Lena hurried around the kitchen, checking the contents of the refrigerator and mentally calculating the next day’s expenses. It was seven in the morning, and she had already been up for an hour—she had made breakfast for her husband, packed his lunch, washed the pile of laundry that had accumulated, and was now planning her day so she could manage work, grocery shopping, and cooking dinner.
“Sergey, get up! You’re going to be late!” she called toward the bedroom while putting his shirts for the dry cleaner into a bag.
A disgruntled grumble came from the bedroom. Sergey had always found it difficult to get up in the morning, especially lately, since problems had started at work. The company where he worked as a sales manager was going through hard times. His salary used to consist of a modest base pay and substantial bonuses, but now those bonuses had been cut to almost nothing.
“Coffee’s ready!” Lena called again as she poured tea into her travel mug. She didn’t allow herself coffee—it was expensive, and Sergey needed it more because he was stressed at work.
Sergey appeared in the kitchen fully dressed but wearing a sour expression.
“This porridge again?” he grumbled, looking at the bowl of oatmeal with apple.
“It’s healthy and filling,” Lena replied without looking up. “And yesterday you were the one saying we needed to save money.”
“We do need to save, but not on absolutely everything!” Sergey sat down at the table and began eating. “By the way, we’ll need to help Mom with the dacha this weekend. She asked for about five thousand rubles for seeds and fertilizer.”
Lena froze with the cup in her hands. Five thousand was almost a third of what she had managed to save that month by denying herself practically everything.
“Sergey, but we agreed that we need to be more careful with money right now…”
“That’s not spending, that’s helping my mother!” her husband cut her off sharply. “She’s alone. It’s difficult for her. Besides, a vegetable garden is an investment. Homegrown vegetables are always fresh and chemical-free.”
Lena said nothing. She remembered last year’s harvest: three sacks of zucchini they had given away to neighbors because they couldn’t eat them all themselves. Two buckets of cucumbers, half of which had spoiled. And kilograms of tomatoes that her mother-in-law had forced them to preserve in jars, even though canned vegetables from the store cost less than the lids and jars needed for homemade preserves.
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll give you the money tonight.”
Sergey nodded and finished his coffee. At the door he turned around.
“And don’t buy that expensive cheese anymore. Get the regular one. There’s no difference, and we’re paying twice as much.”
The door slammed shut.
Lena remained alone in the kitchen, staring at the oatmeal her husband had left unfinished. Expensive cheese… Two hundred rubles for one package a week. Yet yesterday Sergey had spent eight hundred on beer with his colleagues.
“You have to relax sometimes,” he had explained.
At work Lena tried not to think about problems at home, but the numbers kept adding themselves up in her head. Her salary was seventy thousand rubles, half of which went toward utilities, food, and essential expenses. Sergey now brought home around forty-five thousand, but he spent about fifteen thousand of that on himself: gasoline, lunches at the café near his office because “the cafeteria food tastes awful,” beer on Fridays, and gifts for his mother for every holiday.
Around lunchtime, Lena’s friend Nastya called.
“Listen, I have amazing news for you and Sergey! There are last-minute tours to Turkey—only one hundred and thirty thousand for two people! But you have to decide quickly, by tonight.”
Lena felt her heart begin to race.
One hundred and thirty thousand…
That was exactly how much she had in her savings account. She had been putting the money aside for six months, literally saving every thousand she could and denying herself almost everything. At first she had planned to spend it on a new washing machine—the old one was barely working. Then she had considered buying Sergey a new suit because his only business suit was completely worn out.
But the sea…
They hadn’t gone on vacation for three years.
“Nastya, what hotel is it? What’s included?”
“Three stars, all-inclusive, right by the beach! Lena, it’s practically a gift from fate! I’ve already booked my family. Their vacation starts next week. What about you?”
Lena desperately tried to remember. Sergey’s vacation was in two weeks, while she could take hers whenever she wanted—her boss had promised.
“Nastya, give me an hour to think. I can’t reach Sergey. He’s in a meeting until this evening.”
“All right, but remember—until six o’clock! I can’t hold it for you any longer.”
