“Darling, let’s go to the bank. Mom and I have decided to take out a loan in your name to renovate her apartment,” my husband said, failing to notice my displeasure
Ekaterina opened her eyes at exactly six in the morning, even though the alarm had not yet gone off. Her body woke automatically at that hour—a habit developed over five years of living in her mother-in-law’s cramped one-room apartment. From behind the wall, she could already hear Elena Nikolayevna’s slippers shuffling across the linoleum. Ekaterina stretched on the narrow sofa that she unfolded in the living room every evening and looked at Ivan, who was sleeping beside her.
Five years earlier, when she got married, Ekaterina had imagined everything differently. The wedding photographs that still stood on the dresser now seemed to mock her dreams. Back then, Ivan had promised that they would buy an apartment within a year—two at the most. He had talked about his promising business and about how they would live in a spacious three-bedroom apartment overlooking a park.
Ekaterina got up without making a sound, careful not to wake her husband. She was ready in ten minutes—jeans, a sweater, and her hair pulled into a ponytail. There was no time for makeup. She had to arrive at her first job by eight and at her second by five in the evening. Between them, she had half an hour for lunch, if she was lucky.
“Katya, at least put the kettle on,” a voice called from the kitchen.
Her mother-in-law was sitting at the table in her robe, leafing through a magazine. Her round face wore its usual expression of dissatisfaction. Elena Nikolayevna looked up at her daughter-in-law and pursed her lips.
“Rushing off to work again? And who is supposed to clean this place?”
“Elena Nikolayevna, I cleaned yesterday,” Ekaterina said, switching on the kettle and taking out two cups. “Today is Saturday. I’ll come back after lunch and do everything.”
“‘I’ll do everything,’” her mother-in-law mimicked. “Vanya works for her and supports her, and she still has the nerve to talk back.”
Ekaterina said nothing. Arguing was pointless. Over five years, she had learned the rule by heart: remain silent, endure it, and carry on with her responsibilities.
Ivan had not worked for three months. His latest idea—selling environmentally friendly vegetables online—had failed like all his previous ventures. Fifty thousand rubles had been spent on renting a warehouse, advertising on social media, and purchasing the first shipment. The vegetables had rotted in the warehouse because her husband had forgotten to pay the delivery couriers.
Ekaterina had covered that debt, just as she had covered the ones before it. She had taken the money from the savings she was building for a down payment on an apartment. Three years earlier, she had had one hundred and twenty thousand rubles. Now she had sixty-eight thousand.
At her first job, in the accounting department of a construction company, Ekaterina tracked the expenses of major contractors. Numbers flashed before her eyes until she felt dizzy. Millions were spent on construction materials, equipment, and salaries. Meanwhile, at home, she had a pathetic sixty-eight thousand rubles hidden away.
Her second job began at five in the evening. Ekaterina worked part-time as an administrator at a small beauty salon on the outskirts of the city. She booked appointments, answered calls, and made coffee for the stylists. The pay was modest—twelve thousand rubles a month—but it was cash in hand, and she saved every bit of it.
When she returned home at around ten that evening, Ekaterina found Ivan lying on the sofa. Her husband was scrolling through his phone, occasionally laughing at videos. Empty potato-chip packets and a half-finished bottle of beer were scattered across the table.
“Hi, sunshine,” her husband said, looking up at her. “How was your day?”
“I’m tired,” Ekaterina replied, dropping her bag and walking into the kitchen.
A mountain of dirty dishes was waiting for her. Plates, cups, and a frying pan covered with dried remnants of scrambled eggs. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Then she turned on the faucet, squeezed dishwashing liquid onto a sponge, and began scrubbing.
“Katyusha, you should take tomorrow off from one of your jobs,” her husband called from the other room. “I have a meeting with an investor tomorrow. I need my suit and shirt ironed. You know how to do it—you have golden hands.”
Ekaterina did not answer. She continued washing the plates methodically, staring through the window at the dark courtyard. Somewhere out there, in other buildings, lived families who had apartments of their own. Families in which the wife did not work herself to exhaustion while the husband ruined one brilliant business idea after another.
A week earlier, Ivan had announced that he wanted to open a coffee shop. He had found some premises, calculated the approximate profits, and even put together a menu. Ekaterina had listened to his plan and asked where the money for rent and equipment would come from. Her husband had shrugged and said they would think of something. As long as Ekaterina was earning money, they would somehow manage.
Another three days passed. Wednesday was relatively quiet. Ekaterina managed to prepare dinner, wash the floor, and even lie down for half an hour before leaving for her second job. She stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the whitewash. Thirty-two. There had been twenty-eight when she first moved into the apartment.
“Katya, why are you so quiet?” Ivan asked, sitting beside her on the sofa and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I can see that you haven’t been yourself lately.”
