Natalya was coming home from work exhausted, as usual. December had turned out cold; the snow crunched under her feet, and the wind cut right through her. She climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and dreamed of only one thing — eating something and going to bed early. Tomorrow she had another shift at nine, which meant she would have to get up at seven.
When she entered the apartment, Natalya took off her boots and went into the kitchen. Sergey was sitting at the table with his phone in his hands, absorbed in scrolling through something. Her husband did not even raise his head when she came in.
“Hi,” Natalya said, heading toward the refrigerator.
“Mm-hmm,” Sergey replied without looking away from the screen.
The woman opened the refrigerator door and froze. Inside lay one lonely can of canned peas, a pack of butter, and an empty plastic milk bottle. That was all. Nothing else.
“Seryozha, where’s the food?” Natalya turned to her husband. “I bought a whole bag yesterday.”
“I ate it,” Sergey muttered, finally putting down his phone. “I was hungry.”
“You ate all of it? In one day?” Natalya’s voice rose. “There was enough food there for at least three days!”
“I don’t know, maybe the neighbors came by,” her husband shrugged. “I don’t remember anymore.”
Natalya closed the refrigerator and leaned against the countertop. All her strength left her body at once. Four years of marriage had taught her one thing — arguing with Sergey was useless. Her husband always found an excuse, always wriggled out of everything, and in the end, he was always right.
When they had first gotten married, Sergey worked as a manager at a construction company. His salary was decent, and he brought money home regularly and helped with groceries. But a year and a half ago, it started. First, Sergey complained that his workplace was delaying payments. Then he said the company was closing and that he had to look for a new job. Then he announced altogether that official employment was a thing of the past, and from now on he would do side jobs for acquaintances. Natalya did not object. Her husband promised that money would come in regularly, that everything would work out. But it did not work out. Sergey disappeared from home for the whole day, returned late in the evening, and said he was tired. When asked about earnings, he answered evasively — saying they had not paid him yet, that they would give him the money any day now.
Weeks passed, but there was no money. Natalya paid for the apartment, bought groceries, and covered the utility bills. She worked as a merchandise specialist in a large store. Her salary was average, but it was enough for two. But was it really for two?
The refrigerator was becoming empty more and more often. Natalya would buy groceries on Monday, and by Wednesday she already had to buy more. At first, she thought she was simply calculating incorrectly. Then she began to notice that entire packages were disappearing — sausage, cheese, ready-made chicken. Sergey explained it by saying he had been snacking during the day while his wife was at work.
“You don’t want me to starve, do you?” her husband would say in an offended voice whenever Natalya tried to bring up expenses.
She did not want that. Of course she did not. But irritation was growing inside her, and it was becoming harder and harder to hold it back.
One evening, when Natalya once again found the shelves empty, she decided to have a serious talk with her husband. Sergey was lying on the sofa watching football.
“Seryozha, we need to figure something out about the groceries,” Natalya began, sitting down on the edge of the sofa. “Too much money is going on food, and I can’t keep up with buying everything.”
“Then don’t buy so much,” her husband said without taking his eyes off the screen. “You buy too much.”
“I buy enough for a week, as usual. But everything disappears in three days.”
“Then I guess we eat a lot,” Sergey yawned and stretched. “That’s normal.”
“Maybe you could contribute?” Natalya carefully suggested. “At least half.”
Sergey finally tore his gaze away from the television and turned to his wife. His face darkened.
“Are you serious?” His voice sounded cold. “Are we a family or not?”
“We are, but…”
“Exactly! In a family, people don’t count who brought in how much!” Sergey sat up and pointed his finger toward his wife. “I work my backside off all day, and you’re interrogating me here!”
“Seryozha, I’m not interrogating you,” Natalya clenched her hands into fists. “It’s just hard for me to handle everything alone.”
“Then work more,” her husband snapped and turned back to the television.
The conversation ended before it had even begun. Natalya got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen. She sat down at the table, pressed her forehead into her palms, and quietly exhaled. Indignation was boiling inside her, but there was nowhere for it to go.
A few more weeks passed. The situation did not change. Sergey still disappeared for the whole day, returned late, and brought nothing home. Natalya continued to carry all the expenses on her shoulders. One day, she decided to check the pocket of her husband’s jacket — maybe she would at least find receipts that would help her understand where his money was going. But there was nothing in the pockets except crumpled napkins and a chewing gum wrapper.
At the beginning of December, Natalya’s mother, Galina Ivanovna, called. She lived in a neighboring town, but every few months she came to visit her daughter.
“Natashenka, I’m planning to come stay with you for a week,” her mother said over the phone. “I miss you terribly. May I?”
