“Find a normal job or I’ll divorce you!” screamed the unemployed husband as he ran off to his mommy.
Alina pulled up the zipper of her sports jacket and looked out the window. October leaves swirled in the air, covering the sidewalks with a golden carpet. It was half past six in the morning, and in half an hour she had to be at her first job. The second shift awaited her in the afternoon.
The two-room apartment on the seventh floor of a panel building had been purchased with a mortgage two years ago. Back then, everything had seemed easy: her husband Denis worked as a manager at a construction company, and Alina worked as an administrator at a medical center. They had bright plans for the future, dreaming of a renovation and children.
But life made its own adjustments. In the spring, Denis lost his job. The company closed, leaving employees without severance pay and with unpaid wages. Alina supported her husband then, saying they would overcome the difficulties together. She took an evening cleaning job at an office center.
Months passed and turned into half a year, yet Denis still couldn’t find a suitable position. Or rather—he wasn’t even looking. In the morning, his wife went to work; in the evening, she returned and found her husband on the couch in front of the TV. The apartment was turning into a real pigsty: dirty dishes piled up in the sink, crumbs scattered over the table, socks thrown everywhere.
“Den, you could have at least turned on the vacuum cleaner while I was away,” Alina said wearily, dropping her bag by the door.
“There’s a crisis, Alina. No decent jobs around. Why should I work as a loader for pennies?” Denis replied without taking his eyes off the screen. “I have a higher education, you know.”
Alina quietly walked into the kitchen and started sorting out the mess. Her hands ached from constant cleaning work, her back throbbed, but the mortgage required monthly payments. The bank didn’t care about family problems.
By early autumn, the situation had reached a boiling point. Denis complained more and more often, as if forgetting who was actually earning the money in the household.
“You’re late again,” he greeted Alina with a displeased look. “I sit here alone all day, bored. And you only think about work.”
Alina clapped her hands in disbelief, unable to contain her emotions:
“Denis, are you serious? I work twelve hours a day so we don’t end up on the street! And you’re accusing me of not giving you enough attention?”
“Well yeah,” he shrugged. “A wife should take care of the family, not just make money. Like dinner, for example. Or at least talk to me properly.”
Blood rushed to Alina’s face. She frowned, tilting her head slightly as she tried to process what she had just heard. Had Denis really become so shameless that he blamed her for having to work two jobs?
“Dinner?” Alina repeated. “And what’s stopping you from getting off the couch and cooking something yourself? You have hands. And, presumably, a head too.”
“Don’t start,” Denis muttered. “Men and women have different responsibilities. I’m looking for a job — that’s work too.”
“Looking?” Alina glanced at the TV where a football match was playing. “And where are the results of your search? How many résumés did you send this week? How many interviews did you attend?”
Denis turned away, signaling that the conversation was over. Such dialogues repeated almost every evening. Alina felt exhaustion piling up—not only physical but emotional. She had to work for two, clean up after her husband, endure his complaints, and even justify her own busyness.
On Thursday evening, her patience snapped completely. Alina returned home at half past ten. Her legs were buzzing with pain, her head pounding from lack of sleep. In the kitchen she found complete chaos: Denis had made himself some scrambled eggs, but apparently something went wrong. Oil splattered the stove, eggshells littered the floor, and a dirty frying pan sat in the sink next to a mountain of unwashed dishes.
“Den!” Alina shouted. “Can you explain what is going on here?”
Her husband walked out of the room with an annoyed expression:
“What’s the problem? I ate, that’s all. You’ll clean it up tomorrow, no rush.”
“Tomorrow?” Alina froze in place, not knowing how to react. “And why not today? Why not right after cooking?”
“Because I’m tired. I spent the whole day at home thinking about our future. My head hurts from the stress.”
Alina burst out laughing, but the laughter came out nervous, hysterical:
“From stress? Denis, are you kidding me? I wake up at six, come home at eleven at night, and you’re tired from lying on the couch?”
“Don’t yell at me!” her husband barked. “I’m the man of the house, and you’re just my wife! You must respect and support me, not make a scene!”
“Support you?” Alina’s voice cracked into a scream. “Who supports whom? Who pays for this apartment? Who buys groceries? Who pays the utility bills?”
“You can’t handle supporting a family!” Denis roared, waving his arms. “A normal wife would find a way to earn more! And what do you do? Mop floors for pennies!”
Alina felt everything inside her tightening with hurt and rage. This man, who had lived off her for six months, dared to accuse her of failing?
“A way to earn more?” Alina repeated quietly. “And what way do you suggest? Maybe you’ll tell me where to find a job that pays a hundred thousand rubles with no experience and no connections?”
“I don’t know!” Denis screamed. “That’s your problem! Find a normal job or I’ll divorce you!”
The words hung in the air. Alina froze, blinking in disbelief. The man who hadn’t worked a single day, who lived at her expense, was threatening divorce? Because she didn’t make enough money?
