Svetlana set her coffee on the windowsill and stared out at the rain. The drops slid down the glass like tears she refused to let herself cry. October had been especially vile this year—gray, damp, and heavy. Just like her life for the past six months.
“Sveta, are you even listening?” Andrey asked, his tone sharp with irritation.
She turned. Her husband stood in the kitchen doorway with a handful of papers. Behind him loomed the familiar figure of his mother. Galina Petrovna, as always, had found a reason to pop in “for a minute.”
“I’m listening,” Svetlana answered coolly.
“Mom’s right. It’s time we start acting like grown-ups and switch to separate finances. Each person is responsible for themselves.”
Svetlana gave a faint, almost invisible smile.
Grown-ups. Sure. Nothing says “mature” like a thirty-five-year-old man who still consults Mommy about every little thing.
“And how do you see that working?” she asked, pretending to study the pages he was holding.
Galina Petrovna couldn’t help herself.
“Svetochka, dear, millions of couples live this way now! Everyone earns their own money and spends their own money. No accusations, no resentment. Andrey makes seventy thousand a month, you make fifty. It’s only fair to split everything down the middle.”
“Mom thinks it’ll be better for our relationship,” Andrey added, refusing to meet his wife’s eyes. “Less to fight about.”
Svetlana nodded, forcing her face to stay calm. But something inside her cracked.
She remembered three years ago, when Andrey had been out of work for six months after layoffs and she carried the household alone. No one suggested “separate budgets” then. She remembered paying for his mother’s expensive medication a year ago when Galina Petrovna’s blood pressure spiked. Back then, everyone was thrilled to have one shared pot.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s try it.”
Andrey had clearly been bracing for an argument—maybe even a full-blown fight. Her calm agreement threw him off balance.
“Seriously? You’re not against it?”
“Why would I be against fairness?” Svetlana took the papers and skimmed them. A neat list of expenses split perfectly in half: utilities, groceries, gas, internet… On paper, it looked reasonable.
Galina Petrovna lit up.
“See, Andryusha! Sveta’s a smart girl—she gets it. Some wives immediately start whining: ‘But what about family? What about love?’ Nonsense! Love is love, but money should stay separate!”
Svetlana only nodded, silently storing every word in her private collection of resentments.
Her mother-in-law kept preaching about the advantages, bringing up “American families” and talking about how “civilized” it was.
“And one more thing,” Andrey added, encouraged by how easily he’d won this round. “I’ll be eating dinner at Mom’s. She cooks every day anyway. It’s convenient—my office is close to her place. So you’ll spend more on groceries.”
“Logical,” Svetlana agreed.
When his mother finally left and Andrey disappeared into his room to “work” (meaning, play tanks online), Svetlana stayed alone in the kitchen.
She slowly finished her cold coffee and pulled out a calculator. Time for some math.
First, she wrote down every household expense from the last six months. The total was impressive: utilities, groceries, household supplies, medicine, clothes, gifts for relatives, movies, cafés… Then she divided everything into two columns: “husband” and “wife.”
By midnight she had finished. The result was even more interesting than she expected.
Andrey truly spent less on the family. Much less.
For all the talk about equal responsibility, the real spending split worked out to roughly one-to-three—he paid one part, she paid three.
Svetlana pushed back from the table, rolled her stiff neck, and smirked.
Alright. Separate finances it is. Let’s see how ready Andrey really is for equality.
The next morning he left for work in a wonderful mood.
Before noon, his mother had already called three times—to discuss their “new family system” and praise her son for his “manly decision.”
Listening to Andrey’s calls with his mother, Svetlana kept catching the same thought: when had she stopped respecting him? A month ago? Six months? Or had it happened slowly, quietly, corroding everything like rust?
At the agency, the day was normal—clients, layouts, endless revisions. But Svetlana worked with a strange new energy, as if something inside her had finally switched on after being dormant for years.
That evening she went to the supermarket and bought food for exactly one person: bread, milk, yogurt, oatmeal, a few vegetables. In the cart it looked bleak—like a monk’s ration. But it was her ration.
Andrey wasn’t home. Just like he promised, he’d stayed at his mother’s for dinner.
