My husband did not buy shoes for our son, but suddenly turned pale when talking about the money he spent on himself

That morning my son was supposed to go to school in old, tight sneakers, while Igor was cleaning his new phone in front of the mirror and saying that we no longer had money.

It was a cold October morning. I was cutting dry bread crusts in the kitchen when Antoshka stopped at the threshold and grasped his toes inside the shoe.

“Mom, it still hurts.”

The toe of his left shoe had opened. The cardboard placed inside was already soaked. The small talisman attached to his hat—a wooden button in the shape of an elephant—hit the wall at every step.

“I know, ray of sunshine,” I said and swallowed the bitterness that had risen in my throat. “We will buy new ones this evening.”

Igor came out of the room. He was fastening his shirt collar and turning the phone around as if all the family’s problems were supposed to disappear into its screen.

“Not today,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because there is no money now.”

I looked at his new phone. He had brought it two weeks earlier; I still remembered the sharp smell of the box and his satisfied smile.

“Was it for the phone?”

Igor knitted his brows.

“I need the phone for work.”

“And what does Antoshka need shoes for? To play?”

“Don’t start a drama, Valia.”

“The child’s feet hurt.”

“I earn the money and I decide what to spend it on.”

The ticking of the clock sounded in the room. Antoshka squeezed my hand more tightly.

“Then take care of yourself on your own, if you are so independent,” I said calmly. “Prepare, wash, iron. Do everything yourself.”

Igor made a face as if I had struck him. But he did not answer anymore. I tied Antoshka’s sneakers. The wooden elephant hung near his foot and lightly touched the floor.

From that day he raised an invisible wall in the house.

After work Igor ordered pizza and ate alone on the sofa. Antoshka and I sat in the kitchen. Steam rose from his plate, while the smell of grease spread from Igor’s box.

“Do you want some?” he asked me once.

“No.”

“Then don’t look at me.”

“I’m not looking either.”

But I was looking. Not at the pizza. At a person who sat like a guest in his own house.

On the fourth day he tried to boil eggs and burned the pot so badly that I opened the windows. On the fifth day he went to work in a crumpled shirt. On the seventh day he stood in front of the washing machine and examined the instructions in his hands.

“Which clothes are colored?” he asked at last.

“Those that are not white.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No. I simply gave you the answer.”

That evening I left my old laptop open on the table. On it was a table of our expenses: rent, food, medicine, Antoshka’s school. In the last month three strange transfers appeared to the same account.

Igor glanced at the screen.

“Have you started rummaging through other people’s finances?”

“This is our account.”

“I spend my money.”

“Then why do you have it hidden?”

His fingers touched the spoon lying on the table. The spoon made a clink against the plate.

“Tomorrow I’ll go to the bank,” he said. “And no one in this family will inspect me anymore.”

That night, when he thought I was asleep, his phone lit up. Only one word appeared on the screen: “Tomorrow.”

Igor immediately deleted the message, but he did not notice that my laptop’s camera was on. In the morning I followed him into the bank branch. In my bag lay the small elephant-wood button that had fallen from Antoshka’s hat.

Igor was sitting with the manager and raising his voice.

“My wife has no right to see my statement!”

The manager looked toward me.

“If the account is joint, she has the right.”

I closed the door and put one folder on the table. Igor first looked at the folder, then at my hand, which was slowly moving over it…

…Igor placed his hand on mine.

“Valia, let’s go outside.”

“No. Tell me right here, whom were you sending the money to?”

The manager opened the folder. Inside were statements, dates, and a copy of my signature.

Igor turned pale.

“This means nothing.”

“For three months you transferred money to the same account every Friday,” I said. “And I also found a loan application signed in my name.”

“I didn’t sign it!”

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

He pushed the chair so that it scraped loudly across the floor.

“Do you want to destroy me?”

“I only want to know the truth.”

The manager closed the blue folder.

“An additional person must come regarding this matter. Madam, I advise you not to go anywhere.”

Igor took out his phone, but no one answered the call. The same number appeared on the screen again.

This time he did not answer.

I understood that the money was only the beginning. That number was hiding the main answer…

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…the manager locked the door and indicated a place to the woman who entered the room. She held a small black bag in her hand, and her face had such tension, as if she herself had not wanted to come here.

“I am Nino,” she said. “I work in family financial mediation.”

Igor immediately rose.

“I did not call you.”

“Your wife did not call me, the bank did,” Nino replied. “Suspicious transfers and the use of someone else’s signature were recorded on the account.”

I was sitting on the chair, but my knees were trembling. With my fingers I touched the little wooden elephant in the bag. One of its ears was broken. Antoshka had told me in the morning, Mom, don’t throw it away, it is still mine.

Nino placed a voice recorder on the table.

“This recording was made yesterday evening in the bank’s service room. Mr. Igor, you yourself say that you used your wife’s signature.”

“That’s a lie!”

Nino pressed the button.

Igor’s own voice sounded in the room.

“If I tell Valia, she won’t give me this money anymore. I signed instead of her, then I’ll cover it.”

His laughter could also be heard in the recording. That short, self-assured laughter which he used at home when he thought he had already won every resistance.

Igor lost color.

“It is cut.”

“We have the full recording,” said the manager.

“I only wanted to cover a debt.”

“Whose debt?” I asked.

He hid his eyes.

“Mine.”

Nino turned over the second document.

“No. It was your brother’s debt. The money was going to his account. But the heaviest thing is that you opened a new loan in your wife’s name for this.”

My ears buzzed.

“In my name?”

“Yes. If you had signed today, the responsibility would have fallen on you.”

Igor turned toward me.

“Valia, I swear, I was going to return it.”

“But before that you did not buy shoes for my child.”

He had no answer anymore.

Nino picked up the phone and called the bank’s lawyer. Just then Igor’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and flinched.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“No one.”

The call ended. Immediately a new message came: “If you do not come today, I will send everything to the family.”

Igor dropped the phone from his hand. The screen fell onto the floor and cracked.

I thought I already knew the most terrible thing. But Nino looked at the message once more and said quietly:

“This number does not belong to your brother. It is registered in the name of the person whose account received the last transfers.”

For the first time Igor looked at me not with anger, but with genuine fear.

“Valia, before she comes here, you should know that…”

At that moment the bank door was knocked on hard from outside…