Vika was standing by the sink, washing the dishes after dinner, when Dmitry came home. Her husband looked unusually tense—his eyebrows were furrowed, shoulders slumped. Usually, after work Dmitry joked around, told stories about his colleagues, but today he silently went into the room and plopped down on the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Vika wiped her hands with a towel and approached her husband. “Bad day?”
“Not great,” Dmitry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Pashka called. My brother’s in serious trouble.”
Pavel was seven years younger than Dmitry. After college, he moved to another city and worked at some private company. The brothers rarely kept in touch, mostly on holidays. Vika had met her brother-in-law only a few times and didn’t form a strong impression—just an ordinary guy, maybe a bit frivolous.
“What kind of trouble?” Vika asked, sitting down next to her husband.
“He’s screwed up his credit history,” Dmitry shook his head. “He took out loans from different places and miscalculated. Now the collectors are threatening, might take it to court. Pashka’s panicking.”
“How serious is it?” Vika felt worried. Family troubles tended to affect everyone.
“Very,” Dmitry sighed. “He needs three hundred thousand urgently. Otherwise, it could go to enforcement proceedings.”
Three hundred thousand. A substantial amount but not critical for their family budget. Dmitry worked as an engineer at a large company and earned well. Vika worked as an accountant at a construction firm. They didn’t live lavishly but comfortably. Their joint account held money saved for a vacation and bathroom renovation.
“I see,” Vika said. “So what will we do?”
“We’ll help,” Dmitry took his wife’s hand. “Pashka is family. We can’t abandon him.”
“Of course,” Vika agreed, though a strange feeling settled inside her. Something about her husband’s tone felt unnatural. Too quick, too confident. As if the decision had already been made without discussion.
“Tomorrow I’ll transfer the money from our account,” Dmitry continued. “We’re a family, we’ll replenish the savings later.”
Vika nodded. Formally, her husband was right—they were family, and joint money should be used together. But somehow she wanted to ask more details. How exactly did Pavel get into debt? Why hadn’t he turned to their parents? They had a small apartment but surely some savings.
“Are the parents aware?” Vika asked.
“Pashka doesn’t want to upset them,” Dmitry replied quickly. “You know how Mom worries. Better we help quietly and then everything will be settled.”
Makes sense. Maria Petrovna was indeed a very anxious woman. She took any children’s problems as a personal tragedy. Maybe Pavel really wanted to spare their mother unnecessary worries.
The next day Dmitry went to work as usual but came home early.
“I transferred the money to my brother,” he explained, showing Vika the receipt. “Done, Pashka already got it.”
“Fast,” Vika noted, examining the paper. A regular bank transfer to an individual’s card. The amount was really three hundred thousand.
“The sooner, the better,” Dmitry kissed his wife on the cheek. “Thanks for supporting me. Pashka is very grateful.”
“You’re welcome,” Vika answered, but the strange feeling didn’t leave. Her husband behaved too easily for someone who had just spent the family savings. Even a little cheerfully.
That same evening, Vika logged into online banking and transferred her last paycheck to a personal deposit account. No comments, just like that. Better to be safe. If Pavel really had serious problems, more money might be needed.
In the following days, Dmitry’s behavior changed. He became careless, often humming quietly, joking more than usual. In the evenings, he went out somewhere.
“I’m visiting Pashka,” Dmitry explained. “Brother needs moral support. It’s a tough stress.”
Vika didn’t object. Helping relatives was the right thing to do. But somehow these trips looked more like entertainment than moral support. Dmitry came back in a good mood, sometimes with a faint smell of alcohol.
“How’s Pavel?” Vika asked.
“Better,” her husband replied. “Slowly pulling himself together. Collectors backed off, no more threats.”
Good. So the money helped solve the problem. But then why were the meetings continuing?
Another detail was troubling. Dmitry started guarding his phone more carefully. He used to leave the handset anywhere, didn’t mind when Vika took it to listen to music or check the weather. Now he kept it constantly with him—even took it into the bathroom.
“Work stuff,” Dmitry explained. “New project, they can call anytime.”
Maybe it was really work. Dmitry was indeed going through a difficult period—implementing a new system, constant approvals. But before, work calls didn’t require such secrecy.
Vika didn’t snoop on his phone. She considered that unethical. A family should have trust, not total control. But her wariness grew every day.
A week later, the situation resolved itself. Vika was mopping the living room floor when Dmitry went to the shower. He left his phone on the coffee table. The screen hadn’t gone dark yet—someone must have just sent a message.
