Karina lingered by the mirror, straightening the collar of her blazer. The latest project had brought her not only a solid fee, but new clients as well. The design studio was thriving, and her name had already become a recognizable brand in professional circles. Her phone buzzed again—another request to redesign a major company’s office.
“Maybe enough with the phone already?” Dmitry stood in the bedroom doorway, displeasure on his face. “Even at home all you think about is work.”
Karina lowered the phone.
“It’s a serious order, I can’t ignore it.”
“Of course, because it’s money. And the fact that we haven’t had a proper conversation in a week—that’s nothing, right?”
Karina rubbed the bridge of her nose. Lately, these conversations had become more frequent. Especially after Dmitry hadn’t gotten a raise at the construction company where he worked.
“Dima, let’s not start. I’m just doing my job.”
“And you’re always rubbing your success in my face!” Dmitry raised his voice. “You think it feels good to hear my mother say I’m living off my wife?”
Karina froze. Tamara Ivanovna again. Her mother-in-law never missed a chance to remind them that a “real man” should support the family. At every visit she would examine new things in the apartment and then significantly ask her son whether he wasn’t ashamed.
“Dima, we agreed these are our shared finances…”
“No, you know what?” Dmitry ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Let’s split the budget. Each of us spends what we earn.”
“Seriously?” Karina raised an eyebrow. “And how do you see that working?”
“Very simple. I’ll pay for the apartment and groceries. You—your designer clothes and beauty salons.”
Karina nodded slowly. In her head flashed all those times she’d paid for their dinners at restaurants, bought gifts for his parents, paid for vacations.
“Fine,” she shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”
Dmitry clearly hadn’t expected such a calm agreement. He hesitated, searching for words.
“Great then,” he finally forced out. “That’ll be fair.”
That same evening the doorbell rang in their apartment. On the threshold stood Tamara Ivanovna with bags of groceries.
“Dimochka, I brought you some food!” the mother-in-law chirped, heading to the kitchen. “I know these trendy diets of yours…”
Karina kept quiet, though she cooked regularly. Just not always the way Tamara Ivanovna was used to.
“Mom, Karina and I decided to split the budget,” Dmitry boasted, helping his mother unpack.
“About time!” Tamara beamed. “What is this— a man living on a woman’s money. Now you’ll live like a normal family!”
Karina pretended to be very busy with work messages. Her phone buzzed again—notification of a large deposit into her account.
A week passed. Dmitry diligently tracked his expenses, bought groceries, paid the rent. Karina noticed how he frowned while studying receipts, but said nothing.
On Friday evening the phone rang.
“Karina, it’s Tamara Ivanovna,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded uncharacteristically ingratiating. “Here’s the thing… Dimochka’s birthday is coming up, we should celebrate. I found a table at that restaurant where you usually celebrate…”
Karina closed her eyes. That very restaurant was quite expensive, and she usually paid for all the family celebrations there.
“I’m sorry, Tamara Ivanovna, but we live on separate budgets now,” Karina tried to keep her voice calm. “Let Dima decide where and how he wants to celebrate.”
Silence hung on the line.
“But you can’t…” Tamara began.
“I can,” Karina gently interrupted. “Dima wanted independence—so be it. Let him plan his own party.”
After that conversation the atmosphere at home grew tense. Dmitry went around dark as a cloud, calculating how much he could spend on the celebration. His salary was only enough for a modest dinner at an inexpensive café.
Tamara called every day, hinting that a “proper wife” should help her husband organize a worthy celebration. Karina didn’t respond.
On Saturday morning, while checking her email, Karina saw a letter from a major client. They were offering her a long-term contract to design a chain of restaurants—the fee made her whistle.
“What is it?” Dmitry tried to peek at her laptop screen.
“Work stuff,” Karina smiled softly. “Don’t worry about it, it’s my budget.”
Dmitry clenched his jaw and turned to the window. The tension in his back made it clear how much those words stung.
“You know what?” he spun around sharply. “I’m not putting up with this anymore! Think you’re so smart? Hiding behind this separate budget?”
Karina closed the laptop and stood up.
“Dima, it was your idea. Remember? You wanted to prove your independence.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think…” Dmitry faltered, clenching his fists. “You can see I’m struggling!”
“And what’s changed?” Karina leaned against the table. “Before, you were ashamed to use my money, and now you’re ashamed not to use it?”
The doorbell rang. Dmitry rushed to open it, glad to interrupt the unpleasant conversation. On the threshold stood Tamara Ivanovna.
“I was just passing by,” the mother-in-law trilled, slipping into the apartment. “Decided to spoil my favorite son with some treats.”
