— Did you spend the whole salary again? — Ivan paced the room, waving the bills. — How are we supposed to pay for the gas now?
Darya lifted her head, her tired eyes flashing with indignation.
— Spend it? On groceries! And where is your salary? Oh, sorry, you haven’t had one for over a year, — Darya crossed her arms.
— Here we go again! — Ivan threw up his hands. — You’re going to start nagging me. I’m looking for work, but there’s nothing suitable!
— Nothing suitable? They offered you three jobs last month. But none of them work for you!
Ivan grabbed his jacket from the hanger.
— I’m fed up! I’m going to my mom’s, — he dashed to the door. — At least she doesn’t nag me all day.
— Of course, go to mommy! — Darya shouted after him. — She’ll pity you, give you money. And I’ll pay the utilities myself. As always!
The door slammed so hard the chandelier shook. Darya collapsed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. This wasn’t the first time. No, not the first or even the tenth.
Memories of the first months of their marriage floated up. Back then everything seemed so right, so happy. Ivan worked as a manager in a big company, earning decent money. They planned their budget together, dreamed about trips. They even saved for a down payment on a car.
Then something broke. At first, Ivan started bringing home less money.
— They didn’t give me a bonus, — he explained, shrugging. — The boss is stingy.
Darya didn’t argue, just worked more. Then Ivan quit.
— It’s unbearable there! — he said indignantly. — They humiliate me, demand the impossible. I’ll find something better.
Weeks passed, months, but Ivan stayed home. At first, he looked for work, then started complaining about exhaustion and burnout.
— You don’t understand how hard it is for me, — he said when Darya came home from work and he was lying on the couch with his phone. — I need to recover mentally.
Then the requests began.
— Can you lend me five to go to the bar with the guys? I need to unwind, — Ivan looked at her with puppy eyes, and Darya gave in.
— Dashulya, lend me money for a new phone, the old one’s completely slow, — and again Darya relented.
When her patience snapped and she tried to talk seriously, Ivan threw a tantrum and ran off to his mother.
Darya shuddered, remembering the first visit from her mother-in-law after such an incident.
— How can you treat him like that? — Tamara Nikolaevna stormed into the apartment like a whirlwind. — He’s such a sensitive, creative person! And you pressure him with your talks about money!
— Tamara Nikolaevna, but we have to live somehow, — Darya timidly replied then.
— Live somehow! You live in your own apartment! And my boy has to slave away to support you? — the mother-in-law pursed her lips.
— Support me? I work myself, — Darya gasped in indignation.
— But you don’t buy him a new iPhone like normal people! — the mother-in-law adjusted her perfect hair. — He’s lived a luxurious life all his life, and now you make him save!
After visits like that, Darya was left shattered. Maybe she was too demanding? Maybe creative people need more freedom?
Her phone vibrated. A message from Ivan: “Mom says you should learn to respect the man in the family. And money isn’t everything. I’ll come back when you cool down.”
Darya threw the phone aside. Money isn’t everything. Of course. But without money, you can’t pay the utilities. Or buy food. Or get to work.
— How long? — she said aloud in the empty apartment. — How long will I put up with this?
Tears welled up, but Darya wiped them fiercely with her sleeve. After all, this was her apartment. It was her grandmother’s gift. The only thing she still owned — a roof over her head.
The phone vibrated again. This time it was a call. Mother-in-law.
Darya took a deep breath, gathering strength for another conversation. Then she just hung up. She didn’t want to put up with her mother-in-law now.
Darya set the phone down and looked again at the stack of bills. The numbers blurred before her eyes. She shuffled through the receipts, feeling colder inside.
— Gas, electricity, water, internet… — she muttered, adding up the sum. — Eight thousand. Where am I supposed to get it?
A week until payday, and only three thousand on the card. Darya turned her wallet upside down, but only small coins fell out. She laid her head on the table and groaned. The situation seemed hopeless.
Her fingers automatically dialed her mother’s number. Darya stared at the screen for several seconds, fighting herself. Asking for money again was painfully humiliating. At thirty-five — running to your mother for help.
— Hello, Mom, — Darya’s voice trembled when her mother answered.
— Dashenka, what’s wrong? — the worry in her mother’s voice only increased Darya’s guilt.
— Mom, I… — Darya choked up, a lump in her throat. — I can’t pay the bills. There’s still a week until payday, and the utilities…
She broke down sobbing.
— Daughter, I’m coming right now, — Elena Petrovna’s voice was resolute. — Don’t go anywhere.
Darya sat in the kitchen, turning an empty cup in her hands. The call made her jump. She opened the door and saw her mother — a short woman with streaked dark hair and eyes so much like her own.
Darya sobbed, hugging her mother.
— Mom, I’m sorry.
— Oh, stop it, — Elena Petrovna stroked her daughter’s back. — Let’s see what you have here.