Vika wasn’t going to peek. She only wanted to move the phone so it wouldn’t get splashed. But as she leaned over the table, she involuntarily saw part of the conversation. The sender’s name was Pavel.
Curiosity was stronger than principles. Vika quickly glanced at the messages.
“Dim, you’re a genius! What a plan you came up with!”
“Thanks for the money, bro. Now there’s enough for a vacation and even some left over.”
“How’s your wife? Suspects nothing?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Vika reread the lines. Maybe she misunderstood? But the meaning was quite obvious.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled up. The picture became clearer.
“Pashka, remember my plan? Time to act.”
“What plan, bro?”
“I tell my wife you’re in debt. She asks for help. We transfer money to you, then split it.”
“Risky. What if she checks?”
“She won’t. Vika is trusting. Besides, I’m watching so she doesn’t go into the phone.”
“Alright, let’s try. But if anything happens, I don’t know.”
“Everything will be fine. Three hundred thousand is enough for a vacation in Turkey and a new car.”
Vika sank onto the couch. Her head was buzzing. So no collectors. No debts. Pavel didn’t ask for help. Dmitry just decided to spend family money on his own needs and invented the story about his brother in trouble.
The water noise came from the bathroom. Dmitry was singing some song—clearly in a great mood. Probably already planning how to spend the remaining money.
Vika quickly scrolled further through the conversation. She wanted to understand how serious her husband’s plans were.
“Dim, what’s next? The money will run out someday.”
“We’ll come up with something else. Vika has a deposit, there are bonuses. The main thing is to act carefully.”
“Aren’t you afraid it will be found out?”
“Found out? I didn’t steal. I spent family money on family needs. Technically I’m right.”
“You’re a cynic, bro. But the plan works.”
Vika kept reading, feeling reality crumble around her. Message after message popped up in the messenger, each worse than the last.
“She didn’t suspect? Let’s go to the bathhouse with the girls again this weekend ”
Bathhouse with the girls. So the money was spent not only on a vacation. Vika scrolled on. A whole conversation between her husband and Pavel stretched over several weeks. Plans, discussions, calculations.
“Renting a sauna for 24 hours—twenty thousand.”
“Two from last time agreed, plus we can bring some new ones.”
“For how much?”
“We’ll negotiate there. The main thing is that they’re pretty.”
Vika paused at every message. Her mind refused to believe, but the facts spoke for themselves. Her husband didn’t just lie about the money. He spent family savings on entertainment with prostitutes.
“Dim, who are we taking this time? Kolyan wants to join.”
“Let him pay his share. We’re not running charity here.”
“Got it. How much more money can you get?”
“I’ll work on that. Vika has a deposit, but I need to get to it carefully.”
So the plans were long-term. Dmitry planned to keep deceiving and extracting money. And Vika was supposed to play the trusting wife who suspected nothing.
The water noise in the bathroom stopped. Dmitry was about to come out. She needed to act fast.
Vika opened her phone’s camera and took screenshots of the chat. Page after page, message after message. Without emotion, without hysteria. Just recorded the facts.
The bathroom door clicked. Dmitry was coming out.
“Vik, where are you?” her husband’s voice called.
“Here,” Vika replied quickly, putting the phone back on the table. “I’m mopping the floor.”
Dmitry appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, wet hair.
“Can’t find a clean T-shirt,” he said. “Could you check the closet?”
“Of course,” Vika answered calmly. “Right now.”
Dmitry went into the bedroom. Vika stood, wiped her hands on her jeans, and followed. A plan had already formed in her mind. Clear, precise, without unnecessary sentiment.
“They should be in the bottom drawer,” Vika said, opening her husband’s wardrobe.
Dmitry was rummaging through the dresser, looking for underwear. Vika took a small travel suitcase off the shelf—the very one they took on their honeymoon four years ago.
“What are you doing?” her husband asked, surprised to see the suitcase.
“Packing your things,” Vika replied calmly, folding shirts.
“Why? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, you are,” Vika continued packing clothes. “And very soon.”
“I don’t understand,” Dmitry frowned. “What’s going on?”
Vika silently took jeans, sweaters, socks from the shelf. She packed carefully, not crumpling anything. As if she was sending her husband on a business trip.
“Explain?” Dmitry approached. “Or are you going to stay silent?”
“I will explain,” Vika nodded, taking a jacket off the hanger. “But later. First, I’ll pack everything.”
