My Husband Found a Way to Avoid Giving Answers. I Got Tired of Deciding Everything Myself—So I Turned His Trick Against Him
“Igor, our car insurance expires on Thursday. Are we renewing it through our usual agent, or should we look for a cheaper option? Another company called me and offered a fifteen-percent discount if we sign up today.”
Lena fastened her watch strap, checked that the iron was switched off, and dropped her keys into her handbag. She had exactly ten minutes before she needed to leave for work. Igor was sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in scrolling through the news on his phone. He slowly took a sip of coffee without even looking up at his wife.
“We’ll see, Lena. There’s still time. We’ll think about it this evening.”
“The discount will be gone by this evening. They asked for an answer before noon. It’s a substantial amount—why shouldn’t we save some money?”
“I said we’ll see. Why are you creating a fuss first thing in the morning? Leave the policy on the cabinet. I’ll come home and decide.”
Lena did not sigh, roll her eyes, or launch into another long conversation about responsibility. Silently, she took out her phone, opened the banking app, transferred the required amount from their joint family account to their old insurance agent, and tapped “Pay.” A green checkmark flashed on the screen. The issue was settled.
For Igor, the phrases “we’ll see,” “we’ll think about it,” and “we’ll discuss it later” had long ago become a universal shield. A bulletproof vest protecting him from every problem. In his own mind, he never refused anyone, never entered into open conflict, and always remained an exceptionally decent and reasonable man.
He simply did not make decisions.
And if no decision had been made, then he could not be held responsible for it.
Twenty years earlier, Lena had seen this lack of urgency as a sign of remarkable maturity. While her friends were marrying impulsive men who took out loans for grand romantic gestures or bought vacations with their last bit of money, Igor had seemed like an unshakable rock.
Back then, they had been choosing their first car. A gleaming, freshly painted foreign car stood inside a dimly lit dealership. The price was suspiciously low, and the salesman fussed around them, urging them to sign the contract immediately. Lena, still young and inexperienced, had been desperate to buy it.
“Let’s take it, Igor! Look how beautiful it is! Someone else will buy it before this evening!”
“We’ll think about it,” Igor had said solemnly, pushing away the pen the salesman was offering him. “We need to weigh everything carefully. I don’t like rushing. We’ll look at other options and check the documents.”
A week later, they happened to learn that the car’s identification numbers had been tampered with and that it had been reported stolen. At the time, Lena had felt as though she were protected by a stone wall. Her husband had saved their savings.
But the years passed, and that protective wall turned out to be a solid concrete slab that she had to carry on her shoulders every single day. His thoughtfulness transformed into a chronic, almost pathological avoidance of responsibility for everything—from buying winter tires to renovating the apartment.
In the middle of July, a pipe burst in the bathroom at their country house. Water sprayed from beneath an old valve that had torn loose, flooding the tiles and threatening the newly laid floorboards in the hallway. Lena threw every towel she could find onto the floor and shut off the main water valve for the entire property. The house was left without water.
She called her husband.
“Igor, we urgently need a plumber. The place is flooding. The valve where the water enters the house has broken off. Can you find a repairman in the village and bring the necessary part? I’ll send you a photograph of the valve.”
There was a long silence on the other end. In the background, she could hear Igor talking to one of his colleagues about what they should order for lunch.
“Lena, what do you mean, a plumber right now? I’m at work. I have a meeting in an hour. It can wait until the weekend. You’ve turned the water off, haven’t you? I’ll come on Friday evening, and we’ll see what can be done. We’ll discuss whom to call.”
“Igor, can you hear yourself? Friday is three days away! I can’t stay here without water. I can’t wash my hands, and the dishes are piling up!”
“Don’t panic like that. Buy some five-liter bottles from the store. Fine, we won’t wait until the weekend. We’ll think about the best solution this evening. I have to go. My boss is calling me.”
The call ended.
Lena stared at the dark screen of her phone for several seconds. Then she took a bucket and collected the remaining water. She opened the village’s local group chat and found the contact details of a private repairman.
The plumber arrived an hour later. He examined the pipe and gave a low whistle.
“This will have to be cut, ma’am. I’ll need to weld on a new thread as well. And we’ll have to buy a new valve. I don’t have one of this diameter with me. The trip to the construction market and the work itself will come to about seven thousand. Shall I do it?”
“Do it,” Lena replied evenly.
She drove to the market with him, paid for the parts with money from their joint family account, and supervised the work. By evening, the pipe had been welded, the valve replaced, and the house had running water again.
