This month we have a separate budget,» said Mikhail, setting aside his mug with unfinished coffee.
Anna raised her eyes to him. There was no surprise or outrage in them.
«Alright,» she said.
Mikhail blinked. He had expected something different: questions, complaints, perhaps even tears. He had prepared arguments, phrases like «It’s fair,» «This will be just,» «Each will be responsible for their own expenses.»
And in response — just «alright.»
«So you don’t mind?» he asked, feeling a slight irritation rising within him.
«No,» Anna shrugged. «You decided, so it’s settled.»
He snorted, trying to detect a catch. Shouldn’t she be upset? Or at least ask what this means for her? But no. She sat there, calmly stirring sugar into her tea.
«I thought we would discuss this,» he said.
«Didn’t you decide?» her voice was soft, slightly mocking.
Mikhail didn’t know what to say. Of course, he decided. He had calculated everything: income, expenses, the need for balance. The family budget had always weighed heavily on him — endless talks about «we need to buy,» «we need to pay,» «where do we get the money.» A separate budget seemed like a logical solution.
But now, looking at his wife, he felt a strange unease.
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t resist.
She just accepted it as a fact.
And somehow, this scared him more than if she had started a scene.
The house smelled of stewed vegetables. Anna was standing by the stove, lazily stirring the contents of the pot. She didn’t add spices randomly, didn’t taste it. She was just cooking — without inspiration, without any desire to impress.
Their daughter, Lisa, silently set the table. Her movements were quick and familiar, but every so often she would glance at her mother with a brief, wary look.
“Mum, did you forget the sauce?” she asked.
Anna shook her head.
“Today, no sauce.”
Lisa frowned but didn’t say anything.
When Mikhail walked into the kitchen, he immediately sensed a change. The usual family dinner — but something was missing. Comfort? Or maybe that faint sense of warmth that always filled the air?
Anna served the plates, sat down at the table, and began eating.
«I thought we should officially confirm that, from today, we have separate budgets,» Mikhail declared, trying to sound firm.
Lisa looked up in surprise.
Anna calmly shrugged.
«Alright.»
And that was it.
No questions, no discussions.
Mikhail put down his fork and looked at his wife carefully.
«Are you sure you understand everything?»
«Of course,» she replied, taking another small sip of water.
He felt irritation. Why wasn’t she arguing? Why wasn’t she asking how the money would be divided? Why was she just… agreeing?
Lisa awkwardly moved her glass.
“Mum, are you alright?”
Anna smiled at her daughter.
“Yes. Everything is fine.”
But Lisa felt that it wasn’t.
Mikhail felt it too.
An invisible tension hung in the air, noticeable but unspoken, like a cold draft.
The morning started with an annoying little thing.
Mikhail reached for clean socks, but there was only one pair left in the drawer — the very one he usually saved «for an emergency.» Last night, he had been sure that Anna would do the laundry as usual.
But here they were, the socks, just as he left them.
He opened the bathroom cupboard — the laundry basket was full.
Mikhail grimaced but said nothing.
In the kitchen, Anna was already sitting at the table, drinking tea. She didn’t even turn her head when he entered.
“Did we run out of tea?” he asked, looking in the cupboard.
“Yes,” Anna replied calmly.
“And…?”
She took a sip.
“And I have my tea.”
Mikhail turned around. In her hands was a cup of something fragrant, spicy. But there was no black tea, the one he drank every morning.
“Didn’t you buy it?”
Anna looked at him over her cup.
«We have a separate budget,» she reminded him. «I buy what I need.»
Mikhail pressed his lips together.
Well, fine. He would drink coffee.
But the coffee in the jar was almost gone.
He glanced at his wife — she was calmly flipping through something on her phone.
“Don’t you ask how I’m doing?” he asked after a pause.
Anna raised her head for a second.
“Did I used to ask?”
Mikhail opened his mouth but couldn’t find an answer. Of course, she used to ask. Every evening. «How was your day?» «How’s work?» He hadn’t even noticed how accustomed he’d gotten to these simple questions.
And now she didn’t ask.
He sat down across from her, crossed his arms.
“Did you decide to shut me out?”
Anna tilted her head slightly, looked at him thoughtfully.
“No,” she replied. “It’s just… a separate budget isn’t just about money.”
She took another sip of tea, as if this didn’t concern her at all.
Mikhail felt the house had become strangely quiet.
