Tatyana closed out the register at the shop and handed the day’s takings to the administrator. It had been a good day—several expensive winter snowsuits had sold, along with a batch of dressy outfits for New Year’s school matinees. Ten years earlier she had opened her first children’s clothing store in a residential district, investing every last one of her savings. Back then Sergey had called it a reckless gamble and predicted a quick collapse. But the business took off. Little by little, a second and a third store appeared. Now the net profit was around two hundred and fifty thousand rubles a month.
Sergey worked as a sales manager at a trading company. His salary rarely topped seventy thousand rubles. He always reacted painfully to his wife’s success, making snide remarks over dinner:
“So, Queen of Business, been digging through your little rags again?”
Tatyana learned to let those jabs go in one ear and out the other. The main thing was that the family was comfortable, the apartment was paid off, everything was stable.
Their three-room apartment in a good neighborhood had been bought seven years earlier. Tatyana had covered most of the price from the stores’ profits, and Sergey had added a little from his own savings. Officially, the home was marital property, but their contributions differed by several times.
Tatyana had always been careful with money. Her father, Vasily Egorovich, used to tell her, “Tanechka, a woman should always have a little stash for a rainy day.” She set aside part of her profits into a separate bank deposit her husband didn’t know about. In five years she had accumulated five million rubles. That money gave her a sense of calm and independence.
Sergey constantly tried to find out the exact figures of her income. He asked how much she’d earned that month, what the markup was, where the profit was going. Tatyana answered evasively, blaming expenses, taxes, new закупки. She saw how his eyes lit up whenever money came up, and she preferred to keep the finances under her own control.
Sergey had an older sister, Zhanna, who was turning forty. She was married to Konstantin, the owner of a construction company. They lived in a country cottage, drove a brand-new Lexus, and flew to the Maldives every summer. Zhanna adored showing off her prosperity—especially in front of her younger brother.
At family gatherings she invariably appeared in a new outfit, draped in jewelry.
“Serezhenka, you’re still working at that same company?” she’d drawl, sympathy in her voice. “Well, never mind—stability is the main thing. Although, of course, career growth matters too…”
Sergey’s face would darken; under the table his fists clenched.
“I’m fine.”
“Of course, of course. Tatyana, dear, how are your little shops? Still selling kiddie clothes? It’s so sweet—a small family business.”
Tatyana would smile tightly, not wanting to get dragged into an argument.
Zhanna’s юбилей was approaching. She was planning a grand celebration in a restaurant for two hundred guests, with live music, a photo zone, and fireworks. At their last get-together, she shot her brother a meaningful look:
“Seryozha, I hope you’ll prepare a достойный gift? I understand your budget is more modest, but still—I’m your only sister. I don’t want to lose face in front of the guests.”
Sergey nodded, swallowing his resentment. After that evening he walked around gloomy, snapping over nothing.
One day Tatyana forgot to close the browser on the computer. Sergey went into the office to grab a phone charger and, out of the corner of his eye, saw an open tab with the bank’s personal account page. Curiosity won. He slid the mouse, and the screen came alive. A deposit in the name of Tatyana Vladimirovna. Amount: five million four hundred thousand rubles.
Sergey sank into the chair, unable to tear his eyes away from the numbers. Five million! And all this time she’d been feeding him talk about expenses and difficulties in the business! So she’d been hiding money—lying to his face for years!
He closed the browser, trying to calm himself. His thoughts raced. That money was marital property. He had the same right to it as she did. And Zhanna was expecting a gift. If he gave his sister a large sum, she would finally admit he wasn’t a loser but a достойный man.
The next day Sergey called his sister.
“Zhannochka, hi! Listen, I’ve decided… I want to give you a serious gift for your юбилей. Five million rubles.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Seryozha, are you serious?!”
“Absolutely. You’re my sister—you deserve the best. Let everyone see we’re successful people.”
