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Svetlana Mikhailovna lived alone in a three-room apartment. Sons went abroad, with bloody ten-year war with her ex-husband Nikolai. As the feudal strife began on the basis of jealousy, it has dragged on all these years. Nikolai on trips from Moscow checked whether the door to the room, determined by him through the court, was well locked, whether something was missing in the required living space. Svetlana would have long ago exchanged an apartment and left her ex-husband, if not for the fear of being deceived. The housing market did not inspire confidence, the woman was afraid to find herself on the street as a result of the exchange. And she lived all these years: continuing to hate the former, shaking in fear of his arrival. After all, every time he came, a scandal flared up, fleeting denunciations, and doors slammed. Svetlana Mikhailovna, in tears, went to her room, cursing Nicholas. She changed the locks because she suspected that someone was walking around the apartment during her absence. The next time Nicholas broke out the front door.

An alarm went off, machine gunners came from a security organization, made sure that the tenant legally entered the apartment, and left, chuckling. This three-room apartment on the last tenth floor was famous for its frequent calls among security guards and emergency room doctors. In the late autumn, Svetlana Mikhailovna was often ill, and then she needed a fever-reducing injection.
The last two years, Svetlana has been renting a large room with a balcony to students. First, two girls, and the next school year, two boys.

She liked the boys more, they always cleaned up after themselves, had no bad habits, did not drive anyone. Actually, with the girls, perhaps she was just unlucky, but she was inclined to think that boys are by their nature more cheerful, not envious, do not gossip behind their backs, and generally reliable tenants, unlike girls.
The summer was ending, and Svetlana Mikhailovna grieved over the loss of the boys. One was given a room in a hostel, the other found a place closer to the university. In search of new guests, Svetlana went to the Economic University, where her son had once studied.

"Renting room for two students," - she wrote in the ad, which is attached with scotch on the bulletin board in the lobby.
It remained to wait and hope that the new tenants would be as well-mannered and industrious as her once Vanya.
Four days passed, there were no interesting offers. Mothers called, were interested in price, asked why it was so expensive, they were indignant when they found out that they were looking for two boys, and not girls at all.
For two weeks, Svetlana Mikhailovna received only two interesting offers, and both times the clients failed at the last moment. Someone gave a hostel, someone himself refused. She already wanted to make a concession and begin to consider the girls, as the bell rang.
The young man with obviously serious intentions called:
- Mistress, the room has not yet passed? He asked in a rough voice. The hard judgmental tone did not tolerate any obstacles.
“Not yet,” Svetlana Mikhailovna caught herself, recovering herself. For a second, it seemed to her that they were calling out tax.
“I'll be in the evening at eight,” the guy walked quickly down the street, answered absently.
Svetlana decided to show the young man who is in charge in this situation:
- Excuse me, what is your name? She began, raising her voice to the octave half.
- Igor, why? - the guy passed back a little.
- So, Igor, - Svetlana turned on bitchiness to the fullest. - Come tomorrow at six, today I will not be at home.
“Tomorrow at six I look at another room.” And today is yours. So you sit at home, mamma, at exactly eight I have you, and he hung up.
From such arrogance Svetlana Mikhailovna immediately broke nerves.As often happened when she wound up because of her ex-husband, she began to invent a thousand reasons not to stay at home in the evening. But she had absolutely no plans for the evening. In addition to the church, shop and cottages, she did not go anywhere and did not go. Therefore, it was decided to stay in order to at least look at the insolent, who imagines himself the navel of the earth.
That she would not, under any circumstances, give up such a boor room, Svetlana Mikhailovna decided immediately, without hanging up the phone. Now she wanted to enjoy revenge, to inform the young, presumptuous young man the sad news - the room had already been rented.
- Just an hour ago they came. So excuse me, - Svetlana chose expressions in advance, showing off in front of the mirror, anticipating how rude bydlan would be upset.
To emphasize her wonderful mood and disposition to a condescending conversation, she put on a bright red dress with a deep neckline, tights and shoes. She always dressed up when strangers came. The same parents of students, for example. Everyone should perceive the hostess of the apartment as a beautiful, interesting woman who knows her worth. So for the room easier to negotiate.

Svetlana sat down to watch TV at seven-thirty, and half an hour, while waiting for a guest, tuned in to a playful reception. She will not hurry, slowly proceed to the door, let the dork be filled, because she did not say "yes." Let him stand under the door and think about how to negotiate next time. And then, when she opens it to him and lets him inside, he will specifically show him the room - let him lick his lips, he, of course, will immediately get excited by the desire to accept an offer that is beneficial in all respects. And then she will tell him the most unpleasant news: the room has already been rented.
“But you leave the phone, if something changes, I’ll definitely call you,” Svetlana theatrically rehearsed, acting out regret.

She will not call him, of course. It’s better not to give it up at all than to such a scum. No one knows what his comrade is.
“The same, I suppose, ham”, - Svetlana nervously tapped the remote control from the TV on the knee.
It is five minutes past eight on the clock, but you can’t hear the bell at the door.
“It’s late, you little bastard!” She grinned maliciously, imagining how slowly she would go and discover when he was willing to appear.
But the guest did not appear. Ten more minutes passed, and Svetlana began to look at things more soberly. She no longer cared how she would punish the insolent, she just wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. When the arrow crossed half past eight, she began to think about turning off the phone completely and going to bed.
"It is a pity that you can not turn off the doorbell," - she lamented.
Closer to nine Svetlana had no doubt that the guy turned out to be an irresponsible dunce and forgot about her. She went into the kitchen and undertook to cook dinner.

Svetlana did not meet anyone, but she really liked a man in the church. During the service, she often became closer to him to have a chance to meet. At such moments she imagined how the father crowns them.
“The servant of God, Svetlana, and Andrey, the servant of God, are crowned.” She had long known the name of a man, that he worked in the state security organs, and that she was also divorced. She was madly in love with a bearded, tall, wiry man who always walked neat, handsomely dressed, had an intelligent, most intelligent church look. Only the father could be compared in intelligence with Andrei Viktorovich. She would never have dared to speak with him first, although what was she ashamed of. Svetlana recently turned forty-five, the children — two guys, the men already as a matter of fact — twenty-five and twenty-three. She was wise by experience, quickly found a common language with strangers in the church, bus, on the market, but she could not imagine, even for a second, that she would first speak with Andrey Viktorovich and try to get him - no, thank you, man must be the first to take the initiative. It should not be otherwise.

“I know this fate, and God wants it,” she thought in the evenings, bored in front of the TV.
Svetlana worked in a shopping center as an individual entrepreneur. Implemented women's clothing, which she bought from wholesalers. She had her own point. A business ...