my page, by the way.
— Did I? Sorry. Want to grab a new copy? — he shrugged carelessly.
— No, this one’s special, — Alicia slipped in a bookmark and set it on the table. — My godfather gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday. A year later, he got pushed under a tram.
— Oh God… I’m sorry, I— — Paul faltered, afraid he’d touched a sore spot, but Alicia laughed.
— He’s fine, don’t worry! My godfather says Annushka hasn’t spilled her oil yet, so you can’t die in a tram accident.
— Really? You scared me there. That’s a fine, — Paul pulled two tickets from his back pocket. — Check this out: a yacht cruise. Nighttime. Just us, the captain, and crew.
— Paul… — Alicia smiled.
A yacht sounded amazing, but how much did it cost? Clearly more than he earned testing games.
— Where’s the money for this?
— Well, Dad helped a bit, — he admitted reluctantly, knowing how she felt about it. — But my work’s picking up too.
— Really? Tell me, — she asked, intrigued.
Paul grew serious, sitting up cross-legged.
— Remember I tested games? That was just the start. I was scoping out the scene. Met a developer, we got talking, I mentioned my design degree, and he suggested I create my own project!
Alicia barely followed, but his sparkling eyes told her he was thrilled.
— Wow! Congrats! — She kissed him.
— That’s not all, — Paul announced grandly. — If the game does well, we split the profits evenly.
— Will that be a lot?
— Enough to start a business, I hope. Worst case, I’ll ask Dad. Yes, yes, don’t give me that look! — He raised his hands defensively. — He’s happy to help.
— Okay, — Alicia sighed. — I’m really happy for you.
— Just for me? — He squinted slyly. — We’re in this together forever!
— Big words, — she smiled.
— Don’t believe me? — She shrugged, and he grinned, pulling her into a hug. — You’ll see.
The yacht cruise was unforgettable. Just them—well, plus a couple of waiters with champagne and snacks, a captain they saw briefly, and some crew somewhere. Alicia was breathless at St. Petersburg’s nighttime views. Paul, used to such luxuries, just basked in her joy.
After defending their theses, Paul’s parents gifted him a two-bedroom apartment. He immediately asked Alicia to move in. She didn’t hesitate long—she loved him, and he loved her. Why not start living together? Maybe it’d lead to more. Once settled, Alicia landed a suitable job. As a beginner, her pay was modest, but it was a solid start.
But Paul was changing for the worse. He grew obsessed with gaming, glued to his computer for days. At first, Alicia thought he was working until she glanced at his screen.
— Paul… you’re gaming? — she asked, puzzled.
— Yup, — he replied, eyes fixed on the screen.
— Weren’t you supposed to be developing a game?
— Oh, that fell through, — he brushed her off.
Alicia shrugged and headed to the shower. He had money, so his dad was clearly footing the bill again. She didn’t like it. She covered her own expenses, they shopped as needed, paying whoever was convenient. She wasn’t financially dependent, but she no longer felt his love.
He’d lied about the games—or rather, she’d assumed he was working. He was just playing, bankrolled by his father. Their conversations dwindled to nothing. They talked over lunch, if at all. Alicia kept the house tidy, cooked, and worked. Paul didn’t even ask about her day, let alone help. With a heavy heart, she realized their spark was gone.
Time passed.
A year later, nothing changed. Two years, same story. Paul stayed glued to his computer; Alicia worked harder, desperately trying to fix their relationship. Paul grew irritable and still jobless. Exhausted, she could’ve rented her own place, but hope he’d change kept her there.
— Alicia, where’s my yogurt? — Paul yelled from his desk.
— In the fridge, — she replied, finishing a project on her laptop.
— Can you grab it?
— I’m working.
— Pleeease? — he whined.
That “please” snapped something in her.
What the hell? Why does he do nothing to start his own life? Can’t even get his own yogurt—ridiculous!
She sat for a moment, stifling a meltdown, saved her work, closed her laptop, and approached him. He looked up, surprised. Alicia studied him. He’d let himself go. At twenty-seven, he looked forty—paunchy, unshaven, messy beard, a grease stain on his stretched T-shirt.
Suddenly, she saw he wasn’t the Paul she’d loved. That Paul, though reliant on his parents, had cared for her. Now, in an expensive gaming chair, sat a stereotypical thirty-year-old freeloader.
— No yogurt? — he asked.
— Paul, we need to talk.
— Now? — He glanced at the screen.
— Yes, now.
— Can it wait fifteen minutes? — he whined again.
— In fifteen minutes, I’ll be done packing, — she said sharply.
— You going somewhere?
She rolled her eyes.
— Paul, you’ve changed so much these past two years, — she said, ignoring his frantic button-mashing. — I thought you’d get a job, get off your parents’ dime. But no, you just play games. I thought we’d build a family, but you’re still playing. I thought we’d be happy together, but guess what? You’re playing again. I’m done. I’m twenty-six. I want to get married, have a kid I won’t be sending off to college at fifty-five, and return to a job I love. But you don’t care about my dreams.