Svetlana ate alone, watched a series, and went to bed. Oddly enough, the loneliness didn’t weigh on her. If anything, she felt a kind of freedom she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
That’s how the week passed.
Andrey dutifully ate at Galina Petrovna’s, came home late, and seemed endlessly pleased with himself. Sometimes he praised his mother’s cutlets or borscht, clearly hinting that Svetlana should learn to cook properly. Svetlana only nodded, kept her expression agreeable, and continued living on her modest groceries.
On the weekend Andrey went to his friends’ dacha.
“Sometimes we need a break from each other,” he explained—obviously repeating his mother’s advice.
Svetlana didn’t argue. She spent Saturday and Sunday at her computer, sorting through their documents and bills from the past year.
The picture became clearer—and sadder.
On Monday morning, the first warning bell rang. Andrey discovered the coffee was gone.
“Sveta, could you buy coffee? I’m running late.”
“Coffee isn’t listed as a shared expense,” she replied, slowly buttering her single piece of toast. “Everyone buys what they drink.”
Andrey paused, clearly waiting for a joke. But Svetlana looked deadly serious.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll buy it myself.”
By the middle of the second week, the “experiment” was cracking. Andrey started giving the refrigerator suspicious looks—because none of his usual favorites were appearing. No expensive yogurts. No smoked salmon. No good cheese. Only Svetlana’s bare-bones groceries, neatly fitting onto one shelf.
“Where’s the sausage?” he asked one Thursday night, opening the fridge in search of something edible.
“At the store,” Svetlana answered without lifting her eyes from her laptop.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you want sausage, go buy it. I don’t eat sausage.”
It was true. She hadn’t bought any for weeks, choosing healthier food. But before this, she used to buy it for him.
Andrey grumbled and slammed the fridge door. That evening he went to his mother’s again.
And on Friday, the utility bills arrived.
Svetlana deliberately didn’t pay right away, even though she normally paid the moment the bill came. Instead, she waited until Andrey spotted the invoices in the mailbox and brought them home with an important look.
“Utilities came,” he announced, walking in. “About eight thousand.”
“Okay,” Svetlana nodded. “Your half is four thousand. Will you transfer it, or give it in cash?”
Andrey froze. Apparently, in his mind “separate finances” mostly applied to Svetlana’s spending—not his own obligations.
“Uh… yes, sure. I’ll transfer it tomorrow. My card’s short right now.”
“No problem,” she said. “Just remember—if we delay too long, there’ll be late fees.”
The next day, nothing came. The day after, still nothing. And on Wednesday Andrey asked casually:
“Sveta, the internet’s acting weird. You didn’t forget to pay, did you?”
Svetlana looked up from the papers spread across the kitchen table.
“You pay for the internet. It’s on the list.”
“Is it? Oh… right,” he said, clearly not remembering what he’d signed. “I’ll pay tomorrow.”
But he didn’t. Not the internet, not his phone, not garbage pickup, not the intercom.
By the end of the week, Svetlana understood: Andrey simply wasn’t taking the new rules seriously. In his world, nothing was supposed to truly change—except that his wife no longer had the right to question how he spent his money.
On Saturday morning, Andrey was about to leave for football with friends when he found the gas tank nearly empty.
“Sveta, give me money for gas,” he asked, like he always did.
“I don’t have any,” she replied coldly.
“What do you mean you don’t have money? Payday was last week.”
“It was. And I spent it on my needs—food, clothes, cosmetics. Gas is your expense.”
Andrey stood there blinking, completely lost.
In a year and a half of marriage, Svetlana had never once refused him money. More than that—she often gave it without him asking, slipping cash into his jacket pocket or transferring money “just in case.”
“Are you serious?” he asked again.
“Have I ever joked about money?”
That was true. Svetlana had always been careful with finances. That’s why they’d never had debts or overdue bills.
“But we’re husband and wife…” Andrey began.
“Husband and wife with separate finances,” Svetlana reminded him. “That’s what you wanted. Your mother said it was modern and fair. Don’t forget.”
Mentioning his mother worked like a spell. Andrey couldn’t admit her “brilliant idea” had failed, so he swallowed his frustration and left.
