Her mother-in-law considered her a hopeless homemaker, her husband called her selfish, and her boss thought she was a natural talent. Three months working at an archive turned Ksenia’s life upside down. Deception, an ultimatum, and a single travel bag left outside someone else’s apartment. What would she choose when she heard the words, “It’s either your job or me”?
“I asked you not to be late!” Artyom threw his keys onto the dresser. “Mom came all this way specially. She spent the entire day cooking!”
“Artyom, I warned you that I was compiling documents, and that isn’t something you can finish in five minutes,” Ksenia said as she took off her shoes. “You knew that.”
“Yes, yes, I knew. Your job is always more important than your family!”
Tamara Petrovna’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Don’t be upset, Artyom dear. The two of us will have dinner together. Some people can make do with the leftovers.”
Ksenia exhaled and went into the kitchen. Her mother-in-law was sitting at the table, demonstratively removing the third place setting.
“Good evening, Tamara Petrovna.”
“What’s good about it?” the woman snorted. “A working woman comes home at half past nine.”
“Mom, that’s enough,” Artyom muttered, though without any conviction.
“What do you mean, enough? Am I not allowed to tell the truth?” His mother turned toward Ksenia. “Go on, tell me what could possibly be so important in that archive of yours that you couldn’t come home by seven.”
Ksenia sat on the edge of a chair.
“We were preparing a report on the reorganization of the collection.”
“A report!” her mother-in-law interrupted. “Your precious papers have become more important than your husband!”
“Let her explain, Mom,” Artyom said as he poured himself some tea.
“What is there to explain?” Ksenia straightened her shoulders. “Inna Arkadyevna entrusted me with an important assignment. I’m not used to letting my colleagues down.”
“Your colleagues!” Tamara Petrovna scoffed. “But your own husband can wait?”
“You’ve been spending less and less time at home lately,” Artyom said, setting down his cup.
“Artyom, I’m usually home by eight at the latest.”
“Eight, nine—what difference does it make? We used to have dinner together, at least.”
Could three months of work really have changed her life so much?
Three months earlier, Ksenia had been sitting in a café with her friend Marina, scrolling through job listings on her phone.
“Ksyusha, look at this vacancy,” Marina said, showing her the screen. “It’s practically in your own courtyard.”
“An archivist?” Ksenia narrowed her eyes. “The pay must be next to nothing.”
“But it’s stable. And you have a degree in history.”
“I have the degree, yes, but I don’t have any experience working with documents.”
“Why would you need experience? You learn quickly. Remember that term paper you finished in two weeks while everyone else struggled with theirs for six months?”
Ksenia looked out of the window. A year and a half had passed since her wedding. At first, she and Artyom had decided that she would take care of the home. Then, somehow, they had quietly become accustomed to the arrangement.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll give it a try.”
Artyom reacted calmly to the news.
“It’s good that you’ll finally do something useful. You’ve been sitting at home for too long.”
“Do you think I’ve been wasting my time?” she asked cautiously.
“No, not exactly. It’s just good for a woman to have something to do. Otherwise, depression starts from idleness.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“Not yet. Later, you’ll start inventing problems out of nothing.”
Ksenia wanted to object, but Artyom had already turned his attention back to his tablet.
Her first day at the archive passed in a blur. Ksenia was afraid of making a mistake, so she repeatedly asked questions and wrote down every word.
“Don’t worry so much,” the head archivist, Inna Arkadyevna, said with a smile. “This isn’t an operating room. Mistakes can be corrected here.”
“I’ve never worked in document management before.”
“That’s all right. What matters most is attentiveness and accuracy. You have both.”
By the end of the week, Ksenia had settled in. Her education in history helped her: she easily navigated dates and understood the logic behind classification systems.
“You have an excellent memory for case numbers,” Inna Arkadyevna observed. “That’s a rare quality.”
“I’m trying not to let anyone down.”
“You have a natural aptitude for this work. In one week, you’ve learned what takes others months.”
At home, Ksenia enthusiastically told her husband about her day.
“Can you imagine? I found documents about a neighborhood that was demolished in the eighties!”
“Uh-huh,” Artyom said, nodding at his phone. “Great.”
“Inna Arkadyevna says I have talent. Maybe in six months they’ll give me more complicated assignments.”
“I’m sure they will. You’re smart.”
“Artyom, are you even listening to me?”
“I’m listening. Documents, talent, more assignments—I got it.”
