“Ran out of money, and suddenly you remembered that I’m your wife? Convenient,” she smirked.
Ekaterina pushed open the door of the rented apartment with her shoulder, barely managing to hold onto the grocery bag and her work briefcase. It had been a hard day—three meetings in a row, a report she had to redo twice, and a boss who had been calling all evening with follow-up questions. Her legs ached as if she had run a marathon instead of simply spending nine hours in the office.
Roman was sitting at the computer in the living room, staring at the monitor. The keyboard clicked softly under his fingers. He did not even turn his head when Ekaterina came in. He just kept looking at the screen as if the most important job in the world were in front of him. Though she knew perfectly well it was just another spreadsheet with calculations no one but him needed.
Ekaterina went into the kitchen and set the bag on the table. She took her container of yesterday’s dinner out of the fridge and warmed it up in the microwave. Roman appeared five minutes later, opened the refrigerator, and on the second shelf his food was standing there, neatly arranged separately from hers. He took out a ready-made meal from the store and sat down across from her.
They ate in silence. Ekaterina looked out the window, where it was already dark. Roman scrolled through something on his phone, smirking from time to time.
There was only about a meter and a half between them, but it felt like a whole abyss. Once, they had sat at this very table and talked for hours—about plans, about the future, about renovating the apartment they were going to buy. Now they did not even greet each other when they met.
“By the way,” Roman looked up from his phone, “I bought a new mouse for my computer today. A gaming one. It cost six thousand, but it’s worth it. You need quality peripherals for work.”
Ekaterina raised her eyes. For work. He always said that—for work. Even though he spent half his evenings in online games rather than on work projects. But she said nothing. She simply stood up, took her plate, and washed it. Roman finished eating, left his dirty dishes on the table, and went back to the computer.
Ekaterina dried her hands and looked at his plate. Before, she would have gone over and silently washed it for him. But now she left it as it was. Let him clean up after himself. She was tired of this silent arrangement where she always did more and he took it for granted.
The next day at breakfast, Roman pulled some paper out of a folder. He placed it in front of Ekaterina while she was pouring herself coffee.
“Look,” there was something like pride in her husband’s voice. “I got a raise. Now I make seventy-five thousand. And how much do you make? Seventy? So I earn five thousand more.”
Katya froze with the cup in her hands. Her fingers tightened until her knuckles turned white. She looked at the pay slip, then at her husband’s satisfied face. Something inside her snapped. Not sharply, not painfully—it simply gave way quietly, like a thread worn through.
“I see,” she said evenly and turned toward the window.
Roman was clearly expecting a different reaction. Maybe admiration. Or at least envy. But Ekaterina simply finished her coffee, picked up her bag, and left the apartment without even saying goodbye.
That evening she lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Roman was already asleep beside her, turned toward the wall. They slept in the same bed, but they had not touched each other for several months. As if there were an invisible boundary between them that could not be crossed.
Katya thought about how they had ended up like this. When exactly had everything broken? Maybe when Roman suggested keeping separate finances because he did not like that she bought expensive face cream. Or when they stopped visiting parents together, because each of them went to their own separately. Or maybe even earlier—when he first said he did not understand why she needed those pointless get-togethers with her friends.
Now they were simply two people living under the same roof and splitting the bills in half. Apartment roommates, no more. And that realization pressed on her chest harder than any argument.
Divorce. Ekaterina said the word silently in her mind and felt not fear, but a strange relief. As if someone had opened a window in a stuffy room. Maybe it was time to stop clinging to something that had been dead for a long time.
In the morning, Roman started again over breakfast. This time about the bonus he had been promised for New Year’s. Ten thousand, maybe even fifteen. Ekaterina nodded, stirring her tea, and imagined a small one-room apartment. Quiet. Where she would be alone. Where she would not have to listen to these endless reminders about who earned how much.
