Svetlana set her coffee cup on the windowsill and stared at the rain outside. The drops slid down the glass like tears she refused to let herself shed. October had been especially awful this year—dull, clammy, and heavy with gloom. Exactly like her life for the past six months.

“Svet, are you even listening?” Andrey asked, irritation sharpening his voice.

She turned. He was standing in the kitchen doorway with a stack of papers in his hands. Behind him was a familiar figure—his mother. Galina Petrovna, as always, had found a reason to stop by “for just a minute.”

“I’m listening,” Svetlana replied curtly.

“Mom’s right. It’s time we start acting like adults and move to a split budget. Each person is responsible for themselves.”

Svetlana’s mouth twitched into a tiny, bitter smile.

Adults. Sure. Especially the kind of “adult” who’s thirty-five and still checks with Mommy about everything.

“And how do you imagine that working?” she asked, pretending to read the papers in his hands.

Galina Petrovna couldn’t stay quiet.

“Svetochka, dear, millions of couples do it this way now! Everyone earns their own, everyone spends their own. No complaints, no blaming. Andrey brings in seventy thousand a month, you bring in fifty. It’s perfectly fair to split the expenses down the middle.”

“Mom thinks it’ll be better for our relationship,” Andrey added, refusing to look her in the eye. “Fewer reasons to argue.”

Svetlana nodded, forcing herself to stay composed. But something inside her tore.

She remembered three years ago, when Andrey had been out of work for half a year after layoffs and she carried every bill alone. No one suggested “separate finances” then. She remembered last year, too—how she paid for his mother’s costly medication when the hypertension flared up. Back then, everyone liked the “shared pot.”

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s try it.”

Andrey had clearly expected a fight, maybe even a blowup. Her calm agreement threw him off balance.

“Seriously? You’re not against it?”

“Why would I be against fairness?” Svetlana took the papers and skimmed them. A neat list of expenses split exactly in half: utilities, groceries, gas, internet… On paper, it looked reasonable.

Galina Petrovna lit up.

“There you go, Andryusha! Svet’s a smart girl—she understands. Some wives immediately start whining, ‘But what about family? What about love?’ Nonsense! Love is love, but money should stay separate!”

Svetlana nodded silently, storing every word in a private vault of grievances.

Her mother-in-law kept preaching about the virtues of separate budgets, tossing in examples of “American families” and calling it all “civilized.”

“And one more thing,” Andrey added, emboldened by how easily he’d won. “I’ll have dinner at Mom’s. She cooks every day anyway. It’s more convenient—my office is basically next to her place. So you’ll be spending more on groceries.”

“Logical,” Svetlana agreed.

When Galina Petrovna left and Andrey disappeared into his room to “work” (meaning: play online tank games), Svetlana stayed alone in the kitchen.

She slowly finished her cold coffee and pulled out a calculator. Time for arithmetic.

First she wrote down every household expense from the past six months. The total was impressive: utilities, food, cleaning supplies, medication, clothes, gifts for relatives, trips to the movies and cafés… Then she split everything into two columns: “husband” and “wife.”

By midnight, Svetlana had finished. The result was even more interesting than she’d expected.

Andrey really did spend less on the household. Much less.

Even though he talked about “equal income,” the real spending ratio was about one to three—and she was the one paying three.

Svetlana stood up, rubbed her stiff neck, and gave a small, humorless laugh.

Fine. Separate budget, then separate budget. Let’s see how ready Andrey is for real financial equality.

The next day he left for work in an unusually good mood.

Before noon, his mother called three times—discussing the “new family order” and praising her son for his “manly decision.”

Svetlana listened to Andrey’s calls and kept catching the same thought: when did she stop respecting him? A month ago? Half a year? Or had it happened slowly, quietly, corroding everything like rust?

At the agency, the day unfolded normally—clients, layouts, endless revisions and approvals. But Svetlana worked with a new edge, as if some long-dormant mechanism inside her had finally clicked on.

That evening she stopped at the supermarket and bought groceries for exactly one person: bread, milk, yogurt, oatmeal, a few vegetables. The cart looked sad—like rations for a recluse. But they were her rations.