Ksenia fell silent. There was polite indifference in his voice, as though she had been telling him about a trip to the grocery store.
A month and a half later, Inna Arkadyevna called her into the office.
“I’d like to discuss a proposal with you. We’re introducing a senior archivist position, and I’d like to offer it to you.”
“But I’ve only been working here for a month and a half.”
“And during that time, you’ve performed better than employees with years of experience. Do you remember when you suggested a new cataloguing system for the wartime records?”
“I just thought it would be more convenient that way.”
“Exactly. You think. The salary increase is ten thousand rubles. What do you say?”
“I accept!”
Ksenia practically flew home. She imagined how delighted Artyom would be.
“You were promoted, and you didn’t tell me?” he responded with restraint.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“How much will you earn now?”
“Thirty-five thousand.”
Artyom whistled.
“Not bad for an archive. A whole ten thousand more.”
His voice contained no happiness, only a hint of irony.
“Aren’t you happy for me?”
“Of course I am. Now we’ll be rich,” he said with a smirk that made it impossible to tell whether he was joking.
The construction company where Artyom worked began experiencing problems. Clients were delaying payments.
“They’ve promised to pay us next week again,” he said gloomily over dinner. “This is the third month in a row.”
“Maybe you should look for another job.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Do you think I’m not looking? Everywhere either pays pennies or has an irregular schedule.”
“Surely not everywhere.”
“Ksyusha, you don’t understand. Your archive is stable. You arrive at nine and leave at six. Construction is different.”
Ksenia wanted to point out that her own workdays sometimes ran late, but she remained silent.
Several days later, she was working on a report at home, with papers spread across the kitchen table.
“Your papers are everywhere again!” Artyom said as he began sweeping the pages off the table.
“Be careful! Those are work materials!”
“You’re working at home now? Isn’t there enough time at the office?”
“Inna Arkadyevna asked me to help with the annual report.”
“Inna Arkadyevna, Inna Arkadyevna,” he mimicked. “Wasn’t one promotion enough for you?”
“I’m being paid extra for the overtime. Five thousand for the report.”
Artyom stopped.
“Five thousand? For some pieces of paper?”
“For an analytical report. It’s difficult work.”
“Serious work,” he said with a smirk. “The most serious work in the world.”
Her second promotion came after three months. Ksenia was appointed deputy head of the archive, and her salary rose to fifty thousand rubles.
“Congratulations, Ksenia Sergeyevna!” Inna Arkadyevna shook her hand firmly. “You’ve earned it. You systematized the entire archive from the nineties. Go home and celebrate.”
At home, Ksenia found Artyom sitting in front of the television with a bottle of beer.
“How was your day?” she asked cautiously.
“The same as usual. They pay us when they feel like it. How was yours?”
“I was promoted. I’m the deputy head now.”
Artyom abruptly turned off the television.
“What? Deputy head? After only three months?”
“Inna Arkadyevna is retiring in a year. She’s preparing someone to replace her.”
“Damn. How much do you earn now? Fifty thousand? I don’t even make that much!”
“Artyom, this is good. It’s good for our family.”
“For our family?” He began pacing around the room. “You come home at nine! I sit here alone like an idiot!”
Ksenia wanted to object, but the words caught in her throat. Perhaps she really had changed.
Their arguments became a daily occurrence. Everything irritated Artyom: her late hours, her conversations about colleagues, and her new clothes.
“Is that a new suit? Who are you dressing up for? Your precious Inna Arkadyevna?”
“I’m the deputy head. I need to look presentable.”
“Presentable,” he said mockingly. “Do you hear yourself? Where did you learn words like that?”
“It’s ordinary business vocabulary.”
Her mother-in-law added fuel to the fire at every opportunity.
“Artyom dear, you’re the man of the house. You can’t allow your wife to behave like this,” Tamara Petrovna said, shaking her head.
“Mom, don’t interfere.”
“How can I not interfere? She has no respect for you! She wanders around other people’s homes until late at night!”
“I’m not wandering around anywhere. I’m working,” Ksenia defended herself.
“And who is supposed to cook the borscht? There’s dust on the shelves, and the windows are filthy. Is this what you call managing everything?”
Artyom said nothing, but he listened closely. With every passing day, his gaze grew colder.
A new employee appeared at the archive: Galina Timofeyevna, a gray-haired woman who wore her hair in a bun. She had transferred from the human resources department.
