Milana pushed the apartment door open with her shoulder, holding her laptop bag in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. Her keys slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull metallic clatter. She sighed, set the groceries down, and bent to pick them up. Her back ached after an entire day spent in front of a computer. Her eyes felt heavy with exhaustion.
From the living room came the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and someone shouting. Grigory was gaming again. Milana went straight into the kitchen without even looking in on him. She placed the bag on the table and began taking out the groceries: chicken, potatoes, tomatoes, bread.
“Milana, you home?” Grigory called from the living room.
“Yes.”
“What’s for dinner?”
She froze with a packet of chicken fillets in her hands. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. He hadn’t asked how her day had gone. He hadn’t wondered whether she was tired. His first question was about dinner.
“I’ll make something now,” Milana answered evenly.
“Okay, just make it quick, yeah? I’m starving.”
Milana took out a frying pan. Turned on the stove. Her hands moved automatically: wash the chicken, slice it, season it, place it in the pan. Peel the potatoes, cut them up. Turn on the second burner.
The sounds of the game kept drifting in from the living room. Another level, another enemy. Grigory had spent the whole day doing that. Just like yesterday. Just like the day before. Just like every day for the past year.
Milana remembered the day he had come home a year earlier and announced that he had quit his job. He had worked as a tester at a small IT company. His salary had been forty-five thousand rubles. Not much, but at least it had been something.
“I’m sick of it,” Grigory had said then, throwing his backpack onto the couch. “The boss is a stubborn idiot, the coworkers are snakes, and the tasks are boring. I’ll find something better.”
Milana had nodded. She had believed him. Her husband was smart, educated. He would find a good position. Maybe even something better than before. The important thing was not to rush and to choose the right opportunity.
A week passed. Grigory sat at home, scrolling through job listings online and promising to start sending out resumes the following Monday. That Monday came, but the resumes were never sent. Grigory said none of the offers suited him: either the salary was too low, the commute was too far, or the requirements were unreasonable.
A month passed. Milana cautiously asked how the job search was going. Grigory snapped that the market was overcrowded, there were no decent vacancies, and they needed to wait.
Six months passed. Milana stopped asking. Grigory stopped even pretending to look for work. He stayed home, played computer games, watched series, and slept until noon.
And Milana worked. She worked for both of them. She worked so much that she barely crawled home, collapsed into bed, and only woke up when the alarm rang. She worked as a project manager at an advertising agency. Her official salary was sixty-two thousand rubles. Plus bonuses, if a project went well. Over the past six months, Milana had taken every project she could, just to earn more.
Because the expenses had not disappeared. Rent was thirty thousand a month. Utilities were five thousand. The car loan, which they had taken out two years earlier when both of them were working, was twelve thousand. Then there were groceries, gas, and everyday necessities. In total, seventy thousand rubles disappeared every month just for basic needs.
Milana earned around seventy-five to eighty thousand with bonuses. That left five to ten thousand for emergencies. Saving money was impossible.
The chicken hissed in the pan. Milana turned the pieces over, salted the potatoes, chopped tomatoes for a salad, set the table, and called her husband.
Grigory came out of the living room, stretching. He sat down at the table and picked up his fork.
“Mmm, smells good. I thought I was going to die of hunger.”
Milana sat across from him. She took a piece of chicken and chewed silently. Not because she was enjoying it. Simply because she needed to eat.
“How was your day?” Grigory asked between two bites.
“Fine,” Milana replied briefly.
“Mine was fine too. I passed three levels in the new game. It’s hard, but addictive.”
Milana nodded. She said nothing. She finished eating, washed the dishes, and Grigory went back to the living room. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow, work again. Meetings, deadlines, clients. And in the evening, dinner again for the husband who had spent the entire day playing computer games.
The next day, Milana met her friend Yulia for lunch. They sat in a small café near the office, eating salads.
“You look exhausted,” Yulia noticed. “Overtime again?”
“Yes. We’re delivering a project this week. Total chaos.”
“And Grigory still hasn’t found work?”
Milana was silent for a moment.
“No.”
