“Why Can’t I Get Into the Apartment? Did You Change the Locks?” — “Because You Don’t Live There Anymore!”
Larisa wiped her computer screen with a damp cloth and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, and a dull pain throbbed in her temples. She looked at the clock—it was a quarter to eleven at night. She had stayed late again. Viktor would be unhappy again.
She switched off the light in her office and slowly walked toward the elevator. Her reflection in the dark glass of the office doors looked pale and exhausted. She was thirty-two, but she felt fifty. Dark circles under her eyes could no longer be concealed with foundation, her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of an invisible burden.
The subway was almost empty. Larisa sat down on the hard seat and closed her eyes. Three months earlier, she had taken on additional responsibilities at work. Management had offered her another project and promised her a raise. The increase was small, but every penny mattered now. The mortgage would not wait, and the payments arrived with merciless regularity. Then there were utilities, groceries, her transit pass, and clothes that wore out and needed replacing.
They used to pay for everything together. Viktor used to bring home almost as much money as she did. They used to be able to afford movies on weekends, cafés on Fridays, and a new television without going into debt.
That had been seven months ago.
Viktor had been fired seven months earlier. Workforce optimization, they had called it. An economic crisis, insufficient departmental efficiency, corporate restructuring. Words that were supposed to soften the blow but only made it more humiliating.
During the first month, Viktor searched for work actively, almost frantically. He sent out dozens of résumés, attended interviews, and called acquaintances. Larisa supported him as best she could. She cooked his favorite meals, massaged his shoulders while he sat at the computer, and encouraged him after unsuccessful interviews.
During the second month, his enthusiasm began to fade. Rejections came one after another. Sometimes the salary was lower than he expected, sometimes the requirements did not suit him, and sometimes the competition was too intense. Viktor became irritable and withdrawn. In the evenings, he sat in front of the television, mindlessly changing channels, or stared at his phone, scrolling through news feeds.
By the third month, Larisa realized that they were almost out of money. Her salary covered the mortgage and utilities, but very little remained for food and everything else. She began saving wherever she could. She stopped taking taxis, quit buying takeaway coffee, and cooked simple meals using inexpensive ingredients.
Viktor noticed the changes and asked why they were eating nothing but pasta and chicken for dinner. Where was his favorite steak? Why was there no fresh fruit?
That was when Larisa first told him that he needed to take his job search more seriously. He needed to accept any job, even if it was only temporary.
Viktor exploded.
“Any job?!” he shouted, pacing around the living room. “You want me to work as a supermarket cashier? Or a courier? Is that it? I have a university degree! I have ten years of management experience! I’m not going to lower myself to doing menial labor!”
“It isn’t menial labor,” Larisa replied wearily. “It’s honest work. And we can’t afford the luxury of being selective, Vitya. We need money. Now.”
“We?” Viktor stopped and stared at her. “Or you? You just want me to bring home money. You don’t care what I have to do for it.”
She did not continue the argument. She was too tired.
During the fourth month, Larisa took on additional work. Her working day stretched from eight hours to twelve. She came home after dark, barely able to stand from exhaustion, but instead of a hot dinner and emotional support, complaints were waiting for her.
“Eleven o’clock again?” Viktor would greet her in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve been sitting here alone all day, and nobody even bothers to ask whether I want something to eat.”
“Vitya, I’m tired,” Larisa whispered as she removed her shoes. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow you’ll go to work again and come home in the middle of the night! When are we supposed to talk? When am I supposed to see you?”
She walked past him into the bedroom, pulled off her clothes, and collapsed onto the bed. Sometimes she did not even finish undressing.
The fifth month became a turning point. Viktor stopped looking for work completely. He explained that the job market was in terrible condition, employers were greedy bastards who expected people to work themselves to death for pennies, and nobody appreciated genuine professionals anyway.
He spent his days playing computer games, watching television series, and scrolling through social media.
“Why is the refrigerator empty?” he asked Larisa in the evenings. “You know I like having something to eat in the afternoon.”
“I didn’t have time to go to the store,” she answered. “Please go yourself.”
“Me? I don’t have money for groceries. Taking care of the house is your responsibility.”
“Vitya, I work twelve hours a day! I can’t do everything! Please help me.”
“Help you?” He laughed bitterly. “You want me to become a househusband? Cook, clean, and do the laundry? Have you lost your mind?”