Andrey wasn’t home. As promised, he stayed for dinner at his mother’s.

Svetlana ate alone, watched a show, and went to bed. Oddly enough, the loneliness didn’t crush her. If anything, she felt a quiet kind of freedom she hadn’t felt in a long time.

A week went by.

Andrey faithfully ate at Galina Petrovna’s, came home late, and seemed endlessly pleased with himself. Sometimes he raved about the cutlets or borscht his mother had made, clearly hinting that Svetlana should take lessons from her mother-in-law. Svetlana only nodded politely and kept living off her modest supplies.

On the weekend, Andrey went to a friend’s dacha.

“Sometimes we need a break from each other,” he explained, clearly repeating his mother’s advice.

Svetlana didn’t object. She spent Saturday and Sunday at her computer, sorting through family documents and bills from the last year.

The picture became clearer. And more depressing.

On Monday morning, the first warning bell rang: Andrey discovered they were out of coffee.

“Svet, could you buy coffee? I’m running late.”

“Coffee isn’t listed as a shared expense,” she replied, slowly buttering her single slice of toast. “Everyone buys what they drink.

He fell silent, as if waiting for a joke. But Svetlana looked dead serious.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll buy it myself.”

By the middle of the second week, it was obvious the experiment was cracking. Andrey started eyeing the refrigerator, confused that familiar treats weren’t appearing. The expensive yogurts were gone. So were the salmon and the good cheeses. In their place were Svetlana’s minimalist items—everything she owned fit on one shelf.

“Where’s the salami?” he asked on Thursday evening, peering into the fridge for something edible.

“At the store,” Svetlana said without looking up from her laptop.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you want salami, go buy it. I don’t eat it.”

That was true. She hadn’t bought salami in weeks—she preferred healthier food. But before, she used to buy it for him.

Andrey grumbled, slammed the fridge door, and headed to his mother’s again that night.

And on Friday, the utility bills arrived.

Svetlana deliberately didn’t pay them right away, even though she usually paid the day they came. She waited until Andrey found the invoices in the mailbox, brought them home, and announced them with importance.

“Utilities are here,” he said, stepping inside. “About eight thousand.”

“Okay,” Svetlana nodded. “Your half is four thousand. Will you transfer it to my card or give me cash?”

Andrey froze. Apparently, in his version of separate finances, Svetlana’s spending was the part that changed—not his obligations.

“Oh… right. Sure. Tomorrow. I’m short on my card today.”

“No problem. Just remember—if we’re late more than a month, they start charging penalties.”

The transfer didn’t come the next day. Or the day after. And on Wednesday Andrey asked, as if nothing were wrong:

“Svet, the internet is acting up. You didn’t forget to pay it, did you?”

Svetlana lifted her eyes from the paperwork spread across the kitchen table.

“You pay for the internet. It’s on our list.”

“Yeah? Oh… right…” he said, clearly not remembering what he’d signed. “Tomorrow, then.”

But he didn’t pay the internet. Or the phone. Or trash collection. Or the intercom.

By the end of the week, Svetlana realized he didn’t take the new rules seriously at all. In his mind, nothing should truly change—except now his wife had no right to ask where his money went.

On Saturday morning, Andrey was heading out to watch soccer with friends when he saw the gas tank was nearly empty.

“Svet, give me money for gas,” he asked, like always.

“I don’t have money,” she said, flat.

“What do you mean you don’t? Payday was last week.”

“It was. And I spent it on my needs—food, clothes, cosmetics. Gas is your expense.”

Andrey stood there, blinking in confusion.

In a year and a half of marriage, Svetlana had never refused him money. More than that—she often gave it without being asked, slipping cash into his coat pocket before work or transferring something “just in case.”

“You’re serious?” he asked again.

“Have I ever joked about money?”

That was true. Svetlana had always treated finances responsibly. That’s why they’d never had debts or overdue bills.

“But we’re married…” Andrey began.

“Married—and running separate budgets,” Svetlana reminded him. “That’s what you wanted. Your mom said it was modern and fair. Don’t forget.”

Mentioning his mother worked like a spell. Andrey couldn’t admit his mother’s idea had backfired, so he kept quiet and left.

