“Don’t touch her things,” Oleg said from the bedroom doorway, his arms folded across his chest. “Yulia will decide where she wants everything. I’ve already put your boxes in the hallway. The car is waiting downstairs.”
I froze beside the open wardrobe, an empty clothes hanger in my hand. Two cardboard boxes stood on the floor, filled with my books, an old photo album, and a few personal belongings.
Twelve years.
That was how long we had lived in this apartment.
We had bought it back when Oleg had no company, only debts, an aging car, and enormous ambitions. I had worked two jobs, made soup from cheap chicken wings, and believed we could overcome anything together.
“She’s fifteen years younger than you, Oleg,” I said, turning toward him and trying to keep my voice steady. “She’s twenty-two. She doesn’t need you. She needs your money.”
“Of course,” Oleg replied with a contemptuous snort. “Here comes the predictable jealousy of an aging wife. Yulia is different. She’s bright, carefree, full of energy. When I’m with you, I feel like an old man. You’re always dissatisfied, always lecturing me. ‘Oleg, get your blood sugar checked. Oleg, go see a doctor.’ I’m tired of it. I want to live, do you understand? I want to enjoy life to the fullest. Now hurry up. We have a restaurant reservation tonight, and I still need to change.”
He did not even look at me. His eyes remained fixed on his brand-new smartphone, where notifications filled with heart emojis kept appearing.
I closed the box and sealed it with tape.
There were no dramatic scenes. No tears, shattered dishes, or screaming. I had already gone through all of that three days earlier, when I had accidentally seen them together at a shopping mall. Oleg had been holding the girl around the waist while she laughed and chose another expensive handbag.
He had blocked my bank card, announcing that he was under no obligation to support an ex-wife.
I picked up my belongings and walked toward the front door. The keys were lying on the hallway cabinet. Oleg followed me, impatiently waiting for me to leave.
“I’m transferring the apartment into my name,” he called after me. “Yulia shouldn’t have to move between rented places. You can go live with your mother. She has that house outside the city. There’s plenty of space.”
I did not answer.
I simply stepped into the hallway, and the heavy metal door slammed shut behind me with a dull thud.
Oleg looked around the bedroom, frowned, opened a window, and dialed a number.
“Hi, Yulia. It’s done. The apartment is free. You can bring your suitcases over. Yes, I’ve already called a cleaning company. Everything will be spotless by tonight. I’m waiting for you, my little one.”
Yulia arrived three hours later. She was wearing tiny denim shorts, a light crop top, and bulky sneakers. Three movers followed her, carrying enormous pink bags and boxes filled with shoes.
“Oh, Oleg, why is the wallpaper so boring?” she asked, marching straight into the living room and touching the curtains with obvious disgust. “Everything looks so old-fashioned. We’ll have to redo the whole place. And this leather sofa is horrible. It won’t look good in photos. I want something light-colored and fluffy.”
“We’ll change everything, baby,” Oleg promised, wrapping his arms around her and feeling young and powerful. “We’ll call a designer tomorrow. You have the card, so buy whatever you want.”
“You’re the best.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then immediately pulled away after noticing herself in the mirror.
“I need to film a video announcing that I’ve moved. By the way, where’s the robot vacuum? I don’t see one.”
“We never really needed one,” Oleg replied, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Nastya cleaned everything herself.”
“Was your ex-wife some kind of servant?” Yulia burst out laughing. “Imagine washing floors by hand! Start making a list. We need a robot vacuum, a new coffee machine, and all the kitchen appliances should be replaced. These are already outdated. They must be at least three years old.”
Oleg sat down on the edge of the sofa.
For a moment, something painful stirred inside him. He and Nastya had bought those appliances together and had been as excited as children.
But one glance at young, slender Yulia, who was already posing in front of the mirror in a new dress, quickly erased the memory.
He was doing the right thing.
A person had to move forward.
Nastya had simply fallen behind.
Time seemed to have stopped in my mother’s house. The old wooden dresser, the lace cloths covering the television, and the steady ticking of the wall clock had not changed in years.
“Eat something, Nastenka,” my mother said, placing a plate of hot cottage-cheese pancakes in front of me. “You’ve become so thin in that city. There’s nothing left of you but your eyes.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom.”
I sat by the window, looking out at the blooming apple orchard.
