The morning began as usual. Irina stood at the stove, stirring porridge, while listening to the footsteps behind her. Heavy, irritated footsteps—they had sounded like that for a long time now.
“What’s this?”
Andrei was holding a package of sausages. His face had lengthened, and his eyebrows were drawn together.
“Sausages,” Irina answered calmly. “I wanted to make them for breakfast.”
“Three hundred and twenty rubles for one package. Are you serious?”
“They have good ingredients. No soy or any artificial additives.”
“What am I, Rockefeller?” Andrei threw the package onto the table. “I give you twenty thousand a month. Twenty thousand! And you waste money on sausages like these.”
Irina turned toward him. Her eyes remained gentle and her voice even.
“Andrei, there are eight of them. They’ll last us three days.”
“Buy the ones that cost a hundred and fifty. There are perfectly normal, ordinary ones.”
“You said yourself that the cheap ones were full of chemicals.”
“I can buy decent food for myself. I earn the money.”
Irina turned back to the stove. The porridge was beginning to burn. Her hand moved the spoon mechanically in circles.
“I used to work too,” she said quietly.
“You used to. Now you sit at home. What good was your job anyway? You earned pennies.”
It was an old argument. A year earlier, Andrei had decided there was no reason for his wife to leave the house. At first, he talked about making their home comfortable and wanting a hot meal waiting for him. Later, he simply stopped explaining himself.
“I could go back,” Irina said, placing the saucepan on an unlit burner. “I’ll call and ask.”
“No. This discussion is over.”
Andrei sat down at the table. In front of him was a reheated veal steak left over from the previous day. Eight hundred rubles for four hundred grams.
“Do you want some porridge?” Irina asked.
“You know I don’t eat that.”
She sat across from him and ate silently without raising her eyes.
“You’ll pay the utility bill today,” Andrei said casually. “Four thousand two hundred. From your budget.”
“From the twenty thousand?”
“What other money would you use? I give you money for the household. Utilities are part of the household.”
“Andrei, after I pay the bill, I’ll have fifteen thousand eight hundred left for groceries. For an entire month.”
“Then plan better.”
He stood up from the table. He did not take away his plate, leaving it behind as always.
“And keep all the receipts,” he called from the doorway. “I’ll look at them tonight.”
The door slammed. Irina remained motionless, staring at the remains of veal on his plate.
Then she got up and cleared the table.
That evening, Olga called.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Irina answered automatically. “Everything’s fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ol, come on.”
“I’ve known your voice since we were children. You’re lying. What has he done this time?”
Irina was silent for a moment. Then she finally told her about the sausages, the veal, and the twenty thousand rubles from which she was also expected to pay the utility bill.
“Wait,” Olga said, evidently calculating in her head. “How much does he earn?”
“I don’t know exactly. He says fifty thousand.”
“And he gives you twenty thousand for everything while he eats steaks that cost eight hundred rubles?”
“Well, he’s the one who earns the money.”
“Ira, do you hear yourself?”
“I do.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
Irina was silent for a long time. Dusk thickened outside the window. Somewhere nearby, a car passed and its brakes squealed.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finally said.
“Start by finding out where the money goes.”
“How?”
“Any way you can. Bank statements, receipts. You clean his office, don’t you?”
“Yes, but everything in there is locked.”
“Then wait until it isn’t.”
The conversation ended. Irina put down her phone. Her chest felt heavy and empty at the same time—a strange combination she had grown accustomed to over the past year.
Perhaps she really was bad at managing money. Perhaps she needed to learn how to economize. Perhaps Andrei was right and she was the problem.
She would try. She would try very hard.
For two weeks, Irina kept records of every purchase and every ruble. There was not much to record: the cheapest grains, vegetables on sale, and meat only when it was discounted. Yet the money still was not enough.
“You bought onions again?” Andrei came home from work in a foul mood. “I told you I don’t like them.”
“They were for the soup.”
“What soup?”
“Borscht. You like it.”
“I like proper borscht, not this slop made from cheap ingredients.”
Irina silently sliced the bread. It had cost thirty-eight rubles—the cheapest loaf in the store.
“And where did you get this bread?”
“At Pyaterochka.”
“You call this bread? It’s…” Andrei grimaced. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
He went into his office. Irina heard the lock click.
That evening, he went out to buy cigarettes. He had left the office unlocked, apparently because he was in a hurry.
Irina entered only to dust the room. Honestly. She had not intended to search for anything.
