“You know what, darling, Mom’s right. You’re a woman who only cares about her husband, go to work!” Ilya snarled at his astonished wife, slamming his hand on the table so hard a spoon flew off.
Svetlana was speechless. She didn’t know what to say. A feeling of insult, anger, and disbelief surged through her.
A woman who only cared about her husband.
She was the one who paid the mortgage, the water, electricity, gas, and even Ilya’s cell phone bills with the interest from her savings. She was the one who lived only for her husband, doing the laundry, cooking, pampering him, and keeping the house clean and cozy. What happened afterward, no one could have predicted…
Chapter 1: The Silver Spoon and the Collapse
The sharp clang of metal against the oak table shattered the already tense atmosphere of Friday dinner. The silver spoon flew off the table, spinning in the air before landing on the expensive Persian rug.
Ilya sprang to his feet, his face flushed, his hands on the table, his breath reeking of red wine.
“You know, darling, Mother’s right. You’re a woman who only cares for her husband, a parasite, and useless! Go to work! Go out there and see how the world works!”
My mother-in-law, Galina’s voice, still echoed from the hands-free telephone on the table. A dry, satisfied chuckle came from the other end of the line. “See, I told you, Ilya. A woman who doesn’t earn money has no voice. She’s been spoiled rotten.”
Svetlana – or Lana, the Americanized name I often use – sat motionless. I looked at the spoon lying haphazardly on the floor, then up at the man I had called husband for the past five years.
The feeling wasn’t heartbreak. It was numbness.
A woman who only cared about her husband.
I looked around the five-bedroom mansion in Alpine, New Jersey – one of the most expensive zip codes in America. Did Ilya think his $120,000-a-year Business Manager salary was enough to cover this lifestyle?
He didn’t know that the $8,500 monthly mortgage was automatically deducted from my account. The electricity, the heating, the pool maintenance, and even the Mercedes he drove… all came from my investment profits.
I, a former Wall Street financial analyst, officially retired from my job to become a stay-at-home mom after marrying at Ilya’s behest. But I never stopped making money. I just stopped showing it off to protect my husband’s fragile ego. I quietly used my savings and stock market skills to shoulder 80% of the family’s expenses, so he could hold his head high among his friends.
And this is the reward.
I slowly rose, picked up the spoon, and gently placed it on the tablecloth.
“You want me to go to work?” I asked, my voice calm to the point of being cold.
“Yes!” Ilya shouted. “So you’ll know how hard it is to earn a dollar! So you’ll stop nagging about me coming home late or going out drinking with clients. You just sit at home enjoying yourself, you don’t understand the pressure!”
“Fine,” I said. “If that’s what you and Mom want.”
I went toward the bedroom, not clearing the table, not washing the dishes. It was the first time in five years I’d left a dirty kitchen.
Chapter 2: The Silent Withdrawal
The next morning, Ilya woke up and found me wearing a worn-out business suit.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice still sleepy and slightly apologetic, but my ego was too big to apologize.
“Looking for a job,” I replied curtly. “As you requested.”
I left the house. But I wasn’t going to apply for a job. I drove to Chase Bank in downtown Manhattan.
I sat in the VIP room with my personal account manager, Mr. Henderson.
“Mrs. Vance,” Henderson said, looking at me through his gold-rimmed glasses. “You want to change the automatic payment system?”
“Cancel it all,” I ordered. “Cancel the mortgage payments on the New Jersey house. Cancel the electricity, water, internet, and my husband’s secondary credit card payments. Cancel the car insurance. Everything.”
Henderson raised an eyebrow, but he was a professional. “Understood. And the investment account?”
“Transfer everything to a blind trust under my maiden name. And… I want you to prepare the paperwork to buy back a debt.”
“Which debt, ma’am?”
I wrote a name on a note and pushed it toward him. Henderson looked at the writing, his eyes widening in surprise, then nodded and smiled.
“An interesting move, ma’am.”
Chapter 3: The Freefall
A month passed.
Ilya came home in a terrible state. “Honey, why was my credit card declined at the gas station? I called the bank and they said the primary cardholder blocked it?”
I was sitting filing my nails, looking up at him. “Oh, I’m working now. I’m a cashier at the grocery store. It’s $15 an hour. I can’t afford to pay off your credit card debt anymore. You can use your own salary.”
Ilya frowned. “I’m investing my salary in relationships! Are you kidding?”
“I’m serious. My mom told me I need to earn money. I am. And it’s my money, I keep it.”
The second week of the second month.
The lights in the house went out.
“What the hell is this?” Ilya yelled in the darkness.
“Probably a power outage because you haven’t paid your bill,” I called out from the bedroom, where I was lit candles and reading. “You haven’t paid? The bill was sent to your email.”
“I thought you paid! You always pay!”
“I’m a working woman now, Ilya. I’m very busy. You’re the breadwinner, you take care of it.”
Ilya had to use his phone’s flashlight to find his wallet and pay the bills. He was beginning to realize how quickly his $10,000 a month salary was evaporating under the weight of reality.