She had fifty thousand saved up. Enough for the first and last month’s rent. She could look for something not far from work. Furniture… well, she would buy the essentials gradually. The main thing was to leave. Just get up and go before it was too late. Before she became completely a stranger to herself.
“Are you even listening to me?” Roman frowned.
“Yes, of course,” Ekaterina lied. “I’m listening.”
But her thoughts were far away. Now she thought about divorce constantly. At work, on the subway, before sleep. She calculated options, searched online for information about how to arrange everything. They were renting the apartment, had no joint property. No children either. They could separate quickly and without unnecessary drama.
All that remained was to gather the courage to say it out loud.
A week later everything changed. Roman came home around six in the evening—earlier than usual. His face was gray, drawn somehow. He went into the kitchen, poured himself some water, and drank for a long time, looking at the floor.
“The company shut down,” her husband said without lifting his eyes. “That’s it. Everyone got fired. They’ll pay me for two months, and that’s all. I don’t have a job anymore.”
Ekaterina was standing at the stove, stirring the soup. Something inside her went cold. Not because Roman had lost his job—that could happen to anyone. But because of how quickly the thought flashed through her mind: now he will become dependent on me. And his bragging about his salary suddenly seemed so pathetic and ridiculous that she wanted to laugh. But she held back.
“I see,” was all Ekaterina said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll send out my résumé. Look for something.”
Roman sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Ekaterina finished making dinner and called him. They ate in silence. Her husband immediately went into the room and did not appear again that evening.
For the first two weeks he hardly got up from the couch at all. He said he was resting after the stress, that he needed time to recover. They had savings—about one hundred and fifty thousand between the two of them. Enough for three or four months if they were careful. Ekaterina kept going to work, came home tired in the evening, and Roman sat in front of the TV in the same position she had left him in that morning.
“Did you send out your résumé?” Ekaterina would ask, taking off her coat.
“Yes, a few,” Roman would answer without looking away from the screen. “No one’s replied yet. It’s a crisis, you know. Layoffs everywhere.”
But she could see that his laptop was not even turned on. His phone lay next to him untouched. Roman was simply watching some series, switching from channel to channel.
After a month it got worse. Her husband had completely moved to the couch. He got up only to eat or go to the bathroom. He started playing some online game—sitting for hours with headphones on, shouting into the microphone, swearing at his teammates. The apartment turned into a pigsty.
Ekaterina would come home from work and see piles of unwashed dishes. Clothes strewn on the floor. Empty plates, crumbs, spilled tea on the table. She tried not to pay attention, cleaned up only after herself. But it was impossible—the dirt was closing in from all sides.
“Roman, can you at least wash the dishes?” Ekaterina stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the sink piled high.
“Later,” her husband answered without turning his head. “Raid right now.”
“What raid? You’ve been playing for three hours already!”
“I said later!”
Ekaterina turned around and went into the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water and looked at her reflection. A tired face, dark circles under her eyes. She was thirty-two, yet she looked forty. Because she worked all day and then came home to clean up after a grown man who did not care about anything around him.
They started fighting every day. Ekaterina asked him to clean, Roman brushed her off. She reminded him that he needed to find a job, he snapped that she did not understand how hard the job market was right now. She said she was tired of carrying everything on her shoulders, he yelled that she was not supporting him in a difficult moment.
“That’s not a man’s job!” Roman declared one evening when Ekaterina once again asked him to at least vacuum.
“And what is a man’s job? Lying on the couch?” she finally snapped.
“I’m looking for a job!”
“You’ve been looking for three months! And not a single interview!”
“Because everyone turns me down! The market is overcrowded!”
Ekaterina closed her eyes and counted to ten. Useless. Talking to him was useless. He did not hear, did not want to hear. He was simply waiting for her to get tired of arguing and do everything herself.
The savings were melting away. At first slowly, then faster and faster. Ekaterina took her half—forty thousand—and opened a separate account. She told Roman she would no longer contribute to the shared fund. Let him spend his money, and she would spend hers.
