The vacuum cleaner broke in October.
It was an old corded thing, the kind whose cable hadn’t retracted on its own in years, with a dust bag you had to shake out over the trash bin while practically choking on the dust. Marina switched it on one morning before work. It buzzed for about five minutes, made a strange cracking sound, and went silent. The air filled with the stink of burnt wiring. She yanked the plug from the socket, opened the balcony door to air the place out, and shoved the vacuum into the corner of the entryway.
It had been sitting there ever since—three months now.
So she started sweeping. A regular broom first, then a mop. Like she was a kid again at her grandmother’s village house. Except this wasn’t a village house. This was a three-bedroom apartment in a concrete panel block—seventy-two square meters, two rugs, linoleum in the kitchen and hallway, laminate in the rooms. A broom didn’t do the job perfectly, of course, but what choice did she have?
“Vitya… maybe we should finally buy a vacuum?” she asked one evening while her husband lay on the sofa scrolling his phone.
He didn’t even look up.
“Not right now.”
“How is it ‘not right now’? I’ve been cleaning with a mop for two months.”
“Marin, just be patient. Mom’s feeling bad again. The doctor prescribed new meds—expensive ones. Plus massage, plus some procedures. She needs the money more than we do.”
Marina dried her hands on a dish towel and perched on the edge of the sofa.
“How long am I supposed to be patient?”
“I don’t know. Until things stabilize.”
She stayed quiet a moment, then tried carefully:
“What if I buy one myself? With my salary. I’ll save up little by little.”
Viktor finally tore his eyes off the screen and looked at her.
“Do whatever you want with your own money. I’m not stopping you.”
“Really?”
“I said it.”
Marina nodded and went to make tea. Something tightened in her chest—relief, or maybe hurt. She couldn’t tell. She began calculating what she could set aside. A big chunk of her pay went to groceries she bought herself, plus her transit pass and small everyday expenses. But if she cut back, she could save. In six months she’d have enough for a decent robot vacuum with mopping—one with a cleaning station that emptied the bin and rinsed the cloth on its own. She’d seen models like that online, read reviews at night when Viktor was already asleep and she lay there with her phone, unable to drift off.
Just thinking about that robot warmed her from the inside. It would roll around the apartment while she was at work, and by the time she came home everything would be clean. No more spending weekends on scrubbing floors. She could rest, read, or simply lie down. When was the last time she had simply lain down and done nothing?
November was hard. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Petrovna, really did feel awful—she called Viktor every night complaining about her heart, her blood pressure, her shortness of breath. He went to see her twice a week, bought medicine, drove her to appointments. Marina watched quietly as their shared budget grew thinner.
“We need another ten thousand,” he said one morning over breakfast. “For an ECG and an ultrasound. The clinic has a month-long wait, but a private place will take her right away.”
Marina nodded, spreading butter on bread.
“Use the card.”
“There’s barely anything left.”
“How long until payday?”
“About a week and a half.”
She pulled out her wallet and counted out five thousand-ruble notes.
“Here. We’ll manage the rest somehow.”
Viktor pocketed the money.
“Thanks. I’ll pay you back.”
He never did. Marina didn’t even expect him to.
Then, in December, something happened she hadn’t counted on. At work they announced year-end bonuses. Marina was an economist at a small construction firm, and bonuses weren’t a given there. But business had gone well this year, and the director decided to reward the staff.
On Friday, December 23rd, she was called into the director’s office. He handed her a white envelope.
“Happy New Year. For strong work.”
Marina walked out clutching it to her chest. In the restroom she locked herself in a stall and tore it open with trembling hands. She counted the bills.
Seventy thousand.
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cold wall. Seventy thousand—enough for the exact vacuum she’d chosen back in November. The one with a base station, mopping function, and a phone app. Forty-nine thousand nine hundred. And there would still be money left over.
That whole evening she floated through the apartment like she had wings. She cleaned while humming, cooked dinner, smiled at Viktor while he talked about work. The envelope stayed in her bag, zipped inside a hidden pocket.
“What’s with you?” he asked when they got into bed.
“I’m just in a good mood. New Year’s soon.”
“Yeah.”
He turned onto his side and was snoring a minute later. Marina lay staring into the dark, replaying tomorrow in her head. Saturday. They usually slept until ten, had breakfast, then she could go to the mall. There was a big electronics store there; she already knew which floor, which section, exactly where “her” vacuum sat. If she ordered before noon, they’d deliver the same day. By evening she’d run it, watch it glide around the furniture, mop the floor and leave clean tracks behind it.
She woke earlier than Viktor. Quietly dressed, went to the kitchen, made coffee. Sitting at the table, she took out her bag and unzipped the hidden pocket.
The envelope was empty.
She shook it, turned it upside down. Nothing. She searched every pocket, turned the lining inside out. Nothing. Her heart hammered so hard her ears rang. She rushed back to the bedroom and snapped on the light.
“Vitya. Vitya, wake up.”
He mumbled and shielded his eyes with his hand.
“What?”
“The money. From my bag. Where is it?”
