That’s it! I can’t live in this pigsty anymore!” Mikhail threw his jacket onto the couch without even looking, not caring whether it landed or fell to the floor. “How much longer? There are toys everywhere, some kind of mush smeared all over, constant screaming!”
Anna froze at the stove with a ladle in her hand. The smell of chicken soup filled the kitchen—she was making dinner while the kids played in the other room. Sasha was building a tower out of blocks, and little Liza was trying to destroy it, which caused yet another conflict between brother and sister.
“Misha, the children are still little,” she answered quietly, without turning around. “It’s normal that in a house with kids—”
“Normal?” he cut her off. “Maybe it’s normal for you! I work like a dog, come home—and what do I see? The same mess, the same excuses! You know what? Let’s get a divorce. Take your kids and get out of here. I need a normal life!”
The ladle slipped from Anna’s fingers and fell loudly onto the tiled floor. Hot drops of soup burned her bare feet, but she didn’t even feel the pain. In the kitchen doorway Sasha appeared, staring fearfully first at his father, then at his mother.
“Dad, why are you yelling?” the boy asked in a trembling voice.
“Go to your room!” Mikhail barked, and Sasha, sobbing, ran back into the other room.
Anna picked up the ladle, wiped the floor, and sat down at the kitchen table. Memories of how it all began were spinning in her head. Seven years ago Mikhail had been completely different—attentive, caring, dreaming of a big family. They’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and six months later he proposed. At the time, Anna worked as an accountant in a large company, her career was on the rise, but when Sasha was born, she quit without hesitation to go on maternity leave.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll earn enough for all of us,” Mikhail used to say, kissing the top of her head. “You just take care of our son. And you know what? Let’s have a second one so Sasha won’t be lonely!”
Anna resisted—she wanted to go back to work first, recover a bit, but her husband insisted. And so, when Sasha turned two, Liza was born. During her second maternity leave, the company went through a restructuring, and Anna’s position was eliminated. She tried to find a new job, but with two small children it turned out to be almost impossible.
Mikhail started to change after their daughter’s birth. He stayed late at work more and more often, came home late and went straight into the bedroom with his phone. One day Anna accidentally saw his messages—some Svetlana was sending him affectionate texts.
“You don’t trust me?” Mikhail had shouted when she tried to talk to him. “She’s a colleague! We’re working on a project together! I’m sick of your suspicions!”
After that conversation Anna never brought it up again. She knew her situation—no job, no place of her own. Before the wedding she’d lived with her mother, Valentina Sergeyevna, in a one-room apartment on the edge of the city. Her mother would, of course, take her back, but how could four of them squeeze into a studio? And the dacha that had come from her grandmother was only good for summers—an old house with no heating and a stove no one had used in ten years.
“Well?” Mikhail came back into the kitchen, already changed into his home clothes. “You’ve got three days. Pack your things and go to your mommy. The apartment is mine, and you know that perfectly well.”
Mikhail spent the next three days at his friend’s place, leaving Anna alone with the children and her thoughts. She wandered around the apartment, trying to figure out what to do. In the evenings, after putting the kids to bed, she would sit in the kitchen and stare into the darkness outside the window.
One of those nights, Liza’s crying came from the children’s room—the little girl often woke up from bad dreams. Anna picked her up, rocking her and humming a lullaby. Sasha woke up too and snuggled up to his mother on the other side.
“Mom, why was Dad shouting at us?” he asked sleepily. “Are we bad?”
“No, sweetheart, you’re the best,” Anna hugged the children tighter. “Dad is just tired from work.”
“And where are we going to live? Grandma said there’s not much room at her place.”
Anna couldn’t answer. Her throat tightened with tears, but she did everything she could not to cry in front of the kids. In the morning, while Sasha played with his toy cars and Liza fussed with her doll, a plan formed in Anna’s head. Crazy, desperate, but the only possible one.
She began to pack her things—clothes, documents, a few books. She left the children’s things untouched. She called a taxi, loaded the suitcases and bags, then came back into the apartment where the kids were eating porridge for breakfast.
“Babies, Mommy is going to go to Grandma’s for a little while,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “You’ll stay home with Daddy for now, all right?”
“When will you come back?” Sasha asked, on guard.
