Galina stood by the window, gently lifting the thin curtain, watching Viktor stride quickly across the courtyard toward the entrance of the neighboring building. Again. This was the third time that week.
In his hand was a small toolbox—old, almost more for show than use.

“Where are you going?” Galina called from the balcony.

“Over to Alina’s! Her outlet’s broken!” Viktor turned, waved, and vanished behind the stairwell door.

An outlet. Of course. Galina snorted and slid the balcony door shut.
Thirty-five years of marriage, the man could barely screw in a lightbulb at home. And now—suddenly—he was a “electrician.”

The phone rang. It was Lusya, her longtime friend.

“Gal, did you see?”

“See what?”

“Your husband trotted over to the girl’s place again. Early this morning—didn’t even have breakfast first.”

“He’s just helping.”

“Sure, ‘helping.’ And did you know she just bought a tight, red dress?”

Galina tightened her grip on the receiver.

“So what?”

“Nothing. Just saying. But Gal, don’t close your eyes to this.”

“I’m busy,” Galina said—and hung up.

She sank onto the sofa, her hands trembling a little.
Don’t close her eyes? She could barely sleep, let alone close her eyes to anything. Since Viktor retired three months ago, he’d behaved like he’d been let off the leash: the gym, new shirts, a youthful haircut. And now, the twenty-seven-year-old neighbor’s broken outlets.

Galina stood and began to dust. She swept so hard the little porcelain figurines rattled on the shelves. Anger rose in waves, hot as a furnace inside her chest.

She wasn’t stupid. She saw everything.
Alina—young, pretty, single, works at a bank, well-dressed, always smiling. And Viktor—puffed up like a twenty-year-old cock whenever he walked beside her.

And what about her? A woman who’d spent more than half her life washing, cooking, raising children, holding everything together. And now, at this age, he wanted to “feel like a man” again?

The door banged open. Viktor came in, grinning.
“All set! New outlet, tightened the faucet too. She offered me tea, but I said no.”

“How very capable,” Galina said evenly.

Viktor squinted at her. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You seem… different.”

“I’m fine. Wash up for lunch.”

He shrugged and went to the bathroom. Galina remained in the middle of the living room, gaze distant.
Make a scene? Useless. Smart women don’t make scenes—they teach lessons.

At lunch, Viktor chattered about his former coworkers. Galina nodded, saying little. Her mind revolved around a plan.

“That girl, Alina, she’s nice,” Viktor said midway, scooping potatoes. “Educated, tidy. Her apartment is gorgeous.”

“Mm,” Galina replied.

“And she’s handy. Cooks well, works hard.”

“Vitya,” she cut in.

“Hm?”

“Are you in love with her?”

He choked on a potato. “What? In love? I’m just helping!”

“Right. ‘Helping.’”

“Gal, don’t be jealous for no reason. She’s our neighbor, lives alone—it’s fine to lend a hand.”

“Have you helped any other neighbors yet?”

“Uh… no one else asked.”

She looked at him, eyes like knives. Viktor dropped his gaze, silent.

The next morning, Galina woke early. She baked an apple–cinnamon pie—the one Viktor always called “the best in the world.” But today, it wasn’t for him.

At exactly eleven, Viktor left with the power drill.
“I’m heading to Alina’s—shelf to hang,” he said.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Thirty minutes later, Galina put on light makeup, chose her nicest dress, picked up the fragrant pie, and headed the same way.

She rang the bell. The door opened. Alina—crop top and fitted jeans, young, radiant.

“Oh! Hello, Galina Petrovna! Please come in!”

“Thank you, dear,” Galina said, stepping inside, eyes sweeping the entryway. A familiar pair of men’s slippers lay by the door. Viktor’s.

“Is Viktor Semyonovich here?”

“Yes, he’s in the living room putting up the shelf. Uncle Viktor, your wife is here!”