“I’m tired of dealing with people’s problems,” she admitted. “I want to work with documents. Documents don’t lie or scheme.”
Ksenia helped her settle in.
“Thank you. Everything here is organized with remarkable logic.”
One day during lunch, Galina Timofeyevna looked at her attentively.
“You seem sad today. Is everything all right at home?”
“My husband is unhappy because I work too much.”
Galina Timofeyevna put down her cup.
“That’s a familiar story. My first husband used to say the same thing. I worked at a ministry back then, and my career was going well. They even invited me to work in Moscow.”
“What did you do?”
“I refused. Then I quit my job. I was young and foolish. He convinced me that a career wasn’t suitable for a woman. I stayed at home for five years and gave birth to two children. Then he left me for a younger woman. He said I had become boring.”
“Galina Timofeyevna…”
“I was left with nothing—no job and none of my former self. I had to start over with two small children.” She looked out of the window. “Ksyusha, don’t repeat my mistakes. Your work is your independence. Don’t surrender it to anyone.”
“But family is important too.”
“A real family supports you. It doesn’t demand sacrifices. My second husband was proud of my achievements. We had twenty happy years together.”
That same evening, Artyom met Ksenia in the hallway with his arms crossed.
“That’s enough! It’s either your job or me. Choose!”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely! You’ve turned into a career-obsessed woman! You’re never at home, and you don’t have time to cook!”
“I come home at eight. That’s a normal working day.”
“Normal?” He laughed angrily. “You used to be home at five! Dinner was already on the table!”
“I wasn’t the deputy head back then!”
“Exactly! That position has gone to your head! You think that because you earn more than I do, you can boss me around?”
“This isn’t about money!” Ksenia raised her voice.
“It isn’t? You’ve become so arrogant! Business suits, tea with management, coming home at nine as though you’re doing us a favor!”
“What tea? I’m working!”
“You’re quitting tomorrow! Otherwise, I’m leaving forever!”
“You want me to quit because of your insecurities?”
“Because of our family, assuming it still means anything to you!” Artyom slammed his fist against the wall.
Ksenia slowly removed her coat.
“Artyom, let’s discuss this calmly. Why does my job bother you so much?”
But no discussion followed.
The night seemed endless. Galina Timofeyevna’s words would not leave Ksenia’s mind.
The next morning, Artyom entered the kitchen with a determined expression.
“Well? Have you decided?”
“Artyom, let’s find a compromise. I could try to come home earlier.”
“There will be no compromises! It’s either your family or that office of yours!”
“I’m not quitting.”
Artyom froze with his cup halfway to his lips.
“What?”
“This is my job. This is my life.”
“Your life? Where do I fit into it? What about our home?”
“You’re my husband,” Ksenia said, walking over to the window. “But that doesn’t mean I have to give up who I am. However, when you start earning twice as much as I do, enough to replace my salary, then I’ll consider it.”
Artyom’s face turned crimson, and the veins in his neck bulged.
“I picked you up off the street! You sat around without a job for six months!”
“You were the one who asked me to stay home. Then you told me to look for a job, and I found one.”
“A suitable one?” he said with contempt. “You move papers around and imagine you’re some kind of academic researcher!”
“If my work is nothing but moving papers to you, then we have nothing left to discuss.”
“That’s right! Get out! Pack your things and leave! Go to your precious Inna Arkadyevna!”
Without another word, Ksenia walked into the bedroom and took out a travel bag.
“Fine. I’ll leave. But remember that this was your choice.”
“My choice? You’re the one who chose an office over your husband!”
She turned around at the door.
“Artyom, don’t come to regret this.”
“The only thing I regret is marrying such a selfish woman!”
The door slammed shut. Ksenia stood on the landing, clutching the keys to an apartment that was no longer her home. In any case, it had only been a rented apartment.
“Ksyusha, sweetheart, come in!” Marina said, opening the door to her one-room apartment. “There isn’t much space, but we’ll manage.”
Ksenia told her about the argument and Artyom’s ultimatum.
“How do you feel?” her friend asked cautiously.
“Strangely enough, I actually feel relieved.”
“Maybe you should go back. Talk to him calmly.”
“He gave me an ultimatum. I made my choice.”
“But you loved each other.”
“We did, while I was a housewife. While I didn’t dare to have interests of my own. You know, someone wise once said that freedom begins where the fear of disappointing someone ends. I was afraid for far too long.”
The next day at the archive, Inna Arkadyevna immediately noticed her subordinate’s condition.
