— Dima, look—my hands are shaking, I’m so excited, — Anya said, placing a sheet of calculations in front of him. — I received my first major order. An entire collection of hand-painted plates for a private home. It’s my money, Dima. Money I actually earned.
— Uh-huh, — he muttered without looking up from his dinner. — And how much are these “real earnings” of yours?
— Enough to finally buy a proper kiln. And I’ll still have some left to save.
— Save? — He smirked as he poked at the meat on his plate with a fork. — Anya, are you serious? A kiln? You’re playing with those little pots of yours like a child in a sandbox.
— They aren’t little pots, — she said gently. — I make them with my own hands. People are willing to pay for my work. For something I created.
— They pay because they’re bored and have too much money, — Dima replied, pushing his plate away. — Listen, can we stop pretending that you “earn money”? You bring home a few pennies once every six months.
— This time it isn’t pennies. And there will be more orders. Two more people have already contacted me.
— Two people, — he repeated in that particular tone that always made her want to fall silent. — I bring money home every single month. Consistently. Yet somehow, I never see you appreciating that.
— I do appreciate it, Dima. I just want you to appreciate me too.
— Appreciate yourself with the money from your little plates, — he said, getting up to pour himself some water. — You know what your problem is? You’ve suddenly decided you’re an adult. But adults are the people who pay for the apartment, electricity, and food. That person is me.
— I want to contribute too. Now that I have an income, I could start paying the utilities—
— Don’t make me laugh, — he interrupted. — Your income? Forget about it. As long as I’m the one earning the real money, I’m the one making the decisions.
Anya stared at him, unable to find the right words.
It wasn’t even hurt that silenced her. It was shock.
It felt as though the man she had known for two years had suddenly turned around and revealed the face of a complete stranger.
— So as long as you earn more, I don’t get a voice, — she clarified quietly.
— Finally, you understand, — he said with a satisfied nod. — It’s not like I’m throwing you out. Keep making your plates. Play around all you want. Just stay out of serious matters. Money is my responsibility.
— And what happens if I start earning more than you?
— You? — He burst out laughing. — Anya, stop fantasizing. That will never happen.
She nodded.
Then, with remarkable calm, she gathered the pages covered in calculations and walked into the bedroom.
The following day, Anya sat across from her friend Kira in a small café. Two cups of coffee were slowly growing cold between them, but neither woman touched hers.
— He actually said that? “As long as I earn the money, I make the decisions”? — Kira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. — Anya, that sounds medieval.
— He said it. And do you know what frightens me most? He genuinely believed he was being generous to me.
— What did you say?
— Nothing. I’ve said nothing for two years, Kira. I thought it was his way of taking care of me. I convinced myself he was simply tired.
— A caring person doesn’t wipe his feet on you, — Kira said sharply. — A caring partner is proud of your success. This man humiliates you and behaves as if it’s completely normal.
— I want to try talking to him one more time. Properly.
— Anya, you’re practically a saint. How many more chances are you planning to give him?
— One. The last one. I’ll tell him exactly how I feel. After that, the choice will be his.
— Then promise me something, — Kira said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. — If he starts talking about “pennies” and “playing around” again, you won’t swallow your feelings. All right?
— I won’t, — Anya promised. — I’m tired of swallowing everything.
— That’s more like it. You treat him like a crystal vase, afraid that one wrong breath might break him.
— I suppose I always believed that, deep down, he was kind.
— Kindness isn’t measured by words, — Kira said before finally taking a sip of her coffee. — It is measured by whether someone is happy when you succeed. Was he happy for you?
— No, — Anya admitted. — My success made him uncomfortable. I’m only beginning to understand that now.
— Then you already know the answer.
— I do, — Anya said, straightening her back. — I simply want to give him the opportunity to either save what we have or destroy it himself.
— You’re stronger than I thought, — Kira said with a smile. — A few months ago, you would have been crying by now.
— A few months ago, I would have apologized for bringing up the subject at all.
— What changed?
— I stopped believing that my value depends on his permission.
A week later, Dima came to the tiny studio Anya rented. It was a cramped room lined with shelves full of plain white dishes and brightly painted ceramics.
He looked around as though he had stepped into an especially ridiculous place.
— You’re actually spending money on this room? — he asked, running one finger along a shelf. — Anya, there isn’t even anywhere to sit.
— I work here, Dima. And this “room” pays for itself.
— Pays for itself, — he scoffed. — Listen, I’ve been thinking. You need to close this little operation.
— What? — Anya put down her paintbrush.
— You heard me, — he said, taking the only available chair. — I found an opportunity for us. We invest a large amount in Oleg’s business, and a year from now, our lives will be completely different. I’m not paying your studio rent anymore.
— I never asked you to pay it. I cover the rent myself.
