— I’ve already chosen the tiles for my mother-in-law, Zhenya. Don’t be angry — Sergei called out from the room in a casual tone, as if he were just commenting on the weather, while I in the hallway was struggling with the stubborn zipper of my boots.
— I also transferred your thirteenth salary bonus to her. It’s just enough for Czech tiles. You’re not going to die from it, are you?
The zipper suddenly snapped, and pain shot into my skin. I froze. For a moment I just stood there half-bent, as if my body was trying to process what my mind had already understood.
My phone beeped in my bag.
“Credit: bonus. 34,200 rubles.”
Below it another line: “Debit: 34,200 rubles. Balance: 0.”
Exactly the amount I had worked overtime for two weeks to earn. Exactly the amount I had given up everything I wanted for myself for. The sand-colored coat… was no longer a coat. It was tiles. Czech. For my mother-in-law’s bathroom.
— Zhenya, are you stuck there? — Sergei’s voice came from the room, muffled and impatient.
— The borscht is going to boil over, and you’re still messing around in the hallway.
I straightened up. The zipper finally gave way, but only with a painful, resentful sound. It was a four-year-old pair of boots. Good boots. At least they had been.
The smell of borscht drifted from the kitchen. I poured him a bowl. Sergei came out, holding up his sweatpants at the waist, as if they too had given up the fight with life. He sat down and immediately started staring at his phone, as if I didn’t exist.
— I’ve been looking at that coat for three months — I said quietly, sitting across from him.
— And you just… transferred my money.
He shrugged.
— A coat is just clothing, Zhenya.
He didn’t look at me.
— But my mother’s bathroom is falling apart. She even cried yesterday. I can’t leave it like that. You’re strong, you’ll buy another one.
The spoon kept rising to his mouth again and again. Mechanically. As if everything was fine.
Then he stood up and went back to the room. The creak of the chair lingered longer than he did.
Gunfire echoed from the screen again.
And I just sat in the silence.
And then something finally clicked inside me.
I locked myself in the bedroom. The apartment suddenly felt smaller, but somehow clearer.
On my phone, I was the accountant, the finance minister, and IT support all in one. Our entire life ran on a single card — mine.
I opened the settings.
Sergei’s name was there.
“Disconnect user from shared account?”
— Yes.
First click.
Second: confirm.
Automatic game subscriptions — deleted.
Movie package — cancelled.
Router — password change in progress.
Three clicks.
And the world he took for granted simply… stopped working.
The phone warmed in my hand, as if it understood: something irreversible had just happened.
— Zhenya! — five minutes later he was already shouting from the doorway.
— There’s no internet! What is this?! Check the router!
I didn’t answer.
I took out the coat catalog.
On the last page it was there: sand-colored. Calm. Exactly the one I had always wanted.
— Zhenya! My tank stopped on the battlefield! I’m getting killed!
Sergei stood in the doorway, tense and confused. He was pressing his phone, but only a loading icon was spinning.
— What happened?! I pay for the internet!
I lifted my head.
Calmly.
— No, Sergei. I used to pay. Everything.
A moment of silence fell. The kind of silence when someone hears reality for the first time.
— Have you lost your mind?! — he exploded.
— Turn it back on!
— No.
My voice wasn’t loud. That made it more frightening.
— If the money is shared, then the consequences are shared too. From now on, nothing is free.
— This is family! — he shouted.
— No — I said quietly. — So far it’s just been a burden on my account.
Without resources
The night became strangely quiet.
No game sounds. No angry clicking. Just the apartment finally being itself.
Sergei tossed and turned on the couch. Sometimes he sat up, sometimes he pressed the router button again, as if that could change reality.
It didn’t.
In the morning his tone had changed.
— Zhenya… there’s barely any money left on the card. Maybe you could… undo it…
— Ask your mother — I cut him off calmly.
I put on my coat.
The zipper worked perfectly this time.
As if it understood too: the rules had changed.
— I’m going to buy the coat — I said. — The borscht is in the fridge.
A 40-square-meter restart
Cold air hit my face outside. It was clean. Almost too clean.
The coat fit perfectly.
Not just in size. In feeling too.
My phone beeped.
“Mother-in-law: I’m at ours. Coming later.”
I smiled.
Not out of spite. More out of recognition.
Tomorrow there would be explanations. Blame. Drama. Loud words.
But for the first time in a long time… I wouldn’t be the one solving everything.
And that was my first truly peaceful thought in a very, very long time.