— Fine, what do you want from me? — he said, feigning martyrdom.
— I want you to grow up! — she shouted. — Play on weekends, in your free time, but jobless at nearly thirty? That’s shameful!
— I don’t get why you’re yelling, — he said coldly. — I have an apartment, which you live in, by the way. And money for you to have fun with. What else do you need?
— Paul, none of it’s yours! It’s your father’s!
— Stop shouting, seriously. You’re distracting me from my game. Why do you care where the money comes from? It’s there, that’s it.
— It matters! Your parents won’t live forever, and you don’t even know the name of your dad’s company. How will you run it? You’re nothing without their handouts!
— That’s it! — Paul flung off his headphones, stood, and clenched his fists.
For a moment, Alicia thought he’d hit her.
— Get out! And don’t come back!
She backed toward the door, tears in her eyes. This was him now—her dream guy. Once kind, caring, if irresponsible, but good. Now, he was like an enraged rhino—clumsy, lumbering, but strong. Worst of all, his fists were ready to swing. Not another minute here.
She stepped out backward, closing the door. The creak of his chair and rapid keystrokes told her he was back at his game, headphones on. Alicia grabbed a bag from the closet, tossed in essentials, her laptop, phone, and documents, and slipped out unnoticed. Maybe Paul let her go on purpose, angry as he was. Either way, she was glad to escape. She spent the night in a hotel—too late to find a decent rental. But after work, she’d try.
The next morning, she called a real estate agent, listed her preferences, went to work, then met the agent, who’d found three options. Two apartments caught her eye, but one was too far from work, so the choice was easy. It was a one-bedroom with a separate bathroom. The kitchen was spacious—big enough to add a wall for another room. It had all the basics: two closets (one in the hall, one in the bedroom), a bed, a couple of nightstands. The kitchen had a dining table, fridge, sofa for a second bed, and a coffee table. A glazed balcony held another table, two cushioned stools, and carpeted flooring for winter warmth. The bathroom had a washing machine. Only a microwave was missing.
No big deal, Alicia thought.
The price was surprisingly low, a relief since every penny counted now.
Paul didn’t call that day, or the next, or the week after. It stung. Did their years together mean nothing? Maybe he didn’t notice she’d left. Or thought she’d crawl back, unable to survive alone. No way that was happening. Alicia focused on work, sent money to her parents, and tried not to dwell on Paul.
She hoped the pain would fade.
A month later, Paul finally called. Alicia was just starting to miss him less—the old him, who’d talk about his day, shower her with attention, hug her gently, tuck her in at night, and make two cups of tea.
She’d never needed his money, just his love. But seeing “Darling” on her phone screen no longer felt true.
— Hello, — she answered.
— Where are you? — he grumbled.
His voice tugged at her heart. She still loved him, still wanted him. Then she remembered that night she fled. The ache eased.
— You told me to get out, so I did.
— Not funny. Where are you? — he pressed.
There was no warmth, no care in his tone. He just wanted his property back.
— I’m not your dad’s gift to reclaim. Sort yourself out first.
— Alicia, are you seriously breaking up like this?
— Paul, — she sighed. — Thank God you didn’t hit me. I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t.
— Are you insane?! — he exploded.
— Not the best choice of words. Goodbye, Paul. — She hung up, turned off her phone, and cried.
It hurt terribly, but she knew it was over. No use humiliating herself—it wouldn’t bring back what was.
Paul never called again, and her pain slowly dulled. Alicia climbed the career ladder, took a mortgage, and bought an apartment. It was much like her rental, where she’d started fresh without Paul, but with a decorative arched wall splitting the kitchen, just as she’d wanted. She joined a gym, loved her workouts, switched to healthy eating, and by thirty looked better than at twenty-five. Maybe Paul’s absence helped.
One day, post-workout, she stopped at a café to meet a client about a project. She’d only spoken with his secretary; he was busy and barely freed up for this. Minutes later, a tall man in a suit scanned the room and strode to her table.
— Hello. You’re our designer, Alicia? — he flashed a dazzling smile.
— Yes, that’s me, — she matched his grin. — And you’re Max, right?
— Yep. Good thing you’re so stunning—I spotted you right away, — he said, sitting across from her.
— Thanks, — she blushed lightly.
Compliments were rare lately. She’d poured herself into work and the gym, neglecting her personal life and dreams of a family.
— Shall we discuss the project?
— And a business streak. A dream girl, — Max teased.
Alicia eyed him warily, but his compliments felt genuine.
— Maybe you cook too?
— Not relevant, but I manage, — she smirked.
— That’s it! Marry me, — he laughed.
Alicia laughed too, unsure how to react.
— Okay, before you think I’m a clown not worth working with. Rough day—mind if we grab coffee first, then talk business? Or are you in a rush?
— No rush. I’m done for the day, — she smiled.
She found herself enjoying his company. His humor was bold but charming.
— Perfect! — Max grinned, signaling a passing waiter.
