“Sit Still and Don’t Get Any Ideas. You Think You Can Work on Your Own? The Apartment Is Mine, the Car Is Mine, and You’re Mine Too,” Denis Said — But He Had No Idea What His Wife Was Planning
“Eggs like cardboard again,” Denis muttered, poking at his plate with a fork. “Working at that little kiosk of yours only taught you how to sell ice cream, apparently.”
“Good morning usually means ‘good morning,’ not a report on a burnt breakfast,” she said, placing a mug in front of him before sitting down across the table.
“Good?” He snorted. “Do you even understand whose apartment you’re sitting in? Who brought you here in the first place?”
“I remember. A train, two suitcases, and a promise that everything would be fine.”
Sonya was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, drawing with felt-tip pens, her tongue sticking out slightly with concentration.
On the sheet of paper was a woman with enormous wings, and underneath it, written in crooked childish letters, were the words: “my strong mommy.”
“Daddy, look! Mommy is flying,” the little girl said, holding out the picture.
“She sure is flying,” Denis replied without even turning around. “With a salary like hers, she should be walking.”
“Denis, she’s a child,” his wife said quietly. “Why say things like that in front of her?”
“What? I’m not allowed to tell the truth in front of her? The truth is, I’m the only one carrying this whole household. Whose name is the mortgage in? Mine. Whose name is the car in? Mine. And you bring home pennies from your paperwork job and still turn up your nose.”
“I’m not turning up my nose. I’m only asking you to speak to me like I’m a human being.”
“I am speaking to you like a human being,” he said, pushing his plate away. “If you weren’t one, I wouldn’t speak to you at all.”
She cleared the dishes, took Sonya to kindergarten, and went to work at the cramped little office that smelled of paper and other people’s problems.
There, too, was an invisible belt tightening around her.
“You’re four minutes late again,” her boss said, tapping a pen against the desk. “Do you think this is a kindergarten?”
“The bus was stuck. I’ll make up the time. I always do.”
“The important thing is that you don’t start reaching above your station. Sit there, do your work, and don’t invent things. We already have enough people around here with ideas.”
“I’m not inventing anything,” she answered evenly. “I’m simply working.”
At lunch, Larisa sat down beside her, unwrapped a sandwich, and immediately got straight to the point.
“Listen, my sister works from home and earns more than the two of us combined. She takes freelance orders. Draws things—letters, pictures, little symbols for different companies.”
“That’s called graphic design. Fonts, logos, branding.”
“Oh? And how do you know words like that?” Larisa narrowed her eyes.
“I…” She hesitated, then finally admitted it. “I study at night. I sit in the bathroom with my laptop so I don’t disturb anyone and watch lessons. I used to make wall newspapers at school and invent different lettering styles. It probably sounds stupid.”
“What sounds stupid is ‘sit still and don’t get any ideas,’” Larisa snorted. “You should try it. What do you have to lose except all of this?”
That evening, she cautiously brought it up with her husband while he was sprawled in front of the television.
“Denis, someone suggested I try doing design work for clients. I’d like to take a course. There’s an internship included.”
“What?” He turned around as though she had said something obscene. “What course? What drawings? Are you planning to draw the mortgage payment?”
“I’m talking about an opportunity. A small one, but a real one.”
“A real one,” he mocked. “Real means money at the end of the month. Your fantasies are for five-year-olds. We already have one artist in this house. We don’t need another.”
“I’m not asking your permission. I’m sharing this with you.”
“Sharing, are you?” He turned back toward the screen. “Why don’t you share when dinner is going to be ready instead?”
She found support in the last place she expected.
Late that evening, her mother called—a woman who had spent her entire life keeping quiet and enduring everything so things would look “normal.”
“Sweetheart, you sound awfully quiet. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. I’m just thinking about something. I want to try a new kind of work, but Denis is against it.”
“Then don’t listen to Denis,” her elderly mother suddenly said, her voice trembling. “I spent my whole life listening to whoever I was supposed to listen to. And do you know what? Live the way you think is right. At least you should get to live.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious. I was afraid to tell you that before. I’m not afraid anymore.”
Two weeks later, she enrolled in a course that included an internship and began waking up even earlier than usual.
Denis didn’t notice at first.
When he finally did, he exploded.
“What is this payment from the card?” he demanded, waving his phone. “Where did fifteen thousand go?”
