“You’re pathetic, Vitya! You wanted to play the nice guy for everyone at my expense? No. I’ve had enough!”
Lena came home late—again, just like she had been doing for the past six months. Her meeting with investors had dragged on until eight, then came the traffic, and after that she still had to stop by the office to pick up documents for the next day. She slipped off her heels in the hallway, tossed her blazer over a chair, and only then noticed Vitya in the kitchen. He sat at the table with his phone in hand, his face glowing with a strange, almost childish happiness.
“Hi,” she said, worn out. “What about dinner?”
“Oh—yeah, I ordered pizza,” Vitya answered without lifting his eyes. “Listen, Len… Svetka’s birthday is in a week. She’ll be eighteen. Remember she wanted a professional sketching easel? I thought maybe we could…”
“Vitya,” Lena said, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water, “how much does it cost?”
“Well… about twenty-five thousand. But she’s my niece! Svetka’s really talented, she’s applying to art school…”
“Twenty-five thousand,” Lena repeated. She could feel the exhaustion settling into her bones like lead. “Vitya, we have a mortgage. We have a car loan. I spent half the day fighting for a contract that might—might—get us a bonus by the end of the year.”
“Lena, but she’s family,” Vitya’s voice slid into that familiar offended whine. “Svetka is my niece. We can’t—”
“We can,” Lena cut him off and walked into the bathroom.
Under the hot shower she tried to rinse away not only the day’s fatigue, but also that sticky guilt Vitya could summon with a single look. She already knew how this would go. He would buy the stupid easel anyway. He’d buy it because he couldn’t say “no.” Or rather—because he didn’t want to. He needed to be Good Uncle Vitya. Kind Vitya. Generous Vitya.
When they married seven years ago, Vitya worked at a “promising” IT company and “had great potential,” as his mother liked to put it. He had ambition, plans, projects. Lena was only beginning her marketing career then—earning pennies, renting a room in a коммуналка, a cramped communal apartment. Vitya seemed like a pillar: a man who knew what he wanted.
But somewhere, things went off course. Vitya’s project got canceled. He moved to another company, then another. Each time the positions grew smaller, the paychecks thinner. Lena, on the other hand, kept rising: first senior specialist, then department head, then marketing director. Three years ago she was invited to a major pharmaceutical company as commercial director. Her salary tripled.
Vitya was thrilled back then. He said he was proud of her. She believed him.
And then the “helping” started.
First Vitya’s brother, Seryozha, asked to borrow money for a home renovation—fifty thousand. Vitya didn’t even ask Lena; he simply transferred it. When she got upset, he said, “Len, come on—it’s my brother. He has nowhere else to go.” Seryozha promised to repay it in three months. A year and a half passed—no one saw the money again.
Then her mother-in-law hinted that it would be “nice” to replace the TV because the old one “barely works.” Vitya bought a new one. “Mom worked her whole life for us,” he said when Lena tried to discuss it.
Then niece Svetka wanted a drawing tablet—twelve thousand. Then the brother again: the car needed repairs, the gearbox was shot—thirty thousand. Then the mother-in-law again: a fence for the dacha—forty thousand.
Lena kept count. She always counted money, because she remembered living on fifteen thousand a month, skipping lunches, buying clothes only on sale. She knew the price of every ruble she earned. And she watched those rubles drain into Vitya’s relatives—people who couldn’t even be bothered to say a real thank-you.
Worse than that, the family considered her greedy.
She found out by accident at a family gathering hosted by her mother-in-law. She stepped onto the balcony for a cigarette (a habit she couldn’t shake, even though she tried), and heard voices through a half-open kitchen window. It was her mother-in-law talking with a friend.
“Vitya is such a good boy,” the friend said. “Always helps. Never refuses.”
“Oh yes,” her mother-in-law sighed. “It’s just a shame he chose a wife who’s… so stingy. I can see how she winces when Vitya helps us. Money is the only thing that matters to her.”