Your wife. Galina smiled.
Hearing “Vitya” from the young woman’s lips amused her more than it irritated her.

Viktor peeked out, face stiff. “Gal? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry—I’m not here to catch you in the act,” Galina said, holding out the pie box. “I brought apple pie for Alina. Thank you, dear, for letting my husband feel useful.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Alina stammered.

“Oh, you do. Men get restless after retirement. You give him something to do—good for him.”
Galina sat on the sofa as if it were her own. “At home he just scowls, but here he lights up like a lantern.”

Viktor stood frozen. Alina flushed.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Alina?” Galina asked lightly.

“Um… no.”

“Then you should find one soon. Youth goes fast. I was your age when I married. Now we have two grown children—one in St. Petersburg, one in America. Grandchildren, too.”

Alina’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know…”

“Why should you? I just mean that family is something you guard. And if someone tries to step in…”
Galina’s voice dropped—soft as silk, cold as steel.
“…they need to know where the boundary lies.”

The drill in the living room suddenly went silent. The air froze.

“I— I’m not stepping into anything!” Alina burst out. “He came on his own!”

“Of course. He’s a man,” Galina said, still smiling. “And women should be wise. Know when to stop.”

Viktor emerged, color drained from his face.
“It’s done,” he said quietly.

“Well done, Vitenka,” Galina smiled, taking his arm. “Thank you for the tea, Alina, and for keeping my husband busy. We must go now. Try the pie—if you like it, I’ll teach you the recipe. Good for your future.”

They left. The door clicked shut behind them so fast not even a draft slipped through.

“What was that?” Viktor hissed on the stairs.

“What was what?”

“You humiliated me—calling me an ‘old man’ in front of her!”

“Isn’t it true? You’re sixty, you have grandkids.”

He had no answer.

“You thought I didn’t notice? For a month and a half, you’ve been running back and forth like a newly smitten boy. Outlets, shelves, faucets… only the windows left!”

Back home, Galina unlocked the door, voice calm:
“Now we talk. Seriously.”

They sat at the kitchen table. Viktor tapped a rhythm with his fingers, eyes avoiding hers.

“Speak,” Galina said.

“About what?”

“About her. And about you.”

Viktor sighed, rubbing his face.
“I don’t know, Galya. After retiring I felt… useless. Old. And she smiled, thanked me, said I was good at things. For the first time in a while I felt… like a man.”

“And you forgot you already had a wife?”

“No—it’s just… I was an idiot.”

“You were.”

Silence settled over the kitchen. Only the clock ticked.

“Do you know what hurt most?” Galina asked softly. “Not that you went to her. That you thought I wouldn’t notice.”

Viktor lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Not enough,” she said. “From now on, you don’t go there.”

“I promise.”

“And if she asks for help?”

“I’ll tell her to call maintenance.”

“Good.”

She poured tea and slid a cup to him.

“And another thing,” she went on slowly. “You want to feel valuable? Then do something truly useful. Volunteer work, a club, anything—just not running to a young woman’s apartment.”

Viktor nodded. “I understand.”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“You must compliment me at least once a day. I’m a woman too. I want to feel beautiful.”

He chuckled weakly. “You’re always beautiful.”

“Not enough. Say it more.”

The next day, Galina ran into Alina at the supermarket. The girl looked flustered, tried to duck away, but Galina called out.

“Alinochka! How was the pie?”

“Delicious, thank you.”

“Want to learn the recipe?”

“Um… maybe not. I’m clumsy.”

“That’s fine, you’ll learn. There’s time.”
Galina looked at her, voice light but full of meaning.
“You’re young—find a young man to love. Don’t waste your youth on fixing outlets with someone else’s husband.”

Alina blushed, bowed, and hurried off.

Galina smiled and set her basket on the counter.
That evening, she returned home and cooked dinner for her husband—the man who now understood the value of family, of himself, and, most of all, understood that Galina is not someone to toy with.