That evening he came home in a foul mood. Apparently dinner at Galina Petrovna’s hadn’t been pleasant, because around nine she called Svetlana.
“Svetochka, dear, Andryusha says you’ve become terribly stingy! This is unacceptable—refusing your husband gas money!”
“Galina Petrovna,” Svetlana replied evenly, “the separate-budget idea was yours, remember? You said everyone should be responsible for themselves.”
“Yes, but within reason! You can’t take it to extremes!”
“And where exactly is the line between ‘reasonable’ and ‘extreme’?” Svetlana asked calmly. “Could you explain it to me, please?”
Galina Petrovna hadn’t expected that. She hesitated, mumbled something about a woman’s wisdom and family compromise, and ended the call quickly.
And on Monday, something happened that Andrey never saw coming.
Our hot water was shut off. Not in the whole building—only in their apartment. Andrey discovered it that morning when he stepped into the shower and immediately panicked.
“Sveta! What’s wrong with the water? Why is it freezing?”
“Probably shut off for nonpayment,” she said calmly, making herself oatmeal.
“For nonpayment? You were supposed to pay!”
“Me?” Svetlana raised her brows in mock surprise. “And why would I pay your half? Two weeks ago you promised you’d transfer your share of the utilities—and you never did.”
Andrey stood there with his mouth open. Then he grabbed his phone and started frantically tapping numbers into a calculator. The debt really was serious—hot water could absolutely be cut off for nonpayment.
“But I didn’t know it was that urgent!” he protested as he dressed in a hurry. “You should’ve told me!”
“Andrey, you’re thirty-five,” Svetlana said evenly. “You wanted separate finances. You’re a grown man. Keep track of your obligations yourself.”
He ran off to work unwashed and furious.
Svetlana calmly finished breakfast and went to the gym, where she took a shower after her workout. She’d bought a fitness membership last month but never had time to use it. Now she did—especially in the evenings, when Andrey ate dinner at his mother’s.
That evening, the hot water came back. Apparently Andrey had borrowed money somewhere and paid the debt immediately.
But the bitterness remained. He walked around gloomy, constantly lost in thought.
A few days later, he finally worked up the nerve for a serious talk. Svetlana was getting ready to meet a friend when Andrey stepped into her path.
“We need to talk,” he said irritably.
“I’m listening. Make it quick—someone’s waiting for me.”
“What are you doing? This isn’t a marriage, it’s accounting! We’re spouses, not business partners.”
Svetlana adjusted her purse strap neatly.
“You wanted separate finances. You and your mother said it was fair. I’m simply following your rules.”
“But you know that’s not what I meant!”
“Then what did you mean?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Explain it.”
Andrey hesitated. It was hard to explain without admitting the truth—because what he meant was simple: his wife shouldn’t be allowed to monitor his spending, but she should continue covering most of the household costs and providing him comfort.
“Well… you get it,” he muttered uncertainly. “Let’s just go back to the way it was.”
“No,” Svetlana said firmly. “I like it this way. It’s honest and fair. Everyone is responsible for themselves—just like your mother said.”
“Forget my mother!” Andrey snapped. “This isn’t about her!”
“Oh? So it’s not about your mother?” Svetlana smiled, and there was something in that smile that made him uneasy. “Interesting. And here I thought she was the one making all our family decisions.”
Andrey tried to argue, but the words stuck in his throat—because it was true, and they both knew it.
“I’m running late,” Svetlana said, heading for the door. “If you want to change something in how we live, we can discuss it tomorrow. Like adults. Without your mother.”
That last sentence landed like a slap.
The next day Andrey came home even darker than before. He didn’t go to his mother’s for dinner—an event that, by itself, felt significant. Instead, he sat down across from Svetlana and tried to start again.
“Listen,” he began. “Let’s find a compromise. I know I was wrong. Maybe we can do something in between—a mix of shared and separate. At least try.”
Svetlana looked at him closely. For the first time in a long while, he was speaking to her like an equal—not like a convenient accessory in his life.
“Can we at least talk like normal people?” Andrey continued, irritation creeping back into his voice. “Did you even pay the electricity bill this month?”
Svetlana smiled with quiet superiority.
“I did,” she said, standing up. “I’ll bring the paperwork.”