“Then why did she marry him?” the friend asked.
“Who knows,” her mother-in-law clattered dishes. “Maybe she thought he’d earn more. But my Vitya isn’t like that. He’s a warm-hearted man, not a career climber. She’s the career climber—work, work, work. And who’s supposed to support the family? Good thing at least there’s Vitya—at least we get help from him.”
Lena finished her cigarette, put it out, and walked back inside with a sheet of ice where her feelings used to be. The entire evening she smiled, chatted, played the role of the perfect daughter-in-law. But inside, something hardened and turned cold.
“Support the family.” “Help from Vitya.”
She supported that family. She paid the mortgage. She paid utilities, bought groceries, clothes, covered the car. Vitya’s salary was a drop in the ocean of their expenses. Yet he threw money around with both hands, pretending to be some generous patron.
After the shower Lena lay in bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Vitya came in later and slipped beside her, gently wrapping an arm around her.
“Len… are you awake?”
“I am.”
“About the easel… I know money isn’t great right now. But we can do it, right? She wants it so badly…”
“Vitya,” Lena said, turning toward him. In the darkness she couldn’t see his face, only the shape of him. “Be honest. When was the last time you gave money to anyone in my family?”
“What?” He clearly hadn’t expected that. “Your family?”
“Yes. My mother, for example. Or my brother.”
“But… they never ask,” Vitya hesitated. “Your mom has a good pension, she owns her apartment. And Kostya earns well…”
“Mm-hm,” Lena said, turning away. “Good night, Vitya.”
A week later Svetka got her easel. Lena saw it in a photo on social media—her niece glowing with happiness, holding up the gift with the caption: “Thank you to my beloved Uncle Vitya for making my dream come true!” The comments were full of praise: “He’s so caring!” “You’re so lucky!” “What a gift!”
Lena said nothing. She stayed silent for a week, then two, then a month. She worked until she could barely stand, came home late, fell asleep as soon as she changed. Vitya tried to talk to her a few times, but she brushed him off: “I’m tired. Later.”
And then Seryozha came.
Vitya’s brother showed up on a Saturday morning—one of the rare mornings when Lena could finally sleep in. The doorbell woke her at nine. She heard voices in the hallway—Vitya and Seryozha. She threw on a robe and came out.
“Hi, Len,” Seryozha smiled broadly—too broadly, too fake. “Sorry it’s early. It’s just… there’s something…”
“Len, let’s go to the kitchen,” Vitya said, looking guilty.
In the kitchen Seryozha pulled out cigarettes, lit one without asking, and launched into his tale—how he urgently needed money. One hundred and fifty thousand. For “business expansion.” A friend had a promising opportunity, and if he invested now, in six months…
“No,” Lena said.
Seryozha cut off mid-sentence.
“What?”
“No,” Lena repeated. “We’re not giving you money.”
“Len, it’s not forever,” Vitya jumped in. “Seryozha will pay it back. Right, Seryozha?”
“Of course I will!” Seryozha stubbed out his cigarette. “Lena, I’m not asking for nothing. It’s an investment. I’ll even pay interest.”
“Seryozha,” Lena said calmly, “a year and a half ago you borrowed fifty thousand for renovations. You promised to return it in three months. Where is it?”
“Well, things happened…” Seryozha shifted in his chair. “The renovation cost more than we planned. Then the crisis started…”
“The crisis,” Lena gave a short, sharp laugh. “Seryozha, you have a new iPhone. Your wife has a new fur coat. You flew to Turkey last month. But you can’t pay back fifty thousand.”
“Lena, come on,” Vitya tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. “He’s family…”
“Seryozha, we’re not giving you money,” Lena stood. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped coming here with requests like this.”
Seryozha looked to Vitya, waiting for backup. Vitya stared at the table in silence. A minute later the brother left, slamming the door.
“Why did you do that?” Vitya finally looked up. “He’ll return it. He really will. And he’s my brother!”