— With what? Your plate money? — He rolled his eyes. — Don’t be ridiculous. I’m discussing something serious. We need that money for Oleg’s project.
— What kind of project?
— Why do you need to know? — Dima frowned. — I already told you that I’m the one who makes these decisions. Your job is to support me.
— Dima, — she said slowly and calmly, — I want to know what we’re getting involved in. That is a perfectly reasonable question.
— What’s reasonable is a wife who doesn’t ask unnecessary questions, — he replied, raising his voice. — Oleg knows what he’s doing. He’s an intelligent man. Meanwhile, you’re interfering with your ceramic toys.
— My work isn’t a toy. And if you’re planning to use shared money, then the decision isn’t yours alone.
— Shared money? — His eyes narrowed. — The shared money is the money I earn. Your money comes from a hobby.
— So when it suits you, my earnings belong only to me. But when it suits you, they suddenly become shared money, — Anya said, meeting his gaze without looking away. — That’s very convenient mathematics.
— Don’t get smart with me, — he snapped. — I’m working hard and thinking about our future, while you argue over a few stupid pots.
— I’m not arguing. I’m refusing to hand over money for something no one is willing to explain.
— No one is asking for your permission, — he said as he stood. — I’ve nearly finished arranging everything with Oleg. Tomorrow, you’ll come with me and meet him. No complaints and no drama.
— And what if I say no? — Anya asked quietly.
— Then I’ll say yes for you, — he answered with a smirk. — You’re nobody here, Anya. Remember that. Without me, you wouldn’t have an apartment, money, or that pathetic little studio.
— Interesting, — she said with a small nod. — Very interesting choice of words.
— Tomorrow at seven. At Oleg’s house. Don’t be late.
He left, slamming the studio’s flimsy door behind him.
Anya remained standing among her rows of white plates.
For the first time since the argument began, she allowed herself to feel genuinely angry.
Oleg’s house was large and strangely empty, like an exhibition hall no one actually lived in. Dima guided Anya inside by the arm as if he were displaying a valuable possession.
Oleg welcomed them with a wide smile and a drink in his hand.
— So this is our artist! — he exclaimed, examining Anya from head to toe. — Dima told me you’re the creative one in the family.
— Did he? — Anya pulled her arm away from Dima. — What else did he tell you?
— He said you were ready to invest, — Oleg replied, spreading his hands. — It’s a guaranteed opportunity. Believe me. In one year, you’ll double your money.
— What exactly is the business? — Anya asked directly.
— We can discuss the details later, — Dima interrupted. — Anya, stop embarrassing me. Oleg is a serious businessman.
— I’m not embarrassing anyone. I’m asking a simple question. If the business is so reliable, answering should be easy.
— You see, — Oleg began, hesitating as he exchanged a glance with Dima, — there are certain specifics. We invest now, and afterward… well, we’ll see how things develop.
— So there are no guarantees, — Anya concluded. — Yet you want to take my money.
— Our money, — Dima corrected through clenched teeth. — Stop calling it yours.
— Dima, — Oleg said with an awkward laugh, — your wife has quite a personality. You told me she was quiet.
— She is quiet, — Dima replied, giving Anya a heavy look. — She’s just putting on a performance today.
— I’m not performing, — Anya said evenly. — I’m listening to two grown men discuss my money as though I’m not standing in the room.
— Because you shouldn’t be involved in these conversations! — Dima shouted, turning toward her. — Sit down, drink your tea, and smile. I will handle everything.
— Tell me something, Oleg, — Anya said, turning toward their host. — Has Dima already given you money? Some kind of deposit?
Oleg suddenly looked uncomfortable. His eyes darted toward Dima.
— Well… he contributed a little. Just to secure our place.
— How much? — Anya asked her husband.
— That’s none of your business, — Dima replied.
— Dima, — Anya said, rising from her seat, — did you take money from our account without telling me?
— It was my money! — he nearly shouted. — How many times do I have to explain it?
— The payment for my first order was in that account. Those same “pennies” you despised so much.
For one second, Dima said nothing.
That single second was enough for Anya to understand everything.
— You took my money, — she said slowly. — The payment for my collection. And you gave it to another man for a “business” neither of you can even explain.
— I’ll pay it back, — Dima muttered. — With interest. You’ll be thanking me later.
— What if there is no profit?
— There will be! — he roared. — Stop predicting disaster!
— Listen, artist, — Oleg said, trying to smooth things over. — Let’s not make a scene. Dima made the decision for you because he’s the man of the family. That’s how things are supposed to work.
— The way things are supposed to work, — Anya replied calmly, — is that adults respect one another. The two of you decided I was furniture.
— Anya, — Dima said, stepping close and lowering his voice, — say one more word and you’ll be going home alone. Then you’ll sit quietly until I give you permission to speak.