But a folder was lying in plain sight, open, with papers sticking out of it. A bank statement was on top.
Seventy-eight thousand rubles. His salary for the previous month.
Not fifty thousand.
Irina lowered herself into the chair. She read the figures again and again. There was the incoming payment. There were his expenses. And there was a transfer of forty thousand rubles. Every month. Recipient: A.S.
Who was A.S.?
The downstairs door slammed. Irina quickly put the papers back. She left the office and closed the door behind her.
“What were you doing in there?” Andrei stood in the hallway.
“Dusting.”
“In my office?”
“You said yourself that it was dusty.”
He stared at her suspiciously, then turned away.
“Is dinner ready?”
“In ten minutes.”
Irina went to the kitchen. Her hands performed their familiar movements, but her mind was occupied by something else entirely.
Forty thousand rubles. Every month. Where was it going? To whom?
“A.S.,” Olga repeated. “Initials.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anyone with those initials?”
Irina thought, searching her memory for names and faces. Andrei’s friends, colleagues and relatives.
“His sister’s name is Vera Sergeyevna,” she suddenly said.
“Her surname?”
“Artamonova. Her married name.”
“A.S. Artamonova. It fits.”
“But why would he transfer forty thousand rubles a month to his sister?”
“That’s what you need to find out.”
Olga spoke clearly and confidently. Irina listened and felt something resembling hope rising in her chest.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she said. “Maybe it’s somebody else.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it isn’t. Ira, you need to know the truth.”
“He’s my husband.”
“So?”
“I’m supposed to trust him.”
“Trust is when someone doesn’t force you to eat cheap sausages while stuffing himself with veal.”
Irina remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” Olga said more gently. “I didn’t mean to be rude. But understand this: if he’s hiding something from you, you have the right to know.”
“All right. I’ll wait and keep watching.”
“Just don’t wait too long.”
The conversation ended. Irina sat in the kitchen, staring at the receipt she had left on the table. Four hundred and thirteen rubles for three days’ worth of groceries. She still needed to pay for the internet, the telephone and the water.
Seventy-eight thousand rubles. Forty thousand went somewhere unknown. Twenty thousand went to her. That left eighteen thousand.
What did he spend eighteen thousand rubles on? Cigarettes, veal and petrol?
The numbers did not add up.
The answer came a week later.
Irina returned from the market earlier than usual. The vegetables had been cheaper, and there had been no lines. She opened the door quietly because she did not want to wake her husband, who had taken the day off.
Then she heard voices.
“You promised me!”
It was a woman’s voice, sharp and demanding.
“I’m doing exactly what I promised,” Andrei replied. “I transfer the money every month.”
“Forty thousand! That isn’t enough!”
Irina froze in the entrance hall. The shopping bags pulled painfully on her hands, but she did not move.
“Vera, I have a wife. I have a family.”
“Your wife is a parasite. She sits at home and does nothing.”
“She takes care of the household.”
“With what money? The money you toss her? Andrei, wake up. She’s using you.”
Irina placed the bags on the floor, slowly and silently, and walked toward the living room.
“I need another fifty thousand,” Vera was saying. “For the roof. I can’t rent out the house without a roof.”
“Where am I supposed to get fifty thousand?”
“Sell something. Your car, for example.”
“I use it.”
“And what am I supposed to do? I still have the loan, and construction has stopped. You’re my brother!”
Irina entered the room. Andrei was standing by the window. Vera sat in an armchair—a heavyset red-haired woman with tightly pursed lips.
“Good afternoon,” Irina said evenly.
Vera turned around.
“Oh, there you are.”
“Ira, it isn’t what you think…” Andrei began.
“I heard you. Forty thousand rubles a month for the house construction and her loan.”
“She was eavesdropping!” Vera jumped to her feet. “Andrei, do you see this? She eavesdrops too!”
“I entered my own apartment,” Irina said slowly and clearly, “and heard your conversation. That isn’t eavesdropping.”
“Your apartment?” Vera laughed. “This apartment is registered in your mother’s name. You’re nobody here.”
“That’s enough, Vera.” Andrei stepped forward. “Ira, let’s discuss this calmly.”
“Calmly?” Irina looked at him. “For an entire year, you’ve given me twenty thousand rubles for everything. You cause scandals over sausages. You criticize every purchase I make. Meanwhile, you transfer forty thousand rubles to your sister? For a house?”
“She’s building it…”
“And I’m supposed to economize on food?”
“You don’t understand. Vera is alone. She has no one to help her.”
