“Why did you decide that I would leave with the children? You filed for divorce — so raise them yourself!” the wife declared.
“Enough! I can’t live in this pigsty anymore!” Mikhail threw his jacket onto the couch without even looking to see if it would land or fall to the floor. “How much longer? Toys everywhere, some kind of porridge smeared all over, constant screaming!”
Anna froze by the stove with a ladle in her hand. The smell of chicken soup filled the kitchen — she had been cooking dinner while the children played in the other room. Sasha was building a tower out of blocks, and little Liza was trying to knock it down, causing yet another quarrel between brother and sister.
“Misha, the children are small,” she replied softly, without turning around. “It’s normal that in a house with kids—”
“Normal?” he cut her off. “Maybe for you it’s normal! But I work like a damned slave, come home — and what do I see? The same mess, the same excuses! You know what? Let’s divorce. Take your kids and get out. I want a normal life!”
The ladle slipped from Anna’s hand and clattered loudly against the tiled floor. Hot drops of soup splashed onto her bare feet, but she didn’t even feel the pain. Sasha appeared in the kitchen doorway, staring fearfully from his father to his mother.
“Dad, why are you yelling?” the boy asked in a trembling voice.
“Go to your room!” Mikhail barked, and Sasha, sniffling, ran back to the children’s room.
Anna picked up the ladle, wiped the floor, and sat down at the kitchen table. Her mind flooded with memories of how it all began. Seven years ago, Mikhail had been completely different — attentive, caring, dreaming of a big family.
They met at a friend’s birthday party, and six months later he proposed. At the time, Anna worked as an accountant in a major firm — her career was booming — but when Sasha was born, she left for maternity leave without hesitation.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll support all of us,” Mikhail used to say, kissing the top of her head. “You take care of our son. And you know what? Let’s have a second child so Sasha isn’t lonely!”
Anna resisted — she wanted to return to work and regain her footing — but her husband insisted. When Sasha turned two, Liza was born. During her second maternity leave, the company went through restructuring, and Anna’s position was eliminated. She tried to find a new job, but with two small children it turned out to be almost impossible.
Mikhail began to change after their daughter’s birth. He stayed late at work more often, came home tired and immediately locked himself in the bedroom with his phone. One day Anna accidentally saw his messages — a woman named Svetlana was sending him affectionate notes.
“You don’t trust me?” Mikhail shouted when she tried to talk to him. “She’s a colleague! We’re working on a project! And you’re driving me crazy with your suspicions!”
After that conversation, Anna never brought it up again. She knew her situation: no job, no place of her own. Before marriage, she lived with her mother, Valentina Sergeyevna, in a tiny one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city. Her mother would take her back, of course, but how could four people squeeze into a studio? The dacha inherited from her grandmother was only suitable for summer — an old house without heating, with a stove no one had used in ten years.
“Well?” Mikhail returned to the kitchen already dressed in home clothes. “You have three days. Pack your things and go to your mommy. The apartment is mine, you know that perfectly well.”
Mikhail spent the next three days at a friend’s place, leaving Anna alone with the children and her thoughts. She paced the apartment, trying to figure out what to do. In the evenings, after putting the children to bed, she sat in the kitchen staring into the darkness outside the window.
One of those nights, Liza woke up crying — the toddler often had bad dreams. Anna picked her up, rocking her gently and singing a lullaby. Sasha woke up too and snuggled up to his mother from the other side.
“Mom, why was Dad yelling at us?” he asked sleepily. “Are we bad?”
“No, sunshine, you’re the best,” Anna hugged the children tighter. “Daddy is just very tired from work.”
“And where will we live? Grandma said she doesn’t have much space.”
Anna couldn’t respond. Tears choked her, but she forced herself not to cry in front of the children. In the morning, while Sasha played with his cars and Liza with her doll, a plan formed in Anna’s mind. A wild, desperate plan — but the only one she had.
She packed her clothes, documents, and a few books. She didn’t touch the children’s things. She called a taxi, loaded her suitcases, then returned to the apartment where the kids were eating porridge.
