The kitchen still held the sweet, earthy scent of boiled potatoes when Ilja’s voice suddenly tore through the air like lightning cracking across a cloudless sky.
Every word he uttered shattered the fragile calm they had tried to stitch together that morning.
– You know, darling, my mother is right. You’re nothing but a leech here. It’s time you finally went to work! – he barked, slamming his fist onto the table.
The thud was so sharp the very air flinched. The spoon leapt up, spun once, and clattered onto the tiles with a ringing metallic echo.
It rolled in slow circles for several long seconds, as if attempting to delay the inevitable, then came to a stop.
Svetlana froze. Not only she— the entire room seemed to hold its breath. The monotonous hum of the fridge sounded almost deafening,
and the muted street noise drifting through the curtains felt like it belonged to another universe, far removed from this sudden rupture in their small world.
Inside her mind, anger, hurt, and disbelief spun together like pigments stirred until no color remains distinct— only a dense, bitter sludge.
A leech. That was what he had called her. Her. The woman who paid the mortgage, the utilities, even Ilja’s overpriced phone plan.
The woman who cared for him, for him *and* his eternally complaining mother, whom she’d allowed to live in her home because “the poor woman is so lonely out in the village.”
The woman who once had a strong career built brick by brick, with skill and determination. At thirty-three she had more savings than most ever dream of.
And then Ilja appeared— handsome, younger, but with a child’s softness still clinging to his soul.
His youthful charm touched something inside her. And Svetlana, like so many before her, wanted to believe she could finally rest beside him, breathe, live without being consumed by work.
She let her career slip away. Not instantly— but gradually, until she had given up everything that once held her steady. She believed life with Ilja would be warm, peaceful. She believed he would appreciate her.
And now that same man stood before her, parroting his mother’s opinions, calling her a leech without the slightest hesitation.
Svetlana stared at him for a long time. No tears, no shouting— only a silence that grew colder by the second. Her gaze was so sharp that if it had been a blade, it could have carved a line straight across the table.
Then she smiled slowly, almost gently. – So you believe *I* am the leech? – she whispered.
Ilja shrugged, but a cold shiver crept up his spine. His instincts whispered that something inside her had shifted— like a cornered animal that has finally turned around to face its hunter.
– Well… we’re short on money – he muttered, visibly less certain. – You’re home all day, and I work… – I see – Svetlana nodded. – Then I’ll go make money.
The sentence was suspiciously simple. Almost unnervingly so.
She turned, pulled her phone from her bag, and called a taxi. Ilja watched her, speechless, slack-jawed like a fish dragged onto dry land.
– Where are you going? – he managed to ask when he sensed something irreversible was unfolding. – To earn money, Ilja – she said. – Plain and simple.
In the backseat of the taxi, her fingers drummed restlessly against the screen. The driver glanced at her in the mirror but asked nothing— the kind of passenger she was didn’t invite questions.
Svetlana murmured beneath her breath: – A leech… me, who took in your mother… me, who pays for everything… me?
The fury didn’t fade; it transformed. Hardened into something cold, deliberate, and precise.
Ten minutes later she stood inside a real estate office. Above the door a slightly worn sign read: “Your Home – Our Mission.”
The young receptionist smiled with that trained expression that suggested anything could be arranged, as long as a signature followed.
– I need tenants immediately – Svetlana said. – Students, cat owners, anyone. As long as they pay in advance. Several months.
The woman nodded as though it were the most ordinary request. – Igor handles rentals. Fifth office to the left.
Igor was a round-bellied, thinning-haired man whose smile was far too wide to be sincere— yet effective nonetheless. – I can assist you, ma’am – he said, sliding the papers toward her.
Svetlana signed with a confident stroke. – They can move in tomorrow? – she asked. – Certainly. Guaranteed. – Perfect.
She walked toward the exit. Her smile was no longer pleasant.
Half an hour later, Svetlana stood at the door of her own apartment. The one where Ilja’s mother, Irina Arnoldovna, currently lived, hair in curlers, apron stained with beet juice. She opened the door with nervous delight.
– Svetlana! Why didn’t you call? You look pale! The borscht is almost done… – Thank you, Irina Arnoldovna – Svetlana said softly. – But please begin packing. Your stay has ended.
The woman blinked as though struck. – What? But you said we could stay as long as we wanted!
– I remember – Svetlana smiled. – But today your son said we’re short on money. So I’ve taken steps to fix that. New tenants arrive tomorrow.
Before Irina could even react, Svetlana was already tossing her clothes into bags. Ten minutes later, the locksmith arrived. – Here to change the lock – he said.
– Come in – Svetlana replied.
Metal screeched; Irina’s voice rose in pitch. – Svetlana, dear, what are you doing?! – Optimizing our household budget – she said coolly.
– And my begonias? The borscht?! – They’re coming with. There’s room in the car.
The taxi rattled down the road toward the village, trunk packed with suitcases, plants, and a deeply offended mother-in-law calling relatives one after another:
“Lyuba, take me in! What do you mean you have no room? Alenka? You’re going to the seaside? Wonderful!”
That evening, when Svetlana returned home, Ilja sat on the couch, pale, eyes hollow. – Where were you? – he whispered.
– I brought in money – she said. – I moved your mother out. I’m renting the apartment. We’re saving. No beer, no cafés. We eat at home. Porridge.
Ilja jumped to his feet. – You kicked my mother out?! – The air in the countryside is fresher – Svetlana stated calmly. – And living there is cheaper.
He collapsed back into the couch as if the ground beneath him had dissolved.
He lasted one week. One week of porridge, rules, and her icy composure. Then he disappeared. No goodbye. Just a note:
“Why, Svetlana?”
She answered silently, without hesitation: – Because it’s foolish to provoke a woman.
And that was the whole truth. The silence that settled in the apartment afterward didn’t hurt. It felt like freedom. And no one ever again dared call her a leech.
