Irina came out of the bathroom, drying her wet hair with a towel. Five years ago, when she married Kirill, she had thought they would build a strong family. Back then she still believed in fairy tales about love that could overcome anything. But reality turned out to be completely different.
Irina had bought the apartment with her own money long before the wedding. For three years she had saved up, denying herself everything, working as a procurement manager at a large construction company. Her parents helped only symbolically—most of the amount was her own achievement. When Kirill moved in with her after they registered their marriage, he had nothing of his own. Not even a decent suitcase. Everything he owned fit into two plastic bags.
“Kirish, did you cook anything today at all?” Irina asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Her husband was sitting at the computer in the living room, not taking his eyes off the monitor. Loud music was playing in his headphones; he was clicking the mouse excitedly, fully absorbed in the game.
“Kirill!” Irina raised her voice.
He startled, pulled one earbud off, and turned around.
“Huh? What?”
“I’m asking—did you eat anything today? Maybe you made dinner?”
“I made myself some sandwiches. You know I can’t cook,” Kirill shrugged and went right back to staring at the screen.
Irina went into the kitchen. The sink was clogged with dirty dishes; bread crumbs were scattered on the table, greasy stains, an open jar of jam. The woman clenched her fists, trying to keep herself under control. She had spent the entire day in meetings—dealing with suppliers, negotiating contracts. Her head was splitting from exhaustion. And at home, the same familiar scene of chaos was waiting for her.
“God… could you at least clean up after yourself,” she muttered, turning on the water.
Half an hour later, soup was boiling on the stove, and Irina was slicing vegetables for a salad. Kirill still hadn’t left the computer. She set the table and called him to dinner.
“Yeah, one second,” he replied. “This is an important moment in the game.”
“Kirill, everything’s going to get cold!”
“Then eat without me. I’ll heat it up later.”
Irina sat at the table alone. She ate mechanically, thinking about how she was supposed to live like this. Every day was the same. She worked, brought money into the house, cooked, cleaned, did laundry. And he sat at the computer or sprawled on the couch, occasionally doing odd jobs as a courier or a loader. Those earnings barely covered cigarettes and beer with his friends.
The next morning Irina woke up to the alarm at seven. Kirill was sleeping, sprawled across half the bed. She got up quietly, got dressed, drank coffee, and left the apartment. The whole day passed in the usual rush. In the evening, when she came home, the picture repeated itself: dirty dishes, a mess, her husband at the computer.
“Kirish, we agreed you’d at least help me a little,” Irina said tiredly. “At least wash the dishes after yourself.”
“I’m tired today,” Kirill answered without turning his head. “I spent all day sending out resumes. I’ll do it later.”
“You say that every day.”
“Ira, don’t start, please. My mood’s already terrible. I got another rejection from one company.”
Irina sighed and went to wash the dishes. She understood arguing was useless. Kirill would always find an excuse for his inactivity.
On the weekend, Valentina Ivanovna—Kirill’s mother—came over. She always showed up without warning, believing she had the right to come to her son whenever she wanted.
“Ira, dear, how are things?” her mother-in-law forced a smile as she walked in. “Sonny, you’ve lost weight! Is she not feeding you or what?”
“Mom, everything’s fine,” Kirill waved her off.
“Valentina Ivanovna, come in, have a seat,” Irina said dryly.
Her mother-in-law sat on the couch, scanning the apartment with an appraising look.
“Ira, I’ve been thinking… maybe you shouldn’t work so much? You see, Kiryusha gets tired—he’s looking for a job. He needs support, not reproaches. It’s important for a man to feel valued.”
Irina clenched her teeth. Here it comes. Valentina Ivanovna always found a way to imply Irina was a bad wife—that she couldn’t create comfort, didn’t support her husband, demanded too much.
“Valentina Ivanovna, I work so we can pay the bills and buy food. Somebody has to earn money,” Irina replied evenly.
