Nina was sorting laundry in the basket, automatically separating light from dark, when Andrey peeked into the bathroom. Her husband’s face looked guilty, like a schoolboy who had forgotten his homework.
“Nina, I’ve got a bit of bad news,” he began, leaning against the doorframe. “They’ve delayed our salaries again at work. We definitely won’t get paid until the fifteenth.”
Nina kept folding shirts without looking up. Inside, she clenched with familiar irritation. Again. For the umpteenth time in their three years of marriage, Andrey was coming home with the same news. And every time, she had to take on his financial obligations.
“So that means I’m paying the mortgage and utilities again?” she asked in an even tone, though she wanted to scream.
“Come on, don’t say it like that,” Andrey tried to hug her, but Nina pulled away. “We’re family.”
Family, sure. But in a year of owning this apartment, she had already covered his share of the mortgage four times. And every time, she heard the same excuses: delays, no bonus, bad management. The result was always the same—Nina dipped into her savings.
“Fine,” she said, loading the laundry into the machine. “But next time, warn me ahead of time, not at the last minute.”
“I will, sweetheart,” Andrey kissed her on the cheek and hurried out. “I’m late already, the boss will be angry.”
When the door closed behind him, Nina let out a heavy sigh. Three years ago, she had been sure she was marrying a reliable man. Andrey had seemed so responsible, so serious. But now she more often felt like not a wife, but a walking ATM.
After finishing the housework, Nina sat down at her computer. Vacation or not, freelancing didn’t stop. On her desktop, three manuscripts awaited editing—detective stories from beginner authors. The pay was good, especially if an author was willing to add extra for urgency.
Nina opened the first file and immersed herself in the text. Editing required concentration and attention to detail, but she enjoyed it. Each corrected paragraph, each perfectly chosen word gave her satisfaction. And most importantly—a stable income.
After two hours of work, she took a break and turned on the camera. For her vlog about literature and editing, she recorded a short episode about common mistakes beginning writers make. She didn’t have many subscribers, but they were active, and the ads brought in extra money.
“Welcome to the channel Word for Word,” she smiled into the camera. “Today we’ll talk about how to avoid the most common stylistic mistakes.”
After recording, Nina went back to the manuscripts. Her vacation had turned into just another workweek, only without commuting to the office. The apartment demanded constant attention: dust on the shelves, dirty dishes, laundry in the basket. Andrey rarely helped, always blaming fatigue from work.
“Nina, I’ll stop by Mom’s,” he announced in the evening, sticking his head into the room where she was editing another chapter. “She asked for help with the computer.”
“All right,” Nina nodded, without looking up from the screen. Visits to Svetlana Petrovna had become frequent. Every weekend, and sometimes during the week, Andrey disappeared to his parents’ house.
He always came back with stories about the hardships of his relatives.
“Can you imagine, Aunt Katya’s late on her loan again,” Andrey would say, pacing in the kitchen. “She took it out for a fridge, and now the interest is piling up. And Uncle Vova signed up for English classes on installment, says it’s for his career. Only he doesn’t want to work, just sits at home.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Nina would reply, stirring the soup. The stories were always the same: a microwave on credit, a vacation in Turkey on debt, renovations started with no money.
“Mom says they’d need about fifty thousand to pay off the debt,” Andrey went on. “Otherwise the bank is threatening them.”
“They should work,” Nina answered calmly. “Or learn to budget.”
She couldn’t understand how people lived from loan to loan. Meanwhile, she had a decent sum saved in her account, money she was putting aside for a car. Each month she set aside part of her income, denying herself spontaneous purchases. In six months, she planned to choose the right car.
“You’re too harsh on them,” Andrey sighed. “They’re family.”
“Family should be responsible,” Nina countered. “You can’t live in debt forever.”
But her stance didn’t please her husband. After every visit to his mother, he grew pensive and began hinting that Nina was too calculating. As though the ability to save money was a flaw.
On Thursday evening, her mother-in-law came over. Svetlana Petrovna appeared in a worn coat, wearing a sorrowful expression.
“Hello, Nina,” she drawled in a plaintive voice. “I hope I’m not disturbing?”
“Of course not, come in,” Nina replied, noting how artificial the tragic mask looked.
Over dinner, Svetlana began lamenting her hard life.
“The utilities went up again,” she sighed, staring sadly at her plate. “The pension’s the same, but prices climb every day. I don’t know how to go on.”
Nina turned toward the cabinet and caught in the glass reflection how her mother-in-law’s face instantly changed. No sorrow at all—just a satisfied smirk and sly eyes. But when Nina faced her again, the poor-old-woman mask was back in place.
“And my Katya, my daughter, is really struggling,” she went on. “Crushed by debts, and no one to help her. Andryusha is a good son, but he’s barely making ends meet.”
Andrey shot his wife a meaningful glance.
“And the rest of our relatives are all in need too,” Svetlana added. “But I’m just one person, what can I do? There’s no one else.”