During the sixth month, Larisa became ill. Overwork and nervous exhaustion, the doctor said. She needed rest, peace, and vitamins.
Larisa took two days of sick leave and spent them in bed, trying to recover. Viktor occasionally looked in on her and asked how she was feeling, but he never cooked dinner. On the second day, he boiled a package of frozen dumplings and made her a cup of tea.
“Eat,” he said, placing the plate on her bedside table. “Get better soon. I’m already tired of living in this mess.”
The seventh month began with a visit from Larisa’s mother-in-law.
Lyudmila Petrovna arrived early on Sunday morning without warning. She entered the apartment, glanced around the living room, where an empty bag of chips and several candy wrappers were lying on the sofa, and grimaced.
“Larochka, sweetheart, when are you planning to clean this place?” she asked with icy politeness.
Larisa was standing in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She had been awake all night finishing a report for Monday.
“Lyudmila Petrovna, I don’t have enough time,” she answered tiredly. “I’m working a lot.”
“Yes, yes, you’re working,” her mother-in-law said as she entered the kitchen and sat at the table. “Meanwhile, my poor Vitenka sits at home hungry and neglected. Do you think that’s right?”
“Vitya is an adult.” Larisa placed a plate of fried eggs on the table. “He can take care of himself.”
“By himself?” Lyudmila Petrovna raised an eyebrow. “You expect my son—an educated, intelligent man—to cook for himself? Like some university student?”
“Mom is right,” Viktor said as he entered the kitchen. “I don’t understand why I should have to do women’s work.”
Larisa clenched her teeth. Exhaustion pressed down on her so heavily that she wanted to lie down right there on the cold tiled floor and never get up again.
“Women’s work?” she repeated quietly. “Cooking your own dinner is women’s work?”
“Of course!” Lyudmila Petrovna threw up her hands. “A man is supposed to work and earn money, while a woman creates a comfortable home, cooks, and cleans! It’s natural!”
“I work too.” Larisa felt tears rising in her eyes. “I’m supporting this entire family by myself. I pay for the apartment, the food—everything!”
“Don’t raise your voice at my mother,” Viktor said, stepping toward her. “She only wants what’s best for us.”
“What’s best?” Larisa laughed hysterically. “She’s teaching you to be an immature, selfish child!”
A serious argument erupted. Her mother-in-law became offended and called Larisa ungrateful and completely disrespectful. Viktor took his mother’s side and accused his wife of destroying their marriage with her selfishness and obsession with her career.
Larisa cried, shouted, and tried to make him understand, but he refused to listen.
Lyudmila Petrovna left after promising her son that he could always stay with her if “that woman” continued humiliating him.
After she left, Larisa locked herself in the bathroom and cried until she had no tears left. Then she washed her face with cold water, looked at herself in the mirror, and understood that things could not continue this way.
Her plan formed surprisingly quickly.
Viktor decided to visit his mother after she called, complained about her health, and asked him to come over. He left on Thursday morning without saying goodbye to Larisa. She was also preparing to leave for work, and they encountered each other in the hallway. He walked straight past her as though she were invisible.
Larisa took the morning off. It was the first time she had done so in six months. Her manager was surprised but agreed because Larisa never requested time off and was always at work.
She found an advertisement online for a locksmith who replaced door locks. A middle-aged man arrived an hour later, examined the door, and named his price. Larisa agreed without hesitation.
“Do you want me to replace both locks?” the locksmith asked.
“Both,” she answered firmly.
Two hours later, new locks had been installed on her door. They were reliable and modern and came with three keys. Larisa placed one in her handbag, left another in her desk drawer at work, and gave the third to her neighbor in case she lost hers.
She packed Viktor’s belongings into two large suitcases—his clothes, shoes, documents from the wardrobe, laptop, chargers, and headphones. She carefully arranged everything, closed the suitcases, and placed them in the hallway beside the door.
Then she returned to work.
The call came at five o’clock. Larisa had just finished another report. She looked at the phone screen and saw Viktor’s name.
She answered.
“Hello,” he said irritably. “What’s going on? Why can’t I get into the apartment? Did you change the locks?”
“Yes,” Larisa answered calmly. “I changed them.”
“Have you lost your mind?!” He sounded as though he could not believe what he was hearing. “This is my apartment!”
