Marina set a plate of dinner in front of Kirill. He didn’t even look up, picking at the food with his fork and grimacing as if she’d given him something inedible. She sat down across from him, folding her hands on the table.
“Kirill, I need to talk to you.”
“Again? Alright, go ahead—what is it this time?” he said as he chewed, not even glancing at her. “Just be quick, I have things to do tonight.”
“I’ve filed for divorce.”
Kirill stopped chewing. Then he slowly set his fork down and looked at her like she’d just told a bad joke. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Is this a prank? Did you hit your head or something?”
“No. I’m serious. I submitted the papers this morning.”
Kirill leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. He looked around the kitchen—the expensive cabinets, appliances, lighting—and spread his arms.
“Divorce? You? That’s a good one. Do you even realize you’ll be out on the street? Everything here is mine. Every cupboard, every wall. You’ll leave with what you came in with, sweetheart.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s not what I think, it’s what I know,” he said, slapping his hand on the table. “The apartment’s in my name, the summer house is in my name, the car’s in my name. You’re nobody. Zero. Nothing. For eight years, you lived off my money, ate my food, slept in my bed. And now you’re telling me—divorce?”
Marina looked at him calmly. Not a single muscle in her face moved. She tilted her head slightly, as if she was inspecting something interesting.
“Kirill, there’s something you need to remember.”
“Remember what? How you came to me without a penny?”
“No. Remember March 23, 2017. You signed a prenuptial agreement.”
Kirill froze. His smile slowly faded. He blinked several times, then scowled.
“What agreement? You’re talking nonsense.”
“Before the wedding. You were very gentle then, very generous. You said, ‘I’ll sign anything, just as long as you become my wife.’ Remember?”
“I don’t remember anything. That’s rubbish. Even if there was something—it’s just a piece of paper, it means nothing.”
Marina took an envelope out of her bag and placed it on the table. Kirill stared at it but didn’t touch it. His jaw tightened slightly.
“What’s that?”
“A copy. Certified. According to this document, the apartment, summer house, and car are all in my name. The original is with notary Tamara Lvovna, if you’re interested.”
“Lies,” he said, pushing his plate away. “Nonsense. I never signed anything like that. You’re trying to fool me.”
“Open the envelope. Your signature is inside. The date. The seal.”
Kirill snatched the envelope, pulled out the document, and started reading. His eyes scanned the lines. His neck turned purple, and a vein bulged on his forehead.
“This… This must be a mistake. I was probably drunk. It’s not valid.”
“You were perfectly sober. The notary will confirm that. So will the two witnesses.”
“What witnesses?!” he shouted, leaping up. “Did you plan this from the very beginning?!”
“No, Kirill. At the beginning, I loved you. I started preparing later. When you decided I was just a thing to you.”
Marina stood up, took the envelope, and put it back in her bag. Kirill stood there with his mouth open, red-faced and trembling. She walked past him toward the door.
“Where are you going? We’re not finished!”
“I finished a long time ago.”
Coffee shop on Lipovaya
Sveta was already waiting at the corner table. There were two cups in front of her—one untouched. Marina walked in, sat down, and let out a breath like she’d just come up for air.
“Well? Did you show him?”
“I showed him. His reaction was like a fish yanked out of an aquarium and dropped on the floor.”
“Did he freak out?”
“Sveta, he yelled so loudly the neighbors probably crossed themselves. He said the document was worthless. That he was drunk. That I’d set him up.”
Sveta shook her head and slid the cup toward her friend. Marina wrapped her hands around it and stared off to the side.
“You did great. You actually did it.”
“It took me eight years to muster the courage. Eight years of hearing that I was nothing, that I’d be lost without him, that I had neither brains nor money. You know, there’s a saying—patience is destroyed not by the one who leaves, but by the one who forces you to go.”
“So true. Hey, does he know about the summer house?”
“Which one?” Marina allowed herself a slight smile.
“Wait. He doesn’t know about the second one at all?”
“He thinks the lot was sold. I told him three years ago that I’d found a buyer. He never checked. He couldn’t be bothered.”
“So you kept it?”
“Of course. I put it under my name, all legal. Kostya is renovating it now. Summer terrace, insulation, new roof.”
