From her teenage years, Zhanna consistently relied only on herself. During high school, she supplemented her earnings by tutoring, deliberately avoiding asking her parents for pocket money. At university, she balanced her studies with a job in a clothing store. Even after getting married, she maintained her habit of handling financial matters independently.
Initially, Sergei didn’t mind this arrangement. He had just graduated and was exploring different jobs, changing positions frequently. Meanwhile, Zhanna had been steadily employed at a large shopping center, progressing from senior sales assistant to eventually becoming an administrator. Their income was stable enough to cover living expenses.
Funny enough, Zhanna’s father-in-law often teased, “You’re lucky to have such a self-reliant wife. While Sergei is still searching for himself, she feeds the family.”
Zhanna took no offense. Sergei was attentive and considerate, neither drinking nor smoking, and regularly pitching in with household chores. However, his career wandering lasted three years, during which he switched roles—from office manager to computer equipment salesman, courier, legal assistant, and even network marketer—never holding a position more than four months.
“I just don’t feel it’s right for me,” Sergei confessed when submitting yet another resignation. “The office is boring, the salesfloor is dull, and I don’t want to deal with clients.”
“Then what do you want?” Zhanna would ask.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted honestly. “Maybe start my own business? You’ve got a bonus coming; we could invest.”
Zhanna greeted such ideas with skepticism, which sparked several serious arguments between them.
- Sergei insisted, “We’re a family. If you can invest in my future, why not?”
- Zhanna retorted, “I work so we can live decently, not to fund your experiments. If you want to establish a business, save for it yourself.”
- Sergei accused, “A good wife wouldn’t say that. In a proper family, money is shared.”
Yet, this supposed “shared money” concept seemed one-sided. Sergei could buy a new phone, spending nearly his entire paycheck, then borrow money from Zhanna for transportation or meals. Meanwhile, Zhanna primarily covered rent, utilities, and groceries.
“I’m broke right now, you know that,” Sergei would claim. “Next month, when I get paid, I’ll repay my share.”
However, his “share” rarely exceeded 10% of their overall expenses. Sergei even kept Zhanna’s bank card, claiming it was “for safekeeping.” When Zhanna suggested transferring the card to her name, he reacted with anger.
“Don’t you trust me? You think I’d steal your money?” Sergei demanded.
These conflicts led Zhanna to stop discussing finances with him. She had a dream: to own her own apartment. Renting felt temporary and suffocating; she yearned for a place she could truly call her own, a sanctuary where she felt secure.
Quietly, Zhanna began saving part of each paycheck without mentioning it to Sergei. She opened a new account with a different bank and started a savings deposit. When her aunt passed and left her a modest inheritance, Zhanna refrained from spending it, telling Sergei instead that she had bought a vacation gift for her parents. Sergei dismissed the explanation, eager instead to pursue his own business plans.
“I found a great idea,” Sergei said. “We could open a shop selling farm products. Sure, it’ll need investment at first, but later it’ll be profitable.”
Zhanna feigned disinterest, and the discussion faded.
Once she had accumulated enough funds for a down payment, Zhanna started apartment hunting. She selected a modest one-bedroom in a new building on the city’s outskirts. Its price was fair, and the building was nearly ready. She engaged a real estate agency to help with the mortgage process.
Still, a nagging worry remained: Sergei often stressed that everything should be communal in a marriage but failed to exemplify this himself. What if he later claimed part ownership?
After consulting with the realtor, Zhanna registered the apartment in her elderly mother Elena Mikhailovna’s name, a pensioner. This step offered extra security, ensuring the property would stay within the family if anything happened.
Zhanna completed the purchase quietly, without Sergei’s knowledge. At that time, he was obsessed with a new venture: organizing off-road jeep tours advertised as a golden opportunity. The house was cluttered with catalogs of cars he deemed “essential” for the business.
“Zhanna, you don’t understand, this is our chance!” Sergei insisted. “We take a loan, buy a couple of vehicles, hire drivers, and customers will flock in!”
It was then Zhanna fully realized she had done right by keeping the apartment a secret. She shuddered imagining Sergei squandering the money on his “brilliant” ideas.