“I paid for my training. With my own money, by the way.”
“Your own money!” he practically shouted, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth.
“There is no ‘your own’ in this house! Everything is shared, and shared means mine! Have you completely lost your mind?”
“I’ve actually just found my boundaries,” she replied calmly. “I didn’t have any before.”
Studying was difficult, but she kept going.
She redrew things, redid assignments, made mistakes, and started over again while Sonya slept, hugging one of her drawings of a little winged person.
“Mom, do you draw like me now?” her daughter asked one evening.
“Almost like you. You’re still better at it.”
“Daddy says it’s nonsense.”
“Daddy just hasn’t seen enough good pictures,” she said, adjusting Sonya’s blanket. “But you and I have. And we’re going to draw many more.”
One morning, she placed a sheet of paper on her boss’s desk.
Her resignation letter.
“What’s this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“This is the document that means you won’t have to count how many minutes late I am anymore.”
“You’re quitting?” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, well. And where are you going? Becoming some famous artist?”
“Somewhere no one will teach me not to breathe.”
“Go on, breathe,” he smirked. “You’ll come running back. I know your type.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
She picked up the box containing her belongings and walked out without looking back.
A performance was waiting for her at home.
Denis stood in the hallway like a sentry, and his voice rose almost immediately.
“Your Larisa called me and told me you quit! Have you completely lost your mind?! Who’s going to feed you now?”
“I’m an adult. I can feed myself.”
“Yourself?!” He laughed, but it was an angry laugh. “You wouldn’t last a week without me! Who pays for this apartment? Who pays for the electricity? You sit here with everything handed to you and now suddenly you’re acting important!”
“I’m not acting important. I’ve simply stopped being afraid.”
“Afraid?! I’ll give you something to really be afraid of!”
“Don’t shout in front of the child,” she said quietly.
Something about the calmness of her voice made him stop for a second.
Her first real client was Oleg.
He owned a small coffee shop and was looking for someone to design a sign and a logo.
He called her in the evening and spoke as though they had known each other for years.
“Hello. Someone recommended you as a person who has both skilled hands and a good head on her shoulders. Apparently, that’s a rare combination.”
“Very rare,” she smiled. “Especially when both are still attached.”
“That’s exactly why I like talking to real people. I have a coffee shop, and it needs a face. Not just a sign for the sake of having a sign. Something that will make a person walking past want to come inside.”
“I understand. A face means character. Tell me about the character. I’ll handle the rest.”
“I already like you,” Oleg laughed. “At least it’s pleasant talking to you. I’m tired of people who nod but don’t actually listen.”
She worked until three in the morning, checking every line, changing shades, moving elements away and pulling them back again.
When the payment arrived, she stared at the numbers on the screen for a long time.
“I did this myself,” she whispered aloud, just so she could believe it.
Denis was standing in the doorway, rumpled and angry.
“How much did your Oleg throw your way?” he hissed. “Show me.”
“It’s my project and my money.”
“Here we go again!” He raised his voice. “If you’re earning money in my apartment, then you need to share it! Do you have any conscience at all?”
“I do. That’s why I’m not sharing it with someone who spent years calling me a servant.”
The arguments became daily, and each one started the same way.
“Have you even thought about who needs you?” Denis paced back and forth across the kitchen. “Who’s going to want you with a kid attached? I dragged you out of that hole, out of that kiosk where you sold melted ice cream, and this is how you repay me!”
“And I learned how to breathe. Now you’re trying to send me a bill for that too.”
“I’ll send you a bill for everything! Every plate, every cup of tea!”
“Fine,” she nodded. “Start calculating. Meanwhile, I’ll pack.”
“What?!” He froze. “Pack what? You’re not going anywhere!”
“As you can see, I already am.”
The next morning, she calmly packed a suitcase and gathered Sonya’s toys and drawings of winged people.
Denis paced around them, unable to believe she was serious.
“You’re bluffing,” he said, blocking the doorway. “You won’t survive without me. Where are you going to go with the kid?”
“To Olya’s. She has an empty room. Move.”
“To your Olya’s?!” His face turned red, and veins bulged at his temples. “That Olya is poor herself! You’ll starve to death over there!”
“I’d rather starve than sit at a table with you,” she replied.
Then she took Sonya by the hand.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
“Mom, are we coming back?” the girl asked quietly.
“We’re moving forward,” she answered. “We don’t need to go backward anymore.”