“Our apartment,” she corrected him. “But you don’t live there anymore.”
“What?! I don’t live there anymore?! You’ve completely lost your mind! Come here immediately!”
“No.” She was surprised by her own calmness. “I’m not coming.”
“I’m calling the police! You have no right to do this!”
“Go ahead,” Larisa said, leaning back in her chair. “I’m paying the mortgage on this apartment. I have the right to decide who lives there.”
He remained silent for several seconds, breathing heavily into the phone.
“You… You can’t simply throw me out! I’m your husband!”
“You can stay with your mother,” Larisa suggested. “She supports you so strongly. Now she can demonstrate that support in practice.”
“Lara, stop this! It isn’t funny!”
“I’m not joking, Vitya. I left your belongings with Tatiana Ivanovna in apartment fifteen.”
“Lara!” he shouted. “Come here! Right now!”
She ended the call.
Her phone continued ringing constantly for another twenty minutes. Viktor called again and again and sent message after message. At first, they were angry and accusatory. Then they became pleading and desperate.
Larisa read them but did not answer. Eventually, she silenced her phone and returned to work.
Half an hour later, Viktor appeared at her office.
Larisa was sitting in a conference room, discussing the details of a new project with her colleagues, when the secretary looked through the doorway with a confused expression.
“Larisa Mikhailovna, there’s someone here to see you. He insists on speaking with you.”
Larisa went into the corridor and saw Viktor. He stood beside the reception desk, pale and red-eyed.
“Vitya,” she said as she approached him. “Why did you come here?”
“Why?” He grabbed her arm. “You threw me out of my own home! Do you think that’s normal?”
“Let go of me.” Larisa pulled her arm away. “People are watching. Don’t make a scene.”
“A scene?!” He raised his voice, causing several employees to turn toward them. “You destroyed our family, and you expect me not to make a scene?”
“Vitya,” she said quietly but firmly. “I’m tired. I’m tired of working for two people. I’m tired of listening to your complaints. I’m tired of coming home and seeing you lying on the sofa with the remote control in your hand. I’m tired of cooking, cleaning, and paying for everything while you play your games and blame the entire world for your problems.”
“I’m looking for work!” he protested. “It’s just that the job market—”
“You aren’t looking,” she interrupted. “You haven’t looked for nearly three months. You aren’t even trying.”
“Because nobody offers me anything respectable! I’m searching—”
“Respectable?” Larisa laughed bitterly. “Vitya, we’re in debt. We need money. Any amount of money. But you’re too proud to accept any available job, even temporarily.”
“I’m not going to humiliate myself!” He clenched his fists. “I’m not accepting some shameful position!”
Larisa looked at him for a long moment. Her colleagues were standing nearby, watching the confrontation. She could see sympathy and support on their faces. Her manager, Olga Sergeyevna, quietly nodded at her as though saying, Stay strong. You’re doing the right thing.
“Then live with your mother,” Larisa said. “You can return when you find a job. Any job. And when you stop blaming me for all your problems.”
“Is that an ultimatum?” Viktor became even paler.
“Yes.” She nodded. “It’s an ultimatum. Either you pull yourself together and start doing something, or we get divorced.”
“Divorced?” He froze. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.” Larisa turned toward the conference-room door. “Your belongings are with the neighbor. Collect them and leave.”
She went back into the room and closed the door behind her. Her hands were trembling and her heart was pounding, but a strange sense of relief was spreading through her.
The first week was difficult. Viktor called and sent messages every day. At first, his messages were angry and accusatory. Then they became pleading and desperate.
Larisa did not answer. She knew that if she gave in now, everything would return to the way it had been.
The second week passed in silence. Viktor stopped calling. Larisa learned from a mutual acquaintance that he was indeed living with his mother. Lyudmila Petrovna was furious. She called relatives and complained about her ungrateful daughter-in-law, who had abandoned her poor son.
The third week brought changes.
The same acquaintance, who always seemed to know everyone’s latest news, called Larisa and told her that conflicts had begun between Viktor and his mother.
Lyudmila Petrovna was not prepared to support her unemployed adult son. She demanded that he look for work, help around the house, and buy groceries. Viktor resisted and argued with her, but his mother refused to change her mind.
A month later, Larisa received a message.
“I found a job.”
She read it while sitting at her desk in the office. She looked at the screen and read it again.