“Of course, Mom,” Natalya said happily. “Come. I’ll be glad.”
Galina Ivanovna arrived on Saturday morning. Natalya met her mother at the train station, they hugged, and the women went home. Sergey was still asleep at that time — her husband liked to lounge around on weekends until lunchtime.
“How are things here?” Galina Ivanovna asked, taking off her coat in the hallway. “Is Sergey working?”
“He does side jobs,” Natalya answered evasively. “He hasn’t found an official job yet.”
Her mother pressed her lips together but said nothing. She went into the kitchen, looked around the room, and nodded approvingly.
“It’s clean here. Well done.”
Natalya put the kettle on and took out the cups. Galina Ivanovna opened the refrigerator to take some milk and froze with the door open. Inside were two jars of pickles, a piece of cheese in its original packaging, and a carton of kefir that had already expired.
“Natasha,” her mother said slowly, closing the refrigerator. “Where’s the food?”
“I just haven’t had time to buy any yet,” Natalya lied, turning away. “I was planning to today.”
Galina Ivanovna looked carefully at her daughter, but she did not argue. The women drank tea, talked about the news, and then her mother announced that she was going to the store.
“I’ll come with you,” Natalya stood up.
“Sit and rest,” Galina Ivanovna waved her hand. “I’ll be quick. I know where the shops are around here.”
Her mother left, and Natalya remained alone in the kitchen. The woman understood that she would no longer be able to hide the truth. Galina Ivanovna was the kind of person who immediately saw falsehood and would not leave things as they were.
Half an hour later, her mother returned with two huge bags. Natalya helped unpack the groceries — meat, vegetables, grains, dairy products, bread. The refrigerator finally came back to life.
“Thank you, Mom,” Natalya said quietly.
“No need to thank me,” Galina Ivanovna put away the bags and sat down at the table. “Natasha, what is going on? Why is the refrigerator empty?”
“I just don’t have time to buy groceries,” the daughter tried to dodge again.
“Don’t lie to me,” her mother said sternly. “I can see you can barely stand on your feet. Where is Sergey? Why isn’t he helping?”
Natalya lowered her eyes. She no longer had the strength to hide it.
“Sergey doesn’t work, Mom. He hasn’t for a year and a half. He says he does side jobs, but he doesn’t bring any money home. I pay for everything.”
Galina Ivanovna frowned and clenched her hands on the table.
“And you tolerate this?”
“I don’t know what to do,” Natalya admitted. “When I start talking about it, he gets offended and says I don’t value his work.”
“What work?” her mother’s voice became harsher. “If there’s no money, then there’s no work either!”
At that moment, Sergey came into the kitchen. He was yawning, stretching, and looked sleepy.
“Oh, Galina Ivanovna is here,” Sergey mumbled and headed toward the refrigerator. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Natalya’s mother answered dryly.
Sergey opened the refrigerator, took out some sausage, and began cutting it on the cutting board. Galina Ivanovna watched her son-in-law with a stone face.
“Sergei, are you working now?” her mother suddenly asked.
“Of course I’m working,” Sergey answered without turning around. “I’m doing side jobs for acquaintances. Unofficially for now.”
“And do you bring money home?”
“I bring it when I have it,” Sergey bit off a piece of sausage and turned to his mother-in-law. “Why?”
“I’m just curious,” Galina Ivanovna crossed her arms over her chest. “The refrigerator was empty. Natasha said she hadn’t had time to buy anything. Strange somehow.”
Sergey grimaced and put the sausage down.
“Oh, it was just a coincidence. The groceries ran out. It happens.”
“Yes, it happens,” Natalya’s mother nodded. “And who usually buys them?”
“Natashka,” Sergey shrugged. “She passes the store on her way home from work.”
“I see. And who gives money for the groceries?”
Sergey hesitated. He sensed that the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn.
“Well, mostly Natasha,” her husband admitted. “But I contribute too, when I have money.”
“When you have money,” Galina Ivanovna repeated. “And when was the last time you had any?”
“Mom, enough,” Natalya intervened. “Don’t.”
“No, let him answer,” her mother did not take her eyes off her son-in-law. “Sergei, when was the last time you gave money for food?”
Sergey shifted nervously from one foot to the other. His face turned red.
“I don’t remember exactly. Recently.”
“Recently — when? A week ago? A month?”
“What difference does it make?” Sergey flared up. “We’re a family! We shouldn’t be counting!”
“A family is when both people contribute,” Galina Ivanovna said firmly. “But when one person carries everything while the other sits around, that is called something else.”