Renovation of the new apartment also took place in secret. Zhanna claimed to be taking extra shifts at work, while she monitored construction personally. Elena Mikhailovna helped select furnishings and materials. Within three months, the apartment was completely ready for moving in.
Zhanna planned to bring Sergei into the conversation gradually, maybe even suggest moving in together on specific conditions—primarily that Sergei finally find stable employment.
However, nothing followed the plan.
One evening, Zhanna returned home exhausted, discovering Sergei watching videos on his tablet.
“Is dinner ready?” she asked, taking off her shoes.
“I thought you’d buy something on your way,” Sergei replied, still not looking away from the screen.
Sighing, Zhanna headed to the kitchen, pulling vegetables out for a salad. She left her bag on a chair, unaware that the apartment purchase documents slipped from a side pocket onto the floor after Sergei accidentally bumped the bag.
“Sorry,” he muttered, stooping to collect the papers. His eyes caught the title: “Sale and Purchase Agreement for Apartment.” Frozen, he began reading.
Turning around, Zhanna saw his face redden.
“What’s this?” Sergei shook the papers. “You bought an apartment?”
Zhanna realized denying was futile.
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “I’ve been saving for a place of my own.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Sergei’s voice cracked with frustration. “I’m your husband!”
“I only used my money,” explained Zhanna. “You never saved anything for a home.”
“Wait,” Sergei flipped a page. “Owner… Elena Mikhailovna Karpova? That’s your mother!”
His anger erupted.
“How dare you buy an apartment without telling me? And why register it in your mother’s name!” he ranted, frothing at the mouth. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? I’m your husband! We’re family! And you behind my back…”
Zhanna looked at the man before her and felt a stranger. Years of his talk of trust and family values contrasted sharply with his exploitative behavior—using her money without contributing himself.
“Sergei, I believe I acted right,” she said quietly. “This is my security. My money, my apartment.”
“Security? Against what? Me?” He threw the papers onto the table. “You think I’m some drunk? I wouldn’t try to take your apartment.”
“It’s not about that…”
“Then what? You don’t trust me? Secretly saving and buying an apartment under your mother’s name?” Sergei paced angrily. “The worst is that my son will live in a rented place while that old woman enjoys this new building!”
“What son?” Zhanna asked in confusion.
“Our future son, who won’t exist because you spent all the money on the apartment! We could have started a business, earned more, and bought a decent place—not this shoebox on the edge of town.”
As Sergei’s shouting echoed, Zhanna thought about packing only essentials, saving the rest for later.
“Sergei,” she said as he paused to catch his breath, “I don’t want to discuss this further. My money, my life, my responsibility. Yours begins separately from me.”
Without looking back, Zhanna left the kitchen. She packed important documents, a few clothes, and toiletries in the bedroom. Then called her mother to say she would stay the night.
“What happened?” Elena Mikhailovna asked urgently.
“I’ll explain later,” Zhanna replied shortly. “Sergei found out about the apartment.”
“Come quickly! Have you got the keys?”
“Yes,” Zhanna replied, pocketing her phone as she went out.
Sergei leaned against the wall. “Leaving?”
“Yes,” Zhanna admitted. “Going to Mom’s.”
Sergei’s voice was filled with disdain. “Go ahead. But we will talk.”
Zhanna silently put on her jacket, grabbed her bag, and left without turning back. Only in the taxi did she exhale deeply—a strange mix of anxiety and relief, like a burden lifted she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for years.
The new apartment smelled of fresh paint and renovation. Elena Mikhailovna welcomed her warmly, embracing her. “Finally, you’re here.”
“You were right about Sergei,” Zhanna confessed. “Sorry I didn’t listen.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” her mother said gently. “For now, you need rest.”
In the following weeks, Zhanna focused on settling in—unpacking, organizing books, and arranging a small workspace by the window overlooking the park. She especially cherished working at her new desk, chosen to provide a clear view of the trees and playground.
Evenings found Zhanna brewing tea and enjoying the rare quiet. Unlike their rented place, where Sergei often watched videos loudly or shouted on the phone, here she fell asleep peacefully, free from tension or vigilance.
