My husband had organized a feast at my expense and was bragging about it to my mother-in-law… until I walked into the room and ruined his party.

Pavel asked me for the card on Wednesday morning, at breakfast. His voice sounded just right: concerned, but without panic.

— Katia, I have an urgent business payment, my card has been blocked, just for two days, help me out.

I wiped my hands on the apron and took the card out of my wallet. Pavel took it quickly, as if he were afraid I would change my mind, and kissed me on the top of the head.

— Thank you, my darling, you always save me.

Twenty years of marriage taught me not to ask questions. I trusted. Or I pretended to.

On Friday evening, while ironing his shirt, I heard Pavel talking on the phone in the next room. The door was ajar. His voice was cheerful, not at all the same as the one he uses with me.

« Mom, don’t worry, everything’s sorted. The restaurant’s booked, a table for six, the menu’s amazing, cognac, sparkling wine, just the way you like it. No, she doesn’t know. Why would she? I told her we’re celebrating at home, just a small gathering. »

The iron came to rest in my hand.

“My little gray mouse won’t suspect a thing. A provincial incompetent, Mom, you remember, she comes from a village near Krasnodar. She’s lived in Rostov for twenty years, and she’s still a peasant. Yes, of course I pay with her card. Mine’s blocked. But you’ll see the level of the party at the Tikhiy Don! She’ll never come close, don’t worry. Let her stay home and watch TV.”

I turned off the iron. I went into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and drank it in one gulp. My hands weren’t trembling. Inside, it was empty and cold, as if someone had scraped away everything that was alive.

Little grey mouse. Incapable of the provinces. With her card.

I put the glass in the sink and looked out the window. Outside, night was falling. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I really am a little gray mouse. Except that mice, when you corner them, they bite.

On Saturday morning, I had the card blocked. I explained to the bank that I had lost it and that I was afraid someone would use it. From the bank, I went to the other side of town, to the gated community where I used to live.

Vassili Kisseliov opened the door for me in slippers, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

— Katia? Well, I never! Come in, what are you doing on the landing?

We were sitting in his kitchen, drinking tea. I told him everything. Simply, without embellishment. He listened without interrupting.

“I see,” he said. “Listen, Katia, you saved my family, remember? When my father lost his job, you showed up with a sack of potatoes, saying they were extra. We knew you were giving away your last stash. Now it’s my turn. The party’s Monday night, right? The banquet starts at nine. I’ll call you when they’ve ordered everything and are ready to pay. Then you can come in. I’ll sort things out with the waiter.”

On Monday evening, I put on a dress. The blue one, which I had sewn three years earlier and had never worn—there had never been an occasion. I styled my hair, put on my makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror. Not a mouse.

The phone rang at ten-thirty. Vassili.

— Come on. The bill’s here. Your husband’s going to act all smug with your card.

The taxi dropped me off in twenty minutes. The « Tikhiy Don » restaurant shone with stained glass and gold. Vassili greeted me in the lobby and indicated the dining room with a nod.

— Third table from the window.

I walked in. The room was full of people, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I moved slowly between the tables and, suddenly, I saw them. Pavel was enthroned at the head of the table, next to Tamara Petrovna, in a burgundy suit, and her sister Marina with her husband. On the table were empty plates, glasses, and leftover dessert.

The waiter brought the bill on a tray. Pavel didn’t even look at the amount; he took my card out of his pocket and placed it on the tray with the air of someone paying with his personal fortune.

« The service is excellent, » he said loudly, looking around the table. « You see, Mom, I told you I’d throw you a real party. Not some pathetic thing, a real royal banquet. »

Tamara Petrovna nodded proudly, readjusting her hairstyle.

— My son, you are wonderful. Now that’s generosity, that’s what I call my boy. Not like some, who only know how to sew on a machine and sit in a corner.

Marina burst out laughing. Pavel smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

— Oh, Mom, you know me. For you, only the best. Luckily I have the means.

The waiter took the card and went to the terminal. He swiped it once. Twice. He looked at the screen, frowned. He returned to the table.

— Excuse me, the card isn’t working. It’s blocked.

Pavel turned pale.

— What do you mean, blocked? That’s impossible. Try again.

— I’ve tried three times, sir. The card is invalid.

I approached the table. Tamara Petrovna saw me first. Her face fell.

— Ekaterina? — stammered Pavel, jumping up. — But… what are you doing here?

I looked at him very calmly.