“Sweethearts, Mommy will go visit Grandma for a little while,” she said, trying to sound calm. “You’ll stay here with Daddy for now, okay?”
“When will you come back?” Sasha asked nervously.
“Soon, honey. I’ll come see you every day.”
As she left the apartment, Anna felt her heart tearing apart. But there was no other choice — taking the children into that cramped room would mean condemning them to even worse conditions.
That evening, Mikhail returned home, savoring the thought of a quiet apartment and long-awaited freedom. Opening the door, the silence struck him — unfamiliar, but pleasant. He went to the living room, saw that Anna’s things were gone, and smirked in satisfaction.
“Finally!” he said aloud, heading to the kitchen.
At the table sat Sasha and Liza. Sasha was feeding his sister porridge, half of which was smeared across the table.
“Daddy!” Sasha exclaimed happily. “Mom said you’ll be with us now!”
Mikhail’s face twisted. He rushed through the apartment, checking every room — Anna was nowhere.
“Where’s your mother?” he growled, returning to the kitchen.
“At Grandma’s,” Sasha whispered, hugging Liza close. “She said she’ll come back soon.”
Mikhail grabbed his phone and dialed Anna.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he roared into the receiver. “Get back here and take the kids right now!”
“I have nowhere to take them, Misha,” Anna’s calm voice infuriated him even more. “Mom has only one room, you know that. The children will stay in their home with their father. It’s fair.”
“Fair? Are you insane? I work! How am I supposed to handle them?…”
“Just the same way I managed all these years. Hire a nanny, send them to daycare. They are your children just as much as mine.”
“I’ll go to court! I’ll get your parental rights revoked!”
“Go ahead. The court will leave the children with you until I get back on my feet. And I will — don’t doubt that.”
Mikhail threw his phone onto the couch and looked around. Liza started whimpering, demanding attention. Sasha stared at his father with wide, frightened eyes.
“Dad, Liza needs her diaper changed,” the boy said quietly.
The next few days turned into a nightmare for Mikhail. He had no idea when to feed the children, what to cook, how to put them to bed. Liza cried constantly, wanted her mother, refused to eat. Sasha tried to help, but his efforts only made things worse — he spilled milk, scattered cereal, broke a plate.
On the third day, Mikhail snapped. Trying to feed Liza soup, he sat her on his lap, but she squirmed and pushed the spoon away. The soup spilled all over his shirt, and the girl shrieked.
“Sit still already!” Mikhail shouted, roughly placing the little girl on a chair.
Liza froze in fear, then burst into tears. Sasha cried too, dropping his cup of juice. A purple puddle spread across the white tablecloth.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” Mikhail sprang up, waving his arms. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”
At that moment, Anna walked into the apartment — she had come to visit the children, as she promised.
“Mom!” Sasha and Liza ran to her, clinging to her legs.
Anna picked Liza up and hugged Sasha to her. She looked at her disheveled, furious husband with soup stains on his shirt.
“Calm down, Misha. They’re children, they’re not doing it on purpose.”
“Easy for you to say!” he blurted out. “You abandoned them!”
“I didn’t abandon them. I come every day, I help. But they live here, in their home. You wanted freedom? Here it is — freedom of choice. You can hire a nanny, cope by yourself, or give them to me once I rent an apartment. But for now — this is your responsibility too.”
She calmly changed Liza, wiped the table, and made dinner for the children. Mikhail sat in the living room staring at his phone, but Anna could tell — he wasn’t reading anything, just staring blankly at the screen.
“Is Dad bad?” Sasha whispered as she tucked him into bed.
“No, sweetheart. Dad is learning. Learning to be with you. It’s hard when you don’t know how.”
After that scene in the kitchen, Mikhail calmed down a little, but he kept calling Anna demanding she take the children.
“I’ll file for child support,” she warned during one of their calls. “Half your salary. And I’ll save for an apartment.”
“You’re blackmailing me!”
“No, I’m simply stating the terms. You wanted a divorce — you’ll get one. But the children stay with the parent who has a place to live. For now, that’s you.”
That evening Anna went to her mother’s place. Valentina Sergeyevna was making dinner in their tiny kitchen, where only a table and two chairs fit.