Igor arrived at the country house on Friday evening. He went into the bathroom, carefully inspected the dry floor, turned the new shiny valve, and nodded with satisfaction.
“There, you see? And you were panicking, shouting, ‘There’s a flood! There’s a flood! Everything is ruined!’ But everything worked itself out just fine. No stress, no unnecessary fuss. The important thing is not to act rashly.”
Lena said nothing.
She simply poured him a cup of tea and went out onto the veranda.
But household problems were only half the trouble. Situations involving other people became the real test.
One evening in early autumn, Igor made an announcement during dinner.
“Listen, my brother called. He and his wife want to come and stay with us for a week with the kids. They want to see the city and do some shopping.”
Lena froze, holding a plate in her hands.
“Igor, what do you mean, a whole week? It’s the end of the quarter at work. I crawl home at eight every evening. Who is going to cook for six people? Who is going to prepare their beds and entertain them?”
“Well, they’re family…” Igor drawled, looking away.
“Tell them directly that this isn’t a good time. Let them come in November, when I’ll be on vacation. Can you refuse them?”
“We’ll see,” Igor replied in his trademark tone. “I’ll talk to him. We’ll discuss it. We’ll think about the best way to handle it without offending anyone.”
Lena relaxed slightly, believing that her husband had taken responsibility for the matter.
But exactly five days later, on Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. Igor’s delighted brother stood on the doorstep with his wife, two noisy children, and three enormous suitcases.
“Here we are!” his brother boomed, embracing the bewildered Lena. “Igor said you couldn’t wait for us to arrive!”
Igor stood behind them, smiling guiltily.
When the guests went to the bathroom to wash their hands after the journey, Lena cornered her husband in the hallway.
“You said you would talk to him! You promised to refuse!”
“I didn’t promise anything,” Igor countered calmly, lowering his voice. “I said we’d see. How could I tell my own brother not to come? It would have caused a scandal throughout the entire family. I don’t want my relatives to think I’m a bad person. Come on, it’s only one week. We can put up with it. They’re not strangers.”
Throughout that entire week, Lena woke up an hour earlier to feed the crowd breakfast and went to bed after midnight after washing mountains of dishes. Igor, meanwhile, came home from work and settled comfortably on the sofa with his brother, discussing football and cars in front of the television.
He remained the perfect, hospitable brother in everyone’s eyes.
Lena became the exhausted, irritable, perpetually dissatisfied hostess.
The real thunderbolt struck in November.
On Thursday morning, Lena’s older sister called from a neighboring region. Her voice kept breaking as she cried. Their mother had become seriously ill. Her diagnosis required immediate care, the arrangement of a professional caregiver, the purchase of specialized medication, and a hospital bed.
Lena’s sister could not manage everything alone, either physically or financially. Someone needed to travel there urgently, bringing supplies and money and helping to prepare the room for a bedridden person.
Lena ended the call. Her hands were icy.
She went into the kitchen, where Igor was calmly finishing his fried eggs before work.
“Igor, Mom is in a very serious condition. I need to be with her this weekend. There are too many things to transport—an anti-bedsore mattress, boxes of medicine, and adult diapers. I physically can’t carry all of that on a train. We need to drive there early on Saturday morning.”
Igor stopped chewing. He put down his fork, picked up a napkin, and dabbed his lips. Then he looked at Lena as though she had suggested that he walk to the North Pole that very moment.
“Lena, what do you mean, this weekend? You know we already had plans. I arranged to go to the reservoir with the guys to close out the fishing season. We’ve already checked the boat and packed the equipment.”
“Igor, my mother doesn’t just have a fever. This is serious!” Lena leaned both hands on the table and looked directly into his eyes. “I need to be there the day after tomorrow. My sister can’t even turn her over in bed by herself!”
“Just transfer some money from the account. They can buy everything there and hire someone,” Igor said, picking up his fork again to demonstrate that the conversation was over. “Let’s see how things develop next week. Maybe she’ll improve. The doctors are treating her, and they’ve prescribed therapy. We’ll think about what to do. You can take the train next Tuesday if necessary.”
“Am I supposed to carry the mattress and all the boxes myself?” Lena raised her voice. “I’m asking you to get behind the wheel and drive me to my mother! I need a clear answer right now: yes or no?”
Igor released a heavy, long-suffering sigh. He pushed his plate away and gave Lena a long, condescending look—the look of a person forced to deal with an emotionally unstable teenager.
