“Where are you?! Why doesn’t the key work, and why did you throw my things out into the hallway?!” her husband shouted into the phone.

“Where are you?! Why doesn’t the key work, and why did you throw my things out into the hallway?!” her husband shouted into the phone.

Irina stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying her wet hair. Five years earlier, when she married Kirill, she had believed they would build a strong family. Back then she still believed in fairy tales about love that can overcome anything. But reality turned out to be very different.

Irina had bought the apartment with her own money long before the wedding. For three years she had saved, denying herself everything, working as a procurement manager at a large construction company. Her parents helped only symbolically; the main sum was her achievement. When Kirill moved in with her after they registered their marriage, he had nothing of his own—no decent suitcase, even. All his belongings fit into two shopping bags.

“Kirish, did you cook anything at all today?” Irina asked as she walked into the kitchen.

Her husband was sitting at the computer in the living room, eyes glued to the monitor. Music blared in his headphones; he clicked the mouse with азарт, completely immersed in the game.

“Kirill!” Irina raised her voice.

He jolted, pulled off one earcup, and turned around.

“Huh? What?”

“I’m asking if you’ve eaten anything today. Maybe you made dinner?”

“I made myself some sandwiches. You know I can’t cook,” Kirill shrugged and turned back to the screen.

Irina went into the kitchen. The sink was clogged with dirty dishes; bread crumbs were scattered across the table, greasy smears, an open jar of jam. She clenched her fists, trying to keep herself under control. She had spent the whole day in meetings—sorting things out with suppliers, approving contracts. Her head throbbed with exhaustion. And at home the familiar scene of wreckage was waiting for her.

“God… you could at least clean up after yourself,” she muttered, turning on the water.

Half an hour later soup was boiling on the stove, and Irina was chopping vegetables for a salad. Kirill still hadn’t come out from behind the computer. She set the table and called him to dinner.

“Yeah, one second,” he replied. “There’s an important moment in the game.”

“Kirill, everything’s going to get cold!”

“Then go ahead and eat without me. I’ll reheat it later.”

Irina sat at the table alone. She ate automatically, thinking about how she was supposed to live like this. Every day the same thing: she works, brings money into the house, cooks, cleans, does laundry. And he sits at the computer or sprawls on the couch, taking the occasional job as a courier or a mover. Those earnings barely covered cigarettes and beer with his friends.

The next morning Irina woke up to the alarm at seven. Kirill was asleep, sprawled across half the bed. She got up quietly, got dressed, drank coffee, and left the apartment. The whole day passed in the usual rush. In the evening, when she came home, the picture repeated itself: dirty dishes, mess, husband at the computer.

“Kirish, we agreed you’d help me at least a little,” Irina said wearily. “At least wash your dishes after yourself.”

“I’m tired today,” Kirill answered without turning his head. “I was sending out résumés all day. I’ll do it later.”

“You say that every day.”

“Ira, don’t start, please. My mood’s bad enough. Another company rejected me.”

Irina sighed and went to wash the dishes. She knew arguing was pointless. Kirill would find an excuse for his idleness no matter what.

On the weekend Valentina Ivanovna—Kirill’s mother—came over. She always showed up without warning, believing she had the right to come to her son whenever she wanted.

“Ira, dear, how are you?” her mother-in-law forced a smile as she walked into the apartment. “Sonny, you’ve lost weight! Is she not feeding you or what?”

“Mom, everything’s fine,” Kirill brushed her off.

“Valentina Ivanovna, come in, have a seat,” Irina said dryly.

Her mother-in-law sat down on the sofa, scanning the apartment with an appraising look.

“Ira, I was thinking… maybe you shouldn’t work so much? You see how Kiryusha gets tired, looking for a job. He needs support, not reproaches. It’s important for a man to feel appreciated.”

Irina clenched her teeth. Here it was again. Valentina Ivanovna always found a way to hint that Irina was a bad wife—couldn’t create comfort, didn’t support her husband, demanded too much.

“Valentina Ivanovna, I work so we can pay the bills and buy food. Someone has to earn money,” Irina replied evenly.

