You have no idea what just happened,” I said, trying to stay calm while gripping the phone. “Dad just called… everything collapsed. Total failure.”
There was a long silence on the line. Almost half a minute.
“What… do you mean ‘failure’?” Denis’s voice sounded surprisingly tense and high-pitched.
“The business tanked. Loans. They’re even putting the apartment up for sale.”
Another pause. Then he spoke quickly, too quickly:
“Come on, that’s nothing. The important thing is that they’re healthy, right? Money — that’s fixable.”
I closed my eyes. He was definitely lying.
We met at a contemporary art exhibition. I was there with a friend, and he, as he said, “just decided to check it out.” An hour later, we were having coffee, and a month later, he confessed he was in love.
Denis seemed perfect: polite, smart, attractive. But there was one odd thing — he asked about my parents too often.
“Your dad owns a chain of restaurants?” he asked one day.
“Yes,” I replied.
“And your mom is a co-owner?”
“No, she’s an interior designer.”
He nodded as though mentally noting the information.
Then came the “casual” questions: “Where do they usually go on vacation?” “Is it true they have a house in Spain?” I brushed it off with jokes, but a sense of unease was growing inside me.
Six months later, he proposed. Beautifully, romantically, with a ring that, as I later found out, cost half of his annual salary. I said “yes,” but that same evening, I decided to test him.
My friend Katya, a lawyer, helped me come up with a plan: the story of my parents’ sudden bankruptcy, debts, lawsuits.
“If he’s the real deal, he’ll stay,” Katya said.
“And if not…” I continued.
“Then he’ll disappear,” she finished for me.
“Are you sure it’s that bad?” Denis nervously smiled at dinner. “Maybe it’s just temporary difficulties?”
“Temporary?” I feigned sadness. “Denis, they owe millions. I even think… we should postpone the wedding.”
“Postpone?” He paled noticeably. “Well, if that’s what you want…”
“And one more thing…” I looked down. “I’ll have to sell the car. And move into a rental.”
He froze, staring at me.
“Move? But you said the apartment was in your name!”
“It was. It was mortgaged for a loan.”
He suddenly became very focused on cutting his steak.
The next morning, he didn’t call. Nor during the day. By evening, I got a message:
“Ol, we need to talk. I’m going on a business trip for two weeks. We’ll discuss it later.”
I immediately understood what that meant.
Three days later, Katya sent me a screenshot: Denis changed his status on social media to “Active search.”
I didn’t call, didn’t cause a scene, or try to get into a confrontation. I simply deleted his number and returned the ring through a mutual acquaintance.
A month later, I found out he was seeing a girl whose father owned a construction company.
Six months later, I met Andrew. He asked if I liked the exhibition. Not a single question about my parents.
When I told him the story about the “bankruptcy” — laughing already — he just shrugged:
“So what? I’m dating you, not your parents.”
We were married three months later. No checks, no doubts. Just trust.