Yulia shook her head but didn’t say anything. Her friend knew the situation. She knew Grigory had been sitting at home for a year. Several times, she had hinted that it wasn’t normal, that a healthy grown man should work. Milana had brushed it off, defending her husband. She said the job market was difficult, that Grigory needed time to recover from a stressful job.
But deep down, she knew Yulia was right. Grigory simply didn’t want to work. It was convenient for him to stay home while his wife carried all the expenses.
A week later, Milana was checking the banking app at work, sitting at her desk. She was looking at the balance on their shared card, the one they used for purchases. Then she saw a transaction for forty-three thousand rubles. An electronics store.
Forty-three thousand.
Milana stared at the screen.
What had Grigory bought for that amount?
That evening, when she opened the apartment door, Milana saw a large box on the floor. The logo belonged to a well-known gaming console brand. Grigory was sitting beside it, sorting through wires and controllers.
“Oh, Milana! Look what I bought!” he announced happily. “A new console! It just came out! I’ve wanted one for ages!”
Milana put down her bag.
“Forty-three thousand rubles.”
“Well, yes. It’s expensive, of course. But it’s so cool! The graphics are insane!”
“Grigory, we can’t afford purchases like this.”
“Why not? We had money on the card.”
“That money was for rent and the car payment.”
“Well, you’ll find it somewhere else. You always manage. You’re good at that.”
Milana bit her lip.
You’ll find it somewhere else.
She would take another project. Give up her weekends. Work at night. And Grigory would play his new console.
“Grigory, we need to talk,” Milana said, sitting across from him.
“About what?” he asked without looking away from the console as he connected it to the television.
“About work. About money. About what’s going on.”
“Everything’s fine. Why are you worrying?”
“You haven’t worked for a year.”
“So what? I have a right to rest. My last job drained me completely. I need to recover.”
“A year is too long to recover.”
Grigory finally tore his eyes away from the console and looked at her.
“Milana, are you counting every penny now? I spend money on one console, and you already start a scandal?”
“This is not just one console. It’s forty-three thousand rubles that we cannot afford.”
“We can. You have a good salary.”
“A salary that barely covers our expenses. I work overtime. I take extra projects just to make ends meet. And you spend the whole day playing games and wasting our last money.”
Grigory grimaced.
“Here we go. I knew you would throw this in my face. So I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to run to a job I hate? I deserve rest, do you understand? I worked for years, and now I want to live for myself.”
“But we can’t live on one salary!”
“Then earn more.”
Milana fell silent.
Earn more.
As if it were that simple. As if she wasn’t already working at the very limit of what she could endure.
The conversation went nowhere. Grigory returned to his console, and Milana went to the bedroom. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she made no sound.
Three weeks passed. Milana took on another project and was now working almost without days off. She came home at ten in the evening and collapsed into bed. She got up at seven in the morning, drank coffee on the run, and rushed to the office.
Grigory kept playing. Sometimes he made himself scrambled eggs or sandwiches. Milana ate dinner in the office cafeteria. It was easier and faster than coming home and standing at the stove.
One evening, while paying the utility bill on her phone, Milana noticed three parcels on the hallway table. She opened one. A branded hoodie. The second contained expensive sneakers. The third, jeans from a well-known brand.
She went into the living room. Grigory was lying on the couch, watching a series.
“What is this?” Milana asked, pointing to the parcels.
“I ordered myself some clothes. Decent ones.”
“How much did this cost?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Around twenty thousand, maybe. Maybe a bit more.”
“Grigory, we don’t have an extra twenty thousand!”
“Milana, I need to look respectable. I can’t walk around in old stuff.”
“Your clothes aren’t old!”
“Well, they’re not fashionable anymore. I want to look decent.”
“For what? You sit at home!”
Grigory winced.
“This is exactly why I don’t tell you anything. You take everything the wrong way. I buy clothes — scandal. I buy a console — scandal. It’s impossible to live like this.”
Milana turned around and went into the bedroom. She sat on the bed, holding her head in her hands. Inside, everything was boiling: hurt, anger, helplessness. But she didn’t want to scream. She was simply tired. Too tired to argue.