“She has a husband.”
“They got divorced.”
“And how is that my problem?”
Vera interrupted again.
“Listen to me. My brother feeds you, clothes you and puts a roof over your head, and you still have the nerve to complain?”
“A roof?” Irina turned toward her. “This apartment belongs to my mother.”
“So what? Andrei pays for it.”
“He pays? He takes the money out of the budget he ‘gives’ me.”
“What difference does it make?” Vera waved dismissively. “Divorce him if you’re so clever. He’ll find a normal woman who knows how to be grateful.”
“Vera!” Andrei raised his voice.
“What do you mean, ‘Vera’? I’m telling the truth. She’s dragging you down. She’s sat at home for a year without contributing anything, and you’re still feeding her!”
Irina looked at her husband. She waited for him to say something, to object, to defend her.
Andrei remained silent.
“I see,” Irina said quietly.
She went into the kitchen, put the kettle on and dialled a number.
“Hello, Olga.”
“Ira? What happened?”
“You were right. The money was going to his sister—for her house and her loan.”
There was a pause.
“What a bitch.”
“She’s here now. She called me a parasite and told me to get a divorce.”
“And him?”
“He’s silent.”
“Ira, listen to me carefully. Who owns the apartment?”
“Mother registered it in her own name.”
“Then he has exactly… no right to live there. Do you understand me?”
Irina was silent. Her mind felt empty and cold.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t do anything foolish. I’m coming over right now.”
“No. You don’t need to. I can handle it.”
“Ira…”
“Really. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
She ended the call. The kettle boiled and switched itself off. Irina poured hot water into a cup and stood there, watching the steam.
Forty thousand rubles.
Every month.
For a year.
Almost half a million rubles.
For a house belonging to a sister who called her a parasite.
Anger rose from somewhere deep inside her—cold and clear. Not the kind of anger that shouted or struck out. The kind that thought.
Irina returned to the living room. Vera and Andrei stopped talking when they saw her.
“Here is what is going to happen,” Irina said evenly. “Vera, you’re leaving this apartment immediately.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Andrei!” Vera turned to her brother. “Are you going to let her speak to me like that?”
Andrei opened his mouth, but Irina spoke first.
“Andrei is leaving too. Today.”
“Ira, you’ve lost your mind.” He stepped toward her.
“No. For the first time in a year, I’m thinking perfectly clearly.”
“This is my home!”
“This is my mother’s home. It’s registered in her name. You’re a guest here. Or rather, you were.”
“We’re married!”
“Not for much longer.”
Vera snorted.
“Do you see, Andrei? I told you. She’s a snake.”
Irina looked at her.
“Vera Sergeyevna, you received almost half a million rubles from my husband over the past year—for your house and your loan. Meanwhile, I was economizing on food. I counted every ruble and listened to complaints about sausages that cost three hundred rubles. And you have the nerve to call me a parasite?”
Vera’s face turned crimson.
“That’s completely different…”
“No. It’s exactly the same. Except you are the real parasite, and I am the victim.”
“Andrei!” Vera shrieked.
“Enough!” Irina raised her voice. “Enough. Get out. Both of you.”
Andrei stepped toward her.
“Ira, let’s talk. No hysterics. I’ll explain…”
“You can explain it to your lawyer.”
“What lawyer?”
“Your lawyer, when I file for divorce.”
He stopped. Something flickered in his eyes—fear or surprise.
“You… You won’t do that.”
“I already have. In my mind. All that remains is the paperwork.”
“Ira, we’ve been together for eight years. Is this really how it’s going to end?”
“You ended it yourself a year ago, when you forced me to leave my job. When you started controlling every kopeck. When you decided your sister was more important than your wife.”
“She’s my family!”
“And what was I?”
Andrei fell silent.
“Exactly.” Irina nodded. “Nobody. A live-in housekeeper who was supposed to be grateful for twenty thousand rubles a month.”
“You’re exaggerating everyth—” Vera began.
“Out.”
One word, as solid as stone.
Vera grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the apartment. Andrei remained where he was.
“Ira, I understand that you’re angry…”
“I’m not angry. I’m tired.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow, after you’ve calmed down.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll collect your belongings. You have until six in the evening.”
“I have nowhere to go!”
“Go to your sister. Live in the house you’re building for her.”
“It isn’t finished!”
“Then rent an apartment. You earn seventy-eight thousand rubles, after all—not fifty thousand, as you told me.”
