Irina stood at the kitchen counter, steadily slicing vegetables for a salad. The knife in her hand moved with a cold, practiced rhythm, as if she’d done the same motion a thousand times. Viktor sat across from her, scrolling through his phone. An ordinary evening in an ordinary family—except the silence between them felt louder than any argument.
“Vitya, we need money for the kids’ winter clothes,” Irina said, keeping her eyes on the cutting board.
“Money again?” Viktor grimaced without looking up. “Didn’t you just buy them something?”
“‘Just’ was three months ago. And it was summer stuff. It’s October now—they need jackets, boots…”
“No,” he snapped. “Stop blowing cash. What do you think I am, some kind of money tree? They’ll wear what they have. So what if it’s a little small now.”
Irina tightened her grip on the handle. Her knuckles turned pale.
“Viktor, Masha’s jacket doesn’t even reach her wrists, and Dima’s boots leak. They’re children—your children.”
“Exactly—MY children. And I decide what to spend MY money on. You sit at home doing nothing, and all you do is ask, ask, ask.”
“Doing nothing?” Irina’s voice trembled. “I wake up at six, make breakfast, get the kids ready for school and kindergarten, clean, wash laundry, cook lunch and dinner, help Masha with homework, put them to bed…”
“Oh, what a monumental sacrifice!” Viktor finally looked up, smirking. “Other women work and raise kids at the same time. But you’re delicate—Princess and the Pea.”
“I wanted to go back to work—you’re the one who banned it! You said a wife should stay home and raise the children.”
“And I was right. Only you’re raising them badly. Masha got a failing grade in math yesterday. What kind of parenting is that?”
Irina set the knife down and slowly turned toward him.
“Masha failed because you promised to help her with her problems—and instead you played video games all evening.”
“Spare me!” Viktor scoffed. “I work like a dog, I have the right to relax at home. And you just whine and whine: ‘Give me money, buy this, buy that.’ I’m sick of it!”
He got up, grabbed a bottle of beer from the shelf.
“And stop bothering me. The kids are small—they don’t need expensive things. Let them wear the old stuff. They won’t break.”
“Vitya, I’m not asking for expensive things. I’m asking for what they actually need…”
“ENOUGH!” he roared, making Irina flinch. “Shut up already! The kids are asleep and you’re putting on a show. You’re always inventing problems out of nothing. Other women thank their husbands for a roof over their heads—and you’re never satisfied!”
He slammed the bedroom door. Irina lowered herself into a chair, covering her head with her hands. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she cried silently. It was always the same: he shouted, insulted, humiliated—and she swallowed it. For the children. Always for the children.
Morning started the way it always did. Viktor came to breakfast in a crisp ironed shirt, smelling of cologne. He sat down like a lord waiting to be served.
“The coffee’s cold,” he tossed out after a sip.
“You came out twenty minutes later than usual,” Irina said quietly, spooning porridge onto the kids’ plates.
“So now I’m guilty for staying in the bathroom too long? Should I schedule my trips to the toilet?”
Masha lifted her head from her bowl.
“Dad, will you pick me up from school today? I’m done at two.”
“No. Let your mother do it. What else is she for?”
“Vitya, I told you—I have to take Dima to the doctor at two. He has a scheduled checkup.”
“Cancel it.”
“We waited two weeks for that appointment!”
“Then wait again. To hell with a checkup. The kid’s fine.”
“Dad,” Dima tugged at his sleeve, “can I get a new backpack? The zipper broke on mine.”
“As if!” Viktor jerked so sharply the boy recoiled. “Your mother taught you to beg? The zipper broke? Tape it up and keep using it!”
“Vitya, he really does need a backpack—”
“SHUT UP!” He slammed his fist on the table. “First thing in the morning you start! What is this, a conspiracy? ‘Give me this, give me that.’ I’m not a magic goldfish here to grant wishes!”
The children stared at him, frightened. Masha wrapped an arm around her little brother.
“It’s okay, Dimmy. Mom will figure something out.”
Viktor stood, flinging his napkin aside.
“Exactly. Let your mother figure it out. She’s the smart one—she married me. Now she can live with it.”
He smirked when Irina flinched.
“And Irina—this evening I’m having guests. Colleagues from work. Cook something decent. And dress properly, not like some ragged nobody. You embarrass me with how you look.”
“I don’t have anything decent, Vitya. You won’t even give money for the basics.”