“Ksenia Sergeyevna, come into my office. I have some news. And you can tell me what happened to you.”
Ksenia briefly explained the crisis in her marriage.
“Then my news has come at the right time.” Her boss removed her glasses. “The doctors have advised me to take better care of my health. I’m leaving in a month, and I’ve recommended you as my replacement. Management has agreed.”
Ksenia froze.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Simply understand that you can handle it. The head archivist’s salary is ninety-six thousand rubles, plus bonuses.”
“Ninety-six thousand? That’s almost twice as much!”
Galina Timofeyevna caught up with her in the corridor.
“Ksyusha, what’s wrong? You’re so pale.”
“They’re appointing me head of the archive. And yesterday, my husband threw me out precisely because of my job.”
“My dear,” Galina Timofeyevna said, taking her hand, “this is a sign from above. You made the right choice. Don’t doubt it for even a second.”
That evening at Marina’s apartment, Ksenia called Artyom.
“Hello?” His voice sounded indifferent.
“Artyom, I’m filing for divorce.”
There was a long pause.
“What? Are you serious? You want a divorce because of some job?”
“Not because of the job. Because of the way you treat me.”
“I was taking care of you! I wanted you to look after our family and have children!”
“You wanted me to be dependent on you, but for some reason your salary never increased.”
“That Inna Arkadyevna has filled your head with nonsense!”
“No, Artyom. You showed me your true face. You couldn’t tolerate being married to an equal. Goodbye.”
She ended the call and blocked his number.
Six months later, Ksenia stood in her new studio apartment. It was small, but it was hers, purchased with a mortgage she could afford on her salary as head of the archive.
Sunlight danced across the parquet floor. She had chosen cream and pale blue—the colors of hope and freedom.
“We’ll put the last box here,” one of the movers said, nodding toward a corner.
“Thank you.” Ksenia handed him a tip.
African violets and orchids were already standing on the windowsills. She had secretly taken them from the old apartment while Artyom was at work. At the time, it had felt like theft. Now it felt like rescuing living creatures.
The sharp ringing of her phone broke the silence. Artyom’s number appeared on the screen. Ksenia stared at the digits for a second, then rejected the call and blocked the number.
Marina came to visit a week later.
“Ksyusha, it’s so cozy here! And so bright!”
“I specifically chose an apartment with south-facing windows,” Ksenia admitted. “I wanted light after all those dark years.”
“I have news about Artyom. He fell into a depression after the divorce. He quit his job, drinks every day, and lives with his mother. He even went to your old building.”
“What did he want?”
“To apologize, probably. Your former neighbor, Pyotr Ilyich, wouldn’t let him into the building.”
“He did the right thing. He’s a wise man.”
“Ksyusha, maybe you could forgive him. People change.”
“No.” Ksenia shook her head firmly. “Some things cannot be forgiven. He made his choice. He threw me out.”
“But you spent so many years together.”
“And I’m grateful for the lesson. Those years taught me to value myself.”
Several months later, Ksenia stood in her office, studying the world map on the wall. Red pins marked the places she planned to visit: Greece, Italy, Montenegro—everything she had dreamed about during her marriage but had never dared even to mention.
“Ksenia Sergeyevna,” Galina Timofeyevna said, looking through the doorway, “I have the documents for your business trip.”
“Excellent. They finally arranged the visas.”
During her first six months as head of the archive, Ksenia had launched several projects, including an experience-exchange program with international colleagues. Ahead of her were a conference in Prague, a seminar in Vienna, and a vacation in the mountains.
“And one more thing,” Galina Timofeyevna added as she closed the door behind her. “Your ex-husband started seeing a young woman, about twenty-five.”
“Well, I hope she’s more patient than I was.”
“It turns out she isn’t. As soon as she learned why you divorced, she disappeared.”
“A sensible young woman,” Ksenia said with a nod. “How did you find out?”
“His mother was complaining about it at the clinic. She told him, ‘It’s your own fault. You let a good wife get away.’ He replied that you were a heartless career woman.”
Ksenia laughed.
“You know, Galina Timofeyevna, I’m flying away on vacation tomorrow. Two weeks in the Alps with a colleague from the Vienna archive.”
“Good for you! You’re living life to the fullest.”
Ksenia looked at the photograph on her desk. It showed her standing in front of the Eiffel Tower during a recent business trip to Paris—joyful, confident, and finally transformed into the woman she had always wanted to become.
