November twilight fell over the city early, and Elena, on her way home from work, kept catching herself thinking that the day had barely had time to begin. The bus crawled through traffic, and outside the window a fine drizzle blurred the streetlights into dull smudges. Elena sat by the window, running through her mental to-do list: stop by the store, cook dinner, check the utility bills. The usual routine she’d long gotten used to.
At home Artem greeted her—already changed into his lounge clothes, phone in hand. They exchanged a nod hello; Elena kicked off her shoes and went to the kitchen. Her husband stayed in the room, glued to the screen. Evenings like this happened often: each of them busy with their own thing, not much conversation, but no conflicts either. A quiet, measured life that suited them both.
Elena had always known how to plan. Even when she was young, she learned to set a little aside, not waste money on nonsense, to keep the finances under control. A few years earlier she’d gotten herself a small box—an ordinary cardboard shoebox, nothing special. She kept cash in it: a thousand here, two thousand there. No fanaticism, no harsh restrictions—just whenever there was something extra left over. She stored the box in a dresser drawer among old documents and certificates, where Artem never looked. The goal was simple: a vacation. A real, long one—somewhere by the sea or in the mountains, where she could finally breathe and forget about work.
Artem knew about the savings in general terms, but he never asked for details. The family had money; their salaries covered everything essential, and there were no arguments about spending. Elena managed the budget; Artem didn’t object. Everything ran like clockwork.
But in the last few weeks something had changed. Artem had become nervous. Little things, but Elena noticed. One time he left the house without fastening his jacket; another time he came back and stood in the entryway for a long moment, staring at one spot. When Elena asked if everything was okay, he waved it off: tired, work, nothing serious. He avoided her eyes, steered the conversation elsewhere. Elena decided not to press. If it was something important, he’d tell her himself.
One evening Artem’s phone rang. He answered and stepped into the hallway, but his mother’s voice was so loud that Elena heard every word without even trying to eavesdrop.
“You’re my son! You have to help! I took out a loan, the interest is choking me!” Tatiana Petrovna wailed. “I thought I could handle it, and now I can’t pay! You understand I can’t manage this alone!”
Artem mumbled something back, but Elena couldn’t make out his words. His tone, though, was clear—guilty, defensive. The call lasted about fifteen minutes, and the whole time Elena sat in the kitchen listening to her mother-in-law’s lamenting.
When Artem returned, his face was dark. He sat at the table, stared at his phone, then abruptly put it face down.
“What happened?” Elena asked, though she already suspected.
“Mom,” Artem answered shortly. “Money problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“She took out a loan. For a TV. Now she can’t make the payments.”
Elena nodded silently. Tatiana Petrovna loved showing off new purchases—she’d replace the fridge, order a new sofa, have a rug delivered. She lived alone on a small pension, but she couldn’t resist buying things. Apparently this time she’d overestimated her means.
“How much is she asking for?” Elena clarified.
Artem grimaced.
“She’s not asking. She’s hinting. Saying she can’t cope, that a son is supposed to help.”
“And are you going to?”
Artem shrugged.
“I don’t know. I need to think. It’s under control.”
That ended the conversation. Artem went into the room; Elena stayed to wash the dishes. An unpleasant sense of foreboding scraped at her from the inside, but she brushed it off. Maybe Artem really would find some solution that didn’t involve their shared money.
The next few days confirmed her anxiety. Artem moved around the apartment restless and distracted. Several times Elena caught him near the dresser where the documents were kept. He pretended to be looking for some paper, but his gaze was blank and his hands shuffled through folders mechanically.
“What are you looking for?” Elena asked once.
“Huh? Oh… just wanted to find a certificate,” Artem muttered and hurriedly shut the drawer.
Elena said nothing. There were no certificates in there—she knew that for sure. But there was the box with her savings, neatly hidden under a stack of old receipts.
A couple days later Tatiana Petrovna called again. This time Artem spoke more quietly, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable. When he finished, he sat on the couch and stayed silent for a long time, gripping the phone.
“Your mom again?” Elena asked carefully.
“Yeah. She says the bank is threatening fines. The debt needs to be paid off.”
“Artem, that’s her problem. She took the loan—she should deal with it.”
Artem looked up, and something defensive flickered in his eyes.
“She’s my mother. I can’t just turn away.”
“No one’s asking you to turn away. But helping with someone else’s money isn’t an option either.”
Artem frowned.
“Someone else’s? We’re a family.”
“Family is you and me. And your mother took a loan without consulting anyone. Why are we supposed to pay for it now?”
Artem didn’t answer. He got up and went into the bedroom, slamming the door. Elena stayed in the kitchen, feeling the anxiety swell in her chest. The conversation clearly wasn’t over.
A few more days passed. Artem grew even more withdrawn, barely spoke, answered questions with one word. Elena saw him pacing, thinking something through, but she kept quiet—waiting for him to speak first.
