My husband and I have been saving for a new apartment for about 4 years; we started with the wedding. All normal people go on vacation with the money given to them, but we decided to save it for an apartment right away. And so it was in everything. If someone gave us money for the New Year, we spent it on an apartment, if someone’s birthday – on an apartment. During these 5 years we practically did not buy anything for ourselves, did not go on vacation. But now we have our own apartment. I always looked with some envy at those girls who married already wealthy men. They immediately had their own apartments, cars, fur coats and everything you want. My husband and I had to work hard.
We have not yet had time to meet our neighbors, but they left a good impression. They drive a nice expensive car. My neighbor’s wife dresses in good boutiques, you can immediately see branded clothes, she always wears some jewelry. You can see that it is jewelry, not costume jewelry. She herself stays at home all day or goes somewhere by car, but not for long. Probably to meet her friends or to a beauty salon. Once someone rang our doorbell insistently. I opened it and saw that my neighbor was standing in front of me. She looked strange and scared, she was holding a bag. -“My husband and I quarreled … he is filing for divorce, he said that he would sell all my things. I packed everything I had in a bag.
Can you leave it at your place for now, I need to pack the rest of my things? – I, of course, sympathize with you, but we are not so familiar that you could leave your things with me, sorry. On the one hand, I feel sorry for the woman. I just heard her husband shouting loudly behind the wall: he was obviously angry. But little did she know that she would leave her bag and then say that her gold chain was “accidentally” lost or something. I will be the first to be accused of this, and I am not going to participate in such cases. A few hours later, I saw from the balcony how my neighbor threw her bag into the trunk and drove off somewhere.
