Her Husband Accused Her of Wasting Money—But She Had an Ace Up Her Sleeve
“Be so kind as to earn the money for your own little wants. I’m the one supporting this entire family!”
Anya froze with the cutting board in her hands, listening as his confident voice echoed down the hallway.
Saturday morning had begun at six. She had quietly gotten out of bed so she would not wake her sleeping husband and gone into the kitchen. Their close friends were coming over, which meant she had to prepare enough food to make the table groan under its weight.
That was one of Vovka’s unspoken rules: if they were inviting guests, they had to demonstrate generosity, class, and hospitality.
Of course, that generosity was paid for exclusively from Anya’s salary as a logistics specialist.
She chopped vegetables for the salads, marinated a large piece of pork, and had already begun cleaning the fish when her husband appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Vovka stretched lazily, scratched his stomach beneath his T-shirt, and looked with displeasure at the countertop covered in bowls.
“Anya, why are you making so much noise this early?”
“I’m not making noise.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and, without looking at him, pushed a cup of instant coffee in his direction.
“Of course not. A man works himself to death all week, and then he can’t even sleep properly in his own apartment on the weekend.”
Vovka sat at the dining table, pulled the cup toward himself, and grimaced after taking a sip of the dark liquid.
He had quit his official job at a car dealership about a year earlier. He had announced that he was no longer willing to slave away for someone else, that he had outgrown that level, and that he was going into business for himself.
His business consisted of long, loud phone conversations on the balcony, creating mysterious spreadsheets on his laptop, and regularly going to important meetings.
The great entrepreneur often returned from those meetings slightly drunk, explaining that building connections with the right people was an exhausting process.
Those connections had not brought a single extra cent into the household budget. His arrogance, however, had increased dramatically.
“Did you buy the fish?”
Vovka pointed toward the baking tray where the prepared steaks were lying.
“Yes.”
“Trout?”
“Pink salmon, Vova.”
Her husband loudly set his cup on the table.
“Pink salmon? Anya, are you kidding me?”
“Trout is expensive right now. It would put us over our budget for the week.”
Vovka rolled his eyes, demonstrating the full extent of his disappointment in his wife’s stinginess.
“You always start counting every penny at the worst possible moment. Zhora and Valya are coming, and we’re going to throw some dry, cheap pink salmon on the table for them. How embarrassing. I told you plainly that men need proper food. Something respectable. Zhora just got promoted, and we’re going to look like paupers.”
“Proper, respectable food requires proper money.”
Anya began rubbing spices into the fish, trying to breathe evenly.
“Are you starting that song again?”
Vovka’s voice immediately hardened, taking on the wounded dignity he loved to display during arguments.
“I’m only stating the facts. I paid the utilities the day before yesterday. I also paid Danya’s activity fees for the entire month. I bought the food for this dinner with my vacation bonus. When your magnificent business finally starts bringing in some income, I’ll gladly buy trout. I’ll buy salmon every day.”
“My project needs time to get off the ground!”
Vovka jumped up from the chair, nearly knocking over his coffee.
“And investment. I know. I’ve memorized the speech.”
“Exactly! And you’ve been nagging me since early this morning, clipping my wings. Who do you think I’m doing all this for? Why do you think I stay awake at night? For this family! So that one day you and Danya can live like kings and never need anything! But I get no support from you. Only criticism and penny-counting.”
Her husband turned around proudly and walked out of the kitchen.
Anya merely rubbed the bridge of her nose in exhaustion.
Trying to prove anything with logic in this household was absolutely pointless.
It was the oldest trick in the book: shout loudly about grand plans for the future so that no one dared ask why there were no results in the present.
The unpleasant fact that Anya was supporting the entire family by herself was skillfully ignored every day.
Vovka sincerely believed that his role was to be the strategist. The fact that the strategist needed to be fed, clothed, provided with internet, and supplied with gas for his car was merely a collection of insignificant domestic details unworthy of a creative person’s attention.
Closer to lunchtime, Vovka appeared again.
He was wearing jeans and a clean shirt, and he smelled of the expensive cologne Anya had given him for New Year’s.
“I’m going out for a couple of hours.”
“Where?”
“I need to meet with some suppliers and resolve a logistics issue. You stay here and make the table look nice. Zhora called. They’ll be here around four.”
The front door closed.
Anya was left alone with the meat sizzling in the frying pan.
Her phone, lying on the kitchen table, vibrated briefly.
A message had arrived.
Anya wiped her hands with a paper towel and unlocked the screen.
It was from her father, Bogdanych.
“Hi, Anya. Is your businessman getting ready for the guests?”
“He is. He went to an important meeting.”
“I know what his meetings are like. Listen to this.”
An audio file was attached to the next message.
Anya pressed play.
Vovka’s voice came through the speaker, but his tone was completely different. It was pleading, anxious, and nervous.