“You know, I don’t even feel angry. There’s only emptiness. It’s as though someone drained every bit of strength out of me.”
“That’s exhaustion, sweetheart. You carried everything on your shoulders for all those years—his business, his paperwork, the household. He couldn’t take a single step without you. Remember when he had pneumonia three years ago? You barely left his bedside for weeks, even though you were pale as a ghost yourself.”
“I remember,” I replied with a bitter smile. “And now he says being with me makes him feel old. Never mind, Mom. Let’s stop talking about him. Tomorrow I’ll go into the city and start looking for a job. Small freelance jobs won’t get me very far, and I need something to keep my mind occupied.”
“That’s the right decision. You’re an excellent accountant, one of the best. He’ll fall apart without you, Nastya. You’ll see. Men like him convince themselves that their success is entirely their own achievement. They forget about the woman behind them who organizes the paperwork and keeps their life from collapsing.”
I did not believe in fairy tales about justice.
Life could be brutally cynical. Traitors often lived long and happily, while the people they had crushed spent years trying to rebuild themselves.
But I had no intention of sitting around and doing nothing.
Life did not end at thirty-seven simply because a twenty-two-year-old model had taken my place in my husband’s bed.
Two months later, Oleg began to notice that money was disappearing from the company’s business account at an alarming rate.
Nastya had previously handled everything. She knew exactly when taxes had to be paid, where expenses could be reduced, and which clients were late with their payments.
Now the finances were being managed by a young man named Denis, whom Yulia had recommended.
“Oleg Vladimirovich, there’s a problem,” Denis said hesitantly from the doorway of his office. “We’ve received a notice from the tax authorities. There’s a substantial penalty.”
“What penalty?” Oleg demanded, looking up from the documents on his desk. “Our records have always been perfect!”
“Well… Nastasia Igorevna submitted an amended tax return last quarter. There was some kind of tax benefit involved, and I… I didn’t take it into account when I prepared the latest report. One of the company’s accounts has been frozen until the matter is resolved.”
“Then resolve it!” Oleg shouted. “What am I paying you for?”
“I’m trying, but the database is a mess. Nastasia Igorevna kept many of the documents in her own folders. I can’t find the supplier contracts from last year.”
Oleg threw his pen onto the desk in frustration.
His phone began ringing insistently. Yulia’s name appeared on the screen.
“Yes, baby? I’m busy.”
“Oleg, I’m at the car dealership. Remember how you promised to replace my car with a newer one? They’ve just received a beautiful white model. The salesperson says I need to pay a deposit right now, or someone else will take it.”
“Yulia, one of our accounts has been frozen,” Oleg said, rubbing his temples as a dull headache began forming at the back of his skull. “Can we wait until next month?”
“Next month?” Her voice immediately became cold and petulant. “You said you didn’t have money problems! All my friends drive proper cars, while I look like some poor girl. Just tell me you don’t love me anymore!”
Oleg sighed.
He did not want another argument. Things at home were already difficult enough.
Yulia could not cook at all, so every meal was delivered from restaurants at an enormous cost. His shirts were now sent to a laundry service, but they were often damaged or returned with missing buttons. The apartment no longer felt warm or comfortable. Shopping bags, cosmetics, and empty boxes were scattered everywhere.
“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll transfer the money from my personal card. But this is the last time, Yulia. We need to reduce our spending for a while.”
“Thanks, sweetie!”
She ended the call without even listening to his warning.
Six months passed.
Autumn painted the city in shades of gold and crimson. I was walking along the main street, holding a leather folder containing several newly signed contracts.
I had found a position at a large company. The work was demanding and required my full attention, but the salary was excellent.
I rented a small yet comfortable apartment near a park. I also changed my wardrobe. Instead of my usual jeans and oversized sweaters, I began wearing elegant, tailored suits.
It turned out that deep blue suited me perfectly, as did high-heeled shoes.
“Nastya?”
The familiar voice made me stop outside a coffee shop.
Oleg was standing beside his car.
He looked terrible. The suit that had once fit him perfectly now hung loosely around his body. Deep lines had appeared on his face, and his eyes looked exhausted and lifeless.
“Hello, Oleg,” I said with a polite nod, showing no unnecessary emotion.
“You’ve changed,” he said, looking me over from head to toe. Something resembling surprise appeared in his eyes. “Your hair is different. It suits you.”