Nina quietly finished her salad, pretending not to understand the hint.
“Perhaps some tea with cake?” she offered, getting up from the table.
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips. Clearly, she had expected a different reaction. After tea, she quickly gathered her things and left, saying on the way out:
“Well, I won’t get in the young people’s way.”
As soon as the door closed, Andrey turned on his wife.
“Do you even realize why Mom came?” he snapped.
“For dinner,” Nina said coolly, clearing the dishes.
“Don’t play dumb! She was asking for help!”
“Did she actually ask? I didn’t hear any such request.”
“She was hinting! Didn’t you see how hard it is for her?”
“Andrey, I saw bad acting,” Nina said, turning to him. “Your mother was pretending.”
“How dare you talk about my mother like that?” he exploded. “You have to give her money!”
Nina fixed her gaze on him.
“I’m not spending my savings on your family. I want to buy myself a car, and you know it.”
Andrey started to boil over.
“Savings? My relatives need the money more!”
“They’re my money,” Nina said firmly. “I earned them.”
“We’re family! That means everything’s shared! Transfer your savings to my relatives, they need help! And why do you even need a car?” Andrey kept pressing. “My relatives need that money more!”
Something clicked in Nina’s head in that moment. It was like a veil lifted. She looked at her husband and, for the first time, truly saw him—a man who had been using her like a living ATM for three years. She paid the mortgage, the utilities, the groceries, while he squandered his salary and now demanded her savings for his relatives.
“You know what, Andrey,” she said coldly. “I’ve had enough.”
“What do you mean, enough?” he stammered.
“I’m done being your wallet,” Nina stood from the table. “I’m done paying for your irresponsibility. I’m done listening to your family’s demands for my money.”
“What are you saying?” Andrey was flustered.
“I’m filing for divorce,” Nina declared firmly. “Tomorrow.”
She went into the bedroom and began packing. Just the essentials—documents, a few changes of clothes, her laptop for work.
“You’re insane!” Andrey shouted behind her. “Over something so petty!”
“Petty?” Nina turned to him. “I’ve put up with this for three years, and you call it petty?”
Half an hour later, she was sitting in a taxi, watching the city lights slide past the window.
Her mother opened the door in a bathrobe, surprised and flustered.
“Nina? What happened, darling?”
“Mom, can I stay with you?” her voice trembled. “I’m getting a divorce.”
Her father stood up from his chair, where he had been reading the newspaper, and silently embraced his daughter. Her mother bustled about, making tea and preparing a bed in the spare room.
“Tell me what happened,” her mother asked quietly, once they were at the kitchen table.
And Nina told her. About Andrey’s constant salary delays, the mortgage she mostly paid, the demands to help his relatives.
“I thought he’d change,” she sobbed. “But he just used me.”
The divorce process dragged on for two months. At first Andrey refused, then demanded half the apartment. She had to collect records proving who had actually paid the mortgage. In the end, Nina bought out his share.
When the formalities were over, she was left alone in the spacious three-room apartment she had once chosen with such enthusiasm.
The first weeks were hard. The silence pressed in, and the fridge felt too big for one person. But gradually Nina adjusted to her new life. No one demanded dinner at seven, no one left socks in the bedroom, no one complained about late salaries.
Work became enjoyable again. Orders increased—clients valued the quality of her editing. Her vlog grew subscribers, and advertising contracts not only covered expenses but also let her keep saving for a car.
A month after the divorce, Svetlana Petrovna called.
“Nina, what have you done?” her voice trembled with indignation. “How could you treat Andrey so cruelly?”
“Hello, Svetlana Petrovna,” Nina replied calmly.
“You left him with nothing! Took the apartment, refused him money! If you had been a proper wife, you would have helped the family, and you’d still be together!”
“I bought out his share according to the law,” Nina countered.
“What share?” the mother-in-law snapped. “He was your husband! That means everything should have been split equally! You should have left him the apartment and even paid him for moral damages!”
Nina smirked. Even after the divorce, his family still believed they had a claim to her money.
“Svetlana Petrovna, your son lived off me for three years. I paid the mortgage, the bills, the groceries. He spent his salary on who knows what.”
“How dare you!” she shrieked. “He worked hard, got tired, while you just sat at your computer! And anyway, a wife is supposed to provide for her husband!”
“Supposed to?” Nina repeated. “And what is a husband supposed to do?”
“A man is the breadwinner in the family, but if he struggles, the wife is obligated to help!”
“I see,” Nina said dryly. “Anything else?”
“You’re a terrible woman!” Svetlana ranted. “Selfish! You only think about yourself!”
“That’s absolutely right,” Nina cut her off. “For the first time in three years of marriage, I thought about myself. And you know what? I like it.”
She hung up and blocked her ex-mother-in-law’s number. The phone stayed silent.
That evening, Nina sat on the balcony with a cup of coffee, gazing at the city lights. On the table lay a printout—a contract for purchasing a car. Tomorrow, she would go to the dealership to pick up her first car.