“Well yes, of course. But a real wife doesn’t throw it in her husband’s face—she waits patiently while he finds himself. My Kiryusha has golden hands; he’ll show everyone yet.”
“Mom, maybe we should go to the kitchen? I’ll put the kettle on,” Kirill said quickly, sensing a conflict brewing.
Irina silently went into the bedroom. She didn’t want to argue with her mother-in-law yet again. There was no point explaining anything to someone convinced her son was perfect.
Two more weeks passed. Irina came home later than usual—important negotiations had dragged on, and she was utterly drained. She opened the door and froze. The apartment was in real chaos. Socks and T-shirts lay on the floor; dirty plates with leftover food sat on the coffee table; the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. In the kitchen, the sink was piled with dishes to the brim, and a trash bag was spilling out of the bin.
“Kirill, what is this?” Irina said slowly as she entered the living room.
Her husband was wearing headphones, immersed in the game. He hadn’t even heard her come in.
“Kirill!” she shouted sharply.
He flinched and turned.
“Oh, you’re home. Hi.”
“Can you explain what’s going on here? Why is the apartment such a mess?”
“Well… friends came by. We hung out a bit. I’ll clean it up later,” Kirill said guiltily.
“Later? When later? Every day I hear this ‘later’!”
“Ira, don’t freak out. I’ll do everything tomorrow, I swear.”
“You know what? Clean it up right now. At least put the kitchen in order.”
“I said tomorrow. I’m tired today. I spent the whole day searching.”
“Searching for what? A new game?”
“Why are you nagging me?!” Kirill jumped up. “You’re never satisfied! Her job is ‘so hard,’ you know! Everyone works—so what!”
Irina turned and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door. She sat on the bed, burying her face in her hands. Tears rose in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She just needed to think about what to do next.
In the morning Irina woke up with a firm decision. She got up, dressed, and silently began cleaning the apartment. Kirill was still asleep. She washed all the dishes, wiped down surfaces, gathered the scattered things. Then she made breakfast and went to work.
That same evening, as Irina checked her mail on her phone, a notification came from the bank: “Thank you for taking out a loan in the amount of 120,000 rubles. The first payment must be made by the 15th of the current month.” She read the message twice, not believing her eyes.
“Kirill,” she called softly as she walked into the room.
“What?” her husband answered without looking away from the screen.
“Can you explain why I have a loan for one hundred twenty thousand?”
Kirill froze. Slowly, he turned to his wife. His face went pale.
“Listen… I meant to tell you…”
“You took out a loan in my name?” Irina’s voice trembled with restrained rage. “How did you even do that?”
“Well… your passport details were in the desk drawer. I copied them. And the signature… I photographed your signature from some documents and inserted it into the application. It’s all done online, you know? Nobody really checks anything.”
“You stole my data? Forged my signature? Took out a loan without my knowledge?”
“I was going to pay it myself! I planned to get a job and pay it off!” Kirill started talking fast, realizing it was too late for excuses. “I needed a new computer, you see? This old one is lagging. I thought maybe I could even start streaming and earn money…”
“Earn money off my loan?” Irina sank onto a chair, unable to stand any longer. Her hands were shaking. “Do you understand that this is a crime? Do you understand I’m the one who has to pay now?”
“Ira, forgive me. I didn’t think you’d react like this. I was trying for us…”
“For us?” she snorted. “You were trying for yourself. Like always.”
“Don’t yell at me! I’m your husband, by the way!”
“Husband?” Irina stood up. “Husbands provide for their family, help their wives, take responsibility. And who are you? You’re just a freeloader who steals documents and takes out loans!”
“That’s it, I’m calling Mom,” Kirill grabbed his phone. “Let her explain how you’re supposed to talk to husbands!”
An hour later the doorbell rang. Valentina Ivanovna burst into the apartment like a hurricane.
“Ira, you’ve completely lost your mind!” she screamed from the doorway. “How dare you yell at my son? He was trying for you!”
