Lena was standing by the hallway mirror, tilting her head slightly to one side. The new haircut framed her face neatly, shorter at the back, soft curls brushing her jawline. It felt light — not only on her head but somewhere inside too. For a fleeting second, she felt almost renewed. Then, behind her, she heard that familiar little sound — a deliberate clearing of the throat.

She didn’t have to turn around. Sergey’s presence filled the doorway like a shadow she had long since learned to recognize. That expression again — the half-frown of disapproval mixed with wounded righteousness.

“How much did that cost?” he asked bluntly, nodding toward her reflection.

“Good morning to you too,” Lena said without turning. Her voice was calm, flat, the kind that comes from long habit. “Three thousand.”

Sergey whistled low, the sound slicing through the air like an accusation.
“Three thousand for a haircut? What, do you have golden hair now? I could’ve done it at home with clippers for free.”

“You could have,” she said quietly, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror. “And the result would’ve looked exactly like that.”

He frowned, not catching the irony or perhaps pretending not to. “What’s wrong with the result? Hair is hair. At your age, no haircut’s going to change much.”

The words landed like a slap. Lena didn’t flinch — she’d learned not to give him that satisfaction — but inside, something tightened. Thirty-four wasn’t old. She still caught glances on the street sometimes, still liked to feel good about herself. Or at least she used to.

“Got it,” she murmured and brushed past him toward the kitchen.

Breakfast had become an interrogation ritual. Sergey sat at the table surrounded by printed bank statements, his reading glasses perched halfway down his nose. The man looked less like a husband and more like a suspicious auditor.

“What’s this?” he asked, tapping the paper. “‘Golden Rose,’ seven thousand. What is that — a jewelry store?”

“A shoe store,” Lena replied, stirring her coffee, pretending to care about the swirl of foam rather than the storm brewing in front of her.

“Seven thousand for shoes? How many pairs do you even own? Twenty?”

“Fourteen,” she said, still calm. “For all seasons.”

He smirked. “And how many feet do you have? Two. So two pairs are plenty — one for work, one for home.”

She lifted her eyes slowly. The man across from her — this man she once loved — seemed like a stranger. Where had that other Sergey gone? The one who bought flowers for no reason, who took her to dinner, who called her beautiful? When had he turned into someone who measured love in receipts and decimals?

He kept talking, flipping through pages. “‘L’Etoile,’ four thousand. Cosmetics again!”

“I need good cosmetics for work,” she said simply.

“Why? You’re not a model. Clients come to you for consultation, not for your looks.”

At that moment, another voice joined the choir of reproach.

“Good morning,” said Galina Petrovna, Sergey’s mother, gliding into the kitchen like a judge entering court.

Lena offered a neutral smile. “Morning.”

“What happened to your hair?” the older woman asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Got it cut.”

“Oh, I thought you just hadn’t slept well,” Galina remarked and sat down beside her son. “Sergey’s right, dear. Why such expenses? I’ve dyed my hair myself all my life — and the men still chased me.”

Lena remembered those old photos of Galina as a young woman: sharp cheekbones, bold lipstick, eyes full of mischief. Time had dulled her looks but sharpened her tongue.

“Mom’s right,” Sergey said, encouraged. “We’re living beyond our means. We have to save.”

“Save on what?” Lena asked, her patience thinning. “I don’t buy furs or go to spas every weekend. A haircut, some shoes, cosmetics — those aren’t luxuries.”

“Necessary expenses,” Galina repeated mockingly. “In my day, women kept their men without all that nonsense.”

“And in your day, women cooked borscht every day,” Lena said before she could stop herself.

The silence that followed was thick enough to chew. Sergey shot her a warning look. His mother pursed her lips, victorious in her indignation.

Lena took a slow breath and looked down at her plate. “My salary, my money,” she murmured.

“Our family, our budget,” Sergey corrected sharply.

That evening, Lena locked herself in the bathroom. The light above the mirror hummed faintly. She stared at her reflection — not just at the new haircut, but at the exhaustion beneath her eyes. Somewhere along the way, she had become the only adult in a house of two dependents.

Three years ago, Sergey had earned more. Back then, his confidence was easy, generous. But when her career took off — when she was promoted to senior consultant at the firm — something in him shifted. His affection turned to scrutiny, his pride to bitterness.

He never said it aloud, but she saw it in the way he looked at her — like her success was a betrayal.

Days passed in a cold truce. They spoke only when necessary. Lena worked late, lingering at the office or having long dinners with colleagues. Coming home felt like walking into someone else’s house.

Then, one Thursday evening, while he scrolled endlessly through his phone, she gathered the courage.