“I’m just tired,” Ekaterina said, sitting up and looking at her husband. “Vanya, perhaps you should find a job somewhere. At least temporarily, until you decide what to do with your business.”
Her husband frowned and removed his hand.
“What are you talking about? I’m working on promising projects and developing my own business. And you’re suggesting that I become somebody’s employee? Katya, I’m not that kind of person. You know that.”
“I know,” she answered quietly. “It’s just that there’s almost no money left. I’m trying to save for a down payment, but the money never stays in the account. There’s less and less of it. At this rate, we’ll never move out of here.”
“There you go again,” Ivan said, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “Mom is right. All you ever think about is getting your own apartment. And what am I supposed to gain from those jobs of yours? I’m a man. I need to develop a business of my own, not break my back working for somebody else. That’s where the real money is—not in those handouts from employers.”
Ekaterina did not continue the conversation. She knew it was useless. Elena Nikolayevna had spent years convincing her son that he was special and destined for something greater than an office job. Ekaterina, meanwhile, was expected to support the family while her husband searched for himself.
When Ekaterina returned from work on Friday evening, Ivan and his mother were already sitting at the table. They were both looking at her with strange expressions. Her mother-in-law folded her arms across her chest and nodded toward an empty chair.
“Sit down, Katya. We need to talk.”
Ekaterina lowered herself cautiously into the chair. Her heart began beating faster. These family councils never ended well.
“Here’s the situation,” Elena Nikolayevna began. “I need to renovate the apartment. The wallpaper is peeling badly, and the tiles in the kitchen are falling off. Everything needs to be replaced.”
Ekaterina listened silently. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ivan nodding approvingly.
“And I thought,” her mother-in-law continued, “that it was time to make this apartment presentable. You understand, Katya, that this is our shared home. You and Vanechka live here, and your future children will grow up here.”
Children. Ekaterina grimaced. She and Ivan had barely discussed having children. She could not imagine bringing a baby into these circumstances, when they did not have enough money for anything.
“Elena Nikolayevna, I understand that you want to renovate,” Ekaterina said cautiously. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with you,” her mother-in-law said, leaning forward. “Vanya and I don’t have any money at the moment. You know that my son has a business and that all his money is tied up in it. And my pension is small. You can see that yourself.”
“So you want me to pay for the renovation?” Ekaterina straightened in her chair. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Why are you reacting like that right away?” Ivan intervened. “That isn’t what Mom means. We were just thinking that perhaps we could take out a loan. A small one, for a year or two.”
“A loan?” Ekaterina stared at her husband. “Vanya, are you serious?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?” He spread his hands. “We’re a family. We do everything together. Mom is right—the apartment really does need renovations. You don’t want us to live here as though we’re in some kind of barracks, do you?”
Ekaterina remained silent. One thought pounded inside her head: they wanted her to take out a loan to renovate somebody else’s apartment. An apartment in which she was not even officially registered. An apartment in which she had no rights whatsoever.
“I’m not taking out a loan for this apartment,” she finally said. “I’m not registered here, and I don’t own a share of the property. Why should I pay for a home that belongs to somebody else?”
“What do you mean, somebody else’s home?” Elena Nikolayevna exclaimed. “You’ve lived here for five years!”
“I live here with your permission,” Ekaterina said, rising from the table. “I’m sorry, but I see no reason to invest money in an apartment that doesn’t belong to me.”
“She’s just in a bad mood after work,” Vanya muttered. “She’ll sleep on the idea and sign everything. She calms down quickly.”
Ekaterina went into the room and closed the door behind her. Her hands were trembling. Through the wall, she could hear Ivan and Elena Nikolayevna discussing her ingratitude.
The rest of the evening passed in tense silence. Ivan demonstratively refused to speak to his wife, burying himself in his phone. Her mother-in-law repeatedly walked past the room, sighing loudly and muttering something about the spoiled younger generation.
In the morning, while Ekaterina was still half asleep, the door flew open. Ivan stood in the doorway, already dressed in a suit. Behind him, his mother’s figure hovered in a housecoat. Her husband cheerfully spun the car keys around his finger.
“Darling, get ready. Let’s go to the bank,” he announced with a smile. “Mom and I have decided to take out a loan to renovate her apartment. You’ll sign it, won’t you? You’re the responsible one in the family.”
He winked at her as though he were suggesting a trip to a café or a walk in the park.
Ekaterina froze on the sofa. Blood rushed to her face, and her cheeks began to burn. She slowly sat up, staring at her husband’s carefree expression.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“We’ve already discussed everything,” Ivan said with a shrug. “You’re our reliable one. You have a stable salary and a good credit history. The bank will definitely approve you.”
“Are you making fun of me?” Her voice trembled.
“Katyusha, don’t behave like a child,” Ivan said, taking a step into the room. “This is for the family. We need the renovations.”