“Soon, honey. I’ll come to see you every day.”
Leaving the apartment, Anna felt her heart tearing into pieces. But there was no other way—taking the children into that cramped studio would mean condemning them to even worse conditions.
That evening her husband came home, anticipating an empty apartment and long-awaited freedom. Opening the door, the first thing he noticed was the silence—unusual, but welcome. He went into the living room, saw that Anna’s things really were gone, and grunted in satisfaction.
“Finally!” he said out loud, heading to the kitchen.
Sasha and Liza were sitting at the table. The boy was feeding his sister porridge, half of which was smeared across the table.
“Dad!” Sasha exclaimed happily. “Mom said now you’re going to be with us!”
Mikhail’s face twisted. He rushed through the apartment, checking the rooms, but Anna was nowhere to be found.
“Where is your mother?” he barked when he came back to the kitchen.
“At Grandma’s,” Sasha answered, clutching Liza to him in fright. “She said she’ll be back soon.”
Mikhail grabbed his phone and dialed Anna’s number.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled into the phone. “Get back here right now and take the kids!”
“I have nowhere to take them, Misha,” his wife’s calm voice enraged him even more. “Mom’s place is a one-room apartment, you know that. The kids will stay in their own home, with their father. That’s only fair.”
“Fair? You’re out of your mind! I’m working! How am I supposed to manage with them?”
“The same way I’ve managed all these years. Hire a nanny, put them in daycare. They’re your children just as much as they are mine.”
“I’ll take you to court! I’ll have your parental rights terminated!”
“Go ahead. The court will leave the children with you until I get back on my feet. And I will get back on my feet, don’t you worry.”
Mikhail hurled the phone onto the couch and looked around. Liza started whimpering, demanding attention. Sasha watched his father with big, frightened eyes.
“Dad, it’s time to change Liza’s diaper,” the boy said quietly.
The next few days turned into a nightmare for Mikhail. He didn’t know when to feed the kids, what to cook, how to put them to bed. Liza cried constantly, wanted her mom, refused to eat. Sasha tried to help, but his help only made things worse—he spilled milk, scattered cereal, broke a plate.
On the third day Mikhail snapped. Trying to feed Liza soup, he held her on his lap, and she kept squirming and pushing the spoon away. The soup spilled onto his shirt, the girl let out a shriek.
“Just sit still, will you!” Mikhail roared, roughly plopping his daughter onto a chair.
Liza froze in fear, then burst into tears. Sasha started crying too, dropping his glass of compote. A purple puddle spread across the white tablecloth.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Mikhail jumped up, waving his arms. “You’re doing it on purpose to drive me crazy!”
At that moment Anna walked into the apartment—she had come to see the children, as she’d promised.
“Mom!” Sasha and Liza ran to her and clung to her legs.
Anna picked Liza up, pulled Sasha close. She looked at her disheveled, angry husband with soup stains on his shirt.
“Calm down, Misha. They’re just children, they’re not doing it on purpose.”
“Easy for you to say!” he shot back. “You abandoned them!”
“I didn’t abandon them. I come every day, I help. But they’re staying here, in their home. You wanted freedom? Here it is—freedom of choice. You can hire a nanny, you can cope on your own, or you can let them live with me when I rent an apartment. But for now, this is your responsibility too.”
She calmly changed Liza, wiped the table, and made dinner for the kids. Mikhail sat in the living room, his eyes glued to his phone, but Anna could see—he wasn’t reading anything, just staring at the screen.
“Is Dad bad?” Sasha whispered when she was putting him to bed.
“No, sweetheart. Dad is just learning. Learning to be with you. It’s hard when you don’t know how.”
After that scene in the kitchen, Mikhail calmed down a little, but he kept calling Anna, demanding that she take the children.
“I’ll file for child support,” she warned during one of their conversations. “Half your salary. And I’ll save up for an apartment.”
“You’re blackmailing me!”
“No, I’m just laying out the terms. You wanted a divorce—you’ll get your divorce. But the kids stay with the parent who has housing. Right now, that’s you.”
That evening Anna went to her mother’s. Valentina Sergeyevna was making dinner in their tiny kitchen, where there was barely enough space for a table and two chairs.
“How are the kids?” she asked without turning away from the stove.