“Sergey,” she said softly, “maybe we should go on a vacation. Together.”

He didn’t look up. “Vacation? With what money?”

“I got a bonus,” she said. “We could go to Turkey. A nice hotel. All-inclusive.”

That got his attention. He raised his eyebrows. “How much?”

“For two, maybe a hundred to two hundred thousand.”

He gave a low whistle. “Too much. But fine — good idea. You’re suggesting it, so you pay.”

The casual cruelty in that sentence was almost elegant in its simplicity.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Deal!” he grinned. “Mom!” he called toward the kitchen. “We’re going to Turkey!”

Galina appeared instantly, wiping her hands on a towel. “To Turkey? How lovely! I’ve always wanted to see the sights.”

“We’re going,” Lena corrected, “Sergey and I.”

“Oh, dear, and leave me all alone? How cruel,” Galina sighed dramatically.

Sergey shifted awkwardly, already caught between guilt and convenience. Lena could see it — the inevitable surrender.

“Of course,” Lena said finally, her smile brittle. “Let’s go as three.”

The next day, she went to see her friend Irina, who worked at a travel agency.

“There’s a five-star in Antalya, gorgeous place,” Irina said, scrolling through listings. “Pools, buffet, live shows — 350,000 for three.”

Lena hesitated. “Show me something cheaper.”

Irina frowned. “Why? You can afford it.”

Lena smiled faintly. “I just want them to have an… unforgettable experience.”

That evening, Sergey came home with the kind of smug calm that usually preceded something unpleasant.

“Mom and I talked,” he began.

“Oh?” Lena said, already bracing herself.

“We thought — since it’s so expensive for three, maybe you should stay home. You work hard. You need rest. And we’ll save money.”

Lena stood still for a moment, her hands folded neatly on the table.

“So,” she said slowly, “I pay for the vacation, and you go without me?”

“Well, technically, yes,” Galina chimed in, “it’s for your own good.”

Lena smiled then — a small, quiet smile that no one understood.

The following week was a blur of planning, packing, and fake excitement. Sergey and his mother beamed like children going to summer camp. They thanked her repeatedly for being “so generous.”

When she saw them off at the airport, Lena even waved. The automatic doors closed behind them, and silence fell over her apartment like a blessing.

The next morning, she woke up alone — and free.

The call came twenty-four hours later.

“Lena!” Sergey’s voice was hoarse, furious. “What the hell did you book for us?”

“I don’t understand,” she said sweetly, sipping coffee.

“This isn’t a hotel — it’s a damn student hostel! Music all night, no air conditioning, mold in the bathroom!”

“And where’s the transfer?” Galina shouted in the background. “The taxi driver robbed us!”

“Oh,” Lena said, feigning surprise. “The agency told me it was very popular among young people.”

“You’re insane!” Sergey shouted. “Book us a proper hotel!”

“I can’t. The money’s gone.”

“Then come fix this in person!”

“I won’t come,” she said simply.

“How can you not? You booked it!”

“You wanted a vacation at my expense,” Lena said quietly, “so enjoy it. I’m not rescuing you from there.”

And she hung up.

The calls continued for two days. Then, silence. Lena spent the week rediscovering her life — slow mornings, theater tickets, wine with friends, quiet evenings without criticism. Her apartment felt like a new world — small, peaceful, hers.

When Sergey and Galina finally returned, they looked sunburned, exhausted, and furious.

“You did this on purpose!” Sergey said. “You sent us to that dump!”

Lena glanced up from her tea. “I thought you wanted to save money.”

“We spent twice as much finding a new place!” Galina shrieked.

“Greed tends to cost more in the end,” Lena said softly.

Sergey stared at her — really stared, as if seeing her for the first time. “You’ve changed.”

“Yes,” Lena said. “I have.”

“I’m filing for divorce.”

“Good,” she replied. “The papers are on the bedroom table. Everything’s arranged. The apartment stays with me — it was mine before the marriage. The car is yours. No debts, no children. Simple.”

He blinked, confused. “You already… filed?”

She nodded.

“And where will I live?” Galina asked, her voice small for the first time.

“That’s not my problem,” Lena said. “You still have your apartment.”

“But it’s rented out!”

“Then you’ll have to make arrangements.”

Lena picked up her bag, slipped on her shoes.

“Where are you going?” Sergey asked.

“To a friend’s,” she said. “While you pack.”

At the doorway, she paused, turned slightly, and smiled — a real smile this time.

“Oh, and Sergey?”

“What?”

“Thanks for the vacation. I had a wonderful rest.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

For the first time in years, Lena’s laughter echoed freely through the empty hall.