On Saturday, her mother, Irina Pavlovna, called. Milana answered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, my dear. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Lots of work, but I’m managing.”
“You sound… I don’t know, tired. Your voice has no strength in it.”
“I’m just working a lot. The projects are difficult.”
“And Grigory? Has he found work?”
Milana was silent.
“Not yet.”
“Milana,” Irina Pavlovna said more quietly. “Sweetheart, maybe you shouldn’t keep letting this go. Maybe you should insist that he start doing at least something.”
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right, all right. I’m just worried about you. You’ll wear yourself out completely. Rest a little. Go somewhere.”
“I don’t have time to rest. Work.”
After the call, Milana sat in the kitchen for a long time, staring out the window. Then she began to cry. Quietly, soundlessly. Tears simply streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t even wipe them away.
On Monday, during lunch, Yulia finally said exactly what she thought.
“Milana, you are supporting a healthy adult man. Do you understand that?”
“Yulia, don’t start.”
“I will start. Because you’re my friend, and I can’t watch you destroy yourself at work while that… while Grigory lies around at home on the couch.”
“He’s looking for work.”
“For a whole year? Seriously? In a year, a person could change five jobs if he really wanted to. He’s not looking. He’s comfortable living at your expense.”
“He’s my husband. I’m supposed to support him.”
“Supporting someone means helping them through a hard period. It does not mean dragging a grown man on your back for an entire year while he plays console games with your money.”
Milana pushed her plate away.
“I don’t want to discuss this.”
Yulia sighed but fell silent.
Still, her words stayed in Milana’s head and circled there all day. That night, Milana couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, staring into the darkness. Beside her, Grigory snored, sprawled across half the bed.
Supporting a healthy adult man.
The phrase rang in her ears. Milana tried to push it away, but the words kept coming back again and again.
A week later, Grigory announced over breakfast:
“Listen, I’ve been thinking. I need to sign up for a gym. For my health. And in general, physical shape matters, especially if I’m going to start working soon.”
“That’s a good idea,” Milana nodded. “Sign up at the gym near our building. Their membership is around three thousand a month.”
“No, not that one. I mean another gym. An elite one. They have a pool, a sauna, amazing equipment. The membership is more expensive, though — twenty-eight thousand for six months.”
Milana lifted her eyes from her coffee.
“Twenty-eight thousand?”
“Yeah. But what a gym! I saw the photos. It’s incredible.”
“No.”
Grigory looked at his wife in surprise.
“What do you mean, no?”
“There’s no money for that membership.”
“Come on, we’ll find it somewhere.”
“No, Grigory. We won’t. We don’t have an extra twenty-eight thousand.”
“Milana, it’s for my health! For motivation! If I start going to a good gym, I’ll have energy, and I’ll finally be able to look for work properly!”
“You can go to a regular gym for three thousand. They have equipment too.”
“A regular gym isn’t the same. I need the right atmosphere. I can’t work out in some basement.”
“Grigory, there is no money for an elite gym. End of discussion.”
His face flushed red.
“So you’re denying me this? Seriously?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re greedy!” Grigory exploded. “You’re too stingy to spend money on your husband! I ask for some tiny thing, and you turn it into a problem!”
“Twenty-eight thousand is not a tiny thing.”
“Maybe not for you! You don’t value me at all! You don’t believe in me! You don’t support me!”
“Don’t believe in you?” Milana stood up from the table. “A year ago, you said you quit your job and would quickly find something better. I believed you. A year has passed. You haven’t even tried to look for work. Not one interview. Not one resume.”
“Because there are no decent vacancies!”
“Because you don’t want to work!” Milana’s voice rose. “It’s convenient for you to sit at home, play games, and spend my money!”
“My money?” Grigory jumped up. “So that’s what it is! It’s your money now! And I’m just here living off scraps, right?”
“I work twelve hours a day! I take overtime and extra projects to pay rent, the loan, and groceries! And you spend the whole day lying on the couch! Then you act like you’re entitled to a beautiful life. If you want one, earn it!”
