The evening light barely made its way through the sheer curtains as Mikhail threw open the apartment door so hard it banged against the wall. Anna flinched but didn’t look up from her laptop, where she was once again rereading the technical requirements from a picky client in Moscow. The woman had ordered a set of jewelry for her daughter’s wedding—and was so demanding that Anna had been asked to revise the sketches for the third time.
“Still glued to your computer,” Mikhail remarked, tossing his briefcase onto the couch. “Lovely. And here I was hoping my wife might greet me like a human being today.”
“Hi, honey,” Anna turned toward her husband, quickly saving her file. “How was your day at work?”
“Fantastic,” Mikhail grumbled, yanking off his tie. “The boss was especially inspired with his yelling at the meeting today. Clients are demanding the impossible, accounting is slow with the paperwork, and, of course, I’m the one responsible for everything. The usual fairy tale.”
Anna looked at her husband—so tired, irritable, with deep new lines around his eyes. She wanted to get up and hug him, but unfinished brooches were scattered on the table, and notifications from buyers kept pinging on her phone.
“Maybe I can make us some tea?” she suggested. “We could talk?”
“Talk?” Mikhail swept his eyes across the room like an inspector. “And what would we talk about? How you spent all day having fun with your little crafts while I busted my back supporting us?”
Anna’s table truly did look like creative chaos—fabric scraps laid out, silk thread spools, boxes of pearls and vintage buttons, and three unfinished brooches that were already in demand. But how could she explain all this to her husband, who only saw it as “playing around”?
“I was working, Misha.”
“Working?” Mikhail sat down on the edge of the sofa, still in his shoes. “Anna, listen to me carefully. Work means getting up at seven, commuting in rush hour, spending eight hours solving other people’s problems and being responsible for it all. Not sitting at home in slippers playing at being an artist.”
“I’m not playing…”
“Not playing?” Mikhail stood and marched to the table. “Then what is all this?” He jabbed a finger at the spread of materials. “Kid crafts for adults? Therapy for housewives?”
Anna felt a surge of hurt inside. If only he knew how many hours she spent choosing just the right materials. How long she searched for those vintage mother-of-pearl buttons, how she carefully selected every pearl. How many sketches she redrew before finding the perfect design.
“This is serious work, Misha. It takes skill and time…”
“Serious work!” Mikhail laughed, but his laughter sounded bitter. “When will you find a real job, leech? Anna, I need a woman, not a housewife! Do you get the difference? I want a partner in life, someone to stand beside me—not a retired mom amusing herself with trinkets all day.”
“And what’s so wrong with me being at home?”
“What’s wrong?” Mikhail started pacing nervously between the kitchen and the living room. “What’s wrong is I feel like I’m the only adult in this family! The only one thinking about money, about our future, about how we’re going to live.”
Anna silently put the pearls back into the box. She thought about money much more often than her husband realized. She was already worrying about tomorrow’s mortgage payment—thirty-two thousand rubles. The next day, the car loan bill would arrive—another eighteen. To top it off, the expensive salmon that Mikhail loved was almost gone from the fridge.
“You know what I was thinking about on my way home today?” her husband continued. “I thought: I’ll come home, and my wife will ask how I am, maybe support me. Maybe she’ll be interested in how my day was. But what do I see? You’re just sitting there glued to your screen—you didn’t even really say hello.”
“Sorry, I was busy with an important order…”
“An important order!” Mikhail stopped right in front of her. “Anna, wake up! What orders? Who’s going to buy these…” he waved dismissively toward the table, “trinkets?”
“People do place orders,” Anna replied quietly. “More than you think.”
“Oh yeah? And how much do you make from it?” Mikhail sat across from her, crossing his arms. “Go on, show off your earnings. A thousand rubles a month? Maybe two? Is it enough for just the thread?”
Anna lowered her gaze. Last month, she had earned one hundred and fourteen thousand rubles. Almost two and a half times more than her husband. But how could she say that? How could she explain that her “trinkets” were bought in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Yekaterinburg? That she had loyal clients willing to wait months for a custom order?
“More than you think,” she repeated.
“More than I think?” Mikhail laughed nervously. “Anna, I think you make zero rubles, zero kopecks. Because what you do is as useful as a screen door on a submarine.”
“Misha, you don’t understand…”
“I don’t understand? What’s there to understand?” Mikhail began pacing the room again. “You know what I heard at work today? Sergey was saying—his wife took some courses, got herself a new skill, landed a job as a designer. Now they both earn good money, planning to buy a bigger apartment and start a family.”
“Why can’t we start a family?” Anna asked carefully.