“How are the children?” she asked without turning from the stove.
“They’re managing. Sasha is doing great, helping with Liza. And Mikhail… is learning.”
“Anya,” her mother turned to her, wiping her hands on her apron. “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? The children are suffering without you.”
“Mom, what should I do? Bring them here? Sleep all four of us on a folding couch? Liza still needs diapers, Sasha needs space to play and study. There’s no room here.”
“Maybe the dacha?”
“Mom, it has a wood stove that hasn’t been checked in years. The toilet’s outside. The roof leaks. It’s not a place for toddlers.”
Valentina sighed and hugged her daughter.
“The important thing is — don’t give up. You’ll get a job, rent a place, bring the kids back. Everything step by step, no need to panic.”
“I have an interview tomorrow,” Anna said. “A small company is looking for an accountant. The pay is low, but it’s a start.”
“That’s good. And I’ll help however I can. Maybe I can take extra shifts at the hospital.”
“Mom, don’t. You’re sixty already, your health matters more.”
They sat in the tiny kitchen, drank tea, and made plans. Anna decided to start paperwork for kindergarten — Sasha could join the senior group, and Liza could go to nursery.
Three weeks passed. Anna walked down the street toward the office building where she had the interview. In her bag were her documents, resume, and recommendations from her previous job. She came early to calm down and collect her thoughts.
Sitting in the waiting area, she wasn’t thinking about the interview but about the children. That morning, Sasha had called her over video from his dad’s phone.
“Mom, when will you come back for good?” he asked. “Dad is always angry.”
“Soon, sweetie. Mommy is starting a job, and soon we’ll be together.”
“Will Dad be with us?”
“Dad will live separately. But you can still see him.”
After the interview, which went well, Anna felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time — she was needed again, valued as a professional. The salary was small, but it was a beginning. She could save, look for housing options, maybe even get a mortgage in a year or two.
At the same time, Mikhail was at home with the children. He had taken leave from work — he couldn’t find a nanny, they all charged too much, and there was a long waitlist for a public daycare. Liza was fussy and refused to eat the porridge he made. Sasha sat at the table drawing and occasionally asking how to spell certain words.
“Dad, why are you and Mom fighting?” the boy suddenly asked.
“That’s grown-up stuff,” Mikhail muttered.
“And Petya from daycare said that when parents fight, they get divorced. And the kids stay with the mom.”
“Not always.”
“So will we stay with you?”
Mikhail looked at his son, then at his daughter, and for the first time he wondered — did he even want that? Before, divorce had seemed like freedom, a new life, a chance to start over. With Svetlana, for example, who was waiting for his decision. But Svetlana had made it perfectly clear — she wasn’t going to raise someone else’s children.
That evening, after putting the children to bed, he sat in the kitchen with a bottle of beer. The apartment was unusually quiet — the very silence he had once longed for was now suffocating. Children’s drawings lay on the table, and on the refrigerator hung the feeding schedule Anna had written. Toys were scattered on the floor — he still hadn’t picked them up.
His phone buzzed — a message from Svetlana: “So? When will you be free?”
Mikhail looked at the screen, then at the door to the children’s room, from behind which came the soft sound of breathing. He deleted the message without replying.
Life had changed for both of them. Anna had found the determination to fight for her future and the future of her children. And Mikhail, for the first time, truly felt what it meant to be a father — not someone who comes home in the evening to a ready dinner and a clean apartment, but someone who carries full responsibility for small lives.
That night, he lay awake for a long time, thinking about how carelessly he had thrown the word “divorce” around. The freedom he had craved had turned into a burden of responsibility he was utterly unprepared for. And only now, being alone with the children, did he begin to understand what Anna had gone through all those years.
And Anna, that same night, slept peacefully on a folding cot in her mother’s room, feeling for the first time in a long while that she was in control of her life. Tomorrow she would start her new job. In a month, she’d receive her first paycheck. In six months, she’d be able to rent an apartment. And then the children would come back to her.
“I’ll bring you home, my little ones,” she thought as she fell asleep. “Very soon, I’ll bring you home.”