“Well yes, of course. But a real wife doesn’t throw it in her husband’s face—she waits patiently while he finds his place. My Kiryusha has golden hands; he’ll prove it to everyone.”

“Mom, maybe we’ll go to the kitchen? I’ll put the kettle on,” Kirill jumped up quickly, sensing conflict brewing.

Irina silently went into the bedroom. She didn’t want to fight with her mother-in-law yet again. There was no point explaining anything to someone convinced her son was perfect.

Two more weeks passed. Irina came home later than usual—important negotiations had dragged on and she was exhausted. She opened the door and froze. The apartment was in real chaos. Socks and T-shirts were strewn across the floor; on the coffee table were dirty plates with leftover food; the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. In the kitchen, the sink was piled with dishes to the brim, and a trash bag was spilling out of the bin.

“Kirill, what is this?” Irina said slowly as she walked into the living room.

Her husband was sitting in headphones, absorbed in the game. He hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Kirill!” she snapped.

He flinched and turned around.

“Oh, you’re home. Hi.”

“Can you explain what’s going on here? Why is the apartment such a mess?”

“Well… friends came by. We hung out a bit. I’ll clean up later,” Kirill said guiltily.

“Later? When is ‘later’? Every day I hear that ‘later’!”

“Ira, don’t freak out. I’ll do everything tomorrow, I promise.”

“You know what? Clean it up right now. At least get the kitchen in order.”

“I said tomorrow. I’m tired today. I’ve been looking all day.”

“Looking for what? A new game?”

“Why are you nagging me?!” Kirill sprang up. “You’re never happy! Her job is sooo hard, you see! Everyone works, and nothing!”

Irina turned and left for the bedroom, slamming the door. She sat on the bed, burying her face in her hands. Tears rose to her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She just needed to think about what to do next.

In the morning Irina woke up with a firm decision. She got up, got dressed, and silently began cleaning the apartment. Kirill was still asleep. She washed all the dishes, wiped down the surfaces, gathered the scattered clothes. Then she made breakfast and went to work.

That evening, while Irina was checking her email on her phone, a notification came from the bank: “Thank you for taking out a loan in the amount of 120,000 rubles. The first payment must be made by the 15th of this month.” She read the message twice, not believing her eyes.

“Kirill,” she called softly as she walked into the room.

“What?” her husband answered without looking away from the screen.

“Can you explain to me where this loan in my name for one hundred twenty thousand came from?”

Kirill froze. He slowly turned to his wife. His face went pale.

“Listen… I was going to tell you…”

“You took out a loan in my name?” Irina’s voice trembled with restrained fury. “How did you even do that?”

“Well… your passport details were in the desk drawer. I copied them. And the signature… I mean, I photographed your signature from the documents and inserted it into the application. It’s all done online, you know? Nobody really checks anything.”

“You stole my personal data? You forged my signature? You took out a loan without telling me?”

“I wanted to pay it myself! I was going to get a job and repay it!” Kirill blurted out, realizing it was too late to justify himself. “I needed a new computer, you understand? This old one is totally lagging. I thought maybe I could even start streaming, make money…”

“Make money on my loan?” Irina sank into a chair, no longer able to stand. Her hands were shaking. “Do you realize this is a crime? Do you realize I’m the one who has to pay this now?”

“Ira, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d react like this. I was trying—for us…”

“For us?” she gave a short, bitter snort. “You were trying for yourself. Like always.”

“Don’t yell at me! I’m your husband, by the way!”

“Husband?” Irina stood up. “Husbands provide for their families, help their wives, take responsibility. And who are you? You’re just a freeloader who steals documents and takes out loans!”

“Enough. I’m calling my mom,” Kirill said, snatching up his phone. “Let her explain to you how you’re supposed to talk to your husband!”

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Valentina Ivanovna burst into the apartment like a hurricane.

“Ira, you’ve completely lost it!” she screamed from the doorway. “How dare you yell at my son? He was trying for you!”