“Valentina Ivanovna, your son took out a loan in my name without my consent. That’s a criminal offense,” Irina said coldly.
“Oh really? And did you think about how hard it is for him? How tired he is from searching for work? A man needs support, not your scandals! My friend’s daughter has a golden son-in-law—he does everything for his wife. And you? All you do is throw things in his face!”
“Your son has lived at my expense for five years. I pay for everything—the apartment, food, clothes, internet. He won’t even wash his own dishes. And now he’s taken out a loan in my name!”
“He’s your husband! You’re obliged to provide for him until he gets back on his feet!”
“I’ve had enough.” Irina picked up her keys and bag. “I’m leaving. When I come back, I want you gone.”
She left the apartment and went to her parents’ home. Her father, Sergey Pavlovich, opened the door and immediately saw something was wrong.
“Ira, come in. What happened?”
Irina walked into the room and sat on the couch. Her mother, Tatyana Fyodorovna, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Sweetheart, you’re so pale. Tell us what happened.”
Irina exhaled and started telling them everything—how Kirill didn’t work, the mess in the house, how he took out a loan in her name. She spoke for a long time, not holding back her emotions. She described how every evening she came home to the same picture, how she was exhausted not only physically but morally too, how she tried talking to her husband, but he only promised to change and never did. Her parents listened in silence, occasionally exchanging glances.
“I can’t live like this anymore,” she finished. “I want a divorce.”
“Sweetheart,” her father put an arm around her shoulders, “you made the right decision. This marriage is draining you. You’re young, beautiful, smart. You’ll find someone who values you.”
“But how? He won’t just leave. And his mother truly believes I should support him for life.”
“The apartment is yours,” her mother said. “So you have the right to kick him out. Change the locks, pack his things—that’s it. Let him live with Mommy, since she defends him so much.”
“And if he goes to the police?”
“What would he even tell them?” her father smirked. “That he got kicked out of someone else’s apartment? The deed is in your name. You didn’t sign any documents about shared property. He’s nobody there—just a resident who abused your hospitality.”
Irina spent two days at her parents’ home, thinking everything through. She realized she couldn’t drag this out any longer—she had to act decisively. During those two days she thought a lot, remembering what she was like before marriage: free, confident, making plans for the future. And now? Now she had turned into a driven horse that only worked and endured.
On Monday morning, while Kirill was asleep, Irina gathered the most important documents and valuables. She called work and took the day off. Then she found a family-law attorney online. The lawyer listened and gave clear instructions.
“The apartment was registered in your name before marriage, so it is your personal property and is not subject to division in a divorce. You have every right to evict your spouse. The loan taken out in your name without consent can be contested, but you’ll have to prove forgery. You can file for divorce through the registry office if your husband agrees; if not, through the court. You have no children and no jointly acquired property, so the divorce will be quick.”
“And if he refuses to divorce through the registry office?”
“Then file in court. Under these circumstances the court will be on your side. The main thing is to collect all evidence: bank statements about the loan, neighbors’ testimony that he doesn’t work, receipts showing you pay for everything.”
Irina nodded, writing down the recommendations. She felt determination growing inside her. No more weakness, no more doubt.
On Friday evening, Kirill left to spend the weekend at his mother’s. He said his mom wasn’t feeling well and had asked him to come. Irina nodded, hiding how happy she was about the news. As soon as the door closed behind him, she got to work.
First she called a locksmith. The man arrived within an hour, quickly removed the old lock, and installed a new one. Irina asked for a sturdy lock with break-in protection.
“Done,” the locksmith said, handing her the keys. “The old keys won’t work anymore.”
Then Irina began packing Kirill’s things. Methodically she put his clothes, shoes, computer, and game console into boxes and bags. Everything that belonged to him, she packed neatly. She worked calmly, without rushing. Each item reminded her of something: that jacket she had bought him for his birthday, those sneakers he had begged her for over an entire month. By Saturday evening, a whole pile of boxes stood in the entryway.