There was not a trace of the confident strategist in it.
“Bogdanych, help me out. I’m in serious trouble! I desperately need to settle something by tomorrow. The suppliers let me down badly, the goods are stuck at the warehouse, and the penalties are piling up. Could you lend me thirty thousand, as family? I swear on my health, I’ll pay you back in a month with interest. I’ll add something extra on top! Just don’t tell Anya, for God’s sake. She’ll tear me apart over these complications. Come on, try to understand. One man understands another. I’m doing all this for the family. I’m running around like a squirrel in a wheel…”
Below the recording was a short message from her father.
“This is the third time he’s asked me this spring. He still hasn’t repaid the previous two loans. I told him the cash register was closed. Think about it, daughter.”
Anya listened to the recording once more.
There was no anger or hurt left inside her.
There was only a kind of disgusted exhaustion that weighed heavily on her shoulders.
In this man’s version of reality, he truly was the provider who was simply going through temporary difficulties.
And the fact that he was extracting money from her retired father, who ran a small tire-repair shop in a residential neighborhood, fit perfectly into that version of reality.
By four o’clock, the apartment was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and garlic.
Anya had managed not only to prepare three kinds of salad and a hot meal, but also to get herself ready.
She put on a new dress. It was dark blue, elegant, and understated.
She had bought it the day before with her quarterly bonus, deciding that, for once, she would do something nice for herself instead of putting the money into their shared savings, which Vovka inevitably emptied to cover another unexpected business expense.
The doorbell rang at exactly four.
“I’ll get it!”
Vovka shouted from the hallway.
He had returned fifteen minutes earlier, suspiciously cheerful and carrying a bottle of soda.
Now he radiated the gracious warmth of the master of the house.
Their friends came bustling into the apartment.
Zhora, loud and heavyset, immediately handed Vovka a bottle of good cognac. Valya stood beside him carrying a box of chocolates and a bag of tangerines.
“Well, look at our hosts!”
Zhora’s booming voice filled the hallway as he embraced his friend.
“The smell in your building is so good, you could start drooling right there on the stairs.”
“Come in, guys.”
Vovka familiarly slapped Zhora on the shoulder.
“Mine has been standing guard at the blast furnace since early morning. I told her plainly to keep it simple, boil some potatoes, because we’re all friends here. But she wouldn’t hear of it. She had to make an effort.”
Anya stepped into the hallway, gave them a polite smile, and greeted the guests.
Valya immediately followed her into the kitchen to help with the plates, while the men remained in the living room discussing traffic.
“Your husband is practically glowing today.”
Valya lowered her voice as she arranged the glasses on a tray.
“Is business finally going well? Mine said Vovka has some serious project coming together.”
“It’s definitely going somewhere.”
Anya gave an evasive shrug as she transferred the roast pork onto a large serving dish.
“We just can’t see the top of the mountain through all the fog.”
Ten minutes later, everyone was seated around the table in the living room.
Vovka poured the cognac like the master of the household, raised the first glass, gave a satisfied grunt, and surveyed the feast.
There was meat on the plates, neatly arranged salads, and steaming potatoes sprinkled with dill.
“Well, here’s to us and our dear guests!”
Vovka said it in the tone of a man who had personally hunted and killed the wild boar in the forest.
“May work always be easy and relaxation always be beautiful and tasteful!”
“Golden words, Vovchik.”
Zhora nodded enthusiastically, put a piece of fish into his mouth, and closed his eyes in pleasure.
“What a host!”
Anya silently moved the salad bowl closer to Valya.
Her phone lay facedown on the table.
“This is unbelievably delicious.”
Zhora speared a large piece of roast pork with his fork.
“Valya, take notes. This is how you’re supposed to roast meat. Yours always comes out like the sole of a boot. It’s impossible to chew.”
Valya sniffed resentfully and turned red, but said nothing, staring down at her plate.
“That’s because you need to buy decent products from the market instead of saving a few pennies at supermarkets.”
Vovka made the announcement proudly as he served himself a double portion of potatoes.
“I always tell Anya not to buy cheap food. We aren’t rich enough for that. A man needs meat and protein. I work my brain to death, generating ideas. I have the right to a proper dinner at home.”
Anya looked directly at her husband while slowly chewing her vegetables.
The conversation gradually shifted to cars and then to the upcoming summer fishing season.
Vovka dominated the conversation all evening.
He waved his arms, told stories about imaginary suppliers in the capital who supposedly called him day and night, asked Zhora for advice about taxes, and complained about how difficult it was to conduct honest business in their country.
“And I always tell Zhora that spoiling your wife is a sacred duty, but it has to be done in moderation.”
Her husband suddenly made this declaration when the subject turned to household budgeting.
Zhora smirked as he poured himself more cognac.
“Mine is sitting right there. A fashion queen with expensive tastes.”