And then one evening, when Elena came home from work and went to change, she froze in the bedroom doorway. Artem was on his knees in front of the open dresser drawer, and in his hands was that very box. Cardboard, unremarkable—but to Elena, a symbol of stability and future plans.
Artem didn’t even notice she’d come in. He lifted the lid, looked inside, and his face twisted—relief, maybe, or resolve. Elena stood at the door without moving. A wave of determination rose inside her, cold and solid as ice.
“What are you doing?” Elena’s voice came out level, without shouting—but Artem flinched and turned sharply.
The box slipped from his hands; a few bills slid onto the floor. Artem snatched them up frantically, trying to shove them back inside.
“I… I was just looking,” he forced out, avoiding her gaze.
“Looking,” Elena repeated. “At my money. The money I’ve been saving for years.”
“Well, technically, it’s our money…”
“No. It’s mine. I saved it, I planned what to spend it on. And you knew that perfectly well.”
Artem rose from his knees, gripping the box.
“Elena, listen. Mom is really in trouble. The bank is demanding repayment, otherwise it’ll go to court. I can’t just sit and watch them ruin her!”
“And I can’t just sit and watch you go through my things without permission,” Elena cut in. “If you wanted to help your mother, you should have talked to me, discussed it. Not rummaged through drawers like a thief.”
Artem’s face flushed.
“I’m not a thief! I just thought you’d understand! Mom needs help, and we have money!”
“I have money. Mine. And your mother isn’t getting it.”
Artem clenched his fists.
“Are you serious? My mother is in trouble and you’re refusing?”
“Your mother got herself into debt. No one forced her to buy a TV on credit. She could’ve managed with the old one, but she wanted a new, bigger one. Now she can deal with the consequences.”
“That’s cruel!”
“That’s fair,” Elena held out her hand. “Give me the box.”
Artem hesitated, looking from his wife to the money. You could see the battle inside him—wanting to help his mother, fearing a final break. At last he stepped forward and reluctantly handed the box over.
Elena took it and checked the contents. Everything was there. She closed the lid, put it back in the dresser, and slammed the drawer shut.
“Tomorrow you call your mother and tell her there won’t be any money. Let her go to the bank and negotiate a restructuring. Or sell that damn TV if she can’t pay.”
“You don’t understand!” Artem’s voice broke into a shout. “She’s my mother! She has nowhere to go!”
“I understand perfectly,” Elena said, voice still calm, every word heavy. “But I’m not saving her at the expense of my savings. Don’t even dream of it.”
Artem stood there, breathing hard. Elena saw resentment, anger, confusion flashing in his eyes. But there was nothing more to say. Elena turned and left the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
The rest of the evening passed in silence. Artem shut himself in the room; Elena sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and stared out the window. Her heart felt heavy, but her decision was firm. Boundaries had been crossed, trust had been damaged. Now she would have to figure out what to do next.
Half an hour later the bedroom door opened. Artem came out, face tense, eyes darting. He paused in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets.
“Listen, maybe we shouldn’t do this so fast,” he began cautiously. “Let’s talk calmly.”
Elena set her cup down and looked him straight in the eye.
“What is there to talk about? You went through my things without asking. You were going to take my money to cover your mother’s debts. What exactly is there to discuss?”
“I wasn’t going to take it,” Artem tried to justify himself. “I just wanted to see how much was there. To understand if we could help.”
“We?” Elena gave a short, bitter laugh. “Artem, you’ve been unemployed for two months. What do you have to do with my savings?”
He flinched as if slapped.
“I’m not unemployed! I’m looking! That’s different!”
“The result is the same. You’re not bringing money into the family. But you’re demanding I give my savings to your mother, who got herself into a loan because of her own stupidity.”
Artem clenched his fists.
“Don’t talk about my mother like that!”
“Why not? It’s true. Tatiana Petrovna bought a TV on credit when she could have managed with the old one. No one forced her. Now let her deal with it herself.”
“You’re heartless!”
Elena stood and stepped closer. Her voice stayed even, but each word landed like a weight.
“There won’t be any money. Don’t even dream of it. I saved up for us—not for your mother and her debts. And if you think you can take it without asking, you’re mistaken.”
Artem stood with his mouth open, searching for words. Then he straightened, trying to look dignified.
“Fine. Okay. I got it. So that’s how it is.”
“What do you mean?” Elena asked.
“I mean I can’t count on you. I’ll find a solution myself.”
He turned and went back into the bedroom, closing the door a little more quietly than before. Elena remained standing in the kitchen. Inside, there was a strange emptiness—no rage, no hurt, just fatigue. Fatigue from constant demands, from blurred boundaries, from her work and plans being treated as something taken for granted.
Elena took the box out of the dresser and carried it to the living room, hiding it in the bookcase behind thick encyclopedia volumes. Artem never looked there—reading wasn’t his thing.