Irina carried everything out into the stairwell and left it by the apartment door. Then she came back in, locked the door, and sat down on the couch. Her hands trembled a little—not from fear, but from relief. She had done it. Finally.
On Sunday evening around nine, the doorbell started ringing. Irina didn’t go to the door. The ringing became more insistent. Then came the sound of someone trying to insert a key into the lock. Metal scraped, but the door didn’t open. Silence followed.
Irina’s phone vibrated. The name “Kirill” flashed on the screen. She tapped accept and held the phone to her ear.
“Where are you?! Why doesn’t the key work, and why did you throw my stuff into the hallway?!” Kirill shouted. “Open the door right now! I’m freezing out here! What the hell?!”
“Kirill, I filed for divorce,” Irina said calmly. “This apartment belongs to me. You don’t live here anymore.”
“Are you out of your mind?! This is my apartment too! We’re married!”
“The apartment is mine. I bought it before our wedding with my own money. It isn’t marital property. You can take your things and leave.”
“I’ll kick the door in!”
“Go ahead. Then I’ll call the police. I think they’ll be interested in the loan you took out with forged documents.”
Kirill went quiet. Irina could hear his heavy breathing.
“Ira, don’t be like that. Let’s talk normally. I’ll change, I swear. I’ll find a job, help around the house…”
“Too late. I’m tired of promises. Take your things and go.”
“Where am I supposed to go?!”
“To your mother. She always defends you—so live with her.”
“You bitch, Irina! A real bitch! I’ll remember this!”
Irina hung up. A minute later he called again. She rejected the call. The calls repeated again and again. Irina blocked his number.
Less than five minutes passed before her phone rang again—this time it was Valentina Ivanovna.
“How dare you!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “You kicked my son out of the house! I’ll sue you! I’ll take half that apartment! You’ll regret ever getting involved with us!”
“Valentina Ivanovna, the apartment is registered only in my name. It’s my personal property; it can’t be divided in a divorce. You can sue, but you’ll lose. And one more thing: if your son doesn’t pick up his things within twenty-four hours, I’ll throw them out,” Irina said evenly, and ended the call.
She blocked her mother-in-law’s number too. Let them yell at each other. She didn’t need to listen anymore.
An hour later, voices could be heard behind the door. Kirill and his mother were collecting the boxes. Irina listened as they went down the stairs dragging them away. Valentina Ivanovna complained loudly, calling her former daughter-in-law all kinds of nasty names. Kirill muttered something in response. Then everything went quiet.
The following days were busy. Irina filed for divorce through the registry office. Kirill agreed, realizing there was no point arguing. They had no children and no joint property, so the procedure was simple. Still, when they filed, he tried one last time to talk to her.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this? Let’s try again? I’ll really change…”
“No, Kirill. It’s decided. I don’t want to live in this marriage anymore.”
“But where will I go? My mom’s apartment is small…”
“That’s not my problem,” Irina replied coldly and signed the form.
She challenged the loan in court, proving the signature had been forged. The bank conducted an expert examination that confirmed the forgery. Kirill was ordered to repay the loan himself. Irina didn’t really believe he would, but at least officially the debt was no longer on her. And that was already a relief.
That evening, after all the paperwork was settled, Irina sat on the balcony with a cup of tea. She looked at the city lit up with evening lights and smiled. For the first time in many years, she felt free. No reproaches, no scandals, no obligations to a person who didn’t value her work.
The apartment was her personal space again. It was tidy; everything was in its place. No dirty dishes, no scattered clothes, no computer endlessly running games. Only silence and peace.
Irina picked up her phone and texted her parents: “That’s it. I’m free. Thank you for supporting me.”
The reply came instantly: “We love you, sweetheart. Come over on the weekend—Mom will cook.”
Irina smiled and set her phone down. She thought about how much lay ahead. Now she could make new plans, dream, enjoy life. She no longer had to waste her strength on someone who only took and gave nothing in return. Life went on. And now it was completely in her hands