— What divorce, dear?! And the apartment?! It’s in your name! — her husband panicked.
Alena had always been a practical person. Back in high school, when her classmates dreamed of glamorous prom dresses, Alena worked as a tutor and saved up for a down payment on her first apartment. At that time, it seemed like an unreachable dream, but her determination was unwavering.
By the time Valera entered Alena’s life, she had been working as an accountant for a year, steadily saving for the future. They met at a mutual friend’s birthday party—Alena brought a homemade cake, Valera brought a bottle of foreign wine. Right away, there was chemistry between them.
Valera worked as a marketer for a small internet advertising company. Always brimming with ideas, full of energy, and eager to move forward. Alena couldn’t help but listen intently as he talked about market trends, business projects, and opportunities for growth. With him, Alena felt more alive, more interesting.
After a year of dates, café hangouts, and shared dreams, they got married. Simple, without fanfare. They just signed the papers, had a modest dinner with close family and friends. Alena’s parents even helped with the initial rent deposit. Valera hugged her parents, assuring them that everything would soon fall into place for the young couple.
— I’m up for a promotion at work, — Valera said, pouring champagne into glasses. — And Alena, she’s amazing—an accountant of the highest caliber!
Her parents smiled, watching their happy daughter. Alena radiated tenderness. It felt like together, they could face any challenge. They were young, strong, and, most importantly, in love.
The first few months of married life passed in a blur. Morning coffee together, evening walks in the park, shared dinners, and dreams of the future. Alena kept saving for the apartment, Valera contributed to their shared life. Of course, Alena covered most of the expenses—accountants had a steadier income than marketers. But it didn’t bother her, because Valera made up for it with ideas, energy, and attention.
But then, something changed.
One evening, Valera came home earlier than usual. His face was clouded, and he was holding a cardboard box filled with personal items.
— What happened? — Alena asked, tearing herself away from her work at the computer.
— I quit, — Valera dropped the box on the floor and slumped into the chair. — No, wait. I burned out, Alena. Completely. I can’t keep working like this.
Alena stared at her husband, confused. After years of working as an accountant, she was used to stability. The word “quit” hit her like a thunderclap.
— Why? — she asked, struggling to process what was happening.
— I’m tired, — Valera rubbed his temples. — Pointless projects, idiotic clients, a tyrannical boss. I need a break. I need to reset. You understand?
Alena didn’t fully understand what “reset” meant, but she could see how drained Valera was. His usually bright eyes were dull, his shoulders slumped. He wasn’t the energetic Valera she knew.
— Of course, darling, — Alena moved toward him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. — Rest, take your time. Then you can find something that suits you.
She believed it was temporary. After all, everyone goes through tough patches. The most important thing was to support him during this time and help him get back on his feet.
The first month of Valera’s “break” passed relatively peacefully. He rested, exercised, read self-help books. Alena continued working, covering the expenses—rent, groceries, utilities. It was a bit tight, especially since she had to save less for the dream apartment. But Alena believed everything would be fine soon.
The second month brought some changes. Valera exercised less, spent more time lying on the couch, scrolling through social media. The books were replaced by video lectures. Alena often came home to find him in the same position she had left him in that morning.
— Maybe you should start looking for a job? — Alena asked cautiously one evening, after preparing dinner, as usual.
— I’m looking, — Valera set down his fork. — I just need to find something worthwhile. I don’t want to settle for something mediocre.
Alena nodded. His words made sense. Why take the first job that came along if he would only quit again later because of dissatisfaction?
By the third month, Valera had a new hobby—podcasts. He recorded his thoughts on marketing, business, and self-improvement on a dictaphone. He spent hours editing, creating covers, uploading them to various platforms. Alena was glad that Valera had something to occupy himself with, though it seemed like only a couple of his friends listened to these podcasts.
Valera also started seeing a psychologist. Of course, Alena paid for the sessions.
— I need this to figure myself out, — he explained. — You want me to be happy, don’t you?
Of course, Alena wanted him to be happy. And she paid for the sessions, even though each one cost a pretty penny. Her savings for the apartment were dwindling, but what could she do when the person she loved needed help?