“I’m recovering! I need time!”
“A year is not time to recover. It is time spent living at someone else’s expense.”
Grigory froze, staring at his wife. Milana stood there too, breathing heavily. Everything inside her was boiling, and her hands were trembling.
“You thought I was your cash cow?” she said with a bitter smile. “Well, congratulations. The milk has run out.”
Her husband opened his mouth, then closed it. When he spoke again, his voice was angry and accusing.
“You… you’re selfish. You only think about yourself. I worked for you for so many years, and you can’t support me for one year!”
“You never worked for me! We worked together!”
“I earned money! I provided for the family!”
“Forty-five thousand is not providing for a family. It was a third of our expenses. I always contributed more.”
“Because you’re greedy! Nothing is ever enough for you! A home, a car, vacations — you always needed everything! And I bent over backward trying to please you!”
Milana shook her head.
“You’re twisting everything.”
“No, you’re the one twisting everything!” Grigory stepped toward her. “You are the reason for my depression! You pressured me, demanded that I earn more! That’s why I broke down! And now you’re blaming me!”
“I never demanded that you earn more.”
“You did! With your looks, your hints! I felt like I wasn’t good enough! That’s why I can’t work now!”
Milana looked at her husband. She saw his face distorted by anger, his clenched fists, his accusing stare. And suddenly she understood: he would never change. He would never admit his guilt. He would always find excuses and shift responsibility onto her.
“Pack your things,” she said calmly. “And leave.”
Grigory froze.
“You’re… joking?”
“No.”
He snorted.
“Come on. You’re angry now, letting off steam. Tomorrow you’ll calm down.”
“I won’t. Leave.”
“Milana, stop it. We both said too much. Let’s calm down and talk normally.”
“I have nothing to talk about with you. Leave.”
Grigory sat down on the couch and crossed his arms.
“I’m not leaving. This is my apartment too.”
“This is my apartment. I rent it. The lease is in my name. You just live here with me.”
“Milana, you can’t throw me out.”
“I can. And I am.”
He tried another approach. His voice softened, almost pleading.
“Milana, please don’t. We’ve been together for so many years. Remember how good things were in the beginning? How we laughed, made plans? Do you really want to throw all that away?”
“That was when you worked. When you were a partner, not a dependent.”
“I am not a dependent!” he shouted. “I’m your husband!”
“A husband is a partner. Not someone who sits at home for a year at his wife’s expense.”
“Fine, fine!” Grigory jumped up and began pacing the room. “I’ll find a job! I promise! I’ll start sending resumes tomorrow! Just don’t kick me out!”
“You promised that a year ago. Your promises mean nothing.”
“This time it’s true! I swear!”
Milana walked to the door and opened it.
“Leave, Grisha.”
He stood in the middle of the room, unable to believe it. Then he grabbed his jacket and backpack. He began stuffing things inside: T-shirts, jeans, phone and tablet chargers.
“You’ll regret this,” Grigory threw at her as he zipped the backpack. “You’ll be on your knees begging me to come back.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. When you realize what a mistake you made.”
“The only mistake was tolerating you for an entire year.”
Grigory flinched and shot her a hateful look. He grabbed the backpack and walked out. At the doorway, he turned around.
“You destroyed our family. Remember that.”
“Leave.”
The door slammed shut.
Milana leaned her back against it. The silence pressed against her ears. The apartment felt enormous. Empty.
And for the first time in a year — free.
She went into the living room. She looked at the couch where Grisha usually lay. At the television where his games played. At the table covered with his things.
Milana began cleaning. She packed all of his belongings into boxes. Controllers, game discs, the console. Hoodies, sneakers. Everything that reminded her of Grigory.
By the time she finished, it was already dark. Milana sat down on the couch and looked around the room.
Clean. Spacious. Quiet.
Her phone rang. It was her mother-in-law. Milana declined the call. A minute later, she called again. Milana declined again. Then a message came from Grigory: “Mom is calling you. Answer her.”
Milana blocked her husband’s number. Then she blocked her mother-in-law’s number. She put the phone down and lay on the couch.