“How?!” Mikhail exploded. “On my salary alone? Anna, do you have any idea how much it costs to live the way we do? The mortgage is thirty thousand. The car loan is eighteen. Utilities are seven. Food, gas, clothes, your creams and shampoos…”
Anna listened and thought that her husband had no idea who was actually paying most of these bills. His salary would barely cover the utilities and the most basic groceries.
“…and all that on one paycheck!” Mikhail finished. “You think it’s easy? You think I don’t get tired from carrying all this responsibility?”
“Of course you get tired,” Anna agreed.
“Exactly! And you just sit here with those…” he pointed at her work table again, “little toys of yours, like you think life is a bed of roses.”
“I don’t think life is a bed of roses.”
“Really? Then what do you think?” Mikhail stepped closer. “Do you think we can just live in comfort for no reason? Like magic? Where do you think this furniture came from?” He gestured around the room. “These gadgets? That food in the fridge?”
Anna stayed silent. Most of the furniture had been bought with her money. The appliances, too. And that food in the fridge—expensive cheeses that Mikhail eats without a second thought, red fish, top-quality meats—none of that comes from scrimping like he thinks.
“Silent, huh?” Mikhail nodded in satisfaction. “Because you’ve got nothing to say. At least you’re thrifty—that’s the only reason we’re managing at all, thanks to your carefulness.”
Anna almost laughed. Thrifty! If only he knew how much she had spent just on materials for her current orders. Selected Chinese pearls, silk imported from Italy, vintage findings from France. But every purchase paid for itself many times over.
“You know what, Anna?” Mikhail sat down in an armchair and looked at his wife seriously. “I’m tired of being the sole breadwinner in this family. I’m tired of feeling like I’m carrying everything.”
“And what do you propose?”
“I propose you grow up and get a real job. In an office, with coworkers, with a salary. So we can be equal partners, not like now—one works while the other just has fun.”
“And what if I don’t want to work in an office?”
“You don’t want to?” Mikhail raised his eyebrows in surprise. “And what do you want? To sit at home doing crafts for the rest of your life?”
“I want to do what I’m good at.”
“You’re good at it?” Mikhail looked skeptically at Anna’s workspace. “Anna, listen to yourself. You’re thirty-four. You’re a grown woman. But you talk like a teenager who doesn’t want to go to college because they like doodling in a sketchbook.”
Anna felt her cheeks burn with hurt. A teenager! If only he knew the sense of responsibility she had for each client. How much she worried about every order, how she worked late into the night to make sure everything was perfect.
“Misha, you have no idea how serious this is…”
“Serious?” Mikhail stood up. “Alright, let’s be serious then. Show me the paperwork. Employment record, proof of income, tax declaration.”
“I have an individual entrepreneur registration,” Anna said quietly.
“An entrepreneur!” Mikhail laughed. “Oh, Anna, this is comedy! You registered as an entrepreneur for your crafts? Seriously?”
“For a serious business.”
“What business?” Mikhail walked over to the table and picked up one of the unfinished brooches. “This? Anna, be real—who would buy this thing? And for how much? Five hundred rubles? A thousand?”
Anna watched her husband turn the brooch in his hands—the one that would be shipped to Moscow tomorrow for fourteen thousand. The piece she had worked on for three days, carefully choosing every detail, every shade.
“It’s worth more than you think,” she said.
“More than I think?” Mikhail put the brooch back. “Alright, name a number. How much is this pretty thing worth?”
Anna hesitated. Should she tell the truth? But her husband wouldn’t believe her anyway.
“Let’s just say, several thousand,” she answered evasively.
“Several thousand!” Mikhail threw up his hands. “For one brooch? Anna, are you out of your mind? Who would pay several thousand for a little piece of fabric with buttons?”
“People pay for exclusivity.”
“For exclusivity,” Mikhail mimicked. “You know what? Enough with the fantasies. Tomorrow, you’re going to look for a job. A real job.”
“And if I don’t go?”
Mikhail stopped in his tracks and gave his wife a long, thoughtful look.
“Then I guess I need to rethink our relationship,” he finally said. “Because I don’t want to carry this family on my shoulders forever. I need a partner, not someone who just relies on me.”
“I’m not just relying on you,” Anna replied quietly.
“Really? And who are you, then?” Mikhail sat back down in his chair. “Who pays for this apartment? The car? The food? Everything else?”
“You,” Anna said, and it was almost the truth. Officially, the documents were all in her husband’s name. He didn’t know that most of the money coming into the accounts was actually from her card.
“Exactly. Me,” Mikhail nodded. “And I’m tired of it. Do you understand? I’m tired of being the only responsible adult in this family.”
The next morning, everything changed.
Mikhail was getting ready for work when he accidentally bumped Anna’s tablet, left on the dresser. The screen lit up with a bank notification: “Funds received: 22,000 rubles.”