“Vitya,” Lena said, sitting across from him, “let’s talk honestly. How much do you earn?”
“You know.”
“And me?”
“Well… what does that have to do with anything?” Vitya looked away.
“So I make more than five times what you do,” Lena stated. “And we have a mortgage, a car loan, groceries, bills, clothes for both of us. Your salary doesn’t even cover half of our expenses. Do you agree?”
“Well, yes, but…” Vitya clenched his fists. “I contribute too…”
“What contribution, Vitya?” Lena leaned forward. “Tell me—what? You work nine to six, come home, eat, scroll your phone. I work from eight in the morning until nine—sometimes ten—at night. On weekends I cook, clean, do laundry. And you watch soccer or play PlayStation. So what contribution?”
“I… I help my family,” Vitya’s voice dropped. “Mom. Seryozha. Svetka…”
“With my money,” Lena felt something inside her tear open. “Vitya, you ‘help’ your family with my money. You’re playing the role of generous Uncle Vitya, caring son Vitya—on my dime. And meanwhile they call me a greedy witch who won’t let you be the wonderful man you pretend to be.”
“No one calls you that!” Vitya sprang up.
“Oh really?” Lena stood too. “Vitya, I heard your mother tell her friend I’m stingy. She said it’s a good thing you exist, at least there’s ‘help’ from you. She doesn’t even understand that this ‘help’ is my money!”
“So what?!” Vitya shouted. “Yes—your money! You earn it, you’re successful, you’re amazing! And me? What am I? A failure, right? I’ve achieved nothing, I’m still stuck where I was seven years ago!”
Lena went still. There it was—the truth, finally said out loud.
“Vitya,” she spoke quietly, “if you think you’re a failure, that’s your problem. But you don’t get to solve it with my wallet. You hand my money out to feel important—so your relatives praise you, respect you, admire you. But it’s fake, Vitya. That isn’t real respect. They don’t respect you. They respect my bank account.”
“Shut up!” Vitya yelled. “Just shut up! Yes—I’m a failure! Yes—I haven’t accomplished anything! And you… you remind me of it with every look! Every day I see how you look at me—like you pity me, like you despise me! I just want—at least with my family—not to feel like a complete nobody!”
“You are a nobody, Vitya!” Lena didn’t scream—she breathed the words out, and they hung between them like something heavy and final. “You wanted to be everyone’s sweetheart at my expense? No. I’m done!”
Vitya went pale. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
“So that’s it,” he said dully. “You really do think I’m worthless.”
“I think a man is worthless when he tries to prop up his self-esteem with someone else’s money,” Lena answered, feeling her chest go hollow. “I think a man is worthless when he spends seven years telling me we’re a family, we’re a team—while he’s actually living off my success.”
“Fine,” Vitya said, brushing past her toward the door. “Fine, Lena. You’re right. I’m worthless. I’m a parasite. I’m a failure. Happy now?”
He left, slamming the door. Lena stayed in the middle of the kitchen, staring into nothing.
For the next three days they barely spoke. Vitya slept at Seryozha’s. Lena went to work, returned to an empty apartment, sat in the kitchen with a glass of wine, and thought.
She thought about how she’d loved him seven years ago. About how they’d dreamed, planned, laughed. When had everything changed? When had Vitya turned into a wounded man who’d rather play philanthropist with someone else’s money than rebuild himself?
Or was she to blame? Maybe she really did look at him with contempt. Maybe she worked too much and gave him too little attention.
But then she remembered the endless “help,” the family’s conversations, the looks from her mother-in-law—and she understood: no. She wasn’t guilty. She was simply tired of being an ATM for people who weren’t even hers.
On Thursday evening Vitya came back. He looked drained, thinner, older.
“Len, we need to talk.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “We do.”
They sat in the living room facing each other. Vitya stayed silent for a long time, then finally spoke.
“I’ve thought a lot these three days. And you’re right. About everything.”
