All day at work, Andrei was haunted by guilt.
Not toward Lena — toward his father.
His father had called the night before. Said he’d found an ad. A 2007 model, low mileage.
“The owner wants to sell quickly. Might even drop the price.”
There was hope in his voice. And Andrei had promised:
“One more month, Dad. I’ll have the money.”
Now he counted obsessively. If they cut all expenses, bought nothing unnecessary, maybe it could even be sooner.
When Andrei came home that evening, he knew immediately something was wrong.
Too quiet.
Lena sat on the couch with her laptop. Maxim slept in his stroller. She didn’t look up.
“Hi,” Andrei said cautiously.
“Hi.”
“What are you looking at?”
“Windows. Triple glazing. Energy-efficient. More expensive, but worth it.”
Andrei sat on the edge of the couch.
“Lena, not now. I’m tired.”
“So am I,” she snapped the laptop shut.
“I’m tired of living in the cold.
Tired of wiping our child’s nose every day.
Tired of waiting for you to realize that you have your own family now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re saving money for a car for your parents while your son freezes.”
So she knew.
Andrei clenched his fists.
“How do you know?”
“Your mother called. Asked when you were coming to visit. At first I didn’t understand. Then I did.”
“She shouldn’t have told you.”
“And you should have?”
She began pacing the room.
“We talked about the windows a month ago. You said there was no money.
But you’re saving for a car!”
“It’s for my parents!”
“And what about us?”
She turned to him, holding Maxim.
“Are we just background characters?
I’m on maternity leave. I don’t earn money — so my opinion doesn’t matter?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then explain what you meant!
The child isn’t a priority.
The wife isn’t a priority.
But your parents are?”
Andrei felt anger rise.
It wasn’t fair.
He worked hard.
He brought money home.
He sacrificed everything — no new clothes, no evenings with friends, because it all cost too much.
And Lena sat there accusing him.
“My parents spent their whole lives for me,” he said hoarsely.
“So I could study. So I could live better.
My father still takes the bus to work at sixty.
My mother carries heavy bags because taxis cost too much.
And you want me to deny them?”
“I want you to think about us!” she shouted.
Maxim began to cry.
“There! You see? You woke him up!”
She rushed to the baby, rocking him.
Andrei watched them — his wife, hair disheveled, his son with a wet face — and suddenly he felt so tired he wanted to lie down and not move ever again.
“I do think about you,” he said quietly.
“All the time.”
“But not enough to change the windows.”
“The windows can wait.”
“No, they can’t.”
They stood facing each other, an invisible wall between them.
Andrei knew: if he didn’t give in now, the distance between them would only grow.
But giving in meant betraying his father.
Breaking his promise.
Leaving him struggling on those crowded trains.
“I gave my word,” he whispered.
“Do you understand? I promised.”
“And what about me?” Lena asked softly.
“When we married? When we had our son? Didn’t you promise me anything then?”
“It’s different.”
“No. It’s the same.
Just that your parents matter more.”
She went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Andrei stood in the living room, staring at the dark window.
Outside, the November wind was already seeping through the glass.
The next day, his father called at lunchtime.
“Andryusha, how’s the money coming? The owner says if he sells this week, he’ll drop twenty thousand. A good deal.”
“Dad… wait a little. I haven’t gathered it all yet.”
“Oh.”
Disappointment slipped into his voice.
“How much more time?”
“Three… maybe four weeks.”
“I understand. Too bad if we miss this one. Your mother hoped we’d manage before the cold.”
Andrei squeezed the phone until his knuckles turned white.
“I’ll try faster, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, son. The important thing is that you’re doing well.”
After the call, Andrei stayed sitting outside. Just sitting. Watching people pass by.
Some got into their cars and drove off.
Others walked to the bus stop — like his parents every day.
And for some reason, the sight of a man around sixty, walking slowly with a heavy bag, pierced him deeply.
At home, Lena was silent.
Not angry.
Not fighting.
Just silent.
She fed Maxim, cooked dinner, did everything as usual — but as if behind glass.
Andrei tried to talk — about work, about the weather, about their son — but she replied in single words and turned away.
On the third day of this silence, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“How long is this going to last?”
“What?”
“This silence. This ignoring me. Like kindergarten.”
Lena slowly put down the spoon she was using to feed Maxim.
“I’m not ignoring you.
I’m just tired of arguing.”
“So you decided to sulk?”
“I’m not sulking, Andrei.
I’ve accepted it.
We won’t change the windows, because your parents need a car.
I understand now what the priorities are.”
“Don’t say that.”
“How should I say it then?”
She stood, lifting their son.
“Tell me how to properly say that I’m cold?
That our child is cold?
That I’m scared when he starts coughing at night?”
Maxim reached his arms toward his father and smiled.
Andrei took him, held him tightly.
The baby smelled of milk and baby cream.
“I don’t want you to be scared,” he said softly.
“Then change the windows.”
“Lena…”
“Enough.”
She took the child back and went into the bedroom.
On Friday, Andrei stayed late at work.
They promised a bonus — small, but something.
He came home at ten, tired but hopeful: another fifteen thousand added.
Maybe two weeks instead of three now.
Lena was in the kitchen with a cup of tea.
Her face was calm — too calm.
“Hi,” he leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Did something happen?”
“I ordered the windows.
The technician came, made the estimate.
Two hundred and thirty thousand.
Installation in a week.”
Andrei slowly sank into a chair.
“What? With… with what money did you pay…?”
Andrei opened his banking app for the third time that morning.
The balance hadn’t changed: 403,820 rubles.
Just a little more, and he could finally buy a car for his parents.
His father dreamed of an old Lada — nothing fancy, just something to drive to the dacha without being crushed in overcrowded buses.
“For your mother,” he used to say quietly. “She’s tired of standing with heavy bags.”
— Andrei, what are you staring at? — Lena passed by with their baby Maksim in her arms, only seven months old. — We need milk and diapers.
— I’ll check later, he muttered, without lifting his eyes.
Lena stopped in the doorway.
She looked exhausted — wearing an old robe that no longer fit her properly, dark circles under her eyes.
Andrei noticed… and chose not to.
If he noticed, he would have to talk.
And he didn’t want to talk.
— We need to talk, Andrei.
That was how it began.
They argued about priorities.
About what mattered more:
his parents…
or the family he was building right here.
Lena wanted to replace the windows.
Cold air leaked through the frames, turning Maksim’s room into a freezer.
The baby caught colds too often.
She lay awake at night listening to him cough, afraid he would stop breathing.
Andrei kept postponing it.
Because he was saving for the car he had promised his father.
Days passed in tension and silence.
Not loud arguments — something worse: quiet distance.
Until Lena made a decision on her own.
She took Andrei’s card.
Paid for new windows.
Ordered triple glazing.
When Andrei found out, he felt betrayed…
then stunned…
then ashamed.
Because suddenly he saw what he had been blind to all along.
Not numbers.
Not promises.
Not dreams postponed.
But his family —
here,
now.
His son.
His wife.
Their fragile little home.
When the new windows were installed, warmth returned to the apartment.
Real warmth — not just from heaters, but from peace.
Maksim slept quietly through the night.
Lena smiled again — softly, carefully, as if afraid to lose it.
And Andrei finally understood:
The true priority was not a promise made for tomorrow…
but the people who needed him today.