That evening he returned in a foul mood. Apparently something unpleasant had been said over dinner at Galina Petrovna’s, because around nine she called Svetlana herself.

“Svetochka, dear, Andryusha says you’ve gotten greedy. This is no way to live! Refusing your husband money for gas!”

“Galina Petrovna,” Svetlana replied calmly, “the separate budget was your idea, remember? You said everyone should be responsible for themselves.”

“Yes, but within reason! You can’t take it to absurd extremes.”

“And where exactly is the line between ‘reasonable’ and ‘absurd’?” Svetlana asked politely. “Could you explain that to me?”

Galina Petrovna hadn’t expected the question. She hesitated, mumbled something about feminine wisdom and family compromise, and ended the call quickly.

And then, on Monday, something happened that Andrey absolutely didn’t expect.

Their hot water was shut off. Not for the entire building—only for their apartment. Andrey discovered it in the morning when he stepped into the shower and immediately panicked.

“Svet! What’s wrong with the water? Why is it cold?”

“Probably cut off for nonpayment,” Svetlana replied calmly, making herself oatmeal.

“What do you mean nonpayment? You were supposed to pay!”

“Me?” Svetlana raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Why would I pay your half? Two weeks ago you promised to transfer your part of the utilities—and you never did.”

Andrey stood there with his mouth open for a few seconds. Then he grabbed his phone and started furiously tapping numbers into a calculator. The debt really was serious—and hot water gets cut off fast when you ignore bills.

“But I didn’t know it was that urgent!” he protested, pulling on his clothes. “You should’ve warned me!”

“Andrey, you’re thirty-five,” Svetlana said evenly. “You’re a grown man who wanted separate finances. Track your own obligations.”

He ran off to work unwashed and furious.

Svetlana calmly finished breakfast and drove to the gym, where she took a shower after her workout. She’d bought the fitness membership last month, but never had time to use it before. Now she did—especially in the evenings, when Andrey was eating dinner at his mother’s.

By evening the hot water was back on. Apparently Andrey had borrowed money somewhere and rushed to pay the overdue balance.

But the bitterness remained. He stalked around gloomy and distracted, constantly lost in thought.

A few days later he finally decided to have a serious conversation. Svetlana was about to meet a friend when Andrey stepped into her path.

“We need to talk,” he said sharply.

“I’m listening. Make it quick—someone’s waiting for me.”

“What are you doing? This isn’t life, it’s bookkeeping! We’re spouses, not business partners.”

Svetlana adjusted the strap of her purse.

“You wanted separate finances. You and your mother said it would be fair. I’m just following your rules.”

“But you know that’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Explain it to me.”

Andrey hesitated. Explaining what he “meant” was hard without admitting the ugly truth. What he meant was simple: his wife shouldn’t have the right to question his spending—but she should still keep paying most of the household costs and maintaining his comfort.

“Well… you know. You get it,” he mumbled. “Let’s put things back the way they were.”

“No,” Svetlana said firmly. “I’m fine with how it is. It’s honest and fair. Everyone is responsible for themselves, just like your mom said.”

“Oh, forget my mother!” Andrey snapped. “This isn’t about her!”

“Oh? So it’s not about your mother?” Svetlana smiled, and there was something in that smile that made him uneasy. “Interesting. Because I thought she made all our family decisions.”

He tried to argue, but the words stuck. Because it was true, and they both knew it.

“I’m running late,” Svetlana said, heading for the door. “If you want to change our family arrangement, we’ll talk tomorrow. Civilly. Like adults. Without your mom.”

That last line landed like a slap.

The next day Andrey came home even darker. He didn’t go to his mother’s for dinner—an event in itself. Instead he sat across from Svetlana and tried to speak seriously.

“Listen, let’s find a compromise,” he began. “I know I was wrong. Maybe we can do something in between—part shared, part separate. At least try.”

Svetlana studied him. For the first time in a long while, he was speaking to her like an equal instead of a convenient attachment to his life.

“Let’s just settle this like normal people!” Andrey continued, irritation slipping through. “Did you at least pay the electricity bill this month?”

Svetlana gave him a patient, almost indulgent smile.

“I did,” she said, rising from the table. “I’ll bring you the documents.”