Olya met them at the door, took the suitcase without asking unnecessary questions, and immediately switched on the kettle.
“Come in, come in. The room is yours, the sheets are fresh. Sonya, I have cookies and a whole box of colored pencils. Can you imagine?”
“A whole box?” The little girl’s eyes lit up.
“A whole box. You’re going to be my chief artist.”
Olya turned toward her friend and lowered her voice.
“How are you?”
“Strange. Light and terrified at the same time.”
“That’s called being alive,” Olya smiled. “‘Man is made for happiness, as a bird is made for flight.’ So enough walking around on the ground. You’re flying now.”
Denis called every day.
His tone changed each time—from growling anger to fake softness.
“All right, all right, let’s talk normally,” he rasped into the phone. “I’m willing to compromise. Come home. I won’t even say anything about your drawings.”
“And will you approve of Oleg’s coffee shop too?” she asked calmly.
“You can have three coffee shops for all I care! Just come back. This place is a disaster without you. There’s nobody to wash the clothes.”
“So that’s what you need me for. Laundry.”
“Stop twisting my words! I’m trying to be nice!”
“You should have been nice before. You didn’t notice because you only ever listened to yourself.”
A few days later, she rented a small, bright studio apartment with a large window and white walls.
The first thing she did was hang Sonya’s drawing on the wall—the woman with wings.
“Now this is home,” she told her daughter. “Can you feel it?”
“I can,” Sonya nodded seriously. “Our picture is hanging here.”
“Then everything is right.”
“Mom, will Daddy come here?”
“No, sweetheart. Daddy has his home. And we have ours.”
The orders began arriving one after another.
Oleg recommended her to people he knew. Those people recommended her to others.
New messages appeared on her phone more and more often.
“Listen, you saved my coffee shop,” Oleg told her during one cheerful phone call. “People come in and ask who did the design. I tell them there’s one person out there with both skilled hands and a good head on her shoulders.”
“If you keep praising me like that, I’ll become arrogant.”
“Be a little arrogant. It suits you,” he laughed. “And brace yourself, because I’m about to hit you with another client.”
“Go ahead. I’m holding on tight. That’s been tested.”
One day, an email arrived from Krasnodar.
She was being invited to work on a large, serious, long-term project.
She reread the message several times and called Olya.
“Olya, I’ve been offered a major project. In Krasnodar.”
“And you’re still thinking about it?!” her friend shouted into the phone. “Say yes, you fool!”
“I already did. I just wanted to say it aloud so I could believe it.”
“Believe it,” Olya’s voice softened. “You earned this. Yourself. With your own hands.”
In the evenings, she and Sonya made pancakes together.
The kitchen was peaceful and quiet.
The little girl sat on a stool, swinging her legs.
“Mom, is it always going to be like this now?”
“Like what?”
“Quiet. And nobody shouting.”
“Always,” she said firmly, flipping a pancake. “There’s no one left here to shout.”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m free. And that’s even better.”
Denis called for the last time late one evening.
His voice was no longer angry.
It sounded lost.
“Are you seriously leaving? For some Krasnodar? With my daughter?”
“Our daughter. And not forever, so don’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking!” he immediately snapped. “I just… I don’t understand how this happened. You were nobody. I made you!”
“You didn’t make anything,” she said. “All you did was keep kicking me.”
And she hung up.
Denis sat alone for a long time in that same kitchen where he had once criticized her scrambled eggs.
On the table sat the food he had reheated for himself, slowly growing cold.
“How did this happen?” he muttered, clutching an empty mug. “She was right here. Always right beside me. Completely obedient. I fed her. I bought her clothes. Everything was on me…”
“You did it yourself. All of it yourself, you idiot,” he said, hitting his fist against his knee. “You nagged her to death, tormented her, counted every penny. You could have kept your mouth shut just once. You could have stopped yelling.”
“Over a lousy fifteen thousand. Over those stupid plates,” he grimaced. “I counted every kopeck and miscalculated the one thing that mattered most.”
“I’ve still got the apartment. I’ve still got the car. But there’s nobody in the house.”
He stared into the empty kitchen.
“I drove them away myself. With my own hands.”
“And now there isn’t even anyone left to apologize to. She won’t answer. She won’t believe me. She won’t come back.”
“You’re an idiot, Denis.”
He lowered his head.
“What an idiot you are.”