“That’s your problem. Figure it out. You’re ‘resourceful,’ aren’t you?” He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. “And tonight I don’t want to see or hear the kids. Keep them out of sight. Lock them in their room and make sure they’re quiet.”
“How am I supposed to lock them in? They’re not animals in a cage!”
“You’ll do exactly what I said!” he barked, and slammed the door.
Irina looked at her children, now silent and stiff. Dima smeared tears across his cheek. Masha bit her lip, holding herself together.
“Mommy… why is Dad so angry?” the boy whispered.
“Daddy’s tired from work, sweetheart,” Irina lied automatically, pulling him close. “Everything will be fine.”
But she didn’t believe it anymore. How many years had she repeated that line? Five? Seven? Ever since Masha was born, Viktor had only gotten worse. At first it was nitpicking, then shouting, then insults. He never hit her, but his words cut deeper than any blow.
“For the children,” she told herself, walking them to school and kindergarten. “I have to endure it for the children. They need a father, a complete family.”
But when she saw her son’s tear-streaked face, her daughter’s tense shoulders, Irina finally understood: she wasn’t protecting them. She was harming them—by letting them grow up inside this nightmare.
That evening looked like it would be hell.
Irina cooked all day, trying to make something respectable out of what little she had. Viktor barely gave money for groceries—he believed “you don’t need much to eat.” By six o’clock, the table held salads, a hot dish, and platters of sliced snacks. Modest, but tidy.
The children stayed in their room; Irina had warned them firmly not to make noise. Masha read stories to Dima, and he leaned against his sister, still shaken by his father’s morning eruption.
Viktor arrived with three colleagues—two men and a woman. Irina greeted them in the only decent dress she still owned, a pre-pregnancy piece that now hung slightly loose. Years of stress had made her thin.
“This is my wife, Irina,” Viktor said carelessly as he walked into the living room. “Irina, this is Pavel, Oleg, and Kristina. My partners on a new project.”
Kristina gave Irina a quick, appraising scan and smirked. She was clearly used to being the focus: expensive suit, flawless makeup, confident stride.
“Nice to meet you,” she said coolly, then turned immediately to Viktor. “Vitya, you said you’d show us the new developments?”
“Of course, darling,” Viktor beamed. “Irina—bring the appetizers. And the wine from the bar.”
The next two hours were torture.
Viktor kept drawing attention to himself, taking jabs at his wife in front of the guests.
“Irina’s a housewife,” he said with a mock smile. “Sits at home raising the kids. Not very successfully, though—our oldest is becoming a little underachiever.”
“Vitya, that’s not fair…” Irina started.
“What’s not fair?” he raised his voice. “That I’m telling the truth? Sorry, darling, but facts don’t care about your feelings.”
Kristina giggled, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.
“Oh, Vitya, don’t be so hard on your wife. Though I understand—it’s probably difficult when someone without ambition, without goals, just sits at home.”
“You don’t know…” Irina began, but Viktor cut her off.
“Don’t butt into the conversation. Go check the kids—see what they’re up to.”
Irina stood, her cheeks burning. In the hallway she paused and listened to the talk in the living room.
“Sorry about my wife,” Viktor said. “She’s… simple. Not from a well-off family. I fell in love when I was young, married her, and now I’m paying the price.”
“I get it,” Pavel replied. “My first marriage was a mess too. Good thing I divorced in time.”
“I would too, but the kids are still small. Masha’s nine, Dima’s six. I can’t leave them without a father. So I have to endure this grayness.”
“You’re so noble,” Kristina purred. “Sacrificing yourself for the children.”
“What else can I do? I’m a father. Responsibility and all that,” Viktor said. “Though honestly, I’m suffocating in this marriage. Irina doesn’t take care of herself—she got fat…”
“She looks thin to me,” Oleg said.
“That’s now. After childbirth she was like a cow. Barely slimmed down. And even now she looks like a run-down horse—skin and bones. In bed she’s a plank, if you know what I mean.”
The men burst out laughing.
Irina pressed her back against the wall, tears rising to choke her. She knew he didn’t love her—but hearing him say it like that…
“Mom,” the children’s door cracked open and Masha peeked out. “Can we have something to drink?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Irina wiped her tears quickly. “I’ll bring it.”
She went to the kitchen and poured them fruit drink. Her hands shook with hurt and anger. How much longer can I endure this? But she immediately stopped herself—no, not with the kids…
When she returned to the living room with a fresh bottle of wine, she caught the conversation continuing.