She cast a quick glance at Karina and Dmitry’s tense faces.
“What happened? Quarreling again?”
“Mom, can you imagine,” Dmitry flopped into a chair, “Karina got a big contract and didn’t even offer any money!”
“Dear,” Tamara sat down next to Karina, “how could you? You’re a family! You can’t be so stingy.”
Karina straightened slowly.
“Let’s be honest, Tamara Ivanovna. When I was paying for everything, you said I was humiliating Dima. Now that I’m not paying—I’m stingy?”
“But you’re a woman!” the mother-in-law threw up her hands. “You should support your husband, not gloat!”
“Support?” Karina smirked. “And where was your support when you constantly reproached Dima for earning too little?”
Dmitry jumped up.
“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that!”
“How should I talk then?” Karina raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should apologize for earning well? Or for agreeing to your proposal?”
“You’re just getting back at me!” Dmitry blurted out. “You enjoy the fact I can’t even afford new shoes!”
Karina shook her head.
“Dima, I’m just living the way you suggested. Remember—you said each pays for themselves? So I am paying.”
“You’ve got no heart!” Tamara cut in. “My boy is trying, and you—”
“And what about me?” Karina interrupted. “I work. I earn. I spend my money. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to stop ‘pressuring’ Dima with my income?”
Tamara pursed her lips.
“We wanted you to be a normal wife! And you only think about yourself.”
“About myself?” Karina laughed bitterly. “For three years I carried all our expenses on my back. Paid for your family celebrations. Bought gifts for all your relatives. And all that time I listened to how I was a bad wife because I earned more than my husband.”
Dmitry flushed crimson.
“Go on, keep humiliating me! Maybe you’ll even tally up how much you spent on me?”
“Why?” Karina shrugged. “You already tallied it yourself when you suggested splitting the budget.”
At that moment Karina’s phone buzzed again. Another notification of a project payment received.
“Go on, answer it,” Dmitry hissed. “We won’t distract you from important matters.”
“Son,” Tamara stroked his shoulder, “maybe you should think… This kind of wife isn’t for you. You deserve better! You’ll find a normal girl without all these career ambitions.”
Karina froze. Her fingers clenched the phone until her knuckles went white.
“Oh, really?” Karina’s voice turned unusually quiet. “So I’m not worthy of your son?”
“What did you think?” Tamara straightened. “A normal wife should create comfort, support her husband. And all you can do is make money!”
“Mom, don’t…” Dmitry tried to stop her, but she was already on a roll.
“No, let her hear it!” Tamara raised her voice. “I kept quiet when you ran around with your projects. Kept quiet when you humiliated my son with your money. But now… Now you’ve shown your true face!”
“My true face?” Karina laid the phone on the table. “Fine, let’s talk about true faces. About how you spent years nagging Dima for earning too little. About how happy you were when he suggested splitting the budget. You thought I’d break? That I’d beg to go back to how it was?”
Dmitry drummed his fingers on the table, agitated.
“Karina, that’s enough. Let’s just…”
“Just what?” she cut him off. “Go back to me paying for everything while you and your mother discuss what a mercenary, heartless woman I am?”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Only the ticking clock measured out the seconds of the awkward pause.
“You know,” Tamara began, “I always told Dima there was something wrong with you. A normal woman—”
“Tamara Ivanovna,” Karina raised a hand, stopping the flow of words, “let’s not. I know perfectly well what you think of ‘normal’ women. But I’m not that. And I never will be.”
The phone buzzed again. This time it was a message from a client asking for an urgent meeting.
“Of course,” Tamara sneered, “work is more important than family!”
Karina silently picked up her phone and bag and headed for the door. At the doorway she turned back.
“You know what’s funny? I really do love my work. And I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. And you… you just can’t accept it.”
Karina quietly closed the door behind her. The stairwell was cool and quiet. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the elevator button. Inside, everything tightened with the realization—there was no way back.
Three months passed. Karina moved into a rented apartment not far from the office. The design studio flourished; orders kept coming in. In the evenings Karina often stayed late, developing new projects. In the empty apartment no one was waiting anyway.
Dmitry wrote rarely, mostly about dividing property. Each message began the same way: “Maybe we should talk?” Karina replied briefly and to the point. There was nothing left to discuss.
Tamara tried to reach her through mutual acquaintances:
“Tell that proud girl she’s making a mistake!” snatches of conversation reached Karina. “My Dimochka can’t find a place for himself!”
Karina only shook her head. Dimochka really couldn’t find a place for himself—but not from missing his wife, from blows to his pride. After their breakup, Dmitry began actively complaining to friends about the “mercenary bitch” who “pocketed all the money.”