Sveta whistled and propped her chin in her hand, eyes wide with admiration.
“Kostya—he’s your brother, right?”
“Yes. He’s helped me from the very start. He’s the only one who saw how Kirill treated me. The only one who didn’t say, ‘Hang on, it’ll get better.’”
“So what did he say?”
“He said, ‘leave.’ From the first year. But I didn’t listen. I thought Kirill would change. I thought it was my fault.”
Sveta reached out and covered her friend’s hand. Marina didn’t pull away, but she didn’t respond either, just stared at her cup.
“You know what’s funny? He still thinks everything belongs to him. For eight years, he signed documents without reading a word. ‘Why bother? I know what’s mine is mine.’ That’s exactly what he’d say.”
“And you read everything?”
“Every line. Every letter. Every tiny footnote.”
“So what now?”
“Tomorrow Tamara Lvovna is expecting both of us. I called her this morning. She confirmed the original document is intact and valid.”
“Will he come?”
“He’ll rush over. He’s already called me four times. I didn’t pick up. On the fifth try, I sent him the notary’s address and the time. Ten AM.”
Sveta spun the little spoon between her fingers and looked at her friend thoughtfully. There was a mix of worry and pride in her eyes.
“What if he brings someone with him? His buddy Yegor, for example?”
“Let him. Yegor’s an interesting character. He makes a lot of promises. But I did my homework—Yegor owes half the city money. He’s as much use as a parachute made of umbrellas.”
Yegor’s Auto Repair Shop
Kirill barged into the cramped room, filled with the smell of oil and rubber. Yegor sat at a low table, counting something in a notebook. Noticing Kirill, he put down his pen.
“Why do you look so green?”
“Yegor, I’ve got a problem. A serious one. Marinka filed for divorce.”
“So what? You’ll get divorced, that’s that. She came in with nothing, she’ll leave with nothing.”
That’s the whole point! She dragged out some contract. A prenuptial agreement. She claims I signed it before the wedding. Says everything belongs to her now.
Egor let out a whistle and leaned back in his chair, his face growing long. He rubbed his chin and squinted, taking it all in.
“Did you seriously sign it?”
“I don’t remember! Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I was completely head over heels for her back then, running after her like a fool. She kept handing me papers and I just signed without a second thought.”
“Man, that was dumb, Kiryuha. Sorry, but it’s basic—never sign what you haven’t read.”
“Don’t start lecturing me!” Kirill slammed his palm on the table. “Just tell me what to do. You’re the smart one, you always find a way.”
Egor stood up, paced around the room, and scratched the back of his head. He looked troubled but tried not to show it.
“Look, there might be one option. Just say that the signature isn’t yours, that you never signed it.”
“She says she has witnesses. Two of them. And a notary.”
“What notary?”
“Tamara Lvovna. On Kashtanovaya Street.”
“Oh, I know her. Tough lady. Not easy to sway. She’s a serious notary.”
“Exactly!” Kirill sat on a stool and hugged his knees. “Egor, you don’t understand. If that contract is real, I’m left with nothing. The apartment, the dacha, the car—it’s all gone.”
“Whose name is everything registered to?”
“She says everything is in her name. According to the contract.”
Egor fell silent. He stared at Kirill for a while, then took out a bottle of mineral water from a drawer and poured two glasses.
“Have you checked the documents yourself? The originals, not just copies?”
“No. She only showed me a copy. Says the original is at the notary’s office.”
“Then tomorrow, go to the notary and figure it out in person. Maybe she’s bluffing. Maybe the contract wasn’t done properly and you can challenge it.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you’re in serious trouble, bro. Big trouble.”
Kirill finished his water and crushed the cup in his fist. His eyes darted around—to the walls, the floor, the ceiling—anywhere but at Egor.
“I’m not just letting this go. She’ll pay for this. I’ll put on such a show she’ll give up on the divorce herself. I’ll show her who’s boss around here.”
“Kiryuha, chill out. When you get mad you do stupid things. Remember how you handled that fight with the neighbor over parking? Then you spent three months fixing the fence.”
“That’s different. This is my life we’re talking about. My home. My car. My everything.”
“Is it really yours?” Egor grinned quietly.
“What?!”