He ordered confidently, then looked at her.
— You decided?
— Um, yes, cappuccino, please, — she told the waiter.
— And your honey pastries for the lady! — Max added.
— Oh, no, I—
— Real honey, delicious. Your figure’s safe, I promise, — he assured her calmly.
Alicia smiled shyly and nodded. She wanted to trust him, even in small things, and didn’t know why.
— You know the menu well. Come here often? — she asked.
— Sure do. Love unwinding here with coffee after work. That gym across the street? Mine, — he pointed to where she’d just been.
— No way! I was just there! — she exclaimed.
— Impossible! I’d have noticed you! — he teased.
Alicia laughed heartily at his jokes. Max, insisting she drop the formalities, owned a chain of gyms and bars. He needed a new design for one of them.
— Why such different ventures? — she asked.
— Started elsewhere, — Max leaned back. — My dad’s wealthy, but at eighteen, he said he wouldn’t support me. I panicked, thinking he’d packed my bags—he would’ve. Instead, he moved me to a rental, and I had to earn my food. Still studying, I bartended, learned fast, and with Dad’s help, opened my first bar in college. He was just an investor; he gets a cut, though he didn’t want it—I insisted, out of gratitude. I owe him a lot. Then I expanded, met construction firm owners, built a small bar chain, thought I’d stop there. But one moment stuck with me. I was chilling with friends when a guy I knew, who’d built one of my bars, came in with his family. His wife and son sat down, but he stood at the counter, drinking whiskey, looking miserable. We talked, and he vented about his son—gave him everything, but the kid wouldn’t lift a finger. Typical spoiled brat story, but I looked at the son and didn’t see my peer. He looked as old as his dad—overweight, unshaven, greasy hair, bad skin, double chin. I realized I didn’t want to end up like that. I saved seasonal profits, bought a couple of buildings cheap, and fitness took off better than expected. I expanded from there. But if I hadn’t seen what I could become, I wouldn’t have thought of it.
Alicia listened, realizing he was talking about Paul—her Paul, whom she’d loved so blindly. That’s how he looked to others.
— I’ve bored you with my long tale, — Max chuckled.
— No, I know that person.
— Small world, — Max met her gaze. — Let’s not ruin a great evening, — he said, sensing she didn’t want to dwell on Paul.
— Yeah, — she agreed, relieved.
They chatted more, discussed the project, swapped numbers, and parted ways.
But their connection refused to stay professional. Alicia felt Max liked her, and she definitely liked him. She poured herself into his project, delivering early and flawlessly. Max was floored.
— You’re the best designer I’ve ever met, — he said earnestly.
Alicia smiled, warmed by the praise.
— Thanks. Guess we’re done?
— You want that? — he asked suddenly.
Caught off guard, she fumbled. Seeing her flustered, he pressed on.
— We could celebrate our collaboration, the project’s end. I’d insist, but I don’t want to scare you.
— You’re not scary, — she said firmly.
Why not take a chance? She’s thirty. What’s there to lose?
— Okay, I’m in.
— Awesome! I’ll pick you up. I want to show you my places, but dinner first, deal?
— Sounds great, — she smiled, giving him her address.
Max arrived on time in a sleek car with a driver. No smoothies at a bar tonight. Alicia wore a classic little black dress; Max, a sharp black three-piece suit. He greeted her, offering his hand.
— You look stunning, — he said, brushing his lips over her fingers.
— Thanks. Dark shades suit you, — she replied.
In the car, Max gazed at her, silent, as if afraid to break the moment. The driver took them to one of St. Petersburg’s priciest restaurants. Dinner was delightful. Max remembered to entertain his date, and they found endless common ground—sports, music, art, even horseback riding.
— You’ve ridden since thirteen? — Alicia asked, amazed, as they left for a bar.
— You bet! My first horse was Diamond. Loved him, even if he threw me twice, — Max laughed.
— I’ve only ridden a few times, but it was magical, — she said dreamily.
— We can fix that. Got plans tomorrow? — She shook her head. — Wrong. We’re riding in Vyborg.
— Oh, I don’t know… — she hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t let her pay. — We’re not that close…
— Why not? First, let’s drop the formalities, — the driver parked, and Max opened her door. — What do you say, Lessie?
— Okay, deal, — she smiled.
Her dad called her Lessie; it carried warm memories.
The bar was stunning, blending modern flair with cozy charm. Alicia loved it. They drank, talked more, laughed, danced. Back on a sofa to rest, Max suddenly slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. One thought hit her: Finally!
She’d been waiting for it all night.
— Too much? — he asked, pulling back slightly.
Instead of answering, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.
Six months later, they married, utterly devoted to each other, wondering how they’d lived apart.
A month after the wedding, Alicia got pregnant. Max was overjoyed, practically carrying her everywhere.
One day, she cried because he loved her “too much.” She was so grateful—he supported her, cared for her parents, ensuring their comfort, and spent hours talking with her daily. She was happy, loving and loved, just as she’d dreamed.
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