“Valentina Ivanovna, your son took out a loan in my name without my consent. That is a criminal offense,” Irina said coldly.

“Oh, really? And did you ever think it’s hard for him? That he’s exhausted from looking for work? A man needs support, not your scandals! My friend’s daughter has a golden son-in-law—he does everything for his wife. And you? All you know how to do is throw things in his face!”

“Your son has been living off me for five years. I pay for everything—the apartment, food, clothes, internet. He won’t even wash his own dishes. And now he’s taken out a loan in my name!”

“He’s your husband! You’re obliged to provide for him until he gets back on his feet!”

“I’ve had enough,” Irina said, grabbing her keys and her bag. “I’m leaving. When I come back, I want you gone.”

She walked out and drove to her parents’ place. Her father, Sergey Pavlovich, opened the door and immediately saw something was wrong.

“Ira, come in. What happened?”

Irina went into the room and sat down on the sofa. Her mother, Tatyana Fyodorovna, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“My sweet girl, you’re so pale. Tell us what happened.”

Irina exhaled and began to talk—about how Kirill didn’t work, about the mess at home, about the loan he had taken out in her name. She spoke for a long time, not holding back her emotions. She told them how every evening she came home and saw the same picture. How she was exhausted not only physically, but mentally. How she tried to talk to her husband, but he only promised to change and never did. Her parents listened in silence, occasionally exchanging glances.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” she finished. “I want a divorce.”

“My girl,” her father said, putting an arm around her shoulders, “you’ve made the right decision. This marriage is only draining you. You’re young, beautiful, smart. You’ll find someone who values you.”

“But how? He won’t just leave. And his mother thinks I’m supposed to support him for the rest of my life.”

“The apartment is yours,” her mother said. “So you have every right to kick him out. Change the locks, pack his things—that’s it. Let him live with his mommy, since she’s so eager to defend him.”

“And if he goes to the police?”

“And what would he tell them?” her father smirked. “That he was thrown out of someone else’s apartment? The deed is in your name. You didn’t sign anything about joint ownership of property. He’s nobody there. Just a tenant who abused your hospitality.”

Irina stayed with her parents for two days, thinking it all through. She realized she couldn’t drag it out any longer. She had to act decisively. During those two days she thought a lot. She remembered who she had been before the marriage—free, confident, making plans for the future. And now? Now she had turned into a driven horse, doing nothing but working and enduring.

On Monday morning, while Kirill was still asleep, Irina gathered the most important documents and valuables. She called work and took the day off. Then she found a family-law attorney’s contact online. The attorney listened to her story and gave her clear instructions.

“The apartment was registered to you before the marriage. That means it’s your personal property and is not subject to division in a divorce. You have every right to evict your spouse. The loan taken out in your name without your consent can be challenged, but you will have to prove forgery. File for divorce through the registry office if your husband agrees. If he doesn’t—through the court. You have no children and no jointly acquired property, so the divorce will be quick.”

“And if he refuses to file through the registry office?”

“Then file in court. Under these circumstances, the court will side with you. The main thing is to collect all evidence: bank statements about the loan, neighbors’ testimony that he doesn’t work, receipts proving you pay for everything yourself.”

Irina nodded, writing down the attorney’s recommendations. She could feel determination growing inside her. No more weakness. No more doubts.

On Friday evening Kirill left for his mother’s for the weekend. He said his mom wasn’t feeling well and had asked him to come. Irina nodded, not showing how relieved she was by the news. As soon as the door closed behind him, she got to work.

First she called a locksmith. The man arrived an hour later, quickly removed the old lock and installed a new one. Irina asked for a sturdy lock with anti-break-in protection.

“All done,” the locksmith said, handing her the keys. “The old keys won’t work anymore.”

Then Irina began packing up Kirill’s things. Methodically she put his clothes, shoes, computer, and game console into boxes and bags. Everything that belonged to him, she packed neatly. She worked calmly, without rushing. Each item reminded her of something: that jacket she bought him for his birthday; those sneakers he begged her to pay for for a whole month. By Saturday evening a whole mountain of boxes stood in the entryway.