“Nothing. Just think before you start yelling at the notary. Tamara Lvovna eats guys like you for breakfast.”
Kirill stood up, kicked the stool, and moved toward the door. At the door, he turned around.
“Will you go with me?”
“Where to?”
“To the notary. Tomorrow. For support.”
“And what am I supposed to say?”
“Nothing. Just stand there. So she sees I’m not alone.”
Egor was silent for a long time, then nodded.
“Alright. But if everything’s legit—I can’t help you, Kirill. I’ve got my own problems to handle.”
The notary office on Kashtanovaya
Tamara Lvovna—a woman in her sixties with a silver haircut and glasses on a chain—sat behind a heavy desk. In front of her lay a thick folder. Marina arrived ten minutes early and sat in an armchair by the window. Beside her stood Kostya—tall, steady, with the heavy hands of a craftsman.
The door flew open. Kirill walked in, followed by Egor, who immediately took a seat at the far end and pretended he wasn’t even there.
“Where’s your contract?” Kirill didn’t even bother to say hello. “Show me the original. Now. I want to see it.”
“Good morning, Kirill Andreevich,” Tamara Lvovna took off her glasses and placed them on the table. “Please, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand!”
“As you wish. The original marriage contract from March 23, 2017—it’s right in front of me. It was drafted in my presence. Both parties signed it. Two witnesses—Konstantin Olegovich Saveliev and Natalia Petrovna Shumilova. There’s a seal, registration number, everything is in order.”
“Let me see it.”
Tamara Lvovna handed him the document. Kirill grabbed it and stared at the text. After a minute, his hands began to tremble. He turned the page, then another, then went back to the first.
“This… This is my signature,” he swallowed. “But I didn’t understand what I was signing.”
“Kirill Andreevich, you were fully conscious. I personally made sure of that before the signing. I asked you all the standard questions, and you answered appropriately. Everything is recorded.”
“No! No, no, no. She tricked me. She said it was just a formality. Just some paperwork.”
Marina raised her head and looked at her husband. Her voice was calm and quiet.
“Kirill, I read every point out loud to you back then. You said, ‘Stop nagging, let me sign already, and let’s go pick out rings.’ That’s exactly what you said.”
“Lies!”
“Tamara Lvovna, do you remember?”
“I remember perfectly,” the notary nodded. “I even made a note in my journal because it seemed unusual that the groom was in a hurry. Usually, it’s the opposite.”
Kirill threw the document onto the table and turned to Marina. His face twisted with anger.
“You did this on purpose. You waited eight years for this moment. You’re a snake. A viper. Pretended to be quiet and obedient, but really…”
“But really—I read documents. Unlike you,” Marina didn’t raise her voice. “That’s not a crime, Kirill. It’s called being literate.”
Kostya, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. His presence changed the atmosphere. Kirill glanced at him and stepped back slightly.
“And what are you doing here?” Kirill hissed.
“I’m a witness. I was present at the signing. And I’m here to make sure you don’t turn this into a circus,” Kostya said quietly.
“A circus?! Me?! You guys are the ones putting on a circus! Her, you, and that glasses-wearing granny!”
“Kirill Andreevich,” Tamara Lvovna’s voice turned steely, “I’ll ask you to behave yourself. You’re in my office. If you keep this up, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Egor leaned back in his chair. He clearly regretted coming. Kirill turned to him.
“Egor! Say something!”
“What do you want me to say, Kirill? It’s your signature. The notary confirms it. There are witnesses. There’s nothing I can do here.”
“Traitor. You’re all traitors,” Kirill swept the room with a furious look.
Marina stood up. She walked over to the notary’s desk and placed another document in front of her.
“Tamara Lvovna, here’s my request to divide the property according to the prenuptial agreement terms. Please register it.”
“Wait!” Kirill rushed to the table. “Please, let’s talk about this. Can we just discuss it like adults? I overreacted. Marina, I… I love you.”
“For eight years, you only really loved the apartment, the country house, and the car. Not me. You only put up with me because someone had to cook your dinner and wash your shirts.”
“That’s not true!”
“Think back to the last time you asked me how I was doing. Remember the last time you said ‘thank you’ to me. Think about the time you called me ‘a burden’ in front of Egor. Or how you told the neighbors I was ‘useless.'”
