"Nothing," he answered curtly.

"Come on, Anton, I can tell something's wrong! What happened?" Lena pressed, concern growing in her eyes.

"I got fired." Anton dropped his head into his hands, elbows propped on the kitchen table.

Anton had feared this moment for months, and not without reason.

He wasn’t the most dependable employee—frequently late to client meetings and, worse, prone to forgetting key appointments. His forgetfulness had already caused the loss of several potential clients.

"Antoshka, you can’t keep being this careless! You’re a grown man. Jobs don’t fall from the sky!" Lena sighed.

Lena, by contrast, was soaring in her career. In the past year alone, her salary had doubled. Intelligent, driven, and strikingly beautiful, she threw herself into her work with such passion that management routinely celebrated her with bonuses and glowing praise. She’d even been named Employee of the Month more than once.

Anton, on the other hand, was still trying to find himself—as an artist. Lena had pulled several strings to get him a sales job at her friend’s company. But even with that leg up, he’d squandered the opportunity. Fired, despite the connections.

Married for two years and childless by choice for now, the couple was living with Anton’s mother, Galina Mikhailovna, to save for a home. Her spacious two-bedroom apartment offered enough privacy that it worked, for the time being.

Galina adored her daughter-in-law, mostly because Lena paid the bills, handled groceries, utilities, and—most importantly—had finally gotten Anton into a job.

"My Antosha is a true artist," she would tell Lena proudly. "He has a degree in fine arts. Such a gifted soul! But fragile, so fragile. The real world wounds him."

"I understand that, but he still has to work. We’ll never afford a place if he doesn’t contribute," Lena said, trying to stay composed.

"Oh, that’s true! These days, everything costs a fortune," Galina would sigh.

"And we need both of us earning to keep up."

After Anton was fired, Galina moaned and cursed his former employers as if they had committed a crime.

"But really, Galina Mikhailovna, it was Anton’s own doing," Lena said carefully. "I put my name on the line for him, but he didn’t take it seriously. He was late, forgot meetings, lost clients."

"But he's not meant to be a salesman!" his mother insisted.

"Yes, he's creative. But until his art earns money, he needs to find another way to contribute," Lena replied firmly.

"But he had exhibitions! You saw the reviews!" Galina countered, nostalgic.

"We can admire his paintings later. Right now, he needs a job," Lena said, voice clipped.

"You want him to give up his dream?" Galina asked bitterly.

"I want him to be a grown-up," Lena said quietly. "We can’t live on dreams forever."

They had met at a friend's party—two very different worlds colliding on a whim. Anton had just come from a poorly attended solo exhibition, bitter and defeated. Lena arrived with a colleague, invited by the host’s girlfriend.

Their connection was instant.

Anton, a dreamy blond with piercing blue eyes, offered her wine. Lena, a warm-skinned brunette with bold lips and sharper wit, laughed at his self-deprecating jokes. One conversation led to another, and by morning, they were tangled in the same bed. From that point on, Anton was relentless in his affection—painting portraits of her, serenading her with his guitar, writing poetry on napkins.

Lena, unfamiliar with such grand gestures, fell fast.

But time chipped away at the romance. Creative failure followed Anton like a shadow. Still, Lena said yes when he proposed. The wedding was modest, paid for with help from her and her parents. But the reality that followed was far from romantic.

While Lena climbed the corporate ladder, Anton drifted further from reality.

“Lena, can you get groceries and pay the internet bill?” Anton called out from the kitchen while she tied her shoes.

“Sure. Any updates on the job hunt? Did you check your email?”

“Not yet. I’m not stressing about it,” he replied breezily. “Actually, I’ve had this burst of inspiration—I want to get back to the studio. Something just clicked in me.”

“I’m glad you’re inspired,” Lena replied tightly, “but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living with your mother.”

“Neither do I! But think big, Lena. What if I sell a painting for half a million? Artists make fortunes once they break through.”

Lena didn’t respond. She just grabbed her purse and left.

That evening, she came home dragging two overstuffed bags. Galina was in the kitchen.

“Oh, Lena! Hi, sweetheart. Listen, we need a new fridge. This one’s been rattling like crazy. It’s driving me mad.”

“Okay. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, darling. Let me unpack the bags.”

Since Anton lost his job, Lena had done everything. She bought the food, paid the bills, replaced appliances, and smiled through her resentment. She was the perfect daughter-in-law, the dependable wife—while also carrying a high-pressure job.

One evening, she came home earlier than usual and overheard Galina on the phone.

“…Lena got him a job, and he got himself fired. But she keeps nagging him about work! What is she thinking?”

Lena froze, slipping off her shoes silently.

“What do you mean ‘who pays’? Lena, of course! She earns well. Why shouldn’t we live off her salary?” Galina chuckled.

Lena’s hands clenched.

“Yes, let her be the provider. I won’t let my Antosha suffer in some soulless office. He’s a genius! If she married an artist, she should support one.”

Lena turned and crept silently to the bedroom, heart pounding.

Just then, Anton walked in.

"Mom! I painted Dasha again today. She’s so radiant!"

"Dasha? You mean that Dasha? She came back from Moscow?"

"Yes! She’s incredible. And guess what—she gets my art. She says I’m a visionary. Lena never said that to me."

"That’s because Lena doesn’t understand art. She’s only good with her paycheck," Galina replied, smirking.

"Maybe Dasha can be my first real patron," Anton added dreamily.

That was the final straw.

Lena stormed into the kitchen like a hurricane.

"So this is the plan? I fund your art and your affair?"

"Oh—Lena! You’re home!" Anton tried to kiss her.

"Don’t you dare touch me!" she barked.

"What’s gotten into you?" Galina gasped.

"I’m done being your ATM. I’m done playing house with a leech and his cheerleading mother."

Thirty minutes later, Lena stood by the door, two suitcases packed.

"I’ll be back for the rest tomorrow."

"Lena, please," Galina pleaded. "We didn’t mean it—"

"I’m sure you didn’t. And by the way, I hate your soup. Also, Anton, let me be clear."

"Yes?" he asked, eyes wide.

"You are not a misunderstood genius. You’re just lazy. Your only talent is draining people dry. And Galina, you're no better. I thank fate every day we never had children."

She grabbed her bags, slammed the door, and didn’t look back.

After moving out, she changed her phone number and vanished from their lives.

Whether Anton ever became the celebrated artist he dreamed of… the story doesn’t say.