— Permission, — she repeated. — What a useful word you’ve learned today.
She took out her phone, opened her banking application, and transferred the remaining balance into a separate account that Dima could not access.
It took less than a minute.
Her hands did not shake.
— What are you doing? — Dima asked suspiciously.
— Saving what still belongs to me, — Anya replied, putting away her phone. — Apparently, everything else has already been donated to Oleg.
— You had no right—
— I had every right, — she interrupted. — It was my money. You said so yourself, remember? At least when saying it suited you.
— You little… — Dima choked on his anger. — I’ll throw you out onto the street.
— You won’t need to, — Anya said as she put on her coat. — I’m leaving voluntarily. It’s faster that way.
— Where are you going to go? — he asked with a nervous laugh. — You have nothing!
— I have my hands, my mind, and customers who want my work, — she answered, walking toward the door. — That will be enough. The better question is: what do you have?
Oleg looked from one of them to the other in confusion.
— Dima, she’s bluffing, right? She’ll come back?
— Of course she’ll come back, — Dima said through clenched teeth, although the confidence had vanished from his voice. — Where else could she go?
Anya paused in the doorway and looked back.
— Oleg, one final piece of advice. Make sure you receive written proof of the money Dima gave you. You know how these things happen. Today, someone says the business is guaranteed. Tomorrow, he claims he never promised anything.
Then she walked out.
One month later, Anya sat inside her new studio.
It was bright and twice the size of the previous one. Painted cups dried on the shelves, and in the corner stood the kiln she had dreamed of, humming quietly.
Kira arrived carrying two paper cups of coffee.
— Well? — she asked, looking around the room. — I still can’t believe you managed all this by yourself.
— I managed, — Anya replied with a smile. — I already have six orders, and two customers are now regulars. The kiln paid for itself within three weeks.
— Has he tried contacting you?
— He called. I didn’t answer.
— Did he send messages? — Kira asked, sitting down on a stool.
— Several, — Anya replied as she poured water into a jar full of paintbrushes. — First it was, “Come back and we’ll talk.” Then, “You’ll regret this.” After that, “You’ll never survive without me.” Not very imaginative, honestly.
— Did you reply?
— I deleted them. It was a strange feeling. I looked at the name and the messages, but none of it felt familiar. It was as though they had been written by someone I once knew and had already forgotten.
— And what happened to the money he gave Oleg? — Kira asked.
— It disappeared, — Anya said with a shrug. — The “guaranteed business” turned out to be empty promises. Oleg vanished, and Dima lost everything. He chose whom he wanted to trust.
— Don’t you feel sorry for him?
— I’m slightly sorry about the money. But I don’t feel sorry for the woman I used to be.
At that moment, Anya’s phone chimed.
She glanced at the screen. The message had come from an unfamiliar number, but the words were painfully recognizable.
“Anya, it’s Dima. I’m using a new number. Oleg cheated me. The money is gone. Let’s start again. You still remember me, don’t you?”
Kira leaned over her shoulder and whistled.
— Wow. Are you going to answer?
Anya read the message once more.
Her finger moved toward the screen without the slightest hesitation.
— No, — she said aloud. — I don’t remember him.
— What do you mean? — Kira asked, smiling.
— Exactly what I said, — Anya replied as she blocked the number. — His name, his address, his phone number. Everything is gone.
— What if he comes here? — Kira asked cautiously.
— He doesn’t know where “here” is, — Anya said, gesturing around the studio. — This place belongs only to me. I didn’t borrow money from anyone, and I didn’t ask anyone’s permission to create it.
— It turns out he was right after all, — Kira said with a grin. — “As long as I earn the money, I make the decisions.”
— He was right, — Anya agreed. — He simply failed to consider one thing.
— What was that?
— That eventually, I would be the one earning, — Anya said as she picked up her brush and dipped it into the paint. — And now the decisions are mine.
— That deserves a toast, — Kira said, lifting her paper coffee cup. — To you.
— To us, — Anya corrected her. — To everyone who finally stopped swallowing their pain.
They tapped their paper cups together.
The quiet sound was far more pleasant than every loud promise Anya had heard during the past eight years.
That evening, after Kira left, Anya remained alone among her cups and plates.
She painted a thin golden line along the rim of a dish. The line was straight and confident, without a single trembling stroke.
Her phone lay faceup on the table, completely silent.
The blocked number no longer existed.
Neither did the man behind it.
Anya completed the golden border, placed the plate on the shelf to dry, and looked around her small universe.
There was no contempt here. No permission. No dishonest calculations designed to benefit someone else.
There was only Anya and everything she had built with her own hands.
When she switched off the lights and left, she did not remember a single word from the arguments that had once taken place in that kitchen.
She simply closed the door behind her.
And never looked back.