Sergei tried in vain to reconcile, sending apologetic messages and promises, but Zhanna no longer felt any connection.
- Messages ranged from apologies: “I was wrong, let’s talk calmly,” to accusations: “You don’t even try to save our family,” and offers: “We can re-register the apartment jointly, and I’ll find a job.”
None moved Zhanna.
Then came his mother, Irina Petrovna, a domineering woman who called daily, sometimes threatening legal action or begging Zhanna to reconsider for Sergei’s sake.
Her accusations swung between blaming Zhanna for selfishness and her own mother for destroying the family.
Zhanna tried to ignore these exhausting calls, ultimately blocking the number.
Elena Mikhailovna watched her daughter with concern. One evening, she suggested, “Maybe we should give the apartment to them and buy you another.”
“It’s not about the apartment,” Zhanna shook her head. “I left for peace and self-respect. Sergei never saw me as his equal. To him, I was just a wallet and support staff. I won’t return.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “I just wanted to make sure you’re certain.”
“Absolutely,” Zhanna answered firmly.
At work, Zhanna accepted a promotion to deputy manager of the shopping center. Previously, she would have discussed such decisions with Sergei, enduring his complaints that management roles weren’t for women. But now, she embraced the opportunity fully.
Colleagues noticed the change. “Zhanna, you seem to have blossomed,” Marina, senior administrator, remarked. “Your eyes shine, and you smile more often.”
“I feel renewed,” Zhanna admitted. “Like a new beginning.”
Her energy and zest for life grew. Evenings were devoted to English classes; weekends included park visits and reading long-postponed books. Without the need to adjust constantly to someone else’s moods, Zhanna found time for herself.
One day, childhood friend Vera called. Despite Sergei’s disapproval, they reunited for a cozy housewarming tea with old friends.
Zhanna candidly shared how draining life had been—always fearing arguments, never daring to discuss finances, quietly saving for this new start.
“You did right by leaving,” Marina encouraged. “He never understood.”
“I divorced after three years for the same reasons,” Natasha, a schoolmate, added. “He was always searching for himself but only found my wallet.”
Laughter and stories filled the evening, and Zhanna realized she hadn’t felt such relief and support in years.
A month after their split, Sergei appeared outside Zhanna’s new apartment—flowers, a cake, apologies in tow. But Zhanna refused to answer the door. The phone was disconnected after incessant calls from Irina Petrovna.
Sergei lingered for fifteen minutes before leaving the gifts on the mat. Zhanna discarded both without anger—only with a clear sense that this chapter was closed.
Divorce papers arrived a month later. Zhanna signed without hesitation or tears—a decision years in formation, though unrecognized until then.
Following the divorce, Zhanna invited her mother to the notary. “Why?” Elena Mikhailovna asked.
“I’m transferring the apartment back to myself,” Zhanna explained. “Now I can truly feel safe.”
Her mother nodded decisively. “It’s long overdue. You earned this through your hard work. No one else should control the apartment.”
One year on, Zhanna built a peaceful, confident life free from conflict. She earned another promotion, bought a small car, and started saving for a European vacation. Weekends found her visiting her mother or meeting friends.
Once, she spotted Sergei working at a new electronics store. He appeared older, thinner, and uncertain in his uniform.
Zhanna acknowledged him with a nod and passed by without resentment—simply encountering a stranger.
On a spring Sunday morning, Zhanna stopped at her favorite neighborhood café. Warm sunlight gleamed on the table as children played outside and passersby hurried by.
As she sipped her coffee, Zhanna reflected, “I am glad I chose myself. I’m grateful I wasn’t afraid to begin anew.”
The road ahead stretched wide, mapped entirely by her own steps.
“True strength lies in trusting yourself enough to build a life where you feel safe and respected.”
Key Insight: Zhanna’s story reveals the power of financial independence and self-respect in forging a fulfilling life, even in the face of adversity and broken relationships.
Her journey underscores the value of setting boundaries, trusting one’s instincts, and embracing new beginnings with courage and clarity.