Mikhail froze. Twenty-two thousand? From where?
He picked up the tablet. Password? His wife never paid attention to security, so “1234” worked. The screen showed the banking app with a balance: 184,000 rubles.
“What the…?” Mikhail whispered.
His heart was pounding wildly. He opened the transaction history and couldn’t believe what he saw.
“Funds received. Wildberries. 8,500 rubles.” “Funds received. Private individual. 15,000 rubles.” “Funds received. Ozon. 6,300 rubles.” “Funds received. Etsy. 8,900 dollars.”
Eight thousand nine hundred dollars! For what?!
“Anna!” he called out with a trembling voice. “Anna, come here now!”
She appeared in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, wearing her robe.
“What’s going on? Why are you yelling through the whole apartment…”
“Anna,” Mikhail pointed at the tablet, “what is this?”
She glanced at the screen and blushed slightly.
“These are… my banking matters. You shouldn’t have looked.”
“Shouldn’t have looked?!” Mikhail jumped up. “We’re husband and wife! Anna, where did you get all this money?”
“Like I said — from orders.”
“What orders?!” Mikhail shook the tablet. “Anna, that’s almost two hundred thousand rubles! On your card! Where from?!”
“From my handcrafts,” she answered quietly.
“From handcrafts?! Are you kidding me!” Mikhail scrolled through the transaction history. “There are transfers every day! Thousands, tens of thousands! For what? Those little brooches you make?”
“Not just brooches,” Anna sat on the edge of the bed. “Sit down, I’ll explain.”
“I’m not sitting down! Explain it while I stand!”
“Alright,” Anna sighed. “Misha, I work. I really work. I have a large client base, regular orders, international sales.”
“International sales?” Mikhail repeated. “What do you mean, international sales?”
“Through internet platforms. Etsy, for example.” Anna grabbed the tablet and showed her profile to her husband. “Look.”
Mikhail stared at the screen. Professional photos, thousands of reviews, a five-star rating.
“But this… this is a real shop,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Anna nodded. “And not just on Etsy. I have accounts everywhere I possibly can, almost on every platform.”
“And how much…” Mikhail swallowed. “How much do you make?”
“It varies. On average, seventy to eighty thousand rubles a month.”
Seventy thousand a month. That’s his salary!
“And in the good months?” Mikhail asked hoarsely.
“Sometimes it’s even more than a hundred. In December, for example, I earned one hundred and twenty.”
Mikhail sank onto the bed, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“So… it turns out you make more than me?”
“Turns out, yes.”
“And those eight thousand dollars?”
“That was an order for the USA. A wedding jewelry collection. Took me a month to finish.”
“A month…” Mikhail fell silent, trying to process it all. “Anna, what about our expenses… the mortgage, the loans…”
“I pay for most of them,” she admitted quietly. “Your salary would only cover the utilities and groceries.”
“Only utilities…” Mikhail echoed. “So I’m basically living off you?”
“We’re living together,” Anna said gently. “As a family.”
“But why… why did you never tell me?”
Anna shrugged.
“Why should I? You were always so proud of being the provider. I didn’t want to ruin your confidence.”
Mikhail covered his face with his hands. All the things he’d said yesterday now sounded like mockery. His complaints towards his wife, who all that time was earning more than him. Demanding she find a “real job.” Dismissing her “crafts.”
“God, what a fool I am,” he whispered. “Such a fool…”
“You’re not a fool,” Anna sat next to him and hugged her husband. “You just didn’t know.”
“I should have known! I’m your husband! How could I not be interested in what you’re really doing?”
“You were interested. You just thought it was a hobby.”
“A hobby…” Mikhail laughed bitterly. “A hobby that brings in a hundred thousand a month. And my serious job brings less.”
“Misha, it’s not about who earns more.”
“Then what is it about?” Mikhail lifted his head. “Anna, the things I said to you yesterday… Calling you a freeloader, reproaching you for living off me…”
“You didn’t know the truth.”
“But now I do. So what now?” Mikhail stood up and walked to the window. “How am I supposed to live with this? How do I look you in the eye?”
“Like always,” Anna answered simply. “We’re family. Did anything really change just because you learned the truth?”
“Everything has changed,” Mikhail said quietly. “Absolutely everything.”
Anna stood up and walked over to him.
“Do you want me to show you how all this works? Show you the workshop, tell you about the orders?”
Mikhail turned to his wife. In her eyes there was no pride or reproach. Only gentleness and understanding.
“I do,” he nodded. “I want to know who you really are. And what I’ve been living with all these years.”
They moved over to her work desk, and for the first time, Mikhail truly looked at his wife’s world—the world he had always considered a childish pastime.