“…and the worst part is she’s always begging for money,” Viktor complained. “Clothes for the kids, some special food, this, that—as if I’m a millionaire.”
“But you earn pretty well,” Pavel pointed out.
“They’re MY money—I earn them. And she’s sitting on my neck. The apartment is mine, the car is mine—everything is mine. Without me she’s nobody.”
“To hell with you!” Irina suddenly snapped, slamming the tray onto the table so hard the wine splashed.
Everyone froze, staring at her. Viktor’s face flushed dark red.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“What I should’ve done a long time ago,” Irina said, standing straight and looking him in the eye. “I’m leaving you, Viktor. DIVORCE. Tomorrow I’m filing the papers. You’re a pathetic excuse for a man.”
Viktor stared at her, stunned. In all their years together, Irina had never raised her voice, never challenged him in front of others. And now…
“Divorce? What do you mean, divorce? The kids are still so little!” he blurted, shocked.
“Exactly because of that!” Irina stepped forward, fury blazing in her eyes so intensely Viktor instinctively backed up. “You’ve been hiding behind the children for years, thinking I’d keep swallowing your rudeness, your humiliation, your insults. ‘The kids are small, they need a father.’ But what kind of father are you? You’re morally rotten!”
“Irina, calm down—the guests are here…”
“Go to hell with your guests!” She turned to Viktor’s stunned colleagues. “You want the truth about your ‘partner’? He starves his own children, refuses money for clothing, screams at them over nothing!”
“You’re lying!” Viktor roared.
“Lying?” Irina fired back. “Dima wears boots that leak. Masha’s jacket stops at her elbows. His backpack is taped together. You spend money on expensive cologne, suits, restaurants with coworkers—while denying your kids the basics!”
“It’s MY money!”
“And those are YOUR children! Or do you think you can buy your way out of fatherhood by ‘tolerating’ them in YOUR apartment? Get lost!”
Kristina nervously adjusted her hair.
“Maybe we should leave…”
“SIT DOWN,” Irina snapped, so sharply Kristina flinched. “You listened while he dragged me through the mud, you laughed along—now you can hear the truth. Your Vitya is a cheap, greedy tyrant. He humiliates me in front of the kids. He calls me dull, calls me a cow, a plank!”
“Shut your mouth, now!” Viktor sprang up, fists clenched.
“No. I’ve been silent for years. Enough. You said I’m nobody without you? We’ll see. I’m leaving, and I’m taking the children.”
“You won’t dare! This is MY apartment!”
“The apartment you bought with my parents’ money,” Irina shot back. “Forgot? They paid the down payment because you didn’t have a cent. Then they died in an accident—and you grabbed their inheritance like it was yours.”
Pavel and Oleg exchanged glances. Kristina began edging toward the door.
“That’s… that’s slander,” Viktor choked out, shaking with rage.
“Slander? I have every document. Receipts, transfers, signed notes. You thought I was stupid? I saved everything. And you know what? The court will be on my side.”
“You’re nobody! A housewife! No job, no money!”
“But I have proof of your cruelty and your greed,” Irina said. “The neighbors will confirm your screaming. Masha’s teacher will tell the court how you called her a failure at a parent meeting. The kindergarten doctor saw bruises on Dima’s arms—because you grabbed him when he broke your favorite mug!”
“I… I was just disciplining—”
“GET OUT,” Irina pointed to the door. “Get out of MY apartment. It’s my parents’ inheritance, and I’ll prove it in court.”
“You’re out of your mind! I’m not going anywhere!”
“You will,” Irina said, pulling out her phone. “Or I’ll call your boss right now and tell him how you spend company money. You think I don’t know about your games with the reports? The kickbacks from suppliers? You’re a liar and a thief.”
Viktor went white. The guests were already backing away toward the exit.
“We… we should go,” Pavel mumbled.
“Yes—time for us to leave,” Oleg agreed.
Kristina was already in the hallway, hurriedly slipping on her shoes.
“WAIT!” Viktor shouted. “It’s all lies! She’s crazy!”
But they were gone.
Viktor stood alone in the living room, breathing hard.
“You… you ruined everything…”
“No,” Irina said, stepping right up to him. “You ruined everything—your greed, your selfishness, your cruelty. You thought I’d stay silent forever? That I’d keep enduring humiliation ‘for the kids’? The kids see how you treat me. Masha asks why her father is always angry. Dima cries at night!”