Roman exploded. He shouted that she was abandoning him in a hard time, that a real wife should support her husband. Ekaterina silently gathered her things from the shared wardrobe and moved them into another room. Now they slept separately.
In the third month of unemployment, something strange happened. Ekaterina woke up in the morning because someone had wrapped their arms around her from behind. She flinched and turned—Roman. Her husband was lying beside her, pressed against her back, breathing softly at her neck.
“Good morning,” he whispered. “How did you sleep?”
Ekaterina froze. They had not hugged for half a year. They had not talked in the mornings. And now suddenly… She carefully freed herself and sat up in bed.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” Roman smiled. “Can I stay with you for a while?..Ekaterina pushed open the door of the rented apartment with her shoulder, barely managing to hold onto a grocery bag and her work briefcase. It had been a hard day — three meetings in a row, a report she had to redo twice, and a boss who kept calling all evening with questions. Her legs ached as if she had run a marathon instead of simply spending nine hours at the office.
Roman was sitting at the computer in the living room, staring at the monitor. The keyboard clicked softly under his fingers. He did not even turn his head when Ekaterina came in. He just kept looking at the screen, as though the most important work in the world was in front of him. Though she knew perfectly well it was just another spreadsheet of calculations no one needed except him.
Ekaterina went into the kitchen and put the bag on the table. She took her container of yesterday’s dinner out of the fridge and heated it in the microwave. Five minutes later, Roman appeared, opened the fridge, and took his own groceries from the second shelf, neatly arranged separately from hers. He pulled out some ready-made store-bought food and sat down across from her.
They ate in silence. Ekaterina looked out the window, where it was already dark. Roman scrolled through something on his phone, smirking from time to time.
There was barely a meter and a half between them, but it felt like a whole abyss. Once, they had sat at this very table and talked for hours — about plans, about the future, about renovating the apartment they were going to buy. Now they did not even greet each other when they met.
“By the way,” Roman said, looking up from his phone, “I bought a new mouse for the computer today. A gaming one. It cost six thousand, but it was worth it. You need quality peripherals for work.”
Ekaterina looked up. For work. He always said that — for work. Even though he spent half his evenings playing online games instead of working on actual projects. But she said nothing. She simply stood up, took her plate, and washed it. Roman finished eating, left his dirty dishes on the table, and went back to the computer.
Ekaterina dried her hands and looked at his plate. Before, she would have walked over and silently washed it for him. But now she left it where it was. Let him clean up after himself. She was tired of this unspoken arrangement in which she always did more, while he took it for granted.
The next morning at breakfast, Roman pulled some kind of paper out of a folder and placed it in front of Ekaterina as she poured herself coffee.
“Look,” her husband said, and there was something like pride in his voice. “I got a raise. Now I make seventy-five thousand. And how much do you make? Seventy? That means I earn five thousand more than you.”
Katya froze with the cup in her hands. Her fingers tightened until her knuckles turned white. She looked at the pay slip, then at her husband’s satisfied face. Something inside her snapped. Not sharply, not painfully — it simply gave way quietly, like a thread worn through with friction.
“I see,” she said evenly, and turned toward the window.
Roman had clearly expected a different reaction. Maybe admiration. Or at least envy. But Ekaterina just finished her coffee, took her bag, and left the apartment without even saying goodbye.
That evening she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Roman was already asleep beside her, turned toward the wall. They slept in the same bed, but they had not touched each other for months. As if there were an invisible boundary between them that could not be crossed.
Katya thought about how they had ended up like this. When exactly had everything broken? Maybe when Roman suggested they keep separate finances because he did not like that she bought expensive face cream. Or when they stopped visiting their parents together, because each of them started seeing their own separately. Or maybe even earlier — when he first said he did not understand why she needed those pointless meetings with her friends.
