“We’ll sell your shop and use the money to help my sister get an apartment.”
Mikhail said it calmly, but he didn’t know how much that sentence would change everything.
Anna was arranging a bouquet of white roses for a loyal customer. Outside, an October drizzle painted the window in silver streaks. Inside, the shop smelled like fresh petals and life — her favorite kind of air.
Just three years ago, she knew nothing about flowers. Now, she knew which ones liked colder water, which needed direct light, and which would bloom longer in arrangements. The shop had become her second home, and her source of purpose.
The chime over the door rang. It was Mikhail. He didn’t usually stop by — he preferred calls.
“Hi, how are you?” he said, kissing her cheek. But Anna immediately sensed something was different. He looked uneasy.
“Good,” she said, setting down her scissors. “I’ve already sold five arrangements today. Mrs. Kovalyova ordered another one — she says our flowers last longer than anyone else’s.”
Mikhail nodded, distracted. Then he looked at her seriously.
“Anya, we need to talk. About the shop.”
Anna felt her breath catch.
“What about it?” she asked.
“You know it’s not turning a big profit. It’s been three years, and we’re still supporting it. My sister… Katya… she’s going through a tough time. The divorce was hard, and she needs a place to live. I think we should sell the shop and use the money to help her get an apartment.”
Anna stared at him, unable to believe what she’d just heard.
“You want to sell my shop? The one I’ve worked so hard for?”
“Anya, I know you’ve put effort into it. But it’s not really making money. We’ve invested a lot already. Katya doesn’t have anyone else to rely on.”
“And what about me? Am I not your family too?” she asked quietly. “This isn’t just a shop to me. It’s something I built from the ground up.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t work hard. But Katya really needs support.”
Anna looked away, her voice shaking.
“I’ve been supporting this business on my own for years. Learning everything from scratch. Getting clients. It’s only now starting to grow.”
Mikhail stood, firm in his decision.
“I’m not asking for your permission. I’m just letting you know. The shop needs to be sold.”
Anna froze. Then, quietly:
“No. I can’t agree to that.”
“It was my investment too,” Mikhail replied. “I helped start it.”
“And I’ve turned it into something real.”
They stood in silence for a long moment. Then Anna said softly, “Please go.”
“Anya…”
“Please.”
The door chime rang again as Mikhail left. Anna sat down and let silent tears fall. How could he make a decision like that without even asking her? After all she’d done to make the shop survive?
She remembered those early days — the mistakes, the wilted flowers, the long hours. But also the quiet joys: the first compliment from a customer, the first standing order, the first month they broke even. It had all mattered. And now it was being treated like something disposable.
Katya. His sister. She had always been charming and confident, with a way of speaking that made you second-guess yourself. Anna never felt quite comfortable around her. There had been compliments — but always with a tone that hinted at something else.
That evening, back home, the conversation continued.
“Did you think about what I said?” Mikhail asked.
“I did. I still can’t agree,” Anna replied calmly.
“She has nowhere to go.”
“And I have a dream I’m just beginning to realize,” she said, turning from the stove. “Why does helping her have to mean destroying everything I’ve built?”
“She’s my sister.”
“And I’m your wife.”
Mikhail fell silent.
“This business may not be perfect, but it matters to me. It’s part of who I am now.”
He shook his head. “It’s just a flower shop.”
Anna turned away. That comment said more than she wanted to hear.
For days afterward, the house felt cold — like winter had arrived early. They spoke only when necessary. Anna stayed focused on work. At least the flowers didn’t argue. They just bloomed.
On Thursday, Marina — who owned the neighboring beauty salon — stopped by with coffee.
“You look stressed,” she said.
“Family things,” Anna sighed.
“Want to talk?”
After some hesitation, Anna told her about the shop — and Mikhail’s plan.
Marina frowned. “That’s strange. Why sell your shop when you have other assets? A second car, a dacha, his investments?”
Anna hadn’t thought of that.
“I’m not saying anything for sure,” Marina added, “but remember I told you I saw Mikhail talking with a woman in a café? It might have been his sister… but it looked serious.”
Anna didn’t want to think badly of anyone. But something didn’t sit right.
Later, she called Lena, a mutual friend.
“Has Katya ever said anything… odd about me?” she asked gently.
There was a pause. Then Lena sighed.
“She mentioned you’re too focused on work… that Mikhail feels neglected. She even hinted that you might be seeing someone else.”
Anna gasped. “That’s not true!”
“I know,” Lena said. “I didn’t believe it. But she said she was trying to help Mikhail see the truth.”
When Anna hung up, everything suddenly made more sense. The timing. The urgency. The choice of what to sell. It wasn’t just about money — it was about trust being eroded from the inside.
That evening, when Mikhail came home, she said:
“I know Katya’s been saying things about me.”
He looked startled.
“She told you I was unfaithful. That I don’t care about this family.”
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is it isn’t true. And I think, deep down, you know that.”
Mikhail was quiet.
“She wants an apartment. I understand. But why should that come at the cost of my business — when there are other ways to help her?”
“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I didn’t really think it through.”
Anna handed him a notebook.
“These are the last three months’ numbers. I’m making a profit now. I’ve learned to run this business. I even have a lead on a second location.”
Mikhail flipped through the pages.
“This… is more than I expected.”
“You never asked,” she said gently.
The next day, he visited his sister. Anna didn’t ask what was said, but that evening, Mikhail returned with a different tone.
“You were right. I let someone else’s opinions cloud mine. I’m sorry.”
“And the shop?”
“It stays yours. No more talk of selling it.”
Anna nodded. “Thank you.”
“I want to help you with the new location. If you’ll let me.”
A month later, the second shop opened on Sovetskaya Street. It thrived even faster than the first. Mikhail supported Anna however he could — bringing in new clients, helping with budgeting, listening when she talked through ideas.
Katya found a job and her own place. Their interactions became distant but respectful.
One evening, Anna stood in the display window, admiring a new arrangement of yellow roses and chrysanthemums. Mikhail walked in.
“How’s business today?”
“Better than ever.”
“I found a good spot for a third shop,” he grinned.
She laughed. “Let’s master two first, okay?”
He nodded. “Whatever the boss says.”
Outside, the sun broke through the clouds. And Anna smiled — because like flowers, life blooms brightest when you nourish it with patience, love, and belief — even when storms pass through.
