The door slammed open with a bang, crashing into the wall. Andrei stormed into the hallway like a whirlwind tearing everything off its hinges in its path. His car keys clattered to the floor, bounced off the tiles, and came to rest against the baseboard. His face was crimson, his eyes sparked with fury, and his hair stood on end, as if he had just driven through a hurricane.
“What happened?” Anya set aside the book she had been reading and rose from the couch, a knot of dread tightening in her chest. She knew that look, that stance. This wasn’t just post-work fatigue. This was a disaster.
“What happened?!” Andrei roared, his voice breaking into a rasp. “What happened is that I’m in it up to my ears!”
He spun toward her, fists clenched.
“A car accident. I crashed.”
Anya felt the blood drain from her face.
“How… how? You take the bus to work,” she managed to whisper.
“The bus?!” He gave a sharp, broken laugh — more like a bark than a laugh. “What bus? I was driving the car I’ve been using for six months! Vitka’s car!”
Her heart skipped a beat. Vitka’s car… The words echoed in her head like an omen she had long feared but never dared to voice aloud.
“So what now?” Anya’s voice trembled.
“What now?!” Andrei stepped closer, his breath heavy, reeking of gasoline and fear. “Now there’s repairs! Repairs for a hundred and fifty thousand! You get it? One hundred and fifty thousand!”
He ran his hands through his hair as if he could rub the news out of existence.
“What am I supposed to do? I don’t have that kind of money! I don’t have anything!”
Anya stayed silent, trying to process it. A hundred and fifty thousand. For their modest budget, it was astronomical. They lived paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by. Where on earth would they find that kind of money?
Suddenly Andrei’s gaze fixed on her hand. On the fourth finger of her left hand, a thin gold wedding band glimmered.
“Sell the ring!” he blurted, his tone not pleading but commanding. “Right now! I need the money! This isn’t the time to drag your feet!”
Anya recoiled as if he had struck her. Her ring. The one thing left from the day they were happy, when they still believed in a future, when he had looked at her so differently.
“Do you… do you hear yourself?” she whispered.
“Hear myself?!” His voice rose again, distorted with rage and desperation. “I’m telling you I’m in trouble! I need the money now! Not next week, not next month — now! Vitka’s already called, he’s furious! Says if I don’t pay up, he’ll take me to court! He’ll fix the car himself and then skin me alive!”
Andrei began pacing the room, his steps loud and agitated.
“So stop wasting time! Take the ring, go to a pawnshop, wherever! But we need that money! This is life and death, Anya! Don’t you get it?!”
He stopped right in front of her, eyes burning with a mix of pleading and threat.
“We have to save the situation, don’t you understand? Save it! Not get sentimental about it!”
Anya’s mind was flooded with memories, flashing like old film reels — because this didn’t start today, or with this accident. It had been building for years, like a crack in a foundation, barely visible at first, then widening until the whole house was at risk of collapse.
He’d been driving that car for months. Vitka, his long-time friend, had gone to work in another city and left the car “in Andrei’s care.” Which meant Andrei used it whenever he pleased, often for other people’s errands. No insurance, no paperwork. Just “between friends.”
She had warned him before. “What if something happens?” He would just laugh. “What could happen? I’m careful. And Vitka’s not the type to make a fuss. We’ve known each other for years.”
But Andrei’s spending was always careless. Money slipped through his fingers like water — “urgent needs,” “helping a friend,” “things we need,” that later turned out useless. Whenever she suggested saving for a rainy day, he’d snap: “Stop obsessing over money. We’ll make more. Live for today.”
So she had started saving in secret, tucking away a little each paycheck in an old box under her clothes. Her own safety net. He never knew.
And now… the ring. A thin, modest band with no diamonds — they couldn’t afford anything fancy at the time. But it was priceless to her. A reminder of the day they stood outside the registry office, young, hopeful, and full of promises.
Andrei paced like a caged animal, his mind spinning with one thought: 150,000 rubles. He wasn’t thinking about fault or fairness, only about saving face, avoiding court, avoiding the humiliation of Vitka telling everyone he’d wrecked the car.
Anya’s answer was steady, cold:
“You got yourself into this, you get yourself out of it.”
He froze. He had expected tears, pleading, maybe even a fight — but not that calm finality.
“What did you say?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous.
“I said it’s your problem, Andrei,” she repeated, meeting his gaze. “You took someone else’s car without papers. You ignored my warnings. You blew through our money without thinking. You crashed the car. And now you want me to pay for your irresponsibility by selling the one thing I have left from our marriage?”
“You’re my wife or not?!” he exploded, his face purple with rage. “I’m in trouble! I need help! And you say ‘your problem’?! How dare you?!”
He loomed over her, fists tightening.
“You’re supposed to support me! We’re a family! Or have you forgotten?!”
“Family?” Anya gave a bitter smile. “Family means trust, care, planning for the future. Not one person creating endless problems and the other cleaning up the mess, sacrificing everything. Have you ever thought about me? About what this ring means to me? No. You only think about yourself.”
“These are our problems!” he shouted.
“No, Andrei. They’re yours. And you made them.”
She turned and left the room. Moments later she returned with a sports bag and began packing his things — quickly, without care.
“What are you doing?!” he demanded.
She said nothing. When the bag was full, she zipped it, carried it to the doorway, and set it down at his feet.
“It means, Andrei, that if you can ask your wife to sell her wedding ring to fix your screw-ups, you’re not a husband — just a source of problems. I’m done being your ATM and your punching bag. Leave.”
Andrei moved in with his mother. His so-called friends were suddenly “too busy” to help. Vitka kept calling, pressuring for repayment. Andrei took a second job at night as a loader, his body aching with exhaustion. He tried calling and texting Anya — first begging, then raging, then begging again — but she never answered.
Anya’s life grew peaceful. No shouting, no slammed keys, no crises draining her savings. She kept her ring. It was no longer a symbol of broken promises, but proof that she had defended herself, her values, and her life.
He was left with a debt, a wrecked car, and no family — the same family he had shattered with his demands, his carelessness, and his refusal to take responsibility.
Life sorted everything out quietly, without speeches or drama. Plainly, and finally.