In the morning, Irina Pavlovna called.
“Milana, Grigory has been calling me nonstop. Complaining about you. What is happening?”
“We separated.”
“What do you mean, separated?”
“I kicked him out. I’m filing for divorce.”
A pause. Then her mother’s voice came carefully:
“Sweetheart, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Then hold on. Do you want me to come over?”
“I do.”
Irina Pavlovna came that evening. She hugged her daughter and didn’t ask unnecessary questions. She made dinner and brewed tea. They sat in the kitchen, silently drinking tea. Milana told her everything: about the year without work, the spending, the accusations.
Her mother listened and nodded.
“You did the right thing,” Irina Pavlovna said. “Men like that don’t change. They only drain the life out of you.”
“I tolerated it for so long. I thought he would change.”
“I know. But patience has a limit.”
Yulia called too. Milana told her everything as well. Her friend arrived with a bottle of wine and a bag of pastries.
“Finally!” Yulia said. “I’m so happy for you!”
“Happy? I’m getting divorced.”
“Yes. From a parasite who spent a year sucking money and strength out of you. That is a reason to celebrate.”
Milana smiled faintly. For the first time in a long while, she smiled sincerely.
The next day, she filed for divorce. Grigory called and sent messages from unfamiliar numbers, begging to meet. Milana ignored him.
Her mother-in-law also tried to reach her. She left voice messages accusing Milana of cruelty and of destroying the family. Milana deleted them without listening to the end.
The divorce was finalized two months later. There was nothing to divide. The apartment was rented by Milana. The car was in her name. There were no joint savings. Grigory did not work, had no income, and made no claims. He simply signed the documents and left.
When Milana received the divorce certificate, she breathed deeply.
Free.
Officially, legally free.
Six months passed. Milana stopped taking overtime. She worked a normal schedule — eight hours a day. No weekends. No nights spent hunched over projects. Her boss noticed her results. When she was no longer exhausted to the limit, she worked better. He offered her a promotion. Now Milana headed a department, and her salary rose to eighty-five thousand.
She moved to another apartment — smaller and cheaper. A one-room place in a quiet neighborhood, twenty thousand for rent. She no longer had the car loan because she had sold the car. She took the metro and saved money on gas and parking.
Now she saved money every month. She was putting it aside for a down payment on her own apartment.
Milana joined a gym. An ordinary one, for three thousand a month. She went three times a week and felt her strength, energy, and desire to live slowly returning.
On weekends, she met Yulia. They went to the cinema, cafés, exhibitions. They laughed and talked about everything. Sometimes Yulia asked whether she regretted the divorce. Every time, Milana shook her head.
“Not for a second.”
Grigory still had not found work. He lived with his parents, stayed home, and played the same games. Milana learned this by chance from a mutual acquaintance. She only shrugged.
Not her problem.
One day, her ex-husband sent a message from a new number. Milana saw the first lines: “Hi. I realized I made a mistake. I want to talk…”
She deleted it without reading further. Then she blocked the number.
That evening, Milana sat on the balcony of her new apartment, drinking tea. Below, the city hummed. Somewhere, music was playing. People were laughing. A cool, fresh wind stirred her hair.
She smiled.
Six months earlier, it had seemed as though her life had fallen apart. As though divorce was the end, a failure, a catastrophe.
But it had turned out to be the beginning.
The beginning of a real life, where Milana decided for herself how to spend her strength, her time, and her money. A life where no one drained the last drops from her and then accused her of greed and heartlessness.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Irina Pavlovna appeared on the screen:
“My dear, how are you? Is everything all right?”
Milana typed back:
“Everything is excellent, Mom. Really good.”
And it was true.
She finished her tea and looked at the sunset sky. Pink, streaked with orange. Beautiful.
Milana had not noticed sunsets before. She had had no time, no strength, no desire. Work, exhaustion, Grigory and his endless demands.
Now she had time.
And strength.
And the desire simply to sit on the balcony, look at the sky, and feel happy that life was going on.
A new life.
One where Milana was the master of her own fate.