“They’re managing. Sasha’s doing great, helping with Liza. And Mikhail… he’s learning.”
“Anechka,” her mother turned to her, wiping her hands on her apron, “are you sure you’re doing the right thing? The children are suffering without you.”
“Mom, what else can I do? Bring them here? All four of us sleeping on a fold-out couch? Liza’s still in diapers, Sasha needs space to play, to study. There’s nowhere to move here.”
“What about the dacha?”
“Mom, the heating there is from a stove no one’s checked in years. The toilet’s outside. The roof leaks. It’s not a place to live with little kids.”
Valentina Sergeyevna sighed and hugged her daughter.
“The main thing is, don’t give up. You’ll find a job, rent an apartment, and take the kids. One step at a time, no need to panic.”
“I’m going to an interview tomorrow,” Anna said. “A small firm, they’re looking for an accountant. The pay is low, but it’ll do for a start.”
“That’s good then. And I’ll help however I can. Maybe I’ll take extra shifts at the hospital.”
“Mom, don’t. You’re sixty already, your health is more important.”
They sat in the tiny kitchen, drinking tea and making plans. Anna decided to start processing documents for daycare at the same time—Sasha could be placed in the senior group, and Liza in the nursery group.
Three weeks passed. Anna was walking down the street toward the office building where her interview was scheduled. Her bag held her documents, résumé, and references from her previous job. She had come early on purpose to give herself time to calm down and gather her thoughts.
Sitting in the reception area, she thought not about the upcoming conversation with her potential employer, but about the kids. That morning Sasha had called her on video from his dad’s phone.
“Mom, when are you coming back for good?” he’d asked. “Dad is angry all the time.”
“Soon, honey. Mom is getting a job, and soon we’ll be together.”
“Will Dad live with us?”
“Dad will live separately. But you’ll be able to see him.”
After the interview, which went well, Anna felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—she was needed again, valued as a professional. Yes, the salary was small, but it was a beginning. She would be able to save, look for options, maybe even get a mortgage in a year or two.
At the same time, Mikhail was at home with the children. He had taken time off work—he hadn’t managed to find a nanny, they all wanted too much money, and the public daycare had a waiting list. Liza was cranky and refused to eat the porridge he’d made. Sasha was drawing at the table, occasionally asking how to spell this or that word.
“Dad, why do you argue with Mom?” the boy suddenly asked.
“That’s grown-up stuff,” Mikhail muttered.
“And Petya from daycare said that when parents argue, they get divorced. And the kids stay with the mom.”
“Not always.”
“Are we going to stay with you?”
Mikhail looked at his son, at his daughter, and for the first time wondered—did he actually want that? Before, it had seemed that divorce meant freedom, a new life, a chance to start over. With Svetlana, for example, who was waiting for his decision. But Svetlana had made it perfectly clear—she wasn’t planning on raising someone else’s children.
That evening, after putting the kids to bed, he sat in the kitchen with a bottle of beer. The apartment was unusually quiet—the very silence he had dreamed of now weighed on him. Children’s drawings lay on the table, and on the fridge hung a feeding schedule that Anna had made. Toys were scattered on the floor, which he never got around to picking up.
His phone chimed— a message from Svetlana: “Well? When are you going to be free?”
Mikhail looked at the screen, then at the door to the children’s room, where soft breathing could be heard. He deleted the message without replying.
Life had changed for both of them. Anna had found the determination to fight for her future and the future of her children. And Mikhail, for the first time, truly felt what it meant to be a father—not the kind who comes home from work to a hot dinner and a clean apartment, but the kind who bears full responsibility for little lives.
That night he lay awake for a long time, thinking about how carelessly he had thrown out the word “divorce.” The freedom he’d craved had turned into a burden of responsibility he was completely unprepared for. And only now, left alone with the children, did he begin to understand what Anna had been going through all those years.
And that same night Anna slept peacefully on a folding bed in her mother’s room, feeling for the first time in a long time that she was in control of her life. Tomorrow she would start her new job. In a month she’d get her first paycheck. In six months she’d be able to rent an apartment. And then the children would come back to her.
“I’ll bring you home, my little ones,” she thought as she drifted off to sleep. “Very soon, I’ll bring you home.
