When I met Olga, I thought I had found the love of my life. She was beautiful, energetic, and her presence filled any room with light. We met at a concert – she was singing along to every song of our favourite band, and her enthusiasm was infectious. Before the end of the evening, I had already managed to get her number. From that moment on, everything seemed predetermined.
Olga and I instantly hit it off, and within a few months we were inseparable. Everything about her seemed perfect. She was charming, fun and supportive. After just four months we decided to live together. It seemed natural, as if our lives had finally come together. Her flat, warm and cosy, reflected her personality and the joining of our lives only made me feel stronger. By the eighth month, I was sure she was ‘the one.’
When I proposed to her at a concert by the very band that brought us together, it was magical. The music played, the crowd cheered, and Olga said yes without hesitation. I felt like the happiest man in the world. But in our stormy romance there was one serious shortcoming: we never met each other’s families. And this gap was the reason for the collapse of everything.
Olga often spoke warmly of her parents, Ivan and Tatiana, calling them cheerful and a little ‘old-fashioned’. She said that they were happy about our engagement and were looking forward to meeting me. We made dinner arrangements at an expensive restaurant. I was nervous but determined to make a good impression, even rehearsing polite conversation. What I didn’t expect, however, was that this dinner would shatter my image of Olga and her family.
From the moment her parents appeared, the atmosphere became tense. Ivan, stern and silent, paid almost no attention to me, and Tatiana, decked out in jewellery, seemed more interested in her wine than in pleasantries. As soon as we were seated at the table, Ivan cut to the chase.
‘So, Timofei,’ he began, leaning back in his chair with a stern expression on his face, ’let’s talk about your role now that you’re marrying Olga.’
I smiled, thinking he meant becoming part of their family, but his next words stunned me.
‘Olga’s dream is to be a housewife, so you have to provide for her completely. She doesn’t belong at work when she’s married.’
Before I could respond, Tatiana intervened, laughing and twirling her wine glass. ‘And don’t forget about us. A little financial help for her parents would be the right gesture, don’t you think?’
I was stunned, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. Was this a joke? But the serious faces said otherwise. Ivan continued, explaining that I should buy Olga’s flat from them and then provide a larger home for the future grandchildren. Tatiana added that a separate guest room for them was a necessity.
What struck me most was Olga’s reaction – or lack thereof. She sat there nodding like it was perfectly normal. When I looked at her, she smiled sweetly and said: ‘It’s no problem, honey. It really isn’t. It’s just our family way of doing things.’
I spent the rest of dinner in a fog. Every spoonful of food seemed like sawdust, and every word Ivan and Tatiana said sounded more and more absurd. When the bill arrived, Ivan silently slid it towards me. I paid, mentally frantically mulling everything over, and the ride home was depressingly silent.
As soon as we got back, I told Olga I couldn’t marry her. She was shocked, accused me of exaggerating and dumping her. ‘It’s just our family arrangement,’ she insisted. ‘You told me you loved me!’
‘I did love you,’ I replied, ’but love doesn’t have to come with those conditions. I’m not going to be a financial plan for your parents.’
We argued for hours, but my decision was final. That night I packed my things and left. When I stayed at my brother’s house, I began to reflect on what had happened. Olga sent several messages trying to convince me to change my mind, but her words seemed empty. It became clear to me that her love was conditional, tied to what I could provide.
Months passed and I focused on rebuilding my life. I joined a tour group, reconnected with old friends and learnt to appreciate myself. Reflecting on my experience, I realised that love is not only about chemistry or common interests, it is about mutual respect, support and partnership.
Leaving Olga was the hardest decision of my life, but also the right one. Sometimes the person who seems perfect for you turns out to be perfect for someone else’s benefit. And that’s okay. I realised that true love has no price tag – it comes with trust, honesty and the freedom to be yourself.