“Can you imagine,” a friend told Karina, having overheard Dmitry in a café, “he was ranting about how you used him! That you agreed to separate budgets on purpose, to humiliate him.”
Karina smiled sadly.
“Funny. When I paid for everything—I was bad. When I stopped paying—I was also bad.”
One evening the doorbell rang at Karina’s new apartment. On the threshold stood Tamara Ivanovna.
“I know you don’t want to see me,” the mother-in-law began, “but listen…”
“Come in,” Karina let the unexpected guest into the hallway. “Tea?”
Tamara nodded awkwardly. An awkward silence hung in the kitchen.
“Dima’s in a bad way,” she finally said. “He’s drinking. Problems at work. Maybe… maybe you could forgive him?”
Karina stirred sugar slowly in her cup.
“Forgive what, Tamara Ivanovna? That he couldn’t accept my success? Or that he let you destroy our family?”
“I wanted what was best!” Tamara flared. “So things would be proper, like people do!”
“Like people…” Karina echoed. “And how do ‘people’ do it? The wife should sit quietly and not earn more than her husband?”
Tamara lowered her eyes.
“I thought you loved him.”
“I did,” Karina nodded. “But love dies when one person tries to break the other.”
A week later the divorce papers arrived. Karina signed without hesitation. That evening she called Dmitry.
“The papers are signed. You can pick up your share.”
“So easily?” bitterness colored his voice. “Three years down the drain?”
“No, Dima. Not easily. And not down the drain. It was a lesson. For all of us.”
Karina hung up and walked to the window. Below, the evening city spread out, lit with lights. Somewhere down there, in one of those apartments, Tamara comforted her son, not realizing she herself had pushed him toward the brink. And Dmitry, probably for the first time, was thinking that he had lost not just a wife with a good salary, but a person who believed in him more than he believed in himself.
Her phone buzzed again—a message from a new client. Karina smiled. Life doesn’t end with a failed marriage. It only begins when you realize that happiness isn’t about meeting someone else’s expectations, but about staying true to yourself.
Six months later Karina ran into Dmitry by chance at a shopping mall. There was a hunted look in his eyes.
“Hi,” Dmitry nodded. “You look… happy.”
“I am happy,” Karina replied simply.
“You know, I’ve thought a lot,” Dmitry nervously adjusted his collar. “You were right. I ruined everything. Mom understands now too… She’s kicking herself.”
Karina shook her head.
“It’s not about who’s right or wrong. Sometimes people are better off taking different paths.”
A year passed. Karina’s design studio moved to a new, spacious office. That day she stayed late, finalizing details of a large project. Walking out to the parking lot, Karina noticed a familiar figure by her car.
“Dima? What are you doing here?”
Dmitry shifted from foot to foot.
“I need to talk. I got a job at a big company, I’m earning well now…”
“And?” Karina took out her car keys.
“Maybe we could start over? I’ve learned a lot. Mom’s changed too,” Dmitry took a step closer. “She even started her own business, can you believe it? She says you inspired her.”
Karina raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Tamara Ivanovna? A business?”
“Yes, a handicraft supplies shop. Now she spends all day arguing with suppliers,” Dmitry gave a wry smile. “Says she was a fool for trying to break you.”
“Funny how it turned out,” Karina leaned against the hood. “You suggested splitting the budget to prove your independence. And in the end, everyone became independent. Me—from manipulation, your mother—from stereotypes, you—from her influence.”
Dmitry stepped closer.
“So maybe…”
“No, Dima,” Karina shook her head. “Do you know what I realized over this year? People don’t change because someone else wants them to. They change when they themselves want to. You got a good job—that’s great. Your mother has her own business—wonderful. But it all happened not thanks to our marriage, but thanks to its end.”
“And you? Did you change?”
“Me?” Karina smiled. “I finally stopped apologizing for who I am.”
The next day Karina received a strange message. Tamara invited her to the opening of her store.
“I know I don’t deserve it, but I really want you to come,” Karina read. “I need advice… from a successful businesswoman.”
Karina stared at the message for a long time. Then she decisively typed a reply:
“What time is the opening? We can discuss your store’s design while we’re at it. Seems it’s about time to update the interior.”
In the end, Karina thought, pressing “send,” the most important victory is not proving you’re right, but helping others find their path. Even if you had to go through a divorce to get there.
Her phone immediately lit up with Tamara’s enthusiastic messages. Karina smiled—some things really do happen not thanks to, but in spite of. And sometimes the most important lessons come from those we once considered our enemies.