My Husband Transferred My Bonus to His Mother for Czech Tiles. Fourteen Minutes Later, I Switched Him to Self-Support
“Mom has already picked out the tiles, Zhenya. Don’t be mad,” Sergey said casually from the room while I struggled in the hallway with the stuck zipper on my boot.
“I transferred your thirteenth salary to her. It’s just enough for the Czech ones. It’s not like you’ll go broke, right?”
The zipper pull on my left boot crunched and dug into a fold of leather. I froze in that ridiculous position, feeling blood rush to my face.
My phone beeped in my bag. I pulled it out. A notification glowed on the screen: “Deposit: Bonus. Amount: 34,200 rubles.” And right after it, a withdrawal message. Down to zero.
Thirty-four thousand two hundred. That was the price of two weeks without days off. That was the price of the sand-colored coat I had been eyeing. I had already imagined myself wearing it. And now—tiles. Czech tiles. For his mother.
“Zhenya, are you stuck there?” my husband’s voice came, thick and lazy.
“The borscht is boiling away, and you’re still shuffling around by the door.”
I straightened up. The boot zipper finally gave in with a pitiful squeak. The boots were four years old. They had been good boots, but everything has its limit.
The Beet Stain on the Plate
There was a pot of borscht on the stove. I poured Sergey a bowl. He came in, holding up his sweatpants at the hips—the elastic was completely stretched out. He sat at the table without taking his eyes off his phone screen. Something was exploding on it again.
“Seryozha, I’d been looking at that coat for three months,” I said, sitting down.
“Do you even understand what you did? You simply reached into my wallet.”
Sergey kept spooning food into his mouth.
“A coat is just rags, Zhenya,” he said without looking at me.
“And my mother’s bathroom is a disaster. Everything is falling apart. She cried yesterday. As her son, I couldn’t do otherwise. You’re strong, you’ll earn more. Mom needs it more.”
He finished eating, pushed away the plate with a beet-red smear left on it, and went back to the room. The chair creaked. Another shot boomed from his virtual cannon.
I stared at that pink stain on the porcelain. I stared at the cracked refrigerator handle that I had taped up with electrical tape a year ago because Sergey “had no time.”
At some point, I realized it: I had trained him to be this way myself. I had been convenient, like an unlimited plan. Until that plan ran out of patience.
In Three Clicks
I locked myself in the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed. My feet touched the linoleum. Silence.
I took out my phone. In this house, I was the accountant, the sponsor, and technical support. The entire family phone package was tied to my card.
I opened the account app. Found Sergey’s number.
“Disconnect this number from the shared account?” the app asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
First click. Second—confirm.
Auto-payment for his “shooting games”? Delete.
Online cinema subscription? Same place.
Home router? Open settings… change password.
Three clicks. Uncheck “Shared package.” Then confirm the removal of my husband’s number. And then: “Change hotspot password.” The smartphone warmed in my hand, confirming that the transaction to save my own life had been completed successfully.
I felt like a bomb disposal expert. I was cutting the wires through which my life had been leaking away for years. Your balance is zero, Seryozha. In every sense.
Out in the Open Field
“Zhenya!” he shouted five minutes later.
“Zhenya, do you hear me? My network dropped! Check the router, maybe it needs restarting?”
I didn’t answer. I took a paper catalog out of the nightstand. On the last page was the sand-colored coat.
“Zhenya, my tank destroyer is frozen out in the open field! They’re about to hit me! Did you fall asleep or what?”
Sergey stood in the bedroom doorway—disheveled, his face red. In his hand, he clutched his phone, where the loading wheel was spinning.
“What happened to the internet?” he practically growled.
“I pay for it, by the way!”
“No, Seryozha,” I adjusted my glasses. With my middle finger.
“I pay for it. Paid for it. Until this moment.”
He stopped short. His mouth fell slightly open.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. I turned everything off. Your number is on its own now. Your shooting games too. And the Wi-Fi in this apartment now has a new password. Only I know it.”
“Have you lost your mind? I need to make a call right now! Turn it back on immediately!”
“Communication is expensive these days, Seryozha. And since you decided that my money is shared money, I decided that your comfort is unnecessary. Want to get online? Pay for it. With your own money. The money you keep ‘for gas’ or set aside for your mother.”
The Balance Didn’t Add Up
Sergey started yelling. About obligation, about pettiness, about how I was destroying the family over some rags.
“Do you hate my mother?” he shouted.
“I’ll leave tomorrow! I’ll go to her! Let’s see how you sing when you’re alone!”
“Go,” I said simply.
“Mom already chose the tiles, and the workers have been called. You’ll help. And while you’re at it, you can pay for her internet too.”
He fell silent. Then he tried to come closer and hug me.
“Zhenya, come on… I lost my temper. But really, Mom’s bathroom is a mess. Turn the network back on, I need to answer the guys in the chat. I’ll pay you back from my salary, I swear.”
“The balance is zero, Seryozha. And so is the credit limit of my trust. Tomorrow I’m going to buy the coat. And you can find out how much phone service costs. Get used to it.”
He stood in the middle of the hallway—big, ridiculous in his sweatpants. In his hands was a useless piece of plastic that, without my payment, had become nothing more than a toy.
Resource
That night was quiet. For the first time in many years, I didn’t hear the roar of games through the wall.
Sergey tossed and turned on the sofa half the night. I could hear him sighing, hear him clicking the power button on the computer. No miracle happened. In the digital world, everything is honest: no payment, no service.
In the morning, he tried again.
“Zhenya… there are only three hundred rubles on my card. It’s not enough for the plan. Maybe you could…”
“Ask your mother, Seryozha. She’ll tell you where to save money, since her tiles are more important.”
I put on my boots. This time the zipper didn’t get stuck. I looked at him.
“I’m going to get the coat. I’ll be back late. There’s soup in the fridge. Heat it up yourself.”
The Spaciousness of Forty Square Meters
I left the building. The air was damp and smelled of melting snow.
I reached the store and tried on the coat. It fit perfectly. The color was expensive and calm—camel wool.
My phone beeped in my pocket. A message from my mother-in-law’s phone: “I’m at my mother’s. I’ll be late.”
Tomorrow he’ll start blowing up my phone. He’ll swear oaths and blame his mother. But I’ve already set aside money for new boots—with a zipper that never gets stuck. Nothing in my life should jam anymore.
In this home, I decide again. And that is the best balance I have ever settled.
If this story touched your heart, let me know. It means a lot to feel your support.