They sat down at the table, and her mother carefully examined all the bills. Then she took out her wallet and silently counted out the needed amount.
— Mom, I’ll pay you back, — Darya whispered. — As soon as I get my salary.
— I know, — Elena Petrovna smiled. — Where’s your Ivan?
Darya looked away.
— At his mother’s, — she grimaced. — We had a fight over money.
Elena Petrovna sighed but said nothing. She just stood up and hugged her daughter.
— Go wash up, — she kissed Darya on the temple. — I’ll make us some coffee.
They spent two hours together, talking about everything except Ivan and money. When her mother was about to leave, she hugged Darya tightly.
— Everything will get better, Dashenka, — she whispered. — Just remember, you deserve better.
After her mother left, Darya felt empty. She mechanically took her jacket to hang it up, and something heavy thumped in her pocket. Darya reached inside and pulled out an envelope. Inside was a neat stack of bills. Twenty thousand rubles.
Tears burst from Darya’s eyes. She pressed the envelope to her chest and sank to the floor, shaking with sobs. So many years had passed, and she was still begging money from her mother. A mother who lived on a pension herself. Who was ready to give up everything just to make her daughter’s life easier.
— Lord, how ashamed I am, — Darya whispered, wiping tears from her cheeks.
The front door slammed, interrupting her crying. Ivan stood in the doorway — disheveled but pleased.
— Why are you crying? — he irritably threw his keys on the table. — Drama queen again?
Darya raised her reddened eyes to him. Something inside her clicked and broke — the last barrier holding back years of pain and resentment.
— Do you think it’s normal that I’m the only one paying, and you live off everything ready-made? — she shouted so loudly Ivan stepped back.
— Here you go again? — he rolled his eyes. — I told you, I’ll find a job…
— When? — Darya jumped to her feet. — In a year? Two? Or when I collapse from exhaustion?
— Don’t dramatize, — Ivan snorted. — Just temporary difficulties…
— Temporary? — Darya laughed, a laugh that even frightened herself. — Over a year without work is temporary difficulties? And me begging a pensioner mother for money — is that normal?
Ivan frowned.
— Why do you ask her? You were always proud.
Darya lost her voice for a moment.
— How do you think I’m supposed to pay the bills? Take money from thin air? Or maybe ask your mother? She cares so much about her favorite son. Won’t let him live without electricity!
— Dashka, watch your language, — Ivan frowned. — I’m still a man…
— A man? — Darya laughed again. — Men don’t live off women! Don’t hide at mommy’s at the first fight! Don’t ask for money to go to bars when there’s nothing to eat at home!
— You… — Ivan gasped in outrage. — How dare you…
A hurricane raged inside her.
— I dare! I dare because this is my apartment! My salary! My life that you turned into hell!
Ivan turned red.
— You always nag about your apartment! Take it then! — he yelled.
— I will! — Darya rushed to the closet and pulled out a sports bag. — Pack your things! Immediately!
— What?
— I said — pack your things! — she threw the bag at him. — I can’t live like this anymore! I don’t want to! Enough!
— You’re… kicking me out? — Ivan looked genuinely shocked.
— Yes! And I’m divorcing you! I’ve had enough! — Darya felt lighter with every word. — Enough being your nanny! Enough paying for your whims! Enough humiliating myself in front of your mother!
Ivan opened his mouth but found no words. He just stood blinking in confusion as Darya hurried around the apartment, packing his things.
— You’ll regret this, — he finally spat out. — It’ll be worse without me.
— Worse? — Darya stopped and looked him in the eyes. — It can’t be worse than now.
The divorce went surprisingly fast and smooth. Ivan didn’t claim the apartment — it had belonged to Darya before the marriage. He didn’t even ask for money. Apparently, he understood his chances were slim.
At first, Darya kept looking over her shoulder, expecting a trick. It seemed Ivan or her mother-in-law would appear at any moment with new demands. But nothing happened. The phone was silent; no calls came.
Gradually, Darya got used to her new life. To the silence in the apartment. To not having to account for every penny spent. To groceries not mysteriously disappearing from the fridge.
It turned out that without Ivan, the money was enough for everything and even a little extra. For the first time in years, Darya bought herself a new dress without feeling guilty. She started saving bit by bit for the renovation she’d long dreamed of.
Most importantly — she stopped fearing the end of the month and the arrival of new bills. Now the utilities were paid calmly and on time, without tears and humiliation.
The next time Darya visited her mother, she quietly left an envelope with money in the kitchen drawer — much more than she borrowed that day. Elena Petrovna understood everything but said nothing. She only hugged her daughter tighter and whispered:
— You’re doing great, Dashenka. I always believed in you.
Her life finally belonged only to her. No one reproached, demanded, or manipulated. And that feeling of freedom was worth all the suffering she had endured.