Lena spent the rest of the workday thinking feverishly. On one hand, one hundred and thirty thousand was all their savings. On the other, when would they get another opportunity like this?
Besides, she had earned that vacation.
The last time they had been to the seaside was five years ago, and even then they had traveled on a shoestring budget and slept in a tent.
At five o’clock she couldn’t wait any longer. Sergey still wasn’t answering his phone.
Lena called Nastya.
“Book us. I’ll transfer the money within an hour.”
At home she set the table, cooked Sergey’s favorite potatoes with meat, and waited.
He finally arrived at seven, tired and irritated.
“A meeting until seven in the evening, can you imagine?” he complained as he sat down at the table. “And all for nothing. They’re saying they’re going to cut the bonuses even more.”
“Sergey, I have great news for you!” Lena couldn’t hold back her smile. “We’re going to the seaside! To Turkey, for a week, all-inclusive!”
Sergey froze with his fork in his hand.
“What do you mean, ‘we’re going’? Where are we going? With what money?”
“Nastya found us a last-minute tour. Only one hundred and thirty thousand for both of us. I’ve already booked it. We leave Monday!”
Sergey’s face slowly turned red.
“Have you lost your mind? One hundred and thirty thousand? Do you understand how much money that is?”
“Sergey, those are our savings. I saved that money specifically…”
“Specifically for what? To blow it all in one week?” He threw down his fork. “We were just talking about saving money! My salary has been cut, and you’re buying vacation packages!”
“But we haven’t gone on vacation for three years! I work twelve hours a day. I spend every last penny on this family…”
“A seaside vacation? We don’t need that kind of luxury! It would be better to help my mother at the dacha!” Sergey exploded. “There’s fresh air there, and at least you’d be doing something useful! And what are you suggesting? Lying around on the beach drinking cocktails? Just throwing away everything we’ve saved?”
“My hard-earned money!” Lena finally snapped. “I earned it! I save on everything—I don’t even buy myself coffee! Meanwhile, you spend money on beer with your friends and give your mother money for zucchini!”
“How dare you compare those things! Helping my mother and your entertainment are completely different!”
“Entertainment?” Lena felt tears rising in her throat. “Sergey, the last time I went to the theater was two years ago! The last dress I bought was for your birthday, and even that was the cheapest one I could find! Every day I get up at six in the morning, cook, clean, go to work, come home, and cook and clean again! When exactly do I get to have fun?”
“Don’t start crying now!” Sergey stood up from the table. “Get the money back from the travel agency. Immediately!”
“I won’t.”
“What?”
“I’m not getting it back,” Lena repeated firmly. “You know what? You’re right. There’s no need to live extravagantly. I’ll change the trip for two people into a trip for one. You can go to your mother’s dacha and help her with the zucchini. And I’ll go on vacation. Alone.”
Sergey stared at her with his mouth open.
“You… you’re serious?”
“Completely serious. I earned this vacation through my own work. And I have every right to take it.”
The next morning Lena packed her suitcase while Sergey silently drank coffee in the kitchen. They hadn’t spoken since the previous evening. He left for work without even saying goodbye.
At the travel agency, it turned out that changing the booking was easy. Instead of staying in a three-star hotel as a couple, Lena would stay alone in a four-star hotel room.
Her flight was scheduled for Monday evening.
Lena took a taxi to the airport—the first time in many years she had allowed herself such a luxury.
Sergey never called.
Sitting on the plane and watching the city lights drift farther and farther below, Lena felt light for the first time in a very long while.
Ahead of her was an entire week during which she wouldn’t have to feed anyone, count every penny, or justify every hundred rubles she spent.
The hotel turned out to be even better than it had looked in the photos. Her room had a sea view, and the buffet was filled with dishes Lena had previously seen only on cooking shows.
That very first evening, she ordered herself a cocktail at the bar—simply because she wanted one.
“Are you vacationing alone?” asked a woman about her age who was sitting at the next table.
“Yes,” Lena replied, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t embarrassed by it at all.
“Good for you! I kept trying to convince my husband to come, but all he talks about is the dacha, the dacha. But you—you just went!”
On the second day, Lena signed up for an excursion to an ancient city. The guide talked about the history of the area, and for the first time in years Lena listened to something that had nothing to do with work or household chores.
