“Getting divorced? Wonderful! Then pay for it yourself”: the wife left, leaving her husband face to face with debts and an enraged family
— We’re getting divorced.
Maksim struck his champagne flute so hard that the sparkling wine splashed onto the tablecloth. The guests froze; Tamara Ivanovna let her fork slip from her hand. Vera was cutting an apple for their son—tiny slices, into wedges—staring at the knife.
— Maksim, what are you even saying? — Tamara Ivanovna straightened up and brushed a hand over the Swiss watch on her wrist. — It’s my anniversary. We have guests at the table.
— Mom, it’s fine. I’ll leave her the apartment—let her live there with the kid. I’m not a monster. And I’m moving in with Karina—at least she’s alive, not a robot.
His sister Oksana snickered, expecting a scene. But Vera only wiped the knife and folded the napkin.
— Maksim, open your banking app.
He frowned, dug into his pocket, and tossed the phone onto the table.
— Here. Look. Everything’s clean—my shift’s done, the money’s there.
Vera took the phone, checked the balance, and nodded.
— I see it. But tomorrow morning a payment will be deducted. The mortgage and the truck. There won’t be enough money.
Maksim went pale and snatched the phone back.
— What payment?
— The watch for your mom. The banquet. The gift for Oksana—you transferred it to her yesterday. You paid off your card debts the day before yesterday. The payments didn’t go anywhere.
Tamara Ivanovna tightened her grip at her wrist, hiding the watch. Oksana set down her fork and stood up.
— Vera, are you messing with us? — Maksim jerked his shoulder; his voice wavered. — Your credit history is good—cover it for a couple of days, I’ll pay you back.
Vera slowly shook her head.
— Getting divorced? Wonderful. Then pay for it yourself.
— What do you mean?
— Exactly that. You’re a free man. The apartment is yours, the decisions are yours, Karina is yours. So pay for it yourself. My days of wriggling out of your mess are over.
Maksim jumped up; the chair crashed to the floor. He paced around the room, then spun toward his mother.
— Mom, did you hear that? She’s my wife—she’s obligated to help!
Vera turned to Tamara Ivanovna and looked her straight in the eyes.
— The watch is beautiful. But the day after tomorrow there’s another payment—on your car. The loan is in Maksim’s name. You can return the watch to the store if you want.
Tamara Ivanovna jolted, grabbing her wrist with both hands.
— What? Maksim, you never told me!
— Mom, it’s nothing, I’ll handle it! — Maksim darted between the table and the window, his face blotched red. — Vera, enough!
Vera stood up and walked to the coat rack. By the door stood a suitcase—packed in advance. Maksim froze.
— You… packed beforehand?
— I was just counting money, Maksim. I’m an accountant—it’s not hard. — She put on her coat and buttoned it up. — File for divorce whenever you want. Child support for Denis will be deducted from your salary automatically—one quarter. Plus the loans. Do the math—see what’s left for Karina and your little bottle of vodka.
Denis stood by the door, a backpack on his shoulders. He didn’t look at his father.
Tamara Ivanovna grabbed her son by the sleeve.
— Maksim, do you understand everything will be deducted tomorrow? What am I supposed to do—pawn the watch? Sell the car?
Oksana leaned forward; her voice sharpened.
— Max, you gave me money for my nails yesterday—I already booked! At least give that back!
Maksim flinched and stared at Vera.
— You can’t leave! You’re obligated to help—we’re family!
Vera turned back on the threshold and looked at him for a long moment—tired, calm.
— Family, Maksim, is when you’re in it together. You chose Karina. Live with her.
The door closed softly. Tamara Ivanovna sobbed, yanking the watch off her wrist; Oksana frantically typed something into her phone. Maksim sank onto a chair, burying his face in his hands.
Morning greeted Maksim with a call from the bank. He’d slept in, drunk after the guests left.
— We are informing you that the payment did not go through. Please deposit the amount within three days, otherwise penalty interest will begin to accrue.
Maksim sat up and stared at his phone. He remembered—Vera, the suitcase, Denis at the door, his mother with the watch. It all came rushing back at once.
He called Vera. Once, twice, three times. She didn’t pick up. He texted: “Come back, let’s talk нормально.” Then: “You’re not serious, are you?” Then just: “Vera.” Seen. No reply.
Maksim hurled the phone and walked through the apartment. It was empty—not in the sense of furniture, but of presence. No scent of face cream on the nightstand, no kid’s slippers by the door, no tablet on the charger.