Vovka nodded toward his wife.
“Yesterday she comes home carrying a bag from the mall. Apparently, she bought herself a dress. I asked her where she thought she was going to wear it. We only leave the house to buy bread or go to her mother’s country house to weed the garden. Our budget is calculated down to the last ruble. The business requires constant investment. But everything disappears into a black hole.”
“Vova, let’s change the subject.”
Anya spoke in a perfectly calm voice, looking directly into his eyes.
“What’s so secret about it?”
Her husband spread his hands theatrically, drawing Zhora’s attention.
“We’re all friends here. Who are we hiding things from? Valya, tell me honestly. Do you demand money from Zhora every week for new clothes?”
Valya shifted awkwardly, adjusted her napkin, and glanced at her friend.
“Well, we usually make those decisions together.”
“Exactly!”
Vovka drew the word out and raised his index finger instructively.
“Together! Normal people discuss these things. But this one sneaked out and spent a considerable amount of money on a rag. Be so kind as to earn the money for your own little wants. I’m the one supporting this entire family on my back! And I receive no gratitude for all my hard work.”
Anya carefully placed her fork on the edge of the plate.
She wiped her lips with her napkin.
Then she turned over her phone and unlocked the screen.
“Oh, she’s reaching for her phone already.”
Vovka smirked when he noticed her movement.
“Are you going to complain to your girlfriends about what a tyrant and despot your husband is? Tell them I won’t let you waste money left and right?”
“No.”
Anya opened her conversation with her father.
“I’d like to make a toast. An unusual one. To the main provider in our family.”
She found the audio message her father had forwarded that morning, turned the phone volume all the way up, and pressed play.
Vovka’s voice rang through the room, overpowering the hum of the refrigerator and the noise of traffic outside.
“Bogdanych, help me out. I’m in serious trouble!… Could you lend me thirty thousand, as family?… Just don’t tell Anya, for God’s sake. She’ll tear me apart…”
The recording ended.
The room became completely silent.
Zhora froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, a lonely piece of fish hanging from it.
Valya stared down at her empty plate with such intense interest that it seemed as though she were seeing the porcelain pattern for the first time in her life.
Red blotches spread across Vovka’s skin.
The color flooded his neck and cheeks, turning his face into one solid crimson mass.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words became trapped somewhere in his throat.
All his authority and all the arrogance of the successful businessman evaporated in one pathetic second.
“That…”
He finally forced the word out, staring sideways at the black rectangle of the phone.
“That’s an old recording. From last year.”
“It’s from today, Vova. This morning.”
Anya corrected him calmly.
“Dad forwarded it to me. He also asked when you were planning to repay your previous debts from March and April. He writes them down in a notebook. By now, your business investments add up to the price of a used foreign car.”
She set the phone aside and looked at Zhora, who was making a heroic effort to pretend he was not there.
“Help yourself, Zhora. The roast pork turned out especially well today. The meat was fresh. I chose it myself.”
The rest of the evening was awkward and disjointed.
The guests began preparing to leave suspiciously early, both claiming they had to wake up early the next day, drive to the country house, and water the greenhouse.
Vovka did not even come into the hallway to say goodbye.
He sat in an armchair in the living room, pretending to be deeply absorbed in some important graphs on his phone.
When the front door closed behind their guests, Anya returned to the kitchen to clear the table.
Her husband immediately rushed in after her.
“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! What a beautiful performance!”
He spat the words angrily.
“You humiliated me in front of my best friends. Are you happy now? Did making me look small make you feel better about yourself?”
“I only played a recording of your own voice.”
Anya began stacking the dirty plates.
“You were the one who wanted to explain who supports whom in this family. I merely provided an illustration for your argument.”
“You keep nagging me until I finally break!”
Vovka roared, kicking the leg of a chair.
“To hell with all of you! You and your penny-pinching father! I worked myself to the bone for you, and you stabbed me in the back at the first opportunity! I refuse to live under the same roof as a traitor!”
He stormed out of the kitchen, stomping loudly down the hallway.
Ten minutes later, keys rattled angrily in the entryway, the front door creaked, and his footsteps faded on the stairs.
A week later, Anya stood on the landing and watched carefully as the locksmith she had called worked on the door.
Vovka had collected his belongings on Tuesday and declared once and for all that he had no intention of returning.
He had gone to live with his mother, where he planned to build a new business empire from scratch.
He had also taken Anya’s laptop with him because, according to him, “he needed it more for work.”
Anya had not even argued.
The locksmith finished the job, tested the bolts, and handed her a set of shiny new keys.
The apartment smelled of lemon-scented cleaning solution and fresh coffee.
The windows were wide open, and a gentle spring breeze stirred the pale curtain in the kitchen.
Anya closed the door, turned the new key twice, and realized that it had suddenly become remarkably easy to breathe in her own home.