“You do,” Ekaterina said, rising to her feet. “You need the renovations. In your mother’s apartment. Paid for with my money.”
“Our money,” her husband corrected her. “We’re a family. Everything is shared.”
“Shared?” Ekaterina stepped toward him. “Vanya, where is my share of this apartment? Where is my official registration? Where is any kind of guarantee that I won’t end up on the street if we get divorced?”
“Why are you saying things like that?” Ivan frowned. “What divorce? Where did that come from?”
“It comes from the fact that I have spent five years investing in your family,” Ekaterina said, raising her voice. “I work two jobs to support you and your mother. I pay the debts from your failed businesses. I give away the last of the money I was saving for our own apartment. And now you want me to take out another loan? For an apartment that belongs to somebody else?”
“Katya, Mom is standing right here,” Ivan said, glancing at his mother-in-law, whose face had become as hard as stone.
“Let her hear it,” Ekaterina said, stepping closer. “Let her hear that I’m not going to support your family anymore. I’m tired of being your cash cow.”
“Well, listen to you,” Ivan said, taking a step backward. “Mom, can you hear the way she’s speaking?”
Elena Nikolayevna entered the room. Her face was twisted with anger.
“I hear everything,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I hear an ungrateful girl screaming at my son. We took you in and gave you a roof over your head, and now you’re turning up your nose at us.”
“Took me in?” Ekaterina turned toward her mother-in-law. “Elena Nikolayevna, I have paid the utility bills for this apartment for five years. I buy the groceries, cook, and clean. I support your son while he dreams about running businesses. And you say you took me in?”
“Vanechka works. He’s an entrepreneur,” her mother-in-law began.
“He’s a freeloader,” Ekaterina interrupted her. “He has been living off you for five years. I’ve been carrying this family for five years. And in return, I wasn’t even given official registration here.”
“Katyusha, that’s enough,” Ivan said, trying to take his wife’s hand, but she pulled it away. “You’re just tired. Let’s not argue right now, all right?”
“No, Vanya,” Ekaterina said, shaking her head. “I’m the one who has had enough. I’ve had enough of carrying other people’s lives on my shoulders.”
“So you’re not going to the bank?” her husband asked, straightening his posture.
“No.”
“So you don’t care about our family?”
“Your family,” Ekaterina corrected him. “Yours and your mother’s. Because in your family, I’m nothing but a walking wallet.”
“I see.” Ivan folded his arms across his chest. “Then there is no family.”
“I agree,” Ekaterina said, turning toward the wardrobe. “We don’t have a family.”
She took an old suitcase from the shelf, one she had not opened since her wedding. She placed it on the sofa and began packing her belongings. Jeans, sweaters, underwear.
“What are you doing?” Ivan froze in the middle of the room.
“Packing,” Ekaterina answered curtly.
“Katyusha, wait,” her husband said, taking a step toward her. “Don’t do this. Let’s talk calmly.”
“About what?” Ekaterina asked without stopping. “About how I’m supposed to take out a loan to renovate your mother’s apartment? Or about how I’ve spent five years working for both of you?”
“You’re exaggerating,” Ivan said, running a hand through his hair. “I only wanted you to help the family.”
“I’ve been helping for five years.” Ekaterina zipped the suitcase closed. “That’s enough.”
She walked past her husband toward the door. Elena Nikolayevna stood in the hallway with her arms folded across her chest.
“You’re leaving?” her mother-in-law sneered. “Do you think he’ll run after you?”
“I don’t,” Ekaterina said, putting on her jacket. “And he doesn’t need to.”
“Katya, stop,” Ivan said, rushing into the hallway. “Where will you go? You don’t even have any real money.”
“That’s my problem,” she said, opening the front door.
“Then get out,” Elena Nikolayevna hissed. “We’ll manage without you.”
Ekaterina stepped onto the landing. The door slammed shut behind her with a dull thud. She stood there for several seconds, staring at the peeling paint on the stairwell walls. Then she lifted her suitcase and began walking downstairs.
It was cold outside. The November wind whipped her hair around her face. Ekaterina walked to the bus stop and sat on a bench. She took out her phone. There were forty-three missed calls from Ivan. She silenced the device and put it back in her pocket.
Two hours later, she was standing inside a tiny studio apartment on the outskirts of the city. Twenty square meters, with a combined bathroom and a kitchenette in the single room. The landlady, a heavyset woman of around fifty, looked at her sympathetically.
“Family problems?” she asked carefully.
“There were,” Ekaterina said, looking around at the empty walls. “Not anymore.”
“I understand.” The landlady nodded. “The security deposit and one month in advance. The rent is twenty thousand. Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” Ekaterina said, taking an envelope of money from her bag.
It contained the last of the savings she had set aside for an apartment.
That night, she lay on a bare mattress, using her jacket as a blanket. Her phone would not stop ringing. Ivan sent message after message:
“Katyusha, stop sulking.”
