— Stop wasting my money! — Oleg slammed his palm onto the kitchen table with a loud thud.
The teaspoon jingled nervously in the cup. — I work myself to the bone every day, and you spend everything on nonsense. Salons, some courses, trinkets… Starting from the first, we’re switching to separate budgets.
Irina froze. She carefully placed the jar of honey on the shelf and slowly turned around. The kitchen smelled of burnt toast — the toaster had been sticking for a week, but Oleg thought, “No need to buy a new one, this one still works.”
— Are you sure, Oleg? — she asked quietly. Her voice was calm, firm, without a tremor. That kind of calm was what annoyed him the most.
— Absolutely. I pay the mortgage. I fill the car. I buy the basic groceries. You spend your salary on yourself. Fair is fair: we split utilities and food fifty-fifty. The rest is your own money.
Oleg leaned back in his chair with self-satisfaction. He felt like a strategic genius finally disciplining a spender.
He expected his wife to start apologizing, crying, begging him not to do this. After all, the salary she earned at the translation bureau was, in his opinion, laughable.
— Fine — Irina nodded. — If it’s separate, then separate. Let’s start right now.
She left the kitchen, gently closing the door behind her. Oleg smiled. “No problem — he thought, biting into the chewy toast. — One month without a manicure, and she’ll see who really keeps this house.”
In the first few days, the change wasn’t dramatic. For the first two days, Oleg enjoyed his triumph.
He bought himself a steak and a bottle of expensive sparkling wine with grand gestures, eating alone in front of the TV while Irina drank tea with a few biscuits in the kitchen.
Then Monday came.
Oleg woke up to the cold. The radiators were barely warm. He shuffled into the bathroom, dreaming of a hot shower, but only lukewarm, summer water came out of the tap.
— Ir! — he shouted. — What happened to the boiler?
His wife stepped out of the bedroom already dressed in a business suit. She looked impeccable, unlike him, rumpled and shivering.
— The boiler is fine. We just ran out of fuel. I used to order pellets and pay for burner maintenance. That’s not part of the utility bill, dear; it’s private property.
— And how much does that cost?
— Twenty thousand a month in season. Your half is ten. Will you transfer it?
Oleg swallowed.
— Ten thousand for heating? Are you crazy?
— Market price. Don’t want to pay? You don’t have to. I’ll turn on the electric heater in my office; it’s enough for me.
Oleg washed with cold water, his teeth chattering. Another surprise awaited him in the kitchen. The coffee machine blinked red: “Service.”
— And this?
— It needs branded capsules and descaling. About five thousand. I drink coffee at the office, so I don’t need it.
He dissolved some instant coffee he found deep in the cupboard. It was awful.
The fridge, which had once been stuffed with cheeses, vegetables, and homemade dairy, now held only a pack of pasta, ten C2 eggs, and a lonely carton of milk.
— Where’s the food? — he growled.
— At the store — said Irina, putting on her coat. — We agreed: fifty-fifty. I bought a basic package for my half.
Pasta, potatoes, chicken for soup. You wanted to save, right? The delicacies, fruits, nuts… as you said, “nonsense.”
That evening Oleg returned home angry. The house was dusty. Usually, the cleaner came on Mondays, but today the laundry basket was full, and dirty footprints marked the hallway.
The internet crawled at a turtle’s pace. The movie he wanted to watch froze at the second minute.
— Ir! What’s wrong with the Wi-Fi?!
— I switched to the free plan — she replied from her room. — High-speed would have cost fifteen hundred. I work on mobile internet; it’s enough for me.
Oleg sat on the sofa, which suddenly felt uncomfortable and hard. He looked around. The house he had considered a fortress was slowly turning into a cold, unwelcoming box.
By Wednesday, Oleg began to understand that his calculations didn’t add up.
He always thought he spent eighty thousand on the family — a huge sum. Mortgage — forty. Gas — ten. Food — twenty to thirty.
And Irina? Well, she translates some texts, earning thirty to forty thousand. “Not enough for a pin.”
On Thursday, he couldn’t find any clean shirts.
— The detergent ran out — Irina reported. — Good fabric softener is expensive. I wash my clothes at the office laundry.
On Friday, the well pump broke. The water stopped.
— Call a repairman! — Oleg commanded. He wasn’t yelling anymore; he was exhausted by the grind of life.
— Call — five thousand. Part — twelve. Labor — another five. Split? — Irina presented the calculation on her phone.
Oleg opened his banking app. Two weeks until payday, and only eight thousand on his card. He ate his steak, filled the car, and the money was gone.
— Where do these prices come from? — he whispered. — Ir, why haven’t we lived like this before?
— We did — she sat opposite him, looking him in the eye for the first time that week. — Do you want me to show you the real accounting?
She laid out a printed sheet in front of him.
— Look. Mortgage — yes, you paid. Good job. Food — you bought the meat and bread.
Vegetables, household chemicals, cat food, vitamins, equipment maintenance, land taxes, internet, insurance, gifts for your mom, kids’ clothes… I paid for all of it.
Oleg scanned the list. The numbers jumped before his eyes.
“English school for the son — 15,000.”
“Dentist for the daughter — 8,000.”
“Your car service (you forgot?) — 25,000.”
— But your salary… — he began uncertainly.
— I’m not just a translator, Oleg. I’m head of localization at an international holding. My income is three times yours.
I stayed quiet so you’d feel manly, proud that you “support” the family. I created this comfort for you, paying for everything you thought was a free add-on to your mortgage.
Oleg was silent. The house was quiet, almost piercingly so. The cold from the radiators seeped into his bones.
— You lied to me — he finally groaned. It was defense. The best defense is offense.
— I protected you. And you decided to ride my neck.
Irina stood up.
— I’m tired, Oleg. Not from work. From having to apologize for my success and hide the bills just so I don’t bruise your ego.
The separate budget revealed the truth: we live in different worlds. You can’t maintain my standard of living, and I won’t lower myself to yours, where pasta on sale is a celebration.
— And what do you suggest? — he raised a heavy look at her.
— I’m leaving. I rented an apartment closer to the office.
— And the house?
— Yours. The mortgage is yours. Pay it. But know this: maintaining it without my contributions will eat up all your income. You’ll have to choose: sell it or get a second job.
She rolled her suitcase to the door.
— Wait — Oleg jumped up. Fear washed over his back like ice. — Ir, don’t be foolish. I was too harsh. Let’s put everything back to the way it was. I love you.
Irina smiled sadly. There was no triumph in the smile, only exhaustion.
— You didn’t love me, Oleg. You loved the comfortable life I provided and the feeling of power. Now that I’ve taken back my resources, suddenly you remember love. Too late.
The door slammed.
Oleg was left alone. In the big, dark house. He went to the window. The taxi’s rear lights disappeared into the rainy haze.
His stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Empty. The light flashed and went out — burned out.
He pulled out his phone to order pizza but remembered there was almost no money on his card, and many days until payday. The mortgage was due in three days.
Oleg sat on a stool and buried his face in his hands. Only now did he understand: all these years, he had not been the captain of the ship, just a business-class passenger who thought he was flying comfortably because he bought the ticket himself.
In the corner of the kitchen, water dripped rhythmically from the tap. The gasket needed replacing, but he didn’t know how. Calling a plumber cost money — money he no longer had.