“Vik, stop this nonsense,” Dmitry’s voice grew irritated. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on?” Vika finally looked at Dmitry. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” her husband shrugged. “Everything seemed fine.”
“Yes, everything seemed very fine,” Vika agreed, putting a razor and deodorant in the suitcase. “Especially the bathhouse with the girls.”
Dmitry froze. His face instantly changed—confidence disappeared, replaced by caution.
“What bathhouse?” he asked cautiously.
“The one you rented with Pavel using my money,” Vika answered, closing the suitcase. “Very fun, judging by the messages.”
“Messages?” Dmitry’s voice lowered. “What messages?”
“The ones you hide so carefully,” Vika raised the suitcase and headed for the bedroom door. “You forgot your phone in the living room.”
Dmitry rushed after her. In the living room, he grabbed the phone and quickly scrolled the screen.
“You read my messages?” her husband asked, a note of indignation in his voice.
“I did,” Vika confirmed, placing the suitcase by the front door. “Very enlightening.”
“That’s a violation of privacy!” Dmitry raised his voice. “You have no right!”
“But you have the right to spend family money on prostitutes?” Vika turned to him. “Interesting logic.”
“I didn’t spend on that!” Dmitry tried to protest but sounded unconvincing.
“Really?” Vika pulled out her phone and showed a screenshot. “And what’s this?”
Dmitry looked at the screen and realized—denying was pointless. The evidence was too obvious.
“Okay,” the husband gave in. “Yes, there were entertainments. But it’s not cheating! Just a vacation with friends.”
“A vacation with my money,” Vika clarified. “That you extorted by deceit.”
“Our money,” Dmitry corrected. “We’re family after all.”
“We were family,” Vika agreed. “Until you decided to turn our family into a source of funding your escapades.”
Dmitry was silent. He probably understood there was no excuse.
“I understand everything,” Vika continued. “Men sometimes want fun. But on their own dime, not by deceiving their wife.”
“Vik, let’s talk calmly,” her husband tried to take control. “No need to make a drama.”
“Drama?” Vika smiled bitterly. “I’m avoiding drama. That’s why you’re just going to leave.”
“Where would I go?” Dmitry protested. “This is my apartment too!”
“Ours,” Vika corrected. “But if you consider the family money only yours, then you can live only on your own funds.”
Vika went to the kitchen, opened the window. She needed fresh air. The apartment felt too stuffy.
Dmitry paced the living room, gesturing nervously.
“This is absurd!” he said. “Destroying a family over such a trifle!”
A trifle. Three hundred thousand rubles spent on saunas with prostitutes—a trifle. Deception, lies, plans to extort more money—also trifles.
Vika took her phone from her bag, found the number of a lawyer. Svetlana Viktorovna once helped with inheritance paperwork after her grandmother’s death.
“Svetlana Viktorovna?” Vika said into the phone. “This is Vika Petrova. I have a question about family law.”
“I’m listening,” came the voice.
“How is the division of a joint account handled in a divorce?” Vika asked, looking at her husband.
Dmitry froze upon hearing the word “divorce.”
“It depends on the circumstances,” Svetlana Viktorovna answered. “You can come by tomorrow, we’ll discuss details.”
“Thanks, I’ll come,” Vika said and hung up.
“Divorce?” Dmitry repeated. “Seriously?”
“Are there other options?” Vika looked at her husband. “You suggest we keep living like nothing happened?”
“We can try,” Dmitry nodded. “I won’t do it again.”
“Won’t do what?” Vika clarified. “Lie? Or spend my money on entertainment?”
“Both,” her husband assured.
“I see,” Vika nodded. “And how am I supposed to trust you now?”
Dmitry was silent. He had no answer.
“Take your suitcase,” Vika said. “You can collect the rest of your things later when we agree on the division.”
“Vik, think again,” her husband begged. “Don’t make rash decisions.”
“Rash?” Vika smiled. “You planned the deception for a month, and I’m rash?”
Dmitry took the suitcase, stood uncertain.
“Where am I supposed to live now?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Vika shrugged. “Maybe with Pavel. You two became such friends.”
“He lives in another city,” Dmitry reminded her.
“Then at the sauna,” Vika suggested. “Judging by the messages, you feel at home there.”
Dmitry realized persuasion was useless. He headed for the door.
“Vik,” he said, already at the threshold. “I really didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I know,” Vika nodded. “You didn’t think about me at all.”
The door closed. Vika was left alone in the apartment that suddenly felt very quiet. But not empty. On the contrary—filled with something new. Maybe peace. Or maybe just honesty.