He was silent for a moment, then sat up and rubbed his face.
“Oh. The bonus?”
“Yes. Where is it?”
“I took it.”
Marina stood in the middle of the room holding the empty envelope.
“You… took it?”
“Well, Mom needed it. She asked me to pay for a sanatorium voucher. The doctor recommended it—said it would help her heart and her nerves. I looked at options, found a good place outside Moscow. Sixty thousand for twenty days. Your bonus fit perfectly.”
Marina couldn’t force out a single word.
“I thought you wouldn’t mind,” Viktor went on, looking up at her from the bed. “You’re always saying we have to help Mom. And honestly, it’s not that much—you’ll earn more.”
Her voice sounded strange, like it didn’t belong to her:
“You took my money. Without asking.”
“Sorry. I thought you’d understand. Mom’s sick.”
“And you spent it on a sanatorium.”
“Not ‘gave it to her.’ I paid for the voucher. She goes in January.”
Marina turned and walked out of the room. She pulled on her coat, shoved her feet into boots.
“Where are you going?” Viktor shouted from the bedroom.
She didn’t answer. She left the apartment, took the elevator down, stepped outside. It was a bright, freezing day; the snow squeaked under her boots. She walked fast without thinking until she reached a stop, climbed into the first minibus that came, and rode to the mall.
The electronics store was nearly empty—Saturday morning, and a lot of people were still sleeping off office parties. Marina went to the vacuum section, found the model she wanted, and waved over a consultant.
“I want this one.”
“Excellent choice. Paying cash or by card?”
“On credit.”
“No problem. Do you have your passport?”
Half an hour later she walked out holding a contract. They promised delivery by evening. Twelve-month credit plan, a monthly payment of four and a half thousand. She could manage. She’d cut down on her own spending and manage.
Back home Viktor was sitting at the kitchen table with a dark, heavy expression.
“Where were you?”
“At the store.”
“For what?”
“I bought a vacuum.”
He snapped upright.
“What? What vacuum? With what money?”
“On credit.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Viktor jumped up so sharply the chair tipped over. “You took out a loan—for a vacuum?! Are you even thinking?”
Marina calmly took off her coat and hung it up.
“I am.”
“How could you do this? I promised that money to my mother! Take it back to the store—return everything!” he exploded, slamming his fist onto the table.
She turned to him. For the first time in years she looked at him slowly, attentively. She saw the red blotches on his neck, the vein bulging at his temple, his fists clenched tight. She saw a man who cared more about his mother’s money than about his wife spending three months cleaning with a mop. A man who thought it was normal to dig through her bag and take what she had earned.
“What money did you promise your mother?” Marina asked softly.
“I promised I’d help her! Do you think one trip to a sanatorium will magically fix everything?”
“My money. My bonus,” Marina repeated. “The money I earned. The money I was given for my work. You promised that to her?”
“What difference does it make whose it is? We’re family—we share everything!”
“Share,” she echoed, nodding once. “But when I needed a vacuum, you said, ‘Do whatever you want with your own money.’ Remember?”
Viktor blinked, caught off guard.
“That was different.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because Mom is sick! She actually needs treatment!”
“A sanatorium isn’t treatment. It’s a recommendation—if you can afford it. Tests and medication, yes, those are necessary, and I’ve never complained about paying for those. But your mother goes to resorts and health spas every year. Last year it was Kislovodsk, the year before that Zheleznovodsk. Every time—our shared money. And my vacuum is a luxury, right?”
“Oh, will you stop obsessing over that vacuum!”
“I’m not obsessing!” For the first time in the whole argument Marina raised her voice. “I just want to clean our home like a normal person! I’m exhausted from this mop! I’m tired of coming home after work and spending three hours cleaning! This isn’t some extravagance—it’s basic comfort!”
“You should have asked me!”
“Asked you?” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Did you ask me when you took the money out of my bag?”
Viktor opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—no sound.
“I thought you’d understand.”
“No,” Marina said. “I won’t. And here’s what we’re doing. From now on, with my salary—like you said—I buy whatever I want. For myself. For the home, if I consider it necessary. And you support your mother with your salary. All her sanatoriums, procedures, massages—out of your pocket. Agreed?”
“That’s not fair! I earn less!”
“Then what do you think your mother will say about that?” Marina asked evenly. “She’s your mother, not mine.”
“She’s your mother-in-law!”
Marina shook her head.
“No. She’s yours. I help her because it’s the humane thing to do. But I’m not going to deny myself everything so she can enjoy vacations at health resorts. Medication—yes. Doctors—yes. But a sanatorium is a personal indulgence. Hers—and yours. So either you pay for it with your money, or you tell her no. But not at my expense anymore.”
They stood facing each other across the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of cold coffee. Outside the window, someone was laughing—kids were building a snowman in the courtyard.
“That’s not how it works,” Viktor said at last. “We’re a family.”
“Exactly,” Marina replied. “A family. You and me. Your mother is extended family. I’m willing to help, but within reason.”
Viktor brushed past her, grabbed his jacket.