“Thank you. How are you? How is Yulia?”
“Everything is fine,” he muttered, turning his eyes toward the road. “We finished renovating the apartment. Yulia changed everything. It’s all light colors now…”
“I’m happy for you. Excuse me, but I’m late for a meeting.”
I started to walk away, but he suddenly caught hold of my coat sleeve.
“Nastya, wait. Listen… Denis, our accountant, made a mess of the financial reports. The tax authorities are investigating us, and our partners have started leaving. Could you possibly look at the database, like you used to? I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you very well.”
I looked down at his hand gripping my sleeve and calmly removed it.
“No, Oleg. I have my own job, my own contracts, and a very demanding schedule. Hire a qualified professional. Goodbye.”
I turned and continued down the street, the heels of my shoes clicking against the pavement.
I felt no triumph.
I simply understood that he had chosen his own path.
He had wanted youth and an easy life, and he had received both. Everything else in life came with a price.
By the end of the year, Oleg’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy.
A major client whose contract had sustained the business for the previous three years moved to a competitor. The reason was painfully simple: Denis had failed to prepare the necessary documents on time after confusing the submission deadlines.
When Oleg discovered what had happened, he screamed so loudly that the office windows seemed to shake.
Denis packed his belongings and left that same day, taking the company’s client contacts with him.
Oleg returned home late that evening.
The apartment was dark, and quiet music was playing in the bedroom.
“Yulia!” he called as he entered the room.
She was sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone. Open suitcases surrounded her.
The same enormous pink suitcases she had brought when she moved in.
“Oh, you’re home,” she said without looking up. “I’m packing.”
“What do you mean, packing?” Oleg froze in the doorway.
“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m leaving. The girls and I are going on vacation. And honestly, Oleg, I think we should break up.”
“What?”
Oleg felt as though the air had been knocked out of him.
“Yulia, have you lost your mind? I abandoned my family for you! I transferred the apartment to you and bought you a car! My business is in trouble, and I need your support!”
Yulia finally put her phone down and looked at him.
There was no love in her eyes anymore. Her expression was calculating and ice-cold.
“Oleg, what kind of support are you talking about? I’m young and beautiful. Why would I want to deal with your problems? You’re constantly angry now. You complain about everything and count every penny. Being around you is boring. You transferred the apartment to me, and I’m grateful. It was a generous gesture. I probably won’t sell it yet. I’ll rent it out. I already have somewhere else to live.”
“You’re a vicious little monster,” Oleg whispered, feeling his chest tighten with pain. “I did everything for you.”
“No one forced you,” she said, standing and closing her suitcase. “You were the one who wanted a young doll. Did you honestly think I fell in love with you because of your fascinating personality? Don’t make me laugh. Anyway, goodbye. The car is waiting downstairs.”
She walked past him, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.
The door closed.
Another year passed.
I was sitting in a small waterfront restaurant, celebrating my latest promotion. I had become the head of the auditing department.
Sergey, one of the company’s lawyers, was sitting beside me. We had been spending a great deal of time together lately. He was a couple of years older than me—a calm, dependable man with a wonderful sense of humor.
“Nastya, look over there,” Sergey said quietly, nodding toward the entrance.
I turned my head.
A man was sitting at the last table near the door, ordering the cheapest meal on the menu. He wore an old jacket, his hair had become noticeably gray, and his shoulders were hunched as though he were carrying an invisible sack filled with stones.
It was Oleg.
His company had closed six months earlier. Yulia had sold the apartment and left him with nothing.
He now rented a small room on the outskirts of the city and worked as an ordinary sales manager for a struggling company.
Oleg raised his eyes and noticed me.
For a moment, our gazes met.
There was sorrow in his eyes, along with an unspoken question. He stared at me—elegant, well-groomed, and smiling—and perhaps only then did he finally understand what he had lost when he placed my boxes in the hallway and ordered me to leave.
He did not approach us.
He quickly finished his meal, paid with a handful of coins, and walked outside, turning up the collar of his jacket against the autumn rain that had begun to fall.
I watched him leave.
Nothing stirred inside me.
There was no pity and no satisfaction.
“Is everything all right?” Sergey asked, gently touching my hand.
“Yes, everything is perfectly fine.”
I smiled at him and took a sip of tea.
“Let’s order dessert. It’s a wonderful evening.”