By the sixth month of “reset,” Alena started noticing that Valera reacted defensively to any talk about work.
— Maybe you could try some freelancing? — Alena suggested at dinner, which she had prepared after a long day at work. — You’re good at writing content for the podcasts. You could make money by doing that.
— Alenka, you’re the strong one here, — Valera sighed. — I’m in a different place now. I need to find myself, you know?
Alena nodded, though she didn’t fully understand. A shadow of exhaustion appeared in her eyes for the first time. Supporting a partner through a temporary difficult time was one thing. But carrying everything on her own indefinitely was another.
By the end of the year, Alena realized that her patience was wearing thin. But then, a miracle happened—the bank approved her mortgage. Despite the significant dip in her savings due to covering the household expenses alone, Alena had enough for the down payment. Stable employment and a good credit history worked in her favor.
— Guess what? We got approved! — Alena rushed into the apartment, waving the bank’s approval letter. — We can finally buy our place!
Valera looked up from his laptop, where he had been editing another podcast.
— Wow, that’s impressive! — he exclaimed. — I always knew you’d make it!
The words “you” and “mine” stung her, as though she were an object. But the excitement of the upcoming purchase drowned out the discomfort. Finally, a place of their own, even if it was on a mortgage.
The loan was only in Alena’s name—Valera had no job and no stable income. But he eagerly jumped into choosing the apartment, planning the layout, picking out furniture. He spent days flipping through catalogs, picking out wallpapers, designing the living space. Sometimes, Alena felt like Valera saw it as a creative project, not a serious financial commitment for years to come.
The move to the new apartment didn’t change much in their relationship. In fact, it made the cracks even more apparent.
Valera settled fully into the role of the “creative soul searching for himself.” He slept in, had coffee, scrolled through social media, recorded podcasts that still didn’t generate any income. Occasionally, he invited friends over unannounced, ordering delivery on Alena’s dime.
Meanwhile, Alena continued working, paying the mortgage, the utilities, the groceries. Now, there were also expenses for renovations—she wanted to make the new place feel like home.
— Look at this amazing couch I found! — Valera showed her a model on his screen, which cost as much as three months’ worth of mortgage payments. — It’ll be perfect for the living room.
Alena stared at the price and felt something inside snap. Every day, every conversation made her more convinced that Valera took everything for granted. He lived off her, never considering the cost of it all.
That night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while Valera slept curled up beside her, Alena replayed their years together in her mind. The romantic meeting, lighthearted dates, their beautiful wedding, dreams for the future… Then came the firing, endless excuses, the never-ending podcasts nobody listened to, the therapy sessions she paid for, the apartment she was solely responsible for.
At what point had her loved one turned into a freeloader? And how had she failed to notice the change?
The next morning, Alena woke up earlier than usual. She made coffee, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened her laptop. Her hands automatically found the right website and filled out the form for a divorce application on the government services site. No drama, no tears. Just a series of steps taken by someone who had made a decision.
By the time Valera woke up around noon, Alena had already left for work. There was a note on the fridge: “We need to talk tonight.” He shrugged—probably another conversation about work or money. Nothing new.
That evening, when Alena returned, Valera was lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. The apartment smelled like pizza—he must’ve ordered delivery again.
— We need to talk, — Alena said as she took off her coat. — Sit down, please.
— What’s going on? — Valera reluctantly looked up from his phone.
— I’ve filed for divorce, — Alena said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. — Today. I’ve already received the confirmation. You should have gotten the notification too.
Valera stared at her, clearly confused.
— What are you talking about? — he finally managed to say.
— This is no joke. I can’t live like this anymore, — Alena sat across from him. — I’m tired of being the only one who works, pays the bills, and carries the weight of our life.
— You’re just tired, — Valera dismissed her. — You’re overworked. Tomorrow it’ll all pass, you’ll see.
— No, Valera. I’ve thought this through. I want you to move out by the end of the week.
— Wait, — Valera finally began to grasp the seriousness of the situation. — You really want a divorce? What about our family? Our relationship?
— What relationship, Valera? — Alena smiled sadly. — You’ve been living your life, and I’ve been living mine. But now I’m not going to pay for yours anymore.