Now they were just two people living under the same roof and splitting the bills in half. Roommates, nothing more. And that realization pressed on her chest harder than any argument.
Divorce. Ekaterina said the word silently in her mind and felt not fear, but a strange sense of relief. As though someone had opened a window in a stuffy room. Maybe it was time to stop clinging to something that had died long ago.
In the morning, Roman started up again over breakfast. This time it was about the bonus he had been promised for New Year’s. Ten thousand, maybe even fifteen. Ekaterina nodded as she stirred her tea, picturing a small one-room apartment. Quiet. A place where she would be alone. A place where she would not have to listen to those endless reminders about who earned how much.
She had fifty thousand saved. Enough for the first and last month’s rent. She could look for something not far from work. Furniture… well, she could buy only the essentials at first. The main thing was to leave. Just get up and go before it was too late. Before she became completely alien to herself.
“Are you even listening to me?” Roman frowned.
“Yes, of course,” Ekaterina lied. “I’m listening.”
But her thoughts were far away. She was thinking about divorce constantly now. At work, on the metro, before falling asleep. She ran through the options in her head, searched online for information about how to arrange everything. They were renting the apartment, had no joint property, and no children either. They could separate quickly and without unnecessary drama.
All that remained was to gather the courage to say it out loud.
A week later, everything changed. Roman came home around six in the evening, earlier than usual. His face was gray, drawn, somehow shrunken. He went into the kitchen, poured himself some water, and drank for a long time while staring at the floor.
“The company shut down,” her husband said without lifting his eyes. “That’s it. Everyone was laid off. They’ll pay me for two months, and that’s all. I don’t have a job anymore.”
Ekaterina stood at the stove, stirring the soup. Something inside her turned cold. Not because Roman had lost his job — that could happen to anyone. But because a thought flashed through her mind so quickly: now he will become dependent on me. And suddenly his bragging about his salary seemed so pathetic and absurd that she wanted to laugh. But she held herself back.
“I see,” was all Ekaterina said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll send out my résumé. Look for something.”
Roman sat down on the couch and turned on the television. Ekaterina finished making dinner and called him. They ate in silence. Her husband immediately went back into the room and did not appear again that evening.
For the first two weeks, he hardly got off the couch at all. He said he was resting after the stress, that he needed time to recover. They had savings — about one hundred and fifty thousand between the two of them. Enough for three or four months if they were careful. Ekaterina kept going to work, came home tired in the evenings, and Roman was still sitting in front of the TV in the same position she had left him in that morning.
“Did you send out your résumé?” Ekaterina would ask, taking off her coat.
“Yes, a few,” Roman would answer without looking away from the screen. “No one’s replied yet. It’s a crisis, you know. Layoffs everywhere.”
But she could see that his laptop was not even turned on. His phone lay beside him untouched. Roman was simply watching some series, flipping from one channel to another.
After a month, things got worse. Her husband had practically moved onto the couch for good. He only got up to eat or go to the bathroom. He started playing some online game — sitting for hours with headphones on, shouting into the microphone, arguing with his teammates. The apartment turned into a pigsty.
Ekaterina would come home from work and see piles of unwashed dishes. Clothes scattered across the floor. Empty plates, crumbs, spilled tea on the table. She tried not to pay attention, cleaning up only after herself. But it was impossible — the mess was closing in from every side.
“Roman, can you at least wash the dishes?” Ekaterina stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the sink piled high.
“Later,” her husband answered without turning his head. “I’m in a raid right now.”
“What raid? You’ve been playing for three hours already!”
“I said later!”
Ekaterina turned around and went to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and looked at her reflection. A tired face, dark circles under her eyes. She was thirty-two years old, but looked all of forty. Because she worked all day and then came home to clean up after a grown man who did not care about anything around him.
They started fighting every day. Ekaterina asked him to clean, and Roman brushed her off. She reminded him that he needed to look for work, and he snapped that she did not understand how hard the labor market was right now. She said she was tired of carrying everything on her shoulders, and he shouted that she was not supporting him in a difficult moment.