Irina carried everything out into the stairwell and placed it by the apartment door. Then she went back inside, locked the door, and sat down on the sofa. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from relief. She had done it. Finally.

On Sunday evening, around nine, the doorbell started ringing. Irina didn’t go to the door. The ringing grew more insistent. Then came the sound of someone trying to insert a key into the lock. Metal scraped, but the door didn’t open. Silence followed.

Irina’s phone buzzed. The name “Kirill” flashed on the screen. She pressed the green button and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Where are you?! Why doesn’t the key work, and why did you throw my things out into the hallway?!” her husband yelled into the phone. “Open the door right now! I’m freezing out here! What the hell is this?!”

“Kirill, I filed for divorce,” Irina said calmly. “This apartment belongs to me. You don’t live here anymore.”

“Have you completely lost your mind?! This is my apartment too! We’re married!”

“The apartment is mine. I bought it before our wedding with my own money. It is not marital property. You can take your things and leave.”

“I’ll kick the door in!”

“Go ahead. Then I’ll call the police. I think they’ll be very interested in the loan you took out using forged documents.”

Kirill fell silent. Irina could hear his heavy breathing.

“Ira… don’t be like that. Let’s talk like normal people. I’ll change, I swear. I’ll get a job, I’ll help around the house…”

“It’s too late. I’m tired of listening to promises. Take your things and go.”

“Where am I supposed to go?!”

“To your mother. She always defends you—so live with her.”

“You bitch, Irina! A real bitch! I’ll make you pay for this!”

Irina hung up. A minute later he called again. Kirill. She declined the call. The calls kept coming, again and again. Irina blocked his number.

Less than five minutes passed before the phone rang again. This time it was Valentina Ivanovna.

“How dare you!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “You threw my son out of the house! I’ll sue you! I’ll take half of this apartment from you! You’ll regret messing with us!”

“Valentina Ivanovna, the apartment is registered solely in my name. It is my personal property; it is not divided in a divorce. You can file a lawsuit, but you’ll lose. And one more thing: if your son doesn’t take his belongings within twenty-four hours, I’ll throw them in the trash,” Irina replied evenly and ended the call.

She blocked her mother-in-law’s number too. Let them scream at each other. She didn’t need to listen anymore.

An hour later voices could be heard outside the door. Kirill and his mother were talking as they gathered the things. Irina heard them going down the stairs, dragging boxes. Valentina Ivanovna was loudly complaining, calling her former daughter-in-law every nasty name in the book. Kirill muttered something in response. Then there was silence.

The next days were filled with errands. Irina filed for divorce through the civil registry office. Kirill agreed, realizing there was no point arguing. They had no children and no joint property, so the procedure was simple. Still, when they submitted the paperwork, he tried one last time to talk to Irina.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this? Maybe we should try again? I’ll really change…”

“No, Kirill. It’s decided. I don’t want to live in this marriage anymore.”

“But where am I supposed to go? Mom’s apartment is small…”

“That’s not my problem anymore,” Irina said coldly and signed the form.

She challenged the loan in court, proving the signature had been forged. The bank ordered an examination, which confirmed the falsification. Kirill was required to repay the loan himself. Irina didn’t really believe he would, but at least officially the debt was no longer hers—and that alone was a relief.

That evening, when all the paperwork had been settled, Irina sat on the balcony with a cup of tea. She looked at the city lit up with evening lights and smiled. For the first time in many years, she felt free. No reproaches, no scandals, no obligations to a person who didn’t value her work.

The apartment was her personal space again. It was orderly, everything in its place. No dirty dishes, no clothes thrown everywhere, no computer endlessly running games. Only silence and peace.

Irina picked up her phone and texted her parents: “That’s it. I’m free. Thank you for supporting me.”

The reply came instantly: “We love you, sweetheart. Come this weekend—Mom will cook.”

Irina smiled and set the phone down. She thought about how much lay ahead. Now she could make new plans, dream, enjoy life. She didn’t have to waste her strength on someone who only took and gave nothing in return. Life went on. And now it was entirely in her hands.