Valera was silent, processing the information. His eyes showed the first sign of worry.
— Wait, what divorce?! And the apartment?! It’s in your name! Are you really throwing me out?! — panic crept into Valera’s voice.
— Yes, the apartment is in my name, — Alena nodded. — And the mortgage too. Which I pay on my own.
— But it’s our apartment! — Valera protested.
— It’s mine. Or rather, it belongs to the bank, since it’s under mortgage. I just need your consent that you don’t have any claims on it. I don’t think you’re planning to make the monthly payments, are you? — Alena said calmly. “The guest visit is over.”
In the following days, Valera tried to play the victim. He called Alena’s mother, complaining about how “ungrateful” his wife was. He wrote posts on social media, portraying himself as a victim. He even showed up at Alena’s work, making scenes.
But no one sided with Valera. Not Alena’s mother, who had seen for years that her son-in-law was living off her daughter. Not his friends, who had long told Alena to open her eyes. Everyone knew what was going on—except Alena, who had been too blinded by “temporary struggles” to see the truth.
A week later, Valera packed his things and moved in with a friend. Alena immediately changed the locks—not out of fear, but as a symbolic gesture. This apartment now belonged only to her.
First thing, Alena rearranged the furniture. She threw out the old couch where Valera had spent most of his time. She moved the bookshelves, changed the curtains. This was her space now, her fortress, where every detail reminded her not of a failed marriage, but of a new life.
When neighbor Nina Petrovna ran into Alena by the elevator and asked where Valera was, Alena calmly replied:
— He moved out.
For the first time in a long while, the words came easily, without bitterness or regret.
At work, Alena seemed to blossom. Her colleagues noticed the change in the quiet accountant—there was a sparkle in her eyes, confidence in her movements, even more smiles.
— You’re glowing! — her boss Irina Viktorovna remarked. — Something good must have happened.
— I finally started focusing on myself, — Alena replied, and there wasn’t a single lie in her words.
A month later, when the divorce proceedings were well underway, Valera called and asked to meet. Alena agreed—not out of pity, but to finally put an end to everything.
They met at a small café near their former shared home. Valera looked thin, his eyes confused.
— You’ve lost weight, — Alena remarked.
— Learned to cook for myself, — Valera chuckled dryly. — Turns out, it’s not so easy.
They sat in silence, staring at each other as though they were strangers meeting for the first time after a long separation.
— I’ve realized everything, Alenka, — Valera finally said. — I was selfish. I only thought about myself. I left everything on your shoulders.
— Did you really realize, or are you just looking to get back to your comfortable life? — Alena asked, stirring her coffee.
— I’ve got a job now, — Valera said, avoiding the question. — At a marketing agency. It’s not as prestigious as before, but I had to start somewhere.
— That’s good, — Alena nodded. — I hope now you understand what it’s like to be an adult.
— Can we start over? — hope flickered in Valera’s eyes.
Alena shook her head.
— No, Valera. Some stories can’t be rewritten. They can only be left behind.
— You don’t love me anymore?
— It’s not about love. It’s about respect. You weren’t there when I needed you. You didn’t support me when I was struggling. You just took without giving anything back.
Valera lowered his head, finally acknowledging his guilt.
Alena wasn’t angry, didn’t shout, didn’t accuse him. She just stated the facts. It wasn’t revenge—it was acceptance of reality.
After the meeting, Alena walked home alone, enjoying the cool evening air. For the first time in a long time, her heart wasn’t weighed down with sorrow or disappointment. It felt light and peaceful, like she had just taken off a heavy backpack after a long journey.
At home, Alena took a bath, brewed some tea, and played her favorite music. This was her apartment, her space, her life. No more dirty cups left on the coffee table, no more feeling guilty for asking for help.
Alena was no longer the “bad wife” who “didn’t understand the creative soul.” She was simply a woman who had chosen herself and her own happiness.
The next morning, Alena woke up to sunlight streaming through the new curtains. She made coffee, changed the water in the vase with fresh flowers she’d bought on the way home yesterday. A new day lay ahead, full of new possibilities and a new life.
And Alena smiled. Because for the first time in ages, she was living with someone who didn’t let her down—herself.