“I need to go out. Think.”
The door slammed. Marina was alone. She slid down onto the floor in the middle of the kitchen and leaned her back against the refrigerator. Her hands trembled. She didn’t recognize herself. She had never spoken to him like that—so firm, so sharp. She always gave in. Always nodded. Always swallowed it.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was right and she was selfish.
No.
She ran her palm over the floor—over the linoleum she’d been mopping for three months. The floor that, in a few hours, her vacuum would be cleaning. Hers. Paid for by her. Bought on credit that she would repay herself.
That evening, when the vacuum arrived and Marina was unpacking it, Viktor came back. Without a word he went into the living room, flopped onto the sofa, and buried himself in his phone. Marina finished setting everything up, installed the app, started the first cleaning cycle. The robot hummed, rolled off purposefully, and began working its way through the rooms, neatly avoiding obstacles.
Marina stood in the middle of the living room watching it move. Her heart felt heavy—and strangely calm at the same time.
The next day they didn’t speak. Viktor left in the morning to see his mother and returned late at night. Marina cooked dinner; he sat down, ate in silence, disappeared into the other room. Three days passed like that.
On the fourth, he said, “We need to talk.”
They sat at the kitchen table. Marina’s hands went cold.
“I’ve been thinking,” Viktor began, staring at the tabletop instead of her. “Maybe you’re right. About money. Let’s really split expenses. I pay mine, you pay yours. Utilities half and half. Groceries half and half. Everything else—each of us decides what to do with our own money.”
Marina nodded.
“Okay.”
“So… agreed?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They fell quiet.
“And now what?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We’ll see.”
A month went by. They kept a spreadsheet, chipped in for shared bills, spent their own money separately. Marina paid off the vacuum loan. The apartment was cleaner—she scheduled the robot to run daily while she was at work. But their conversations dried up. They discussed bills, purchases, practical things—nothing else. They didn’t ask how the other’s day went. They didn’t make plans.
One evening Valentina Petrovna called and invited them to her birthday dinner. Marina said yes, of course. Viktor nodded too.
In the car they drove in silence. Marina watched the snowy streets and the warm yellow streetlights and thought how they now felt like roommates—polite, guarded, distant.
At her mother-in-law’s place it was warm and smelled of pies. Valentina Petrovna greeted them with a smile and kissed both on the cheek. Guests were already seated: her sister and husband, a friend, a neighbor. Marina helped set the table, chopped salads, poured drinks.
“How are you two?” Valentina Petrovna asked later when they ended up alone in the kitchen.
“Fine,” Marina answered.
“Vitya’s been gloomy lately.”
“Probably work.”
Her mother-in-law studied her for a long moment.
“You’re not fighting, are you?”
“No. Everything’s fine.”
But you couldn’t fool an older woman who had seen life. Valentina Petrovna sighed.
“I know he spends a lot on me. Are you two arguing about that?”
Marina froze with a knife over a carrot.
“We made an agreement. Now each of us manages our own money.”
“I see,” her mother-in-law nodded. “Maybe that’s for the best. I didn’t even ask to be sent to a sanatorium. Vitya decided on his own that I absolutely needed it. I told him I could manage without any ‘resorts,’ that I had my medicine. But he insisted.”
Marina slowly set the knife down.
“You didn’t ask?”
“What sanatorium?” Valentina Petrovna waved a hand. “I’d rather stay home quietly. But my son is stubborn. He decided it was ‘better,’ and that was that.”
On the way home Marina looked at Viktor. He drove with both hands on the wheel, silent, frowning, exhausted. And suddenly she felt sorry for him—this stubborn man who decided for everyone what they needed. For his mother. For his wife. Without asking, without discussing—just deciding and doing.
“Your mom said she never asked to go to a sanatorium,” Marina said.
Viktor gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“So what? I think it’s good for her.”
“Vitya,” she sighed. “Do you understand the problem was never really the money?”
“Then what was it?”
“That you decide for me. And for your mom. You take my money without asking. You send her somewhere without even checking whether she wants it. You just do what you think is right—end of story.”
He was quiet.
“I only wanted to help,” he said finally.
“I know,” Marina replied. “But you can’t do it like this.”
They got home and went upstairs. In the hallway the robot vacuum stood quietly on its dock, charging. Marina put the kettle on and took out two cups.
“Maybe we start over?” she asked.
“How?”
“I don’t know. But we can’t keep living like this. We’ve turned into strangers.”
Viktor sat down and rubbed his face with both hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For taking the money without asking.”
“And I’m sorry,” Marina answered, “for how harsh I was.”
They drank tea facing each other. Quiet—but not icy the way it had been. Something softened, just a little.
“It’s a handy thing,” Viktor said, nodding toward the vacuum.
Marina smiled.
“Yeah. It is.”
What came next was unclear. Maybe they’d learn to talk differently—really negotiate, really respect each other’s boundaries. Or maybe they’d realize they’d already broken too much. But for the moment they were sitting together, drinking tea, and it felt like the beginning of something.
What exactly—time would tell.