“That’s not a man’s job!” Roman declared one evening when Ekaterina once again asked him to at least vacuum.
“And what is a man’s job then? Lying on the couch?” she finally snapped.
“I’m looking for work!”
“You’ve been looking for three months! And not a single interview!”
“Because everyone rejects me! The market is overcrowded!”
Ekaterina closed her eyes and counted to ten. Pointless. Talking to him was pointless. He did not hear her, did not want to hear her. He was simply waiting for her to get tired of arguing and do everything herself.
Their savings were melting away. At first slowly, then faster and faster. Ekaterina took her half — forty thousand — and opened a separate account. She told Roman that she would no longer contribute to the common fund. Let him spend his money, and she would spend hers.
Roman exploded. He shouted that she was abandoning him in a difficult moment, that a real wife should support her husband. Ekaterina silently gathered her things from the shared wardrobe and moved them into another room. From then on, they slept separately.
In the third month of unemployment, something strange happened. Ekaterina woke in the morning because someone was hugging her from behind. She flinched and turned around — it was Roman. Her husband was lying next to her, pressed against her back, breathing softly at the nape of her neck.
“Good morning,” he whispered. “Did you sleep well?”
Ekaterina froze. They had not hugged in six months. They had not talked in the mornings. And now suddenly… She carefully pulled away and sat up in bed.
“Fine. What are you doing here?”
“I missed you,” Roman smiled. “Can I stay with you?”
There was something wrong with his smile. Too wide, too strained. As if he had rehearsed it in front of a mirror.
Over the next few days, Roman transformed. He started helping with the bags when Ekaterina came home from the store. He gave her compliments — said she had beautiful eyes, that this blouse suited her. He asked how her day had gone and listened attentively to the answers. He even washed the dishes a couple of times.
Ekaterina stayed on guard. It was so unlike him that she kept waiting for the catch. Roman could not change in a single day. He was definitely planning something. One evening she came home from work and froze in the doorway. Candles were burning on the table. Plates of food had been set out — clearly not store-bought, something cooked. Soft music was playing. Roman came out of the kitchen in a clean white shirt, holding a bouquet of roses.
“Hi,” he said gently. “Tired? I made dinner.”
Ekaterina slowly took off her coat. She looked at the candles, the flowers, the set table. It was supposed to look romantic. But inside, she turned cold. She knew there was about to be some kind of request. Something for which he had staged this whole performance.
“Thank you,” Ekaterina said carefully, taking the bouquet.
The dinner was not bad. Roman had clearly tried — pasta with seafood, salad, even wine from somewhere. He gallantly pulled out her chair, poured her a glass, told stories from their past. About how they met, how they had gone on their first vacation. Ekaterina listened and felt her anxiety growing. Any moment now. He was about to say it.
After dinner, Roman took her hand. He looked into her eyes so earnestly that she wanted to look away.
“Katya,” he began, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. About what happened between us. And I realized I was wrong. Forgive me. For everything. For acting like a selfish fool. For not appreciating you.”
Ekaterina said nothing. She waited for the rest.
“Let’s start over,” Roman squeezed her hand tighter. “Let’s give our relationship one more chance. A real one. Without this stupid separate budget, without splitting every bill in half. We’re a family. We should be together in everything. In finances too.”
There it was. Ekaterina leaned back in her chair. Everything fell into place — the sudden tenderness, the compliments, this romantic dinner. The savings had run out. Roman had no money left. And now he remembered that she was his wife.
“So, the money ran out and suddenly you remembered that I’m your wife?” Ekaterina smirked. “Convenient.”
Roman jerked as if struck. His face flushed red.
“What do money have to do with it? I’m talking about feelings!”