Andrei jerked as though he had been struck.
“You went through my papers.”
“I was cleaning your office. The papers were lying in plain sight. You should have been more careful.”
“That’s an invasion of privacy!”
“That was our shared household budget. It used to be shared. Now it’s entirely yours. Spend it however you like.”
She turned and walked toward the kitchen. Footsteps sounded behind her as he followed.
“Ira, I’m begging you. Give me a chance.”
“Why?”
“I’ll change. I’ll give you more money. I’ll stop transferring money to Vera.”
“It’s too late.”
“Why is it too late?”
Irina turned around and looked at him—at the man with whom she had spent eight years. The man who had once brought her flowers and read poetry to her. The man who had eventually decided that she was his property.
“Because this isn’t about money,” she said. “It’s about respect. There is none. There never was.”
“There was! There used to be!”
“You were pretending before. Or perhaps I was deceiving myself. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
The divorce was finalized three months later. Andrei tried to make certain demands, but Irina’s lawyer quickly explained the situation: the apartment was not marital property, they owned very little else, and there was nothing to divide.
He moved in with his sister—or, more precisely, with his sister’s mother, in an old two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city.
Olga came over on the day everything was finalized.
“So, how are you?”
“I’m fine.” Irina smiled for the first time in a long while. “It feels strange, but I’m fine.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I found a job. I start next week.”
“Good for you.”
“And there’s something else. Denis called. Do you remember our cousin?”
“Of course. The one who works in real estate?”
“He found out that Vera is selling her unfinished house for half its value.”
Olga frowned.
“And?”
“He offered to help me buy it.”
“Why?”
Irina looked at her sister.
“Because Mother left me an inheritance. I didn’t tell you. I wanted to deal with the divorce first.”
“What inheritance?”
“Money. She saved it throughout her life. She said it was for my old age.”
Olga sat down on the sofa.
“How much?”
“Enough to buy that house and finish it.”
“Ira… are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“But it’s his sister’s house! The house belonging to the same woman who…”
“Exactly.” Irina nodded. “That very woman.”
Olga was silent. Then she laughed.
“Do you realize how incredibly… beautiful that is?”
“I do.”
Denis arranged everything quickly and discreetly. Vera was selling through an agency, and the buyer was listed as a shell company. She never discovered who had bought her unfinished house.
She found out later.
Much later.
“Pavel told me,” Andrei said when he appeared at the gate a year later.
Irina stood in the garden with a rake in her hands. Behind her rose the house, now completed, with a new roof and freshly painted walls.
“Told you what?”
“That you bought this house.”
“I did.”
“It was Vera’s house.”
“It used to be. Now it’s mine.”
Andrei stared at her. He had lost weight and looked haggard. His jacket was crumpled and his boots were dirty.
“Ira, I understand everything now.”
“What exactly do you understand?”
“That I was an idiot. That I should have appreciated you.”
“That’s correct.”
“Forgive me. Please.”
Irina leaned on the rake.
“Andrei, do you know what happened to Vera?”
“I do.” He grimaced.
“Tell me. I’m curious.”
“She… she received the money for the house. Half of what she had invested in it.”
“And?”
“She spent it. No one knows on what. Then she demanded that I give her more money.”
“Half a million rubles?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t have that kind of money.”
Irina nodded.
“And now she won’t speak to you?”
“She blames me for everything.”
“For what, exactly?”
“For abandoning her. She says I stopped helping her because of you and that the divorce left her with nothing.”
“Interesting logic.”
“Ira, please. May I come inside?”
“No.”
“I only want to talk…”
“Andrei.” Irina lifted the rake. “Are you going to leave on your own, or do you need my help?”
He took a step backward.
“You’ve changed.”
“Yes. I have.”
“You would never have…”
“In the past, I still had hope. I believed you would change and that everything would be all right.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t care.”
“But… I love you!”
Irina looked at him for a long time, then shook her head.
“You’re lying. You loved controlling me, humiliating me and feeling superior. That isn’t love.”
“I’ll change!”
“I’m not interested.”
“Give me a chance!”
“You already used your chance. You used it when you kept me on twenty thousand rubles a month for a year. When you ate veal while I counted every kopeck. When you remained silent while your sister called me a parasite. There are no more chances.”
“Ira…”
“Get lost.”
“I have nowhere to go!”
“You’re a grown man. You’ll figure it out.”
She turned and walked toward the house. Behind her, she heard him shout:
“You’ll regret this!”
Irina did not turn around.