“Oh my God, Serezhenka, I always knew you were a real man! Konstantin will be thrilled! Thank you, my dear!”
Sergey hung up with a triumphant smile. Now the main thing was to force Tatyana to hand over the money.
That evening he came home. Tatyana was making dinner in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot.
“Tanya, we need to talk.”
“About what?” she turned, wiping her hands on a towel.
“About money. I need five million.”
Tatyana frowned.
“Why do you need that kind of sum?”
“I promised it to my sister for her юбилей. It’s our family gift.”
“What gift? Sergey, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb!” his voice turned harder. “I know about your deposit. I saw it on the computer. Five million four hundred thousand. You thought you’d hide it from me?”
Tatyana went pale.
“You went through my things?”
“Don’t change the subject! That money is jointly earned! We’re married, which means I have the same right to it!”
“Sergey, that’s savings from my business. Mine. I put it away for years. You have nothing to do with it!”
“You’re lying! In marriage everything is shared! And I already promised Zhanna! She’s waiting for the money! You want me to look like a liar?!”
Tatyana took a step back.
“I’m not giving you that money. Especially not as a gift for your sister! Have you lost your mind?!”
Sergey’s face twisted. He grabbed the keys off the table and hurled them at the wall.
“So that’s how it is! Right now you tell me where the deposit card is, or I’ll find it myself!”
He lunged into the bedroom, yanked open the closet, began pulling out shoeboxes and throwing them onto the floor. Tatyana rushed after him.
“Stop it right now!”
Sergey flung open the dresser, dumping out the drawers. Underwear, documents, cosmetics—everything flew onto the bed and the floor. He was moving with furious violence, ignoring his wife’s shouts.
“Where is it?! Where did you hide it?!”
Tatyana tried to push him away from the dresser. Sergey turned and shoved her roughly. She went flying, slamming her back against the doorframe.
“Stay out of it!” he barked.
He raced around the apartment, checking every closet, every drawer. He opened the writing desk in the living room and poured its contents onto the floor. Tatyana stood in the doorway, trembling with outrage and fear. This man was a stranger to her.
Finding nothing, Sergey stopped in the middle of the living room, breathing hard. His eyes were wild.
“I don’t get it—where’s your stash, YOU BITCH?! I promised your five million to my sister for her юбилей!”
He sprang at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin.
“Talk! Where’s the card?! Where are the documents?!”
He shook her like a doll. Tatyana tried to break free, but his grip was iron.
“Let me go! Sergey, you’ve lost it!”
“Speak!!!”
With all her strength Tatyana shoved him away, twisted out of his hands, and darted to the nightstand where her phone lay. She snatched it and ran to the bathroom, managing to slam the door shut and slide the bolt. Sergey hammered his fists against the door.
“Open up! You hear me?! Open up right now!”
Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unlock the phone. She found her father’s contact and hit call.
“Dad! Dad, help!” Her voice broke into a scream.
“Tanechka, what happened?!”
“Sergey… he’s gone crazy… He’s demanding money… He wants to give it to his sister… He’s shaking me, trying to break the door down!”
“We’re coming right now! Don’t open it for him! Do you hear me?! Don’t open it!”
“Okay,” Tatyana whispered, sliding down onto the floor.
Behind the door Sergey kept yelling:
“You think you can hide?! You’ll give me the money anyway! Zhanna’s waiting! I gave my word!”
Tatyana sat on the cold bathroom tile, pressing the phone to her chest and counting the minutes. It felt like an eternity before the doorbell rang and her father’s loud voice boomed:
“Sergey! Open the door immediately!”
The noise behind the wall stopped. Muffled voices followed. Then her father knocked on the bathroom door.
“Tanyush, it’s me. Open up.”
Tatyana slid the bolt. Vasily Egorovich wrapped his arms around his daughter and guided her into the living room. Her mother, Klavdiya Nikolaevna, stood amid the wreckage, staring at the scattered вещей. Sergey sat on the sofa, his head lowered.