“Sales manager. The salary isn’t high, but it’s stable. I start on Monday.”
She did not answer immediately. She waited until evening, returned home, sat down on the sofa, and typed:
“Good. Congratulations.”
“Can I come home?”
Larisa thought about it.
She had lived alone for a month, and for the first time in a long while, she had experienced peace. There were no complaints and no accusations. She came home, prepared a simple dinner, read books, and watched movies. She worked as much as necessary, but she no longer pushed herself beyond exhaustion.
“We’ll talk,” she wrote. “Come on Saturday. In the afternoon.”
He arrived at exactly two o’clock. The doorbell rang, and Larisa opened the door.
Viktor stood on the threshold. He had lost weight, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled but clean suit. In his hands, he held a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
“Hello.” She stepped aside and allowed him to enter.
They sat down in the kitchen. Larisa made tea and placed some cookies on the table. Viktor remained silent, turning his cup around in his hands.
“I was wrong,” he finally said. “About everything. I behaved like… like a complete egotist.”
Larisa listened without speaking.
“When I was fired, I went into shock. I couldn’t understand how something like that could happen to me. I had worked hard. I had tried my best and given everything I had. Then suddenly, I wasn’t needed anymore. So I started looking for people to blame—the management, my colleagues, the economy.”
He raised his eyes.
“But I was the only one to blame.”
“Vitya…”
“Let me finish,” he asked. “Please. I have to say this. I was weak. I didn’t want to admit that I was the problem. I should have accepted any job, but all I thought about was my pride. I worried about what my friends and former colleagues would say if they discovered that I was working as a courier or a salesman. I was afraid of losing face. In the end, I lost you.”
Larisa felt a lump forming in her throat.
“Living with my mother for a month opened my eyes,” Viktor continued. “She demanded that I get up at seven in the morning, clean the apartment, and prepare lunch. She called me a freeloader and complained that I was living at her expense. That was when I understood what you had been going through. You worked until you were completely exhausted, and I still complained and criticized you. Forgive me. Please.”
Larisa remained silent, staring into her cup.
“I found a job,” he continued. “It isn’t what I dreamed of doing. The salary is lower than the one I used to earn. But I’m prepared to work hard. I’m prepared to help you, pay for the apartment, buy groceries, and cook dinner. I’ll do anything. Just give me another chance.”
Larisa raised her head and looked into his eyes. She saw sincerity, exhaustion, and shame.
“Did you truly understand?” she asked. “Or are these only words?”
“I understood.” He nodded. “I swear, Lara. I understand everything now. I behaved like a monster. I made your life unbearable. And if you give me the opportunity, I’ll prove that I’ve changed.”
She looked at him for a long time. Then she slowly nodded.
“All right,” she said quietly. “But if everything returns to the way it was—if you start blaming me again, complaining, or lying on the sofa all day—I’ll immediately file for divorce. There won’t be another discussion.”
“It won’t happen again.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I promise. I’ll work. I’ll help you. I’ll appreciate you.”
Larisa squeezed his hand tightly.
“Then welcome home,” she said. “But under new conditions.”
The first month was a test. Viktor genuinely tried. He began working as a sales manager at a small company, attended meetings with clients, made calls, and prepared reports.
His salary was modest, but he brought it home and gave it to Larisa without complaint, as though he were trying to repay everything he owed her.
In the evenings, he tried to cook dinner. At first, the results were poor. The meat patties were raw in the middle, the omelets burned, and the porridge became lumpy. But he did not give up. He watched videos on YouTube and looked up recipes online. After a couple of weeks, his food became reasonably edible.
He also took responsibility for cleaning. On Saturdays, he vacuumed, washed the floors, and wiped away the dust. He washed the clothes and hung them up to dry.
Larisa observed these changes with cautious optimism. She continued expecting something to go wrong—a breakdown or a return to his old habits.
But Viktor remained committed. More than that, he became more attentive. He asked Larisa how her day had gone. He massaged her shoulders when she came home tired. He did not complain about his job, even when it was difficult.
One evening, they were sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Viktor put his arm around her and pulled her closer.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?” Larisa asked in surprise.
“For not giving up. For giving me the kick I needed. Without you, I would probably still be sitting at my mother’s house, feeling sorry for myself and blaming everyone around me.”
“I was simply tired of always having to be strong,” she said, pressing herself closer to him.