A year later, Olga came to visit. The house was unrecognizable: a well-maintained garden, a white fence and apple trees lining the path.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as she got out of the car.
“I worked hard on it.”
“Did you do all this alone?”
“Denis helped. And the neighbours are good people, by the way.”
They sat on the veranda. Irina brought tea and homemade jam.
“Tell me everything.” Olga settled into an armchair. “How is life?”
“Good.”
“Just good?”
“What else is there to say?” Irina smiled. “I work. I take care of the house. I read books and tend the garden.”
“Have you heard anything about Andrei?”
“A little. Pavel writes to me occasionally.”
“And?”
“He’s staying with some acquaintances. Apparently, he’s trying to get his life back on track.”
“And Vera?”
Irina shrugged.
“Vera disappeared from sight. People say she moved to another city to live with some man.”
“She abandoned her brother?”
“It appears so.”
Olga shook her head.
“Incredible. He gave her money for an entire year, and she…”
“She used him, just as he used me.”
“Karma.”
“You could call it that.”
They sat silently for a while. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the sky pink.
“Do you have any regrets?” Olga suddenly asked.
“About what?”
“About Andrei. The marriage. The way it all ended.”
Irina thought about it.
“I regret those eight years. I could have lived them differently. But I don’t regret leaving. It was the right decision.”
“You’re strong.”
“I wasn’t strong. It turns out I was simply enduring it.”
“But you survived.”
“I did, because I stopped waiting for someone else to solve my problems.”
Olga nodded.
“Do you know what the funniest thing is?”
“What?”
“Andrei still thinks you treated him unfairly.”
“Let him think that.” Irina took a sip of tea. “It doesn’t concern me.”
“And if he comes back again?”
“The rake is always ready.”
Olga laughed.
“You really have changed.”
“No. I’ve simply stopped pretending.”
That evening, after Olga had left, Irina went out into the garden. The sky had darkened, and the first stars appeared. It was quiet and peaceful—the way life was supposed to be.
She remembered standing in the kitchen of that apartment a year earlier. She remembered counting every kopeck and being criticized for buying sausages that cost three hundred rubles. She remembered feeling guilty—but guilty of what? Of wanting to eat decent food?
Everything was different now.
Her own house. Her own life.
And no more twenty thousand rubles for everything.
Several months later, Denis called.
“Ira, something has happened. Do you remember Vera?”
“I remember.”
“She’s back. She’s going around the city telling everyone that you robbed her.”
“What exactly is she saying?”
“That you took her house through deception. That it was her house, that she was building it, and that you stole it.”
Irina smirked.
“She sold it voluntarily through an agency. All the documents are legal.”
“I know. But she’s telling people a different version.”
“Let her.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Denis, I spent a year living with a man who called me wasteful for buying decent sausages while transferring forty thousand rubles to his sister for her house. Do you really think anything can hurt me now?”
He was silent for a moment.
“You’re incredible, Irina.”
“I’m a survivor. That’s slightly different.”
Andrei came back once. Then he came again. Each time, he left with nothing.
The fourth time, Irina came outside carrying a bucket of water.
“Andrei, I warned you.”
“Ira, I only want to talk…”
“You have ten seconds. Then you’re getting a shower.”
He left and never returned.
Later, Pavel wrote that Andrei had moved to another city and was starting over from nothing. He still did not understand how everything had gone so wrong.
Irina did not reply. She simply blocked the number and went into the garden to water her apple trees.
Life had put everyone in their proper place. The man who had taught his wife to economize on food was left with nothing. The woman he had accused of being wasteful gained a home of her own.
And the peace she had not known for eight years.
In spring, the apple trees blossomed. White flowers covered their branches, filling the air with a sweet, delicate fragrance. Irina sat on the veranda drinking tea—real, expensive tea that she could now afford.
Olga called her on video.
“How are you?”
“Good.”
“Tell me something. What’s new?”
“There’s a new neighbour. His name is Pyotr. He’s a good man. He helped me repair the fence.”
“Oh!” Olga smiled. “Pyotr, is it?”
“Don’t start.”
“What do you mean, don’t start? A man, a fence, springtime…”
“Olga.”
“All right, I’ll be quiet.”
They talked for a while longer about the weather, their plans and life in general. After Olga ended the call, Irina remained seated on the veranda for a long time.
Then she stood up and went to work in the garden.
Summer lay ahead. Then autumn. Then many other things.
And no one would ever again tell her that she was spending too much money on sausages.
