Humiliation burned my cheeks. He spoke as if I were not his wife, but an annoying roommate.
— Yes, — I squeezed out.
— That’s excellent, — he exhaled, seeming pleased with himself. — And yes, to be fair, we split receipts in half, even for bread. Is that clear?
I nodded slowly, staring into the void. At that moment, I realized that his dream of a BMW had just cost us our marriage. He didn’t know it yet, but I already felt it.
A week later, we went to Auchan for groceries. I walked between the aisles with a cart, and Denis followed on my heels like a prison warden. In his hand was a phone with a calculator open. Every item I put in the cart, he took, scanned the price tag, and punched something into the phone. It was unbearable.
— Maybe we should get olive oil? Ours ran out, — I suggested, reaching for a bottle of Filippo Berio.
He immediately intercepted my hand. Not roughly, but authoritatively.
— Seriously? For 600 hryvnias? Have you completely lost your mind? — he hissed so only I could hear.
He silently took my hand, led me to the shelf with the cheapest products, and pointed to a plastic bottle with a cloudy yellow liquid and a screaming label “Red Price”.
— Here, 150, no worse. If you want that one for 600, you pay the difference of 450 hryvnias out of your own pocket. Agreed?
He was smiling, but his eyes were cold and mean. I nodded silently and put the cheap oil in the cart. The next point of humiliation was the meat department. I reached for a pack of chilled chicken fillet.
— Uh-uh, no, — Denis stopped me. — Look at the price. 400 hryvnias per kilogram. But here, — he pointed to a tray with bluish chicken legs, — 200. Twice the savings. We’re taking them.
— But you don’t like legs, it’s a hassle with the bones.
— It’s okay, you’ll deal with it, but it’s cheap. Or are you ready to pay an extra 200 hryvnias from your pocket for the fillet?
He said this phrase louder than necessary. A woman nearby, choosing minced meat, glanced at us with curiosity. I wanted to fall through the ground.
The apotheosis happened at the checkout. The cashier rang up all the items. The total amount lit up on the display — 2695 hryvnias. Denis immediately snatched the receipt from her, took out his phone, and demonstratively divided the amount by two.
— So, you owe 1347 hryvnias 50 kopecks, — he announced loudly, turning to me.
The line behind us froze. Everyone was looking at us. At him — with surprise, at me — with poorly concealed pity.
— Denis, let me transfer it to you at home, — I whispered, blushing to the roots of my hair.
— No way, why at home? We do everything fairly, here and now. Transfer it, I’m waiting.
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at me point-blank. The cashier sighed. People in the line began to whisper. With trembling hands, I took out my phone, opened the banking app, entered his number and the amount down to the last penny, and pressed “Transfer”.
— Done, — I said quietly, not raising my eyes, — sent.
He waited for the SMS notification on his phone, grunted with satisfaction, and then paid for the entire purchase with his card with a regal air.
We drove home in silence the whole way. I looked out the window at the passing city lights and felt something freezing inside me. It wasn’t resentment, it was something else: cold and hard as steel. Determination. He himself had given me a weapon, and I was going to learn how to use it….
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