She stepped into the hallway and took a thick envelope from her purse—one she’d prepared in advance. Inside was a stack of paperwork: transfer receipts, checks, bank statements, and one document in particular.

“Here,” she said, handing him the envelope. “My half of this month’s utilities. And something else.”

Andrey took it with a smug little look. But as he pulled out the papers and started reading, his expression shifted fast.

The first page was the electricity receipt. The second was a detailed breakdown of every household expense for the past year. The third was a notice that she had filed for divorce.

“What is this?” he whispered, turning pale.

“The result of our separate-budget experiment,” Svetlana said calmly. “A very educational result.”

Andrey scanned the calculations, then looked up at her with stunned eyes.

“Svet… come on. Let’s go back to how it was,” he pleaded, setting the papers down and reaching for her hand. “I get it now. I was wrong. Let’s pool everything again like before.”

“Really?” Svetlana didn’t pull her hand away, but there was no warmth in her voice. “And you’re ready for that?”

“Of course! I’m even ready to give you my whole paycheck, except a little for pocket money. You can handle the family budget—you’re better at this.”

Svetlana watched his face carefully. He looked sincere—maybe even frightened by the divorce.

“And what about your mother?” she asked. “She was the one who started this separate budget idea.”

“Forget Mom,” Andrey waved it off. “This is our family, we decide. The main thing is you handle all those… household things. Utilities, groceries, bills. I don’t understand any of that, you know that. And I’ll honestly hand over the money.”

“All of it?” Svetlana asked.

“Well… almost all,” Andrey faltered. “There’s just one thing. Mom wants to renovate the dacha, and I promised I’d help. For this year I’ll be giving her half my income. But it’s temporary! A year at most—maybe a bit longer.”

Svetlana slowly withdrew her hand.

“Half your income?” she repeated softly.

“Yeah. Thirty thousand a month. The rest goes to you. And it’s really temporary, Svet—believe me.”

“And when did you start giving her half your paycheck?”

“A month ago,” Andrey admitted, eyes lowered. “I just thought with separate finances it wouldn’t be a problem…”

Svetlana leaned back in her chair. Suddenly everything clicked into place: the sudden obsession with their money, Galina Petrovna’s pushy lectures, the “modern fair system.”

“I see,” she said. “Now I understand why your mother staged this whole separate-spending performance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She planned to pull thirty thousand a month out of you, and she knew that with a shared budget I’d object. So she invented a scheme—‘Everyone spends their own money!’ Don’t you see it?”

“Svet, don’t exaggerate…”

“I’m not,” Svetlana stood and walked to the window. “Your mother is a very clever woman. She calculated this several moves ahead.”

“But it’s temporary!”

“Nothing is more permanent than ‘temporary,’” Svetlana said. “Ever heard that? And the saddest part is this—” she continued. “You’re willing to hand me control of the budget not because you respect what I’m capable of, but because you don’t want responsibility. You don’t want to think about bills, plan expenses, make decisions. It’s easier to dump it all on your wife.”

“But you’re better at it…”

“I am,” Svetlana said quietly. “But I’m tired of being the only adult in this family, Andrey. Tired of making decisions for two and carrying responsibility for two.”

She picked up the envelope from the table.

“My answer is no. I’m not going back to that life. I don’t want to be your second mother—the one who manages, controls, and pays for everything while you entertain yourself and hand money out left and right.”

“Svet, please…”

“The divorce will be finalized in a month,” she said firmly. “You have two weeks to find somewhere to live. You can move in with your mother. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. And she can spend not half your salary on renovations—she can take all of it.”

Andrey stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at nothing, lost. Svetlana felt something like pity for him—but not regret.

“This isn’t fair,” he said quietly.

“On the contrary,” Svetlana answered. “This is exactly fairness. You’re getting what you chose: freedom from responsibility and the chance to live the way your mother wants.”

A month later the divorce was finalized.

Andrey did move in with Galina Petrovna, who welcomed him with open arms—and plans to renovate not only the dacha, but the city apartment too.

Svetlana stayed in her own place and, for the first time in a long time, felt that her life belonged only to her. Justice had won. Everyone got exactly what they deserved.