Lena said nothing, just watched him.
“I really am worthless,” Vitya went on. “I… I lost myself, Len. When my project got shut down, I told myself it was temporary. I’d find something else. Something better. But I didn’t. And every year it got worse. I watched you grow, watched people value you, watched you succeed. And me—nothing. And I started hating myself. Every morning I woke up thinking, ‘I’m a failure. I’m nobody. My wife supports me.’”
He paused, fists tight.
“And then I figured out how to fix it. How to feel like a man again. Help my relatives. Give gifts. Hand out money. And you know what? It worked. Mom looked at me with pride. Seryozha thanked me. Svetka hugged me and called me the best uncle. I felt… needed. Important. Not worthless.”
“At my expense,” Lena said quietly.
“At your expense,” Vitya nodded. “I… I didn’t want to think about it. I just took money—our money—and spent it to buy myself a little respect. A little feeling that I mattered. And I didn’t care that you were working yourself into the ground, that you were exhausted, that every thousand came from your hard work.”
Lena felt a knot rise in her throat. She’d waited for these words for years. She’d waited for him to see it, to admit it, to understand. Yet now, hearing him say it, she felt only emptiness.
“Vitya,” she began—
“Wait,” he lifted his hand. “Let me finish. I understand you want a divorce. And you’re right. I don’t deserve you. For seven years I was a weak man hiding behind a successful wife. I didn’t fight, didn’t change, didn’t try. I just… gave up. And dumped everything on you—responsibility, problems, all of it.”
He stood and went to the window.
“I’ll move out. I’ll rent a room. The apartment is yours—you paid for it. I’ll take only my things. And I won’t help my relatives anymore. Not at all. Let them learn the truth. Let them find out that ‘generous Vitya’ wasn’t spending his own money—he was spending his wife’s money, the wife they called a greedy snake.”
Lena listened and understood: it was right. This was how it had to end. There was too much hurt, too much resentment, too much betrayal between them.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll file for divorce on Monday.”
Vitya nodded without turning around.
“You know what the scariest part is?” he said softly. “I loved you. I still do. But I killed that love with my own hands—my weakness, my selfishness.”
Lena didn’t know what to say. She’d loved him once too. But love can’t survive on one side only. Love is respect, trust, partnership. And they hadn’t had that for a long time.
Vitya moved out a week later. He took his things and left the apartment almost untouched. Lena filed for divorce. The process took three months.
Of course Vitya’s relatives found out. Her mother-in-law called Lena, screaming, accusing her of destroying the family and throwing her son out. Lena listened in silence, then said calmly:
“For seven years you lived off my money. Your renovations, your TVs, your gifts, all that ‘help’—it was my money. Vitya earned very little. It wasn’t even enough to cover our own bills. So spare me the hypocrisy. I know what you think of me. And I don’t care.”
Her mother-in-law hung up. She never called again.
Seryozha tried to reach Lena through social media, writing long messages about how heartless she was, how she ruined his brother. Lena blocked him.
Svetka, surprisingly, messaged Lena directly. A short note: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Thank you for the easel.” Lena replied: “I hope it helps you.”
The divorce was finalized in December. On a cold, gray day Lena walked out of the courthouse a free woman. She got into her car, turned the music up, and drove home—her home, her life, her money.
She didn’t feel relief. She didn’t feel joy. Only emptiness and exhaustion. Seven years given to a man who used her—seven years she could never get back.
But her whole life was still ahead.
And Lena decided, firmly, that no one would ever live at her expense again—not financially, not emotionally. She had earned the right to be happy. The right not to feel guilty for being successful. The right not to bankroll someone else’s ambitions and self-worth.
She sometimes thought about Vitya. Had he really understood? Had he changed? Had he found the strength to become the man he pretended to be?
But that wasn’t her problem anymore. Her story with Vitya was over.
And a new story was beginning—the story of a woman who finally knew her own worth.