“Come back and we’ll discuss everything calmly.”
“You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ekaterina read each message and deleted it.
In the morning, she woke to sunlight streaming through the curtainless window. For the first time in five years, she did not have to leap out of bed at six. She did not have to prepare breakfast for Ivan and Elena Nikolayevna. She did not have to listen to her mother-in-law’s complaints.
Ekaterina got up and walked to the window. The city bustled below. It was an ordinary Saturday morning. People were going about their business, and cars were caught in traffic. The world continued as though nothing had happened.
She took out her phone and dialed the number of a lawyer she had once consulted about obtaining a share in her mother-in-law’s apartment. At the time, Ivan had talked her out of pursuing it, saying that the suggestion insulted his mother. Now Ekaterina was calling to file for divorce.
“Hello? Yes, good morning. I came to see you two years ago. I want to file for divorce. Yes, immediately. When can you see me?”
A month later, Ekaterina was sitting in the lawyer’s office, signing documents. Ivan had not appeared at the first hearing. He had called several times and tried to persuade her to reconsider, but then he disappeared.
“He has agreed to the divorce,” the lawyer informed her. “He is not making any claims regarding the division of property, since there is no jointly acquired property.”
“Good,” Ekaterina said, signing on the final line.
When she left the courthouse, she stopped on the steps. November had given way to December. The first snow was falling in large flakes and settling on the pavement. Ekaterina tilted her face toward the cold snowflakes and closed her eyes.
That evening, she sat in her studio apartment with her laptop. A calculator was open on the screen. Ekaterina worked through the figures: income from two jobs, minus rent, utilities, and food. There was not much left, but now the remaining money belonged only to her.
She opened a new file and wrote at the top:
Plan to Save for a Down Payment
Underneath, she wrote:
Find a job with a higher salary.
Save up to thirty thousand rubles each month.
Her phone vibrated. A message had arrived from an unfamiliar number:
“Katya, this is Vanya’s mother. Do you even understand what you’ve done? My son is walking around completely lost. We still haven’t done the renovations because we have no money. You should at least have enough conscience to come back and help us.”
Ekaterina read the message and blocked the number. Then she opened her laptop and continued working on her plan.
Three months later, she left one of her jobs and obtained a position as a senior accountant at a large company. Her salary was twice as high as the combined income from her two previous jobs. Ekaterina stopped working at night and began going to the gym in the evenings.
Sometimes she saw photographs of Ivan on social media. He still lived with his mother. The wallpaper on the walls was still peeling. In one photograph, the corner of the room was visible—the very same sofa on which Ekaterina had slept for five years.
She would close her phone and return to her own affairs.
Over the next three years, her savings grew. Ekaterina attended apartment viewings, calculated mortgage payments, and compared banks.
One evening, while returning from work, she ran into Ivan near the metro station. Her husband—now her ex-husband—looked disheveled. He wore an old jacket and faded jeans, and his face was unshaven.
“Katya,” he said, stopping. “Hello.”
“Hello.” She nodded and tried to walk past him.
“Wait.” Ivan grabbed her sleeve. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Ekaterina said, pulling her arm free.
“I wanted to… well, apologize,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I was wrong back then. Mom admits it too.”
“All right,” Ekaterina said, fastening her jacket. “I’m happy for both of you.”
“Maybe we could meet sometime? Talk properly?”
“Why?”
“Well… we lived together for five years.” Ivan shrugged. “We had a lot of good times.”
Ekaterina looked at him. At the man with whom she had once dreamed of building a family. Now he seemed like a stranger. Just a random passerby whom she had known long ago.
“No, Vanya.” She shook her head. “We have nothing to talk about.”
She turned and walked toward the metro exit. Ivan called after her once more, but Ekaterina did not turn around.
At home, she made herself some tea and sat beside the window. Snow was falling beyond the glass, and the city glittered with lights.
A message from a real estate agent appeared on her phone:
“I’ve found an option—a one-bedroom apartment in a new development, in your preferred neighborhood. The price is within your budget. Would you like to see it?”
Ekaterina opened the photographs. It was a small apartment measuring thirty-two square meters, with the finishing work already completed. Light-colored walls, large windows, and an empty space that she could arrange according to her own taste.
“Yes,” she wrote in reply. “When can we view it?”
A week later, Ekaterina stood inside the apartment. Sunlight flooded the empty room. The new laminate flooring creaked under her feet. The air smelled of paint and something fresh.
“Do you like it?” the real estate agent asked.
“Very much.” Ekaterina nodded.
She walked over to the window. The city bustled below. Her city. The life she had spent two years building. A life without Ivan, without Elena Nikolayevna, without other people’s debts and failed business ideas.
“I’ll take it,” Ekaterina said. “Prepare the documents.”