“How dare you?!” Sergey slammed his fist on the table. “I work! I work my backside off all day!”
“And where is the result?” her mother rose from her chair. “Where is the money? Why is my daughter barely making ends meet while you’re stuffing yourself with sausage here?”
“And I give all her salary to my mommy!” Sergey blurted out — and immediately stopped short.
Silence hung in the air. Natalya froze with her mouth open, unable to believe what she had heard. Galina Ivanovna slowly sat back down in her chair, never taking her eyes off her son-in-law.
“What… did… you… say?” Natalya pronounced each word separately.
Sergey realized he had said too much, but it was too late. He tried to wriggle out of it.
“Well… I mean, not all of it, of course. Part of it. My mother lives alone. It’s hard for her. I help her.”
“You give my salary to your mother?” Natalya’s voice trembled. “My money?”
“It’s not yours, it’s ours!” Sergey tried to defend himself. “We’re a family! And my mother needs help too!”
“Helping is one thing,” Galina Ivanovna interrupted. “Stealing is something else entirely.”
“I’m not stealing!” Sergey shouted. “I’m just helping my mother! You’re not the only ones who need to live!”
Natalya stood up from the table. Her hands were shaking, and her temples were pounding. She could not believe she had spent four years living with a man who calmly took her money and gave it to his mother without even asking permission.
“Get out of the kitchen,” Natalya said quietly, looking at her husband.
“What?” Sergey frowned.
“Leave. Right now.”
Her husband wanted to object, but something in his wife’s voice made him fall silent. Sergey turned around and walked out of the kitchen, stomping loudly. The door to the room slammed shut.
Natalya lowered herself back into the chair. Galina Ivanovna reached out and covered her daughter’s hand with her own.
“Natashenka, do you understand now what was happening?”
“Yes,” Natalya exhaled. “I understand.”
The rest of the day passed in tense silence. Sergey did not come out of the room, while Natalya and her mother sat in the kitchen and spoke in low voices. Galina Ivanovna told her daughter what needed to be done and how to act so she would not make rash mistakes.
That night, Natalya could not sleep. She lay on the sofa in the living room — she no longer wanted to sleep next to Sergey. The same thoughts kept spinning through her head. How her husband had boasted that he helped his mother. How he hid his phone when transfer notifications came in. How sharply he reacted to any questions about money.
Natalya remembered how, six months earlier, Sergey had asked her to transfer three thousand rubles to his mother. Supposedly, his mother’s washing machine had broken down and she urgently needed money for repairs. Natalya transferred it. Then he asked again — for medicine. Then for utility bills. Each time, her husband said it was temporary, that he would definitely pay it back. But he never did.
Now everything fell into place. There had never been any debt. Sergey had simply taken his wife’s money and sent it to his mother. And how many times had he made transfers without asking? Natalya was afraid even to imagine.
The woman took out her phone and opened her mobile banking app. She scrolled through the transfer history for the past year. At the bottom of the screen, the total appeared — eighty-two thousand rubles. That was how much had gone to her mother-in-law’s card. Eighty-two thousand in one year. Natalya squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back onto the pillow.
By morning, her decision had fully matured. Natalya got up early, washed her face with cold water, and got to work. She gathered Sergey’s documents from the table — his passport, driver’s license, old employment contracts. She took his things out of the wardrobe — clothes, shoes, toiletries. She carefully packed everything into a large sports bag.
Galina Ivanovna came into the kitchen and silently began brewing tea. Her mother understood that her daughter had made a decision and did not interfere.
At around nine in the morning, Sergey came out of the room. He looked rumpled, his hair sticking out in different directions. When he saw Natalya standing by the door with a stuffed bag, he stopped.
“What is this?” His voice sounded wary.
“Your things,” Natalya answered calmly. “Take them and leave.”
“Are you joking?” Sergey smirked. “Because of yesterday?”
“No. I’m not joking. Get ready and leave.”
Her husband crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.
“Natasha, don’t be foolish. I explained everything — my mother lives alone, it’s hard for her. I was just helping. That’s normal.”
“Normal is when you ask for permission,” Natalya stepped toward her husband and held out the bag. “But you took my money and gave it to your mother without my knowledge. That is called theft.”
“How dare you?!” Sergey flared up. “It’s my duty as a son! You don’t understand!”
“I do understand. Only I was the one paying that duty. For four years, I carried everything on myself — the apartment, the food, the bills. And you sat there without a job and calmly drained my salary into your mother’s account.”
“Not all of it!” her husband tried to justify himself. “Only part of it!”
“Eighty-two thousand in one year,” Natalya took out her phone and showed him the screen. “There’s your part.”
