“Where did you get that money?” he exploded. “And why do you think you can ask, when you’ve been lying on the couch yourself for three months?”
Artyom learned of his dismissal on a Friday, just before the weekend. His boss called him into the office, spoke about “staff optimization” and the industry crisis, and handed him the dismissal notice and severance pay. The thirty-year-old software engineer went home with a heavy heart, but tried to remain optimistic.
“Lera, don’t worry,” he told his wife when he got home from work. “It’s temporary. In a month or two I’ll find something better. Maybe they’ll even pay me more.”
Valeria, a twenty-eight-year-old journalist at a local newspaper, hugged her husband and tried to comfort him. She knew that losing a job was incredibly stressful. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town, which they had rented for three years. They barely had enough to live on, with no savings. Artyom’s salary was the mainstay of their household budget.
“It’s okay, we’ll get through this,” Lera reassured him. “I gain something too, we’ll manage.”
In the first few days after he was laid off, her husband threw himself into the job search. He redid his resume, sent it to dozens of job openings, and called former colleagues and acquaintances. Every morning he sat down at his computer, reviewed job postings, and responded to advertisements. Lera saw his efforts and supported him as best she could.
But after two weeks, the enthusiasm began to wane. Responses were scarce, and interview invitations even fewer. And the companies that did consider him offered very low salaries or inadequate conditions. Artyom grew frustrated, complaining about employers and the job market.
“They’re crazy,” he grumbled at night. “They want five years of experience in a technology that’s only been around for a year and a half. And they pay like it’s an internship.”
“Perhaps you should look at other fields?” Lera suggested. “Or look for something remote?”
—That’s not serious. And in other fields… I’m a top specialist, I’m not going to lower myself.
Gradually, the time he spent looking for work decreased, while his breaks increased. More and more, Artyom visited video game forums, read news articles, and watched reviews. He said he needed to take his mind off the stress and recharge his batteries.
By the end of the first month of unemployment, looking for a job had become a formality. Artyom still sat down at his computer every morning, but instead of opening his resume, he opened an online game. He could spend six or eight hours straight playing, only pausing to glance at new job openings.
“I’ll get serious tomorrow,” he promised his wife. “My head isn’t working today, I need to relax.”
At first, Lera didn’t pressure him. She knew that repeated failures could destabilize anyone, and that everyone needs time to recover. She continued working, earning her modest salary and saving on everything. But the money wasn’t enough to maintain her usual standard of living.
So she started looking for extra income. In the evenings, after work, she took freelance jobs: writing website copy, helping colleagues, and providing public relations advice. At first, they were small, one-off jobs.
Artyom showed little interest in how his wife found the time and energy for extra work. He was absorbed in his own worries and virtual battles.
Two months after being laid off, the family’s situation changed drastically. Lera’s freelance work took off. Clients recommended her, projects grew, and money started coming in regularly. In one week of extra work, Lera earned what she earned in a month at the newspaper.
There was enough money for all the essentials. But now the family budget depended solely on her. Artyom kept insisting he was looking for work, even though he was doing less and less.
He argued more and more with his mother on the phone. Galina Petrovna called every week, asking about his progress, giving advice, and criticizing her son’s passivity. Artyom defended himself, complaining about the injustice of the market and employers.
One night, Lera overheard her husband telling a friend:
—Everything’s fine. My wife is supporting us for now; I can take a break. I’ve worked hard for many years, I deserve a rest.
Lera, shopping bags in hand, couldn’t believe what she was hearing. So her husband wasn’t just having trouble finding work, he was knowingly using his wife as a source of income.
In the following days, she observed him closely. Artyom would get up at eleven, have breakfast, sit down at the computer, play games, and watch videos. Only in the afternoon would he look at job postings for a few minutes, then he would return to his entertainment. He neglected the housework. Everything fell to Lera.
“You’re at home all day,” she told him one day. “Couldn’t you at least help with the house?”
“I’m not a housewife,” he replied. “I’m looking for a job; I have important things on my mind.”
Lera stared at the screen filled with tanks from an online game, but she didn’t argue. She understood that her husband was deceiving himself and had no intention of changing.
One night in August, Lera landed a big job: creating content for a corporate website. The client paid a generous advance and the rest upon completion. In a week, Lera earned more than Artyom earned in a month. She decided to celebrate and bought some good food and wine. Artyom greeted her with suspicion.
“Where did you get the money for that?” he asked, suspiciously.
“I got a good assignment,” Lera replied calmly.
—What order? Where is all this money coming from?
—I write texts for websites in my free time.
Artyom began to suspect something was amiss. What if this “extra work” was just a cover? What if Lera had a “benefactor”?
“Show me that commission,” he demanded. “I want to see what job is so lucrative.”
—Don’t you trust me?
—I find it suspicious that the wife earns more than the husband.
“And how much has the husband earned in the last three months?” she replied, in a cold voice.
Artyom didn’t know what to say. Lera showed him all the documents, payments, and chats with clients. It was all real work.
“Have you contributed anything other than criticism?” she asked, closing her laptop.
Artyom didn’t know what to say. Lera gathered her things and went to the bedroom, making it clear that the situation had reached its limit.
The next day, Artyom discovered that he could no longer access the family bank accounts: Lera had changed the passwords.
“What’s happening with our accounts?” he asked that night.
“Ours? What’s ‘ours’ about that money?” she replied.
—We are a family, everything should be shared.
—What needs to be shared is participation. Right now, you only participate in spending, not in earning.
A week later, Artyom tried to reconcile, cooking for her and apologizing. But Lera made it clear that a gesture wouldn’t fix anything.
—You had three months. What changed in that time?
There was no response. On Friday, Lera took two days off, packed a suitcase, and left a note: “I need a place where no one will devalue my efforts. I’ll be back on Monday.” She went to a cabin by a lake.
Upon returning, she found a list of complaints from Artyom about her “unjustified expenses.” Lera threw it in the trash. She had earned all the money herself.
The next day she went to see a lawyer to start the divorce proceedings. There were no assets to divide.
“A divorce by mutual consent takes one month,” the lawyer explained. “If he doesn’t agree, it can take two or three months.”
“She won’t accept,” Lera sighed. “It’s too convenient for her.”
That night, Lera told Artyom about her decision.
—I’m going to get a divorce. I’ve already started the proceedings.
—Just like that, out of the blue? Because of an argument?
—Not because of an argument. Because of three months of living off someone else and not wanting to change.
Artyom tried to play on her compassion, but Lera wouldn’t budge. A week later, seeing that he was losing control, he promised to change, but it was too late.
“You had three months of opportunities,” Lera said, packing his suitcase. “Every day was a chance to change something.”
—Do three years of marriage mean nothing to you?
—Yes, but the last three months show that it will only get worse.
Lera called a taxi and Artyom went to his mother’s house. The next day, he changed the locks.
Now, in the small apartment lived a woman who knew how to value her own work and wouldn’t allow anyone to devalue it. The apartment became quieter and much more promising.
The divorce was finalized a month and a half later. Artyom tried to delay it, but eventually accepted. There was nothing to divide.
Six months later, Lera learned that her ex-husband was still unemployed, living with his mother, and complaining about his ex-wife’s “cruelty.” She felt neither anger nor pity. Only indifference toward a man who had chosen to be a loser.
Lera, for her part, expanded her freelance work, gained regular clients, increased her income, moved to a better apartment, and started saving for her own place. Life without a dependent proved not only calmer but also much more promising.