Denis seemed to scare himself with what he had said, but it was too late to back down. Slamming the door so hard the glass rattled, he stormed out of the apartment. Alina heard his footsteps thundering down the stairwell and the front door of the building slamming shut.
Alina frowned, tilting her head as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. For the first time in many months, the apartment was quiet. No blaring TV, no annoyed grumbling from her husband, no clinking of broken dishes.
Smirking, Alina walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Denis had definitely run to his mother. Galina Mikhailovna lived in the neighboring district and was always ready to coddle her precious son while blaming the daughter-in-law for every misfortune. The woman had never worked a day in her life, living off her husband, and genuinely believed that wives must serve their husbands and be grateful for the privilege of existing beside them.
Alina brewed strong black tea and sat at the table. Strangely enough, for the first time in months, she felt relief. No need to listen to accusations, no need to justify her exhaustion, no need to apologize for not making enough money. She could simply sit in silence and think.
And there was plenty to think about. The threat of divorce wasn’t new. Denis often used it to scare her whenever she dared complain about his laziness. She used to be frightened, would apologize, would promise to be better. But now, hearing those familiar words again, Alina suddenly realized: what exactly was so terrible about divorce?
What would she lose? A man who didn’t work, didn’t help around the house, only ate and complained? A husband who blamed her for the fact that she had to break her back working two jobs? A partner who threatened divorce instead of finding employment?
Alina finished her tea and began washing the dishes. Tomorrow Denis would return with red, puffy eyes, begging for forgiveness and promising to change. He would say he got carried away, that he loved her and couldn’t live without her. No doubt his mother had already instructed him on how to properly apologize and win back his wife’s favor.
But something told Alina that this time things would be different. Too many grievances had piled up, the injustice had become too obvious. Working two jobs, supporting a grown man, and still listening to reproaches for not caring enough? No. Enough.
Alina cleaned the apartment, took a shower, and went to bed. Tomorrow would be a new day — and perhaps, a new life.
Alina woke up before the alarm. A light drizzle fell outside the window, but her mood was surprisingly upbeat. For the first time in many months, she didn’t have to pick up her husband’s scattered socks, endure his grumbling, or make breakfast for two.
As she got ready for work, Alina replayed last night’s fight in her mind. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became: supporting a grown man who did nothing but complain and make demands was simply absurd. Why should a woman tolerate such treatment? Because of a stamp in a passport?
At her first job, her coworkers noticed the change in her mood. Usually tired and quiet, today she looked rested.
“Alina, you’re glowing today,” remarked the nurse, Sveta. “What happened? Did your husband finally find a job?”
Alina gave a wry smile:
“No, Svetochka. My husband threatened me with divorce. And you know what? I liked the idea.”
“Seriously?” Sveta’s eyes widened. “But what about the apartment, the mortgage?…”
“What about the apartment? I’m the one paying the mortgage, and the documents are in my name. Let him find another provider,” Alina replied calmly.
All day long Alina ran different possible scenarios in her mind. By evening, her decision was final. After her second shift, she stopped by a 24-hour copy center and made copies of all important documents: her passport, marriage certificate, apartment papers, income statements.
The next morning, instead of rushing to work, Alina went to a legal consultation. An elderly lawyer, Viktor Semenovich, listened to her story attentively.
“I see,” he nodded. “No jointly acquired property besides the apartment? And no children either?”
“No. The apartment is mortgaged, and I’m the only one paying. Denis hasn’t worked for six months.”
“Then the court divorce will take about a month to a month and a half. We’ll file a petition to dissolve the marriage, citing the impossibility of continuing life together. The apartment will remain with you since you bear the loan obligations alone.”
He drafted the petition, explained the procedure and court fees. Alina signed the papers and made an advance payment for his services. Within an hour, the documents were already in the district court’s clerical office.
Alina returned home with a sense of closure. The machine was in motion — now she only had to wait for the outcome. Denis still hadn’t shown up. He was most likely sulking at his mother’s house, waiting for his wife to beg him to return.
But no begging came. Alina calmly went about her everyday life: she went to work, cleaned the apartment, cooked dinner for herself. No one blasted the TV at full volume, scattered their belongings everywhere, or complained about boredom and lack of attention.
On the fourth day, Denis couldn’t take it anymore. Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. Alina opened the door and saw her husband wearing a guilty expression. He was holding a bouquet of wilted chrysanthemums, clearly bought at the nearest street stall.
“Hi, Alinka,” Denis began with a hesitant smile. “I’m sorry about that night. I lost my temper. You know, the stress from being unemployed…”
Alina stood silently in the doorway, not inviting him inside. Denis held out the flowers:
“Come on, now. We love each other. Every family has its moments. But now I understand how hard it’s been for you. I’ll help more around the house, I promise.”
“Denis,” Alina said calmly, “your things are already packed.”