“What feelings?” Ekaterina got up from the table. “For three months you lay on the couch while I worked. You did not look for a job, did not clean, did not even wash your own dishes. And now, when your savings are gone, suddenly you’ve decided that we should combine budgets. What a coincidence.”
“You’re misunderstanding everything!”
“I understand everything perfectly well. You need my money. That’s the whole reason for this sudden impulse.”
Roman jumped up, knocking over the chair.
“You’re completely heartless! I’m trying to save our marriage, and you—”
“Save the marriage?” Ekaterina laughed. “You destroyed it with your own hands! When you compared our salaries and shoved pay slips in my face — were you thinking about the marriage then? When you divided the groceries in the fridge into yours and mine — was that caring for the family?”
“That was your demand! You were the one who wanted a separate budget!”
“Because you interrogated me after every purchase! You counted how much I spent on cosmetics, on clothes! You said it was pointless spending!”
Now they were shouting openly, no longer holding back. Everything that had built up over the years was pouring out — resentment, accusations, unspoken pain.
“I just wanted us to live within our means!”
“You wanted control! Control over every penny I spent! And meanwhile you bought whatever you wanted for yourself!”
“I earned more!”
“Only lately! By five thousand! Five pathetic thousand! And you rubbed it in my face every single day!”
Roman fell silent. He lowered his head and clenched his fists.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I was an idiot. But now I understand… Katya, don’t leave. Please. I’ll change. I’ll find a job. I’ll help around the house. Everything will be different.”
Ekaterina looked at her husband. He stood before her with slumped shoulders, confused and pitiful. And she felt nothing. No pity, no anger, no love. Emptiness. As if someone had switched off the light inside her.
“Too late,” Ekaterina said calmly. “It’s already too late, Roma.”
She went into the bedroom. Pulled a large bag from the closet and began packing her things. Roman stood in the doorway, watching her gather everything.
“Where are you going?”
“To a friend’s place. Until I find another apartment.”
“Katya, don’t…”
“I have to. I’m tired. Tired of being your servant. Tired of supporting a grown man who does not even want to look for work.”
“I told you — I’ll find one!”
“You’ve been saying that for three months. And what then?” Ekaterina zipped the bag and looked at Roman. “Do you know what your problem is? You were always waiting for someone else to solve everything for you. Your parents, me, anyone. But I’m not going to be that someone anymore.”
She lifted the bag and put on her coat. Roman tried to block the door, but Ekaterina went around him.
“Wait at least until morning!”
“No.”
“Katya!”
But she was already walking down the stairs. Roman ran out onto the landing and shouted after her, but Ekaterina did not look back. She went outside, hailed a taxi, got into the back seat, and only then exhaled.
Freedom. For the first time in many years, she felt free.
A week later, Ekaterina filed for divorce. Roman called, texted, begged to meet and talk. She did not answer.
The divorce went quickly — no jointly owned property, no children. Just two people who no longer wanted to be together. Roman agreed to all the terms without even arguing.
Ekaterina rented a small apartment. A one-room place with minimal furniture. But it was hers. Her space alone. No one made a mess. No one counted how much she spent on food. No one compared salaries. No one bragged about their successes in a way that humiliated her.
In the evenings, she sat by the window and looked out at the city. She thought about how many years she had wasted on a man who had seen her only as convenience. A source of money, a free housekeeper, an object for his self-affirmation.
But now it was over. And life lay ahead. A new life. Without Roman.
One day, a month after the divorce, a mutual acquaintance texted her. She said that Roman had found a job. Правда, the salary was lower than before — only thirty thousand. And that he had rented a room in a communal apartment because he could not afford a place of his own.
Ekaterina read the message and set the phone down. She felt no gloating. In fact, she felt nothing at all. Roman had simply become part of the past. Someone she had once been with, but no longer was.
She stood up and walked to the mirror. Looked at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes had faded. Her face looked fresher. She had started smiling again — genuinely, not with strain.
Life went on. And that was a good thing.