“Pack your things,” Vasily Egorovich said, looking at his son-in-law. “And get out of here. Now.”
“Vasily Egorovich, let’s talk calmly—”
“Calmly?!” her father’s voice rose. “You laid a hand on my daughter! You trashed the apartment! You demanded her money! You have ten minutes to pack and leave. Otherwise I’m calling the police.”
Sergey lifted his head and looked at Tatyana. There was anger in his gaze—yet fear too.
“Tanya, don’t you understand… She’s my sister… I can’t let her down…”
“Leave,” Tatyana said quietly. “Now.”
Sergey got up, went into the bedroom, shoved clothes, documents, a charger into a bag. A few minutes later he was standing in the entryway, holding a gym bag.
“You’ll regret this,” he threw over his shoulder—and slammed the door.
Tatyana sank onto the sofa. Klavdiya Nikolaevna sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
“That’s it, my girl. It’s over.”
“Mom, I don’t understand… How could he… Over some money…”
“Not over money,” her mother sighed. “Over pride. He always envied his sister, wanted to prove he was worth something too. And money is just a way for him.”
Vasily Egorovich took out his phone.
“Tanya, tomorrow first thing you go to the police. You file a statement. This is domestic violence, and it has to be on record. Then to a lawyer—you start the divorce.”
Tatyana nodded. She knew her father was right. With Sergey, it was finished. A man willing to use force for money he wanted to hand to his sister just to earn her approval—wasn’t a husband, wasn’t a partner.
The next morning Tatyana went to the police station. She wrote a report and documented the bruises on her shoulders—the marks from her husband’s fingers. Then she went to the bank, closed the old deposit, opened an account at another bank, and transferred all the money there. She changed every password for her online accounts.
After lunch she met with a lawyer. A young woman listened carefully to her story.
“Whose name is the apartment in?”
“Joint ownership.”
“You said you paid most of it from your business income?”
“Yes. I have all the statements to prove it.”
“Good. Then during the property division we can show your contribution was significantly larger. As for the deposit—those are your personal savings from your entrepreneurial activity; your husband can’t claim them. We’ll file for divorce and simultaneously ask the court for a restraining order. With documented violence, that’s entirely realistic.”
Tatyana nodded. The plan was clear.
That evening Sergey called. His voice wasn’t aggressive anymore—more lost.
“Tanya, let’s talk. I overreacted. Forgive me. Maybe we can meet?”
“No. I filed a police report and filed for divorce. We’ll communicate only through lawyers.”
“What?! Are you serious?!”
“Absolutely. And don’t even try to come to the apartment. I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”
“Tanya! That’s ridiculous! Over one argument!”
“Over the fact that you hit me. Over the fact that you wanted to give my money to your sister just to show off in front of her. Over the fact that you called me a bitch. That’s enough.”
She ended the call and blocked his number.
The next day a locksmith changed the locks. Tatyana kept all the keys. Her parents helped her clean up the apartment and put everything back in place.
“My girl, you did the right thing,” Vasily Egorovich said as he set the table. “Not every woman can cut things off with her husband so quickly.”
“Dad, I just realized—there’s no future with him. He’ll do anything for his sister’s approval. And to him I’m just a wallet.”
Klavdiya Nikolaevna stroked her daughter’s hair.
“You did the right thing. Everything will work out for you. You’re strong, smart, independent. You’ll find someone who will value you.”
Tatyana smiled. A divorce, a property division, court battles were ahead. But she wasn’t afraid. Her parents were close, the business brought stable income, and the money was safe. She would manage. And she would never again tie her life to a person who saw her only as a source of money.
A week later a message came from Zhanna. Short and angry: “Your husband is a liar and a nobody. He promised me five million and there’s no money. Shame on the family.” Tatyana smirked and deleted the message. Let them sort it out among themselves. It no longer concerned her.