Her husband blinked in confusion.
“What things? What are you talking about?”
Alina walked into the hallway and brought out two large duffel bags. Denis stared at the luggage in bewilderment.
“Alina, what are you doing? I apologized! I even brought flowers.”
“Your clothes, documents, personal items,” she listed, placing the bags outside the door. “You hand over the keys and go live wherever you want.”
“You’re crazy!” Denis exclaimed, raising his voice. “This is my apartment too! I’m your husband — I have the right to live here!”
“Husband?” Alina smirked. “The one who’s been freeloading off me for half a year and complaining? Who pays the mortgage? Who pays the utilities? Who buys the groceries?”
“But we’re married!” Denis squealed. “You can’t kick me out!”
Alina pulled out the apartment keys from her pocket.
“Give them back.”
“I won’t!” Denis hid his hands behind his back. “You have no right!”
“All right,” Alina nodded. “Then tomorrow the locksmith will change the locks. And in a week you’ll receive a summons to court for the divorce.”
Denis went pale.
“What divorce? Alina, what are you doing? Mom said you’d come to your senses and apologize!”
“Your mom?” Alina laughed. “Galina Mikhailovna — who’s lived off her husband her whole life? Great adviser. But times have changed, Denis. Modern women are not obligated to support healthy, able-bodied men.”
“Alina, wait!” Denis grabbed her hand. “Let’s talk calmly. I’ll find a job, I’ll change. Give me one more chance!”
Alina gently pulled her hand away.
“A chance? Denis, you had six months of chances. Instead of looking for work, you lounged on the couch and blamed me for not earning enough. And on Thursday, you even said you’d divorce me if I didn’t find a ‘normal’ job.”
“I didn’t mean it!” Denis shook his head desperately. “I just snapped! You know I love you!”
“Love?” Alina frowned, tilting her head. “Strange kind of love. Someone who loves doesn’t threaten divorce — they try to help.”
Denis realized she was serious. His face flushed with panic.
“Okay, okay! I’ll take any job! Loader, street sweeper, whatever! Just don’t throw me out!”
“Too late,” Alina replied. “The decision is made. Keys — or else the locks get changed tomorrow.”
Denis stood there for another minute, clutching the keys in his fist. Then slowly placed the keychain on the doorstep.
“You’ll regret this,” he muttered. “You’ll be lost without me. Who will help you if something happens?”
Alina clapped her hands.
“Help? Denis, for six months all you did was create problems. From now on, I’ll handle my life myself.”
He hoisted the bags onto his shoulders and headed toward the elevator. At the threshold he turned around:
“Alina, I’ll come back in a week. You’ll cool down and realize you’re making a mistake.”
“Don’t come back,” Alina said calmly. “In a week, you’ll receive a summons to court.”
The elevator doors slid shut, carrying Denis away with his belongings and his ambitions. Alina stepped back into the apartment, locked the door with every lock, and leaned against the wall.
Silence. For the first time in two years of marriage, there was real silence in the home. No blaring TV, no cupboard doors slamming, no complaints about dinner. She could simply live — without constantly bracing for someone’s dissatisfaction.
Alina walked through the apartment, noticing the subtle changes. Without Denis, the space felt larger. No socks scattered around, books stood neatly lined up on the shelves, and only one towel hung in the bathroom.
That evening, Galina Mikhailovna showed up. Her mother-in-law rang the doorbell and demanded explanations:
“Alina, open up! What nonsense is this? My son came home in tears!”
“Galina Mikhailovna,” Alina replied through the door, “your son is a grown man. Let him take responsibility for his own actions.”
“How dare you kick out your husband?” the mother-in-law fumed. “It’s unnatural! A wife must support the family!”
“I supported him for two years,” Alina answered coolly. “Now it’s his turn to support himself.”
Galina Mikhailovna continued banging on the door and hurling accusations for a while, but Alina didn’t open. A woman who had never worked and spent her life dependent on men would hardly understand the decision of a modern woman.
A month later, a notice arrived: the court hearing had been scheduled. Denis did not appear at the session, instead filing a statement agreeing to the divorce. Apparently, he had realized arguing was pointless: the apartment was purchased with Alina’s earnings, she alone carried the loan obligations, and there was no shared property.
The judge granted the petition without unnecessary questions. Ten days later, Alina received the certificate of dissolution of marriage.
That evening, coming home from work, Alina stopped by the window and looked out at the autumn city. Leaves swirled in the streetlight’s glow, a fine rain falling. In exactly one month, one life had ended — and another had begun.
She no longer had to work two jobs to support a healthy adult man. She could stick to her main job and find a hobby. Or sign up for driving lessons — something she had dreamed of since her student years.
Alina brewed tea, settled into her favorite chair by the window, and picked up a book. The apartment was filled with peace and quiet. No one threatened divorce anymore because she didn’t earn enough. Her life belonged to her — and her alone.