She stepped into the hallway and pulled a thick envelope from her handbag—one she had prepared in advance. Inside was a stack of papers: transfer receipts, invoices, bank statements, and one special document.
“Here,” she said, handing him the envelope. “My half of this month’s utilities. And something else.”
Andrey took it with a smug air. But as he pulled out the pages and started reading, his expression changed rapidly.
The first paper was the electricity receipt. The second was a detailed breakdown of their household spending for the past year. The third was a notice that she had filed for divorce.
“What is this?” he whispered, going pale.
“This,” Svetlana said calmly, “is the result of our separate-budget experiment. A very educational result.”
Andrey finished scanning the calculations and looked up at her, stunned.
“Sveta, come on… Let’s go back to the way it was,” he pleaded, pushing the papers aside and trying to take her hand. “I get it now. I was wrong. Let’s pool everything again like before.”
“Really?” Svetlana didn’t pull her hand away, but there was no warmth in her voice. “And you’re ready for that?”
“Of course! More than that—I’m ready to give you my salary, except for a little spending money. You’ll manage our finances. You’re better at this.”
Svetlana studied his face. He seemed sincere—maybe even scared of divorce.
“And what about your mother?” she asked. “She was the one who pushed this separate budget.”
“Forget Mom,” Andrey waved it off. “This is our family. We should decide ourselves. The main thing is you handle all that… household stuff. Utilities, groceries, bills. I don’t understand any of it—you know that. I’ll just hand over the money honestly.”
“All of it?” Svetlana уточнила.
“Well… almost all,” Andrey hesitated. “There’s just one thing. Mom wants to renovate the dacha, and I promised to help her. This year I’ll be giving her half my income. But it’s temporary! Maximum a year—maybe a bit longer.”
Svetlana slowly withdrew her hand.
“Half your income?” she repeated softly.
“Yeah. Thirty thousand a month. The rest goes to you. And it’s truly temporary, Sveta, believe me.”
“And when did you start giving her half your salary?”
“A month ago,” Andrey admitted, staring at the table. “I figured with separate finances it wouldn’t be a problem…”
Svetlana leaned back. Suddenly everything clicked into place—the whole performance, Galina Petrovna’s sudden obsession with their money, her relentless advice to her son.
“I see,” she said. “Now I understand why your mother staged this whole ‘separate expenses’ show.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She planned to pull thirty thousand from you every month. And she knew I’d never agree if we had a shared budget. So she invented this scheme: everyone spends their money however they want! And you still don’t see it?”
“Sveta, you’re exaggerating…”
“I’m not,” she said, getting up and walking to the window. “Your mother is a very clever woman. She calculated it several moves ahead.”
“But it’s temporary!”
“There’s nothing more permanent than ‘temporary,’” Svetlana replied. “Ever heard that? And the saddest part is this—” she continued. “You’re willing to hand me control of the budget not because you respect my abilities, but because you don’t want responsibility. You don’t want to think about bills, plan expenses, make decisions. It’s easier for you to dump it all on your wife.”
“But you’re better at it…”
“I am,” Svetlana said. “And I’m tired of being the only adult in this family, Andrey. Tired of making decisions for two and carrying responsibility for two.”
She picked up the envelope from the table.
“My answer is no. I don’t want to go back to my old life. I don’t want to be your second mother—someone who manages, controls, and pays for everything while you play around and hand money out left and right.”
“Sveta, please…”
“The divorce will be final in a month,” she said, firm and steady. “You have two weeks to find somewhere to live. You can move in with your mother. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. And she’ll be able to spend not half your salary on her renovation—but all of it.”
Andrey stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at nothing. Svetlana felt something like pity for him. But not regret.
“This isn’t fair,” he said quietly.
“It’s the definition of fair,” she replied. “You’re getting exactly what you chose: freedom from responsibility—and the chance to live the way your mother wants.”
A month later, the divorce was finalized.
Andrey moved in with Galina Petrovna, who welcomed him with open arms and renovation plans not only for the dacha, but for her city apartment too.
Svetlana stayed in her own home and, for the first time in a long time, felt that her life belonged to her alone. Justice had won. Everyone got exactly what they deserved.