Sergey turned pale. He had not expected his wife to check the transfers.
“Natasha, listen…” her husband tried to soften his voice. “Let’s talk calmly. I’ll change, honestly. I won’t do it anymore.”
“It’s too late, Seryozha. Leave.”
“You can’t kick me out!” her husband’s voice broke into a shout. “I’m your husband!”
“For now,” Natalya answered coldly. “But not for long. Gather your things and go to your mommy. Let her feed you now.”
Sergey stood there breathing heavily. His face reddened, and his fists clenched. The man tried to enter the room, but Natalya blocked his way.
“I said leave.”
“And what if I don’t?” Sergey stepped forward, looming over his wife.
“Then I’ll call the police,” Natalya replied calmly. “The apartment is in my name. You’re not registered here. You have no rights to this housing.”
Galina Ivanovna came out of the kitchen. She stood beside her daughter and looked sternly at her son-in-law.
“Sergei, don’t disgrace yourself. Take your things and leave peacefully.”
Sergey shifted his gaze from his mother-in-law to his wife and back again. He understood that he had lost. With a sharp movement, he snatched the bag from Natalya’s hands and headed toward the exit.
“You’ll regret this!” her husband threw out as he pulled on his jacket. “Remember my words!”
“I won’t remember them,” Natalya opened the door. “Goodbye.”
Sergey stepped over the threshold and turned around one last time.
“I’ll be back. You’ll call me back. You’ll see.”
“I won’t. Leave the keys on the mat.”
Her husband threw the bunch of keys onto the floor and slammed the door. Natalya picked up the keys, went back into the apartment, and locked the door with both locks. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes. Inside, she felt strange — no relief, no joy, not even anger. Just emptiness.
“Well done,” Galina Ivanovna said quietly, embracing her daughter by the shoulders. “You did the right thing.”
Natalya nodded and went into the kitchen. The women sat down at the table with tea. Galina Ivanovna talked about something — neighbors, the town — trying to distract her daughter. Natalya listened with half an ear, nodded, and looked out the window.
The next day, the woman took a day off and went to the bank. First, she opened her mobile banking app and changed all her passwords. Then she went to the branch and closed the joint account they had once opened with Sergey. There was exactly one hundred rubles in that account — her husband had long since transferred everything else to his mother.
“Do you need a new card?” the bank employee asked.
“Yes. And I want to rent a safe deposit box for documents.”
“No problem. We’ll arrange it now.”
An hour later, Natalya left the bank with a new card and a key to a safe deposit box. She stopped by a notary office and ordered copies of all the documents for the apartment. Then she went home, collected the originals, and took them to the safe deposit box. Marriage documents, extracts from the property registry, old contracts — everything went into the metal box.
Galina Ivanovna stayed for several more days. Her mother helped her daughter recover, cooked food, and talked with her in the evenings. Sergey called several times, but Natalya did not answer. Then her husband began sending messages — first angry, then pitiful, then angry again. The woman read them and deleted them.
A week after Sergey’s departure, Natalya sat in the kitchen with her mother, sorting through documents. Galina Ivanovna flipped through old receipts and shook her head.
“Natasha, look how much you spent on him. For four years you fed him, clothed him, supported him. And what did you get in return?”
“Nothing,” Natalya answered calmly. “Absolutely nothing.”
“You did the right thing,” her mother said firmly. “A woman should not feed those who do not respect her labor. Remember that.”
Natalya nodded. There was no more anger, resentment, or disappointment inside her. Only firm calm, like after surgery, when something unnecessary and harmful has been cut out.
Galina Ivanovna went home a couple of days later. Natalya remained alone in the apartment and felt relief. The silence no longer pressed down on her; it wrapped her in soft peace. She went to work, returned home, and took care of her own affairs. The refrigerator was now always full, money no longer disappeared to unknown places, and her salary stayed on her card until the end of the month.
Sergey stopped calling after two weeks. The man realized that his wife would not return and would not invite him back. Natalya filed for divorce a month later. The process went quickly — there was almost no jointly acquired property, and the apartment belonged only to his wife. Two months later, the marriage was officially dissolved.
One evening, Natalya met a neighbor in the yard, who told her she had seen Sergey. Her ex-husband now lived with his mother in a one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city. He still had not found work and, according to rumors, sat at home and helped his mother with housework.
Natalya listened and shrugged. Her former husband’s life no longer mattered. The woman returned home, cooked dinner, and sat down at the table with a book. Snow was falling outside the window, and the apartment was warm and quiet. Natalya turned the page and smiled. For the first time in a long while, there was peace inside her.