Lisa sat at the table, lazily twirling pasta with her fork.
Dinners used to be different. Mum would come up with something, experiment with recipes. Dad would grumble that «we don’t need to complicate things,» but always ate heartily. But now…
“Mum, no salad today?” Lisa asked cautiously.
Anna shrugged.
“If you want, you can make some.”
Lisa frowned. Usually, Mum prepared everything in advance, set the table nicely, put the food in warm bowls so it would be convenient for everyone. Now, there were only plates with pasta and fried chicken on the table.
Dad noticed too.
“You’ve kind of… just started cooking,” he said.
Anna looked at him with mild surprise.
“Yes? Don’t you miss something?”
He felt her words were not a challenge, but a genuine question.
“Just…,” Mikhail glanced at their daughter, who was quietly sitting with her eyes cast down. “It’s not the same as before.”
Anna nodded and continued eating.
Lisa felt her mother had changed. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t sad — on the contrary, she seemed calm, but… distant. Like it no longer mattered to her what happened at the table.
“We have a separate budget now,” Anna calmly reminded them.
Mikhail grimaced.
Lisa glanced from one parent to the other.
Dinners used to be warm. They’d talk, share news, even argue sometimes. Now, silence hung at the table.
And somehow, this silence was heavier than any shouting.
In the evening, Mikhail silently put several bills on the kitchen table.
“This is for the groceries,” he said, not looking up.
Anna looked at the money but didn’t take it immediately.
“How much is here?”
“Enough,” he replied, looking at his phone.
Anna nodded, put the money in her wallet, and didn’t ask any more questions.
The next day, she walked through the store with a shopping cart, carefully selecting items. For the first time in many years, she didn’t think about what Mikhail liked.
She didn’t buy the sausage he usually ate for breakfast.
She didn’t take his favorite cheese, didn’t put his favorite snacks in the cart.
Instead, there were fruits for Lisa, yogurt, green tea, and a nice piece of fish she had long wanted to try.
At the checkout, Anna realized she felt strangely… free.
She didn’t think, «Does Mikhail eat this?»
She bought what she needed for herself and her daughter.
When she got home and started putting away the groceries, Mikhail looked in the fridge.
“Where’s my cheese?”
Anna didn’t even turn around.
“What cheese?”
“You know which one,” he grunted, opening one drawer, then another. “Didn’t you buy it?”
“No,” she replied calmly. “I bought what Lisa and I needed.”
He froze, as if he didn’t immediately understand the meaning of her words.
“But I gave you the money.”
Anna smiled and shrugged.
“Yes. And I spent it on food.”
She didn’t say «our food.»
Mikhail closed the fridge.
Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable.
Mikhail opened the fridge again and froze.
Something was… off.
Yogurts in neat rows, fresh vegetables in a container, a jar of berries, a bottle of mineral water.
But no beer.
No sausage — the one he always ate with his sandwiches in the morning.
He reached for the shelf, instinctively checked, as if it had slid to the back. No.
Mikhail frowned.
Anna walked into the kitchen, ignoring him. She took a yogurt from the fridge and sat down at the table.
“You didn’t buy sausage?”
She wasn’t even surprised by the question.
“No.”
“Why?”
She made a little circle with her spoon in the yogurt as if thinking about the answer.
“I don’t need it.”
Mikhail chuckled.
“But I do.”
Anna looked at him indifferently.
“Then buy it.”
He didn’t know how to respond.
It used to be different. He used to just live — open the fridge, take what he wanted, not think about where it came from.
But now…
He felt a strange sensation rising inside.
Not anger.
Not hurt.
But some cold, sticky realization.
Anna didn’t care about him anymore.
Meanwhile, Anna, closing the cupboard with the cereals, thought:
“I always thought it would be harder without him. That without his participation, his control, his salary, life would stop. But it seems that’s not the case.”
She took another slow sip of tea.
“It seems, it’s even easier.”
Mikhail opened the fridge again.
No, it wasn’t just his imagination.
The shelves looked unfamiliar: instead of the usual set — sausage, cheese, cans of beer — there was now some… order. Everything was neatly arranged, without chaos, but most importantly — without him.
Yogurts with fruit labels.
Containers with vegetables.
Light snacks he wouldn’t have touched.
He closed the door, then opened it again, as if hoping his favorite smoked sausage would suddenly appear from thin air.
“Are you eating like a fitness blogger now?” he sneered, glancing at his wife who was standing by the stove.