She bought souvenirs—not because she needed to bring something home for somebody, but simply because she liked them.
Her phone remained silent.
Not a single call from Sergey for three days.
On the fourth day, Lena met a couple from their hometown at the hotel. They were husband and wife, both doctors, and this was already their second vacation there.
“Was your husband unable to get time off work?” the wife asked.
“He thinks vacations should be spent at the dacha,” Lena answered honestly.
The couple exchanged glances.
“You know,” the husband said, “I’m a surgeon. My schedule is unpredictable and the stress is constant. If my wife hadn’t insisted that we take vacations together, I would have burned out at work a long time ago. Rest isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity.”
That evening Lena sat on the balcony, listening to the sound of the sea and thinking.
Over the past several days, she had started to feel like a human being again rather than a machine designed to work and take care of the family.
She read the book she had bought at the airport—the first book she had read in two years. She slept as long as she wanted. She ate whatever she liked. She didn’t have to think about whom she needed to feed or what she would cook tomorrow.
Her phone rang on the fifth day.
Sergey.
“Lena, come on, stop sulking. When are you flying home?”
“Sunday,” she replied coldly.
“Listen, my mother’s dacha is such a mess… She’s exhausted me with all those garden beds. Her back hurts, so I’m digging everything myself. And there are so many mosquitoes!”
Lena remained silent.
“Lena? Are you there? How are things? How’s the hotel?”
“Good.”
“Listen, maybe next year we could go somewhere too? Together?”
“We’ll see.”
“Are you angry with me?”
Lena looked at the sea and at the sunset painting the sky in incredible shades of pink and gold.
“I’m thinking, Sergey.”
“About what?”
“A lot of things. We’ll talk when I get home.”
On her final day, Lena bought herself a dress—beautiful, bright, and completely impractical.
Simply because she liked it.
The saleswoman told her that it perfectly complemented her figure and the color of her eyes.
Lena couldn’t remember the last time someone had paid her a compliment.
On the flight home, she made a plan.
She needed to have a serious conversation with her husband.
About the family budget.
About how household responsibilities were divided.
About respect.
During that week, Lena had realized that she had a right to rest, to personal space, and to desires of her own.
Sergey met her at the airport with a bouquet of flowers. He looked guilty and confused.
“Lena, forgive me,” he said while they were driving home. “I was an idiot. While I was at Mom’s dacha, I realized how difficult things are for you at home. I couldn’t even cook myself a proper dinner.”
Lena remained silent, looking out the window at the familiar streets.
“So… did you have a good vacation?” he asked uncertainly.
“A very good one,” she replied. “I realized that I’d forgotten who I was. Apart from being a wife and a housekeeper.”
At home, everything looked exactly the same: a mountain of unwashed dishes, overflowing baskets of dirty laundry, and a refrigerator filled with leftover food.
“I wanted to clean up, but I didn’t have time,” Sergey explained. “I spent the whole week working at the dacha.”
Lena put down her suitcase and turned toward her husband.
“Sergey, we need to talk. Seriously. About our life, our relationship, and the way we spend our money and our time.”
He nodded, still holding the bouquet.
“But first,” she added, “I’m going to take a shower. And then I’m going to drink coffee. Real, expensive coffee. The kind I deserve.”
Sergey watched her walk toward the bathroom.
There was something new in her voice—firmness and confidence.
She was no longer the submissive woman who silently endured all his whims and demands that they save money.
On the kitchen table lay a notebook filled with notes. Lena had started making a list at the hotel of the changes she wanted to make in their family life.
The first item read:
“We plan the family budget together. Each of us gets an equal amount for personal expenses.”
Sergey read several lines and sighed.
He truly regretted his stinginess.
During that week, he had finally understood how much Lena did around the house, how difficult it had been for her to save those one hundred and thirty thousand rubles, and how unfairly he had treated her.
The sound of running water and a quiet melody came from the bathroom.
Lena was singing.
When was the last time he had heard her sing?
“Maybe it isn’t too late to fix everything,” Sergey thought as he flipped through his wife’s notebook. “Maybe next year we really will go on vacation together.
And not to my mother’s dacha.”