The night was restless. Elena went to bed, but through the thin walls she heard Artem walking around, shifting things, opening closets. Then his phone rang—he spoke quietly, but fragments of phrases pushed through the door.
“Mom, I’ll come… Yes, temporarily… No, she won’t give it… I don’t know, we’ll figure it out…”
Elena closed her eyes. So that was it. Artem had already made his decision. All that was left was to wait for morning.
Elena woke early, as usual. She went into the kitchen and discovered Artem was gone. The bedroom was empty; some of his things had disappeared from the closet. On the table lay a note, short and dry: “Went to Mom’s. I’ll deal with the debts. We’ll talk later.”
Elena crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash. No emotions—only relief. No more pretending everything was fine. No more explaining the obvious. Artem had made his choice, and it was predictable.
She sat at the table and poured herself coffee. Outside, a gray November dawn was breaking; wet trees swayed in the wind. Elena took her phone and opened her banking app. She’d need to count the cash in the box and transfer it into an account. Keeping cash at home was a risk—now that was clear as day.
By evening all the money was on a card, protected by a password and additional authentication. Elena set up notifications for every transaction. No more surprises. Lesson learned.
A few days passed. Artem didn’t call or write. Elena lived her usual life: work, home, shopping. Strangely, without her husband the apartment felt bigger, the air cleaner. No need to cook for two, no need to clean up after someone, no need to listen to complaints about the unfairness of the world.
A week later Elena booked a consultation with a lawyer. She explained the situation briefly and to the point. The lawyer listened and nodded.
“No joint property?”
“No. The apartment is mine—I bought it before marriage. No car. Only my own deposits.”
“Children?”
“No.”
“Then it’s simple. We’ll file for divorce through the court, since your spouse won’t voluntarily go to the registry office. The process will take a couple of months, but the outcome is predictable.”
Elena signed the contract and paid the advance. She left the office light-hearted. The decision was made; the rest was just procedure.
A few days later Artem called. His voice was tired, but without the old pushiness.
“Elena, hi. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Listen, I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should come back? Try again?”
“No.”
“Why no right away? Let’s talk!”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You chose your mother and her problems. I chose myself. The divorce papers have been filed.”
Artem was silent for a few seconds.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. Court is in a month. You don’t have to come— they’ll divorce us in absentia.”
“You… you can’t just do that!”
“I can. And I am. Goodbye, Artem.”
Elena ended the call. Her hands didn’t shake, her voice didn’t crack. Inside, it was calm. The decision was right, and no pleading would change it.
Artem never called again. The court hearing was quick. He didn’t show up, didn’t file objections. The judge read the decision aloud—the marriage dissolved, no division of property, no obligations to each other. Elena signed the papers, received a copy of the ruling, and walked out of the courthouse.
Outside, it was drizzling. Elena подняла воротник and stepped toward the bus stop. A bus passed, splashing her with spray. An ordinary day, ordinary weather—only life was different now.
That evening Elena sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea. She opened her banking app and looked at the balance. The savings were still there. No one prying, no one demanding, no one manipulating—only her own plans and her own decisions.
The vacation could wait. Something else mattered more now: peace and the confidence that her hard work wouldn’t go toward someone else’s debts, that her boundaries wouldn’t be violated, that she could breathe freely.
Elena stood up and went to the window. The city shimmered with lights; somewhere far away cars hummed. Life went on—without Artem, without his demands, without Tatiana Petrovna and her endless problems.
She returned to the room and opened the bookcase. There, behind the encyclopedias, the box still stood—empty now, but a reminder of how important it is to protect what’s yours. Elena took the box out, looked at it, then carefully folded it and put it away on the top shelf. She wouldn’t need it anymore.
She closed the cabinet door. A strange calm settled over her. The money had stayed with her—so had her sense of dignity. The kind of dignity you can’t buy and no one can take away; you can only lose it yourself. But Elena hadn’t lost it.
She went to bed early. Tomorrow would be a new day, a new week. Work, plans—maybe even that vacation she’d dreamed about. But not with Artem. And not for anyone else. For herself.
Sleep came quickly, without anxious thoughts. Outside the wind шумел, somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Ordinary city sounds—familiar and soothing.
In the morning Elena woke up rested. She made coffee, opened the window to let in fresh air. November was coming to an end; soon winter, snow, New Year’s holidays. She could take a few days off, go somewhere. Alone. And it would be wonderful.
Her phone vibrated—a message from a coworker. They suggested a trip together to a ski resort. Elena smiled. Why not? She had money, she could find the time, and the company would be good.
She replied yes. Put the phone down and finished her coffee. Life was getting better—slowly but surely. Without drama, without scandals, without people who saw her only as a way to solve their problems.
Elena glanced at the clock. Time to get ready for work. An ordinary day, ordinary tasks—only now each day belonged to her alone