Silence filled the office, so thick it was almost tangible. Tamara Lvovna silently took the document, read it, and stamped it. Kostya stood by the wall. Egor was busy studying his own shoes.
“Marina, I’m begging you,” Kirill’s voice suddenly sounded different—pitiful, weak. “Don’t do this. I’ll change. I promise, I’ll be different.”
“You said that in year two. In year three. In year five. And then you started calling me ‘a nobody.’ You know, Kirill, there’s a huge gap between words and actions. For eight years, you only made it wider.”
She turned to the notary.
“Tamara Lvovna, are there any other documents you need from me?”
“Everything is in order, Marina Olegovna. I’ll prepare the conclusion within three business days. Someone will give you a call.”
Marina nodded, took her copy, and walked toward the door. Kostya followed her. Just as they reached the exit, Kirill shouted after her:
“You’ll r… You’ll regr…”
He didn’t finish. Marina turned around and looked at him—long and steadily, without anger. There was something close to pity in her gaze.
“No, Kirill. I won’t regret it. But you—you should think about how things got to this point. The exit is outside, third door on the right.”
And she left.
The terrace at the country house
The July sun was high in the sky. The new terrace smelled of fresh wood. Marina sat in a wicker chair, shuffling through documents, when her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar.
“Hello?”
“Marina, this is Natalia. Natalia Shumilova. The second witness for the contract.”
“Hello, Natalia Petrovna. I’m listening.”
“Your husband called me. Well, your ex. Or, more accurately, your soon-to-be ex. He asked me to say that I don’t remember anything. That I wasn’t present for the signing.”
Marina smiled slightly. She put the documents in an envelope and leaned back in her chair.
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I have an excellent memory. And that I’m not going to lie. He started yelling, so I hung up. Five minutes later, he called back to apologize, said I misunderstood him. Then he tried to pressure me again. Then apologized again. It was like a rollercoaster.”
“That’s his style. Pressure, then sweetness, then more pressure. I spent years on that rollercoaster myself.”
“I do feel bad for him,” Natalia paused, “But I’m not going to lie. The contract is real. I was right there, I saw him sign it. He even joked at the time—’I’ll sign anything, even give you the moon as a wedding present, as long as we get married in June.'”
“Thank you, Natalia Petrovna. It means a lot to me to hear that.”
“Marina, you’re doing the right thing. Stay strong.”
Marina put down her phone. A minute later, Kostya came out onto the terrace with two mugs. He sat next to her and handed her one.
“Who called?”
“Natalia Shumilova. Kirill tried to convince her to withdraw her testimony.”
Seriously? What a stubborn fool. He still doesn’t get that it’s all over?
He gets it. But he just can’t accept it. For him, losing his possessions is like losing himself. He never cared about people, only about things.
Kostya nodded and took a sip from his mug. For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the birds in the garden.
You know, he wrote to me yesterday,” Kostya said, pulling out his phone and showing the message. “Take a look.”
Marina took the phone. The message was long and awkward, full of exclamation marks: “You turned her against me! You were always against me! You stole my wife! Make things go back to how they were!”
“Make things go back to how they were,” Marina repeated, shaking her head. “Eight years ago—maybe, I would have. Five years ago—probably. A year ago—no, not anymore. And today… Today, it’s just funny to me that he still thinks it’s someone else’s fault.”
He’s always like that. The whole world is wrong, and he’s the victim.
Exactly. You know, in eight years, he never once said “I was wrong.” Not even once. It’s truly a talent—to go your whole life and never admit to a single mistake.
Sveta appeared on the path, swinging a paper bag and smiling so widely you could see it from afar.
Hey, hermits! I brought cherries from the market. And some news.
What news?
Sveta came up onto the terrace, set the bag down on the table, and sat on the railing.
Kirill put his garage up for sale. It’s the only thing still in his name. He’s selling it for peanuts. Yegor said Kirill is planning to move in with relatives in Saratov.
With relatives?” Marina raised her eyebrows. “He always said he didn’t have any family.”
Apparently, they’ve appeared. Once he lost the apartment, his memory improved real quick.
Kostya burst out laughing and almost spilled his tea. Marina smiled too—not out of spite, not vindictively.
I don’t feel sorry for him