But the biggest shock came in the third month.
One afternoon, Ilya burst into the house, his face devoid of any expression.
Blood dripped from his hand. In his hand was a bright red envelope.
“Lana! The bank sent a foreclosure notice! They say we’re three months behind on our mortgage payments! The total debt and penalties are $30,000! What the hell is going on?”
I was leisurely sipping my tea. “I told you so. I stopped paying. I’m just a grocery store clerk, how can I possibly pay $8,500 a month?”
“But where’s your savings? Where’s the interest?”
“It’s all lost,” I lied without batting an eye. “I listened to your mother, withdrew the money for a business, but it failed. Now I’m penniless.”
Ilya collapsed onto the sofa. He called his mother. Galina, on the other end of the line, screamed: “Your wife is a complete failure! She’s useless and destructive! Get rid of her! Kick her out of the house!”
Ilya looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. “You heard it. Mom’s right. You’re a burden. If you can’t handle this, we’re getting a divorce. I’ll keep the house, I’ll find a way to restructure the debt.”
“You want a divorce?”
“Yes! Immediately!”
I smiled. “Okay.”
Chapter 4: The Court of Truth
The divorce hearing went quickly. Since there were no children, property was the only issue.
Ilya and his lawyer – a cheap guy he’d hastily hired – walked into the mediation room smugly. Ilya believed the house, registered in his name (even though I paid for it), would be his. He intended to kick me out empty-handed.
“My client is requesting to keep the house and the car,” Ilya’s lawyer said. “Mrs. Svetlana has made no significant financial contribution recently and has incurred bad debt.”
My lawyer, Mr. Henderson, calmly opened his briefcase.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Henderson said. “Before dividing the property, we need to clarify ownership and debt.”
He pulled out a thick stack of files.
“First, the Alpine house. It’s true that it’s in Mr. Ilya’s name on the title, but the mortgage is a different story. The bank sold the mortgage last week.”
“So what?” Ilya snapped. “I’ll be negotiating with the new creditor.”
“You are negotiating with the new creditor right now,” Henderson pointed at me.
Ilya froze. “What?”
“Phoenix Holdings acquired the mortgage on this house at liquidation. And the sole owner of Phoenix Holdings is Ms. Svetlana Vance.”
I looked directly into Ilya’s eyes. “In other words, Ilya, I am your creditor. And because you haven’t paid for 90 days, I, as your creditor, am exercising my right of foreclosure. This house is now mine. You’re living in it.”
Ilya’s face turned from red to purple.
“That’s not all,” Henderson continued, his voice sharp as a scalpel. “About your work. Mr. Ilya, you’re a Sales Manager at Sterling Logistics, aren’t you?”
“Yes… so what?” Ilya stammered, sweat pouring down his face.
“Have you ever wondered why your sales are always sky-high, even though you spend most of your time playing golf and drinking?”
I spoke softly, “Because your biggest clients… are all subsidiaries that I own or invest in, Ilya. I’ve pumped money into your company through fictitious contracts to keep you in that position. I’ve been feeding you, feeding your ego.”
Henderson placed the last piece of paper on the table.
“This morning, Mrs. Svetlana instructed all those companies to terminate their contracts with Sterling Logistics. And according to the information we just received…” Henderson looked at his watch. “…your company just sent you a firing email five minutes ago for losing 80% of its revenue.”
Chapter 5: The End of the Arrogant Man
Ilya slumped into his chair, like a puppet with its strings cut. The entire glamorous world he was so proud of – beautiful house, luxury car, high-paying job – was all an illusion I had created and maintained.
“Why?” Ilya whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “Why did you do this? You deceived me all these years?”
“Deceived?” I stood up and walked toward him. “I protected you. I loved you enough to save face for you. I didn’t need thanks, I just needed respect. But you and your mother… you trampled on that sacrifice.”
I leaned down and whispered in his ear, repeating the fateful words.
“You said I was a woman who only cared for her husband? You’re right. I took too good for you. So good that you forgot who you really were. An incompetent man.”
“Now I’m going to work, Ilya. I have an empire to run. And you…” I looked at the Rolex watch on his wrist – the one I had bought too. “…you should sell that. It’ll cover your rent for a few months.”
Three months later.
I drove my new car out of the villa’s garage. The house was now completely mine after the court foreclosure. I’d changed the locks, changed the security code.
As I stopped at a red light at the intersection, I saw a familiar figure.
Ilya was standing at the bus stop. He was wearing a wrinkled suit, carrying an old briefcase. He was handing out job applications. Gone was the arrogance, gone was the confidence. Only the weariness and failure of a middle-aged man realizing he was worthless without support.
My phone rang.
I received a voicemail from Galina.
“Lana, my dear, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Ilya is suffering so much, could you…”
I didn’t hear the rest. I pressed the Block button.
The light turned green. I pressed the gas pedal, and the car sped away, leaving behind the man who used to be my husband and the sarcastic remarks of the past.
They wanted me to go out and see how the world works. I did. And I showed them how quickly that world crumbles when the “useless” woman stops supporting their sky.