The phone rang again. His mother.
— Maksim, I was thinking—maybe you should take the watch to a pawn shop? Or ask Karina, since she’s so cheerful? I’m not selling the car—I need it.
He stayed silent, squeezing the phone until his knuckles went white.
— Are you listening? You took out a pile of loans, and now I’m supposed to clean it up?…
— I’ll deal with it, — he forced out, and hung up.
Deal with it. How? Child support, loans—after all that, he’d barely have enough left for a bus pass. Karina? He’d texted her yesterday that he needed help with money. She vanished for a couple of hours, then replied with something vague about a difficult period.
By lunchtime Maksim couldn’t take it anymore and went to Karina’s. He bought flowers at a kiosk—cheap chrysanthemums; he didn’t have money for anything else.
Karina didn’t open right away. She was in a robe, her face without makeup, her hair in a messy bun. She looked tired—and not glad at all.
— Maksim, I wrote to you—let’s not rush this.
— I just wanted to see you. — He held out the flowers, but she didn’t take them; she folded her arms across her chest.
— Listen, I’m not ready for this. You’ve got a pile of problems—divorce, loans, a child. I don’t need that. I’m thirty-two, I want an easy life, not to dig through someone else’s mess.
— I’ll fix everything—just give me time!
Karina sighed and ran a hand over her face. In her eyes Maksim saw something he hadn’t noticed before—indifference.
— You’re great, really. But I need a man who’s already sorted everything out, not one who’s only planning to. Sorry.
She closed the door. Gently, almost silently—but for good.
Maksim stood there with the flowers in his hands, staring at the shut door. For the first time in many years, he’d been dumped. Not him leaving, not him deciding—he’d been shown out like an unwanted thing.
That evening the phone rang again in the apartment. Tamara Ivanovna.
— I pawned the watch. I got a third of what it was worth. That’ll cover one payment. One, Maksim. The rest is your problem.
She hung up without waiting for an answer. A minute later Oksana texted: “Bro, I’m serious. Pay me back for my nails. I need it myself.”
Maksim sat on the couch in the empty apartment, staring at the ceiling. Vera wasn’t replying. Karina had closed the door. His mother had taken his gift to a pawn shop. His sister demanded her petty cash back. Everything he’d thought was his—his apartment, his freedom, his new life—had turned into a trap.
He opened his banking app and looked at what was left. After all the payments and child support, he had less than he used to spend on a weekend. Gas, food, tobacco—and that was it. No Karina, no easy life.
Maksim called Vera again. This time she answered—after a long ring, almost right before the call would drop.
— What? — Her voice was cold, unfamiliar.
— Vera, let’s meet. I understand everything now. I was an idiot. Come back.
A pause. Long, heavy.
— No.
— What do you mean, no? I admitted I was wrong!
— Maksim, you weren’t wrong. You got caught. Those are different things.
She hung up. Maksim sat there, staring at the dark screen, and for the first time in many years he felt cornered—by himself. By his choices, by his confidence that everything would just work itself out.
Vera was sitting with Denis on her mother’s couch. They were watching a cartoon; their son was already drifting off, his face pressed into her shoulder. Her phone lay nearby, face down, vibrating now and then—Maksim texting, calling, texting again.
— Mom, are we going to live here now? — Denis mumbled sleepily.
— For now, yes. Then we’ll find our own place.
— And Dad?
Vera stroked his head and pulled him closer.
— Dad will see you when he wants to. But he and I aren’t together anymore.
Denis nodded and looked back at the TV. Vera knew it was hard for him—everything inside him was turning upside down—but he stayed quiet, not wanting to upset her. And that hurt the most: realizing her child was already learning how to take a hit.
The phone vibrated one last time. Vera picked it up and glanced at the screen: “Vera, I get it now. Forgive me. Come back.”
She read it, blocked him, and set the phone down again. Her mother’s kitchen smelled of soup; outside the window, it was getting dark; Denis was breathing softly beside her. Vera closed her eyes and let out a long, slow exhale, as if releasing everything that had been building up in her for years.
Maksim stayed there—with the loans, his furious mother, a sister demanding her pennies back, and Karina who had shut the door. In that apartment that was no longer a home, but a cage. And she was here—with her son, with her calm. And for the first time in many years, that calm wasn’t a mask—it was the truth.