“You’re turning them against me!”
“I covered for you for years,” Irina snapped. “I told them Daddy was tired, Daddy worked so hard. And what did you do? You don’t even see them as people. ‘Lock them in the room so they don’t bother us.’ Like they’re animals!”
Viktor tried to compose himself.
“Fine… I lost my temper. Let’s talk calmly.”
“No. Talking is over. Tomorrow morning you pack your things and leave. Or I expose all your dirty little secrets. I’ve got copies in a safe place.”
“What copies? You’re bluffing.”
Irina yanked a folder from the cupboard and threw it at him. Papers exploded across the floor—bank transfers, signed receipts, photos of reports with obvious inconsistencies.
“I collected evidence,” she said. “I kept thinking maybe I’d need it one day. Well—today’s the day.”
Viktor dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he gathered the pages. His face was gray, sweat shining on his forehead.
“Where… where did you get all this?”
“You thought I was a fool—a gray little mouse,” Irina said. “But I was quiet, and I watched. I recorded your phone calls. I photographed the documents you left on the table. And your secretary Lena? She’s my friend from school. She told me plenty about your ‘business trips’ with Kristina.”
“What?!”
“Oh yes. I know everything,” Irina said flatly. “I know about the two of you traveling together, about restaurant bills paid on the corporate card, about gifts you bought her with company money.”
Viktor collapsed onto the couch.
“If this comes out… they’ll fire me… they could open a case…”
“Exactly,” Irina said. “So leave quietly. And don’t you dare show up here without my permission.”
“But… the kids… I’m their father…”
“Father?” Irina laughed—sharp, bitter, full of pain. Viktor shrank at the sound. “What kind of father are you? You don’t love them. They’re a burden to you, a chain you used to keep me trapped. ‘The kids are small—where will you go without me?’ Believe me, they’ll be happier without you.”
At that moment Masha appeared in the doorway, holding Dima’s hand. The children stared, frightened.
“Mom… what’s happening?” Masha whispered.
Irina went to them and crouched to their level.
“It’s okay, my loves. Dad won’t scream at us anymore. He’s leaving.”
“Forever?” Dima asked, hope flickering in his voice.
That innocent question—so relieved—finished Viktor off. His own son was glad he was going.
“I… I’ll visit you,” Viktor muttered.
“No,” Irina cut in. “Only through court. And only supervised.”
“You don’t have the right!”
“I do. You put your hands on Dima. You screamed at Masha. That’s psychological and physical abuse. Any court will see it.”
Viktor stood, swaying.
“I… I need to think…”
“Think somewhere else. OUT.”
He walked to the door, then turned back.
“Irina, maybe we can still—”
“No,” Irina said. “You tormented me for years. Humiliated me, insulted me, turned my life into hell. Enough. Go live with your Kristina—let her tolerate your cruelty.”
“How do you—”
“I know,” Irina said. “I know about your ‘love.’ I know you promised you’d marry me because of my parents’ money. Lena heard your conversation with Kristina. You said you married me for convenience.”
The children pressed into their mother. Masha looked at her father with disgust—old enough now to understand.
“Dad… is it true?” she asked.
Viktor didn’t answer. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door.
Irina hugged the children, feeling a crushing weight finally slide off her shoulders. For the first time in years, she felt free.
A month later, the first court hearing took place. Viktor—broken, hollow—didn’t contest the documents Irina provided proving ownership of the apartment. The court ruled the home should be transferred to her and set child support payments.
Afraid his workplace would learn about his financial schemes, Viktor quit in a hurry. But at his new job things went badly—without connections and without his reputation, he discovered he wasn’t needed anywhere.
His mother, who had always been a kind grandmother to Masha and Dima and had seen how her son treated his family, refused to take him in. She said she would not shelter a man who tormented his own children.
For the first few days Irina swung between panic and doubt—had she done the right thing, had she hurt the children? But she pulled herself together quickly, got a job as an administrator at a medical center, and realized she could finally breathe. The children stopped flinching at every sound. Masha began smiling again. Dima stopped crying at night. And Irina, looking at their calm, happy faces across the dinner table in their apartment, understood something clearly:
She hadn’t destroyed a family. She had saved it—by removing the person who had turned their lives into a nightmare. And it was the best decision she had ever made.