“Why are you shouting at me? And why are you pressuring me?” His voice was perfectly even, and that icy calm made Lena feel sick. “I’m not giving you a categorical no. I’m not refusing to help your family. I’m simply suggesting that we weigh everything carefully instead of rushing off in an instant and ruining other people’s plans. You constantly create problems out of nothing and demand that everyone around you come running at the snap of your fingers. Put your emotions aside. We’ll return to this conversation tonight and discuss it.”
He stood and went into the hallway.
A minute later, the front door slammed shut. Igor had left for work.
Lena remained standing in the middle of the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed in the silence.
She did not cry. She did not call her friends to complain about her heartless husband. It was as though an entire room inside her had burned away, leaving behind nothing but cold, sterile ash.
She walked over to the table, looked at Igor’s unfinished eggs, swept them into the trash, and turned on the water in the sink.
The subject of his sick mother-in-law was not mentioned again that day.
Igor returned home on Friday evening in an excellent mood. Lena had been quiet and calm, which meant—as he had expected—that she had “gotten over it,” “calmed down,” and realized that he had been right.
At five o’clock the following morning, he was supposed to leave for the reservoir. His friends, an excellent fishing trip, and a great catch awaited him.
He opened the door with his key. The hallway was dark.
“Lena? I’m home!”
There was no reply.
Only their dog came running to greet him, wagging its tail happily. Igor went into the kitchen and switched on the light. There were none of the usual pots of dinner on the stove. The table was perfectly clean.
He opened the refrigerator. A jar of mustard stood alone on one shelf, beside a piece of dried-out cheese and a carton of milk.
“Lena!” Igor slammed the refrigerator door shut irritably and hurried toward the bedroom.
The light was on only there.
Lena stood with her back to the door, calmly closing the zipper of a large suitcase. A bulky sports bag lay on the bed beside her.
Igor froze in the doorway. The smile disappeared from his face.
“What is this?” He gestured around the room. “Where is dinner? And where are my fishing clothes? I asked you to pack my thermal underwear, sweater, and jacket. I have to leave at dawn tomorrow! And where are you going at this hour?”
Lena removed her coat from its hanger and carefully draped it over her arm. She turned toward her husband.
Her face was completely calm, without the slightest trace of anger, resentment, or hysteria.
“I’m leaving, Igor. I ordered a freight taxi to the train station. I sent the mattress with a transport company, and I’m taking the overnight train to Mom.”
Igor blinked in confusion.
“By train? At night? Wait—what about me? What about my things? Who is going to pack my bag? Who is going to prepare food for tomorrow? We’re going fishing! This isn’t what we agreed!”
He stepped forward, trying to catch her eye, searching for the familiar guilt, the willingness to argue, or at least the urge to explain herself.
But Lena looked straight through him.
She took hold of the suitcase handle, rolled it toward the bedroom door, stopped beside her husband for a moment, and looked directly into his eyes.
“I don’t know, Igor. We’ll see. We’ll think about it.”
She continued into the hallway.
“What do you mean, ‘We’ll see’?” Igor’s voice cracked. His celebrated composure disappeared, replaced by genuine panic. “Lena, I don’t understand! When are you coming back? What am I supposed to do about the groceries and the housework? And who is going to walk the dog at five in the morning?”
Lena put on her shoes, picked up her keys from the cabinet, and opened the front door. On the other side, they could already hear the heavy footsteps of the taxi driver climbing the stairs.
She turned around.
“I’ll stay with Mom for a month. After that, I’ve booked myself a two-week stay at a health resort. Just for me. You’ll take care of the dog yourself. You’re a big boy.”
“A month? A month and a half? What about me? We need to sit down and decide this properly! You can’t just leave like this!”
Lena stepped onto the landing, nodded to the approaching driver to indicate the bag, and looked at her bewildered, red-faced husband.
“We’ll think about it, Igor. We’ll discuss it when I come back. That’s your favorite phrase, isn’t it?”
The door closed with a quiet, dry click.
It is very convenient to remain a perfectly good person when someone else does all the dirty work: making decisions, planning the budget, refusing shameless relatives, and enduring everyone’s displeasure.
The strategy of waiting for problems to resolve themselves works flawlessly—until the person who has carried everything for years finally refuses to keep doing it.
Refusing to make a decision is also a decision.
It simply means that your partner always pays the price.
And one day, the bill becomes too large.