Anna didn’t react immediately, just calmly stirred the contents of the pot.
“I buy what Lisa and I need,” she said in a neutral tone.
Mikhail snorted.
“And I’m not needed?”
Anna turned, met his gaze.
“We have a separate budget,” she reminded him with a slight smile.
Mikhail clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything.
At that moment, Anna suddenly caught herself thinking a strange thought.
“I always thought it would be harder without him.”
She had been used to these constant thoughts: needing to buy, needing to cook, needing to please.
But now she just… didn’t think about it.
“But it seems that’s not the case.”
For the first time in a long while, she felt light.
Mikhail stretched, yawned, and, as always, first went to the kitchen. The morning started the same: hot coffee, a few minutes of silence, then a shower, work.
He opened the cupboard, reached… and froze.
The coffee cans were gone.
Mikhail frowned. He clearly remembered there was some left at the bottom last night, but today — empty.
He opened another cupboard, checked the fridge, then looked back in the cupboard. No coffee.
Instead, on the shelf were neatly arranged packs of tea. Different kinds: green, herbal, one with masala — the kind Anna liked.
He heard light footsteps from the bedroom.
“Anna, where’s the coffee?” he asked, without turning around.
“It’s finished,” Anna replied calmly.
“You didn’t buy any?”
She appeared in the doorframe, adjusting her robe.
“No,” she said softly, as if already enjoying his reaction.
Mikhail slowly turned around.
“Why?”
Anna shrugged.
“I have my budget. And I don’t drink coffee.”
He squinted, trying to catch sarcasm in her voice, but in his wife’s eyes was only calm confidence.
She walked over to the table, took her cup of fragrant tea, and took a slow sip.
Mikhail watched her, feeling a strange, unfamiliar sensation.
Not anger.
Not irritation.
But some cold jab of realization.
His familiar world no longer worked by the old rules.
Lisa was standing in the kitchen doorway, quietly watching her parents.
“I have my budget. And I don’t drink coffee.”
Mum said it with such a light smile, such calmness, that something inside Lisa shifted.
Mikhail was silent.
He looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time. Indifferent and confident. Not arguing, not outraged, not explaining — just stating a fact.
Lisa had always been used to her mum taking care of everything. There was always “What does dad like?” “Does dad need lunch to take with him?” “Dad can’t live without coffee.”
But today, those familiar phrases were gone.
And Lisa suddenly realized: relationships aren’t just about care. They’re also about boundaries.
She shifted her gaze from her father to her mother.
Mikhail stood by the cupboard, confused, as if he didn’t know what to do anymore.
He had never thought about how his coffee appeared. It just was. Like clean shirts in the mornings. Like dinner on the table.
But now it wasn’t there.
Now, he was on the other side of care.
And he didn’t like it.
A week passed.
Mikhail didn’t notice the changes immediately. But one evening, after coming home from work, he stopped in the doorway of the living room and suddenly realized: something had changed.
Anna was sitting in a chair, reading a book. She had a strange expression on her face — a slight concentration, a complete absence of fatigue.
She looked… calm.
Even younger.
Evenings used to be different. Anna would grumble about him leaving things lying around. She would sigh irritably if he forgot to take out the trash. She would reproach him: «You’re late again? I was waiting for you.»
Now the silence in the house was different.
She wasn’t waiting for him anymore.
She wasn’t demanding, wasn’t complaining, wasn’t telling him what needed to be done.
Mikhail had always thought that financial freedom would make him happier.
He thought that by splitting the budget, he would get rid of the constant discussions about “what needs to be bought,” “what needs to be paid,” “when is the salary coming?”
He wanted less responsibility.
But instead, the house had become… colder.
Not immediately, but gradually.
He felt like something was missing — the familiar warmth, care, the little things that used to annoy him.
And Anna was just living.
Quietly, calmly, easily.
And in that calmness, there was something frightening.
Anna was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, looking out the window.
She caught herself thinking strange thoughts.
“Why am I so calm?”
Evenings used to be hectic: prepare dinner, check what’s in the fridge, think about what to buy tomorrow.
Now, she just sat.
“Was I really so attached to those household duties? Or was it just a habit?”
She had always thought that taking care of the home was her responsibility. That if she didn’t do it, no one else would.
But it turned out you don’t have to do it all.
And the world didn’t fall apart.
She took another slow sip of tea, realizing how little time she used to spend on herself.
She used to think about him. What he liked, what he needed, what irritated him.
But now… now she cared only about what she needed.
Because of that, the house became quieter.
Lisa sat in her room, pretending to be busy with her homework. But in reality, she just didn’t want to go out.
She was annoyed by the pauses between her parents.
Conversations that seemed to break off mid-sentence.
Mum didn’t ask anymore: “How are you, Misha?”
Dad didn’t throw out the usual: “Did you make dinner?”
There was something strange, invisible, but cold between them.
And Lisa could feel how it was changing the atmosphere in the house.
She wanted to scream: “Just talk already!”
But she didn’t know what exactly should be said in this conversation.
“You don’t ask anymore how much money we have left,” Mikhail said one evening.
Anna looked at him calmly.
“Should I?”
He frowned.
“Well… you used to always ask.”
She nodded, as if agreeing, but didn’t say anything.
Mikhail suddenly realized that his wife no longer discussed money with him.
She used to always ask: when is the salary, how much can be spent on groceries, which bills need to be paid.
Now — silence.
He watched as Anna calmly brushed her hair in front of the mirror, slowly tying it into a ponytail.
She didn’t seem worried.
“Are… you going to support yourself?” he asked, not really knowing why.
Anna smiled slightly.
“Of course.”
Mikhail felt something unpleasant stir inside.
He had always thought his wife depended on him financially. That she needed him to plan the budget.
But now he suddenly realized: she wasn’t expecting anything from him anymore.
Anna, meanwhile, calmly thought:
“He doesn’t know I’ve had a safety net for a long time.”
He thought he had control.
But in reality, he had lost it a long time ago.
Anna was washing the dishes when Lisa carefully entered the kitchen.
“Mum…”
Anna threw her a warm glance.
“What, darling?”
Lisa fidgeted, rubbing the edge of her sleeve.
“Aren’t we a family anymore?”
Anna froze, holding a plate.
Water was dripping down her fingers, but she didn’t notice.
“Why do you think that?”
Lisa bit her lip.
“Because everything is… different now. You and Dad are acting strangely. Like strangers.”
Anna slowly put the plate in the sink and wiped her hands with a towel.
“We’re still a family,” she said, sitting next to her daughter. “We’re just learning to live… in a new way.”
Lisa didn’t look convinced.
“Wasn’t it wrong before?”
Anna wanted to say “I don’t know,” but suddenly realized that she did know.
“Before, I thought family meant you take care of others, even when you’re tired. Now I’m learning to take care of myself.”
Lisa frowned.
“But then it’s not a family anymore…”
Anna swallowed.
Those words lodged in her mind.
“What if Lisa is right?”
Mikhail sat in the living room, fiddling with his phone.
From the kitchen came the muffled voices of Anna, then Lisa.
He couldn’t hear the words, but he could feel the mood.
They were speaking quietly, calmly.
Without him.
Dinners used to be noisy, with conversations and discussions. Anna always took care of him — asking how he was, what happened, what to buy.
Now, none of that was there.
Now, the house was quiet.
But not the cozy silence of just being together.
But the kind that pulls you apart.
“I thought I was losing control,” he suddenly realized.
“But in reality, I’m losing my family.”
Mikhail came home later than usual. The day had been tough, and the only thing he wanted was to sit down at the table, smell the hot dinner, hear the familiar sounds of plates and conversation.
But when he walked into the kitchen, he saw the empty table.
No pots. No plates with dinner.
Only a note on the fridge:
“Lisa and I had dinner at the cafe. Don’t wait. Anna.”
Mikhail stood still for a few seconds, rereading the short message.
“At the cafe?”
He opened the fridge — the usual abundance of yogurts, vegetables, and light snacks was there, but nothing that could just be taken and reheated.
He closed the door with mild irritation.
Anna always cooked.
Anna always set the table.
“Isn’t that how it should work?”
When she came back an hour later with Lisa, Mikhail was sitting in the kitchen, eating last night’s chicken.
“You were at the cafe?” he asked, looking at his wife.
“Yes,” Anna nodded calmly, taking off her scarf.
“Why didn’t you invite me?”
Anna took off her coat, looked at him with a slight smile.
“Separate budget,” she reminded him.
Lisa threw a quick glance at her father and went to her room.
Mikhail remained silent.
He thought that with a separate budget, he would gain more freedom.
But for some reason, now he felt not free, but unnecessary.
“I didn’t think it would be like this.”
Mikhail silently finished his chicken, not raising his eyes.
Dinners used to be a given. He’d come home from work, change clothes, and dinner would already be on the table. Warm. Fresh. Ready for him.
Now he ate alone.
He reheated the chicken himself.
There was no garnish.
No salad either.
Anna walked around the kitchen, putting the kettle on, putting away the food.
“Is it uncomfortable for you?” she suddenly asked.
He looked up, about to say something sharp, but instead… said nothing.
It really was uncomfortable.
For the first time, he realized how much he had been getting for free.
Clean shirts. Fresh bread. Ready breakfast. Attention.
How many times had he simply sat down at the table and eaten without thinking about who had made it for him.
Anna looked at him calmly.
She would have felt pity before.
She would have asked: “Do you want me to make you something?”
But now…
She felt only slight regret.
He wanted this.
He was the one who suggested the separate budget.
He just didn’t think about what it really meant.
Mikhail sat in the living room, staring into his cup of tea.
It used to be his coffee. The one Anna bought.
Dinners used to wait for him at the table. The ones Anna made.
Clothes were always clean in the closet. Because Anna did the laundry.
He never thought about it.
He just lived, and she created comfort for him.
And now, when all of this was gone, he suddenly realized how much she had done for him.
And how much he hadn’t noticed.
Anna passed by, not saying a word.
She no longer waited for his approval.
Before, she would have asked: “How was dinner?” “Are you comfortable?” “Do you mind if I buy this?”
Now she just lived the way she needed to.
“Anna,” he called.
She turned, but there was no familiar expectation in her eyes.
“Yes?”
He wanted to say something important. He wanted to apologize. Or ask when everything had changed.
But instead, he only managed to say:
“Nothing.”
Anna nodded and walked away.
And Mikhail realized:
The understanding came.
But, it seemed, too late.
Lisa was sitting on the couch next to her mom, flipping through her phone.
“Mum, how do you save money? Like, so you don’t spend it all at once, but save it?”
Anna looked up from her book and smiled gently at her daughter.
“Do you want to learn how to plan a budget?”
Lisa nodded.
“Yes. You seem to manage it yourself…”
Anna wasn’t surprised.
Before, Lisa would have these conversations with her dad. He always lectured about finances, about how to spend properly, how to divide the money.
But now, she consulted with her mom.
Because she saw: mom knew how to be independent.
Mikhail stood in the doorway, silently watching them.
Before, Lisa would ask him how to manage the money.
Now — she was asking Anna.
And that hurt.
Mikhail sat in his office, sorting through papers, but his thoughts were tangled.
Everything that used to be his — the house, the family routine, even the familiar order — now slipped away.
Anna no longer asked what to do.
She no longer waited for his approval.
She just lived.
Mikhail remembered how he used to make all the decisions: where they would go on vacation, what big purchases to make, what to buy for the house.
But now Anna didn’t wait for his decisions.
She just took and did.
By herself.
Without him.
He felt a strange sensation rising inside.
He had once been the head of the household.
But now… now his role in the house had changed.
Meanwhile, Anna stood by the window with her cup of tea, looking at the evening city.
She thought about the months that had passed.
How she had feared she wouldn’t manage without Mikhail.
That without his participation, his control, his salary, life would stop.
But no.
She managed.
And for the first time, she realized: she had a choice.
Not because he allowed her.
Not because “it’s fair.”
But because she decided to live this way.
Now Mikhail was thinking about how to get back what he had lost.
And Anna felt for the first time that she hadn’t lost anything, but had only gained.
This wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning.
Lisa sat in her room, thinking about everything that had happened in their family.
She used to think that family meant mum takes care, dad decides, and everything goes according to plan.
But now…
Now she saw a new model.
Not submission, but partnership.
Mum no longer lived waiting for dad’s decisions. She didn’t adapt, didn’t sacrifice herself for others’ comfort.
She lived as she wanted.
Lisa looked at her and understood: a woman doesn’t need to depend on a man to feel confident.
She would have thought this was strange before.
Now — she saw the strength in it.
In the living room, Mikhail silently sat across from Anna.
Neither of them knew how it would end.
They might find a new balance.
Or they might part for good.
There were no old rules between them anymore.
No familiar roles.
Only the question:
How do we go on from here?
Anna looked at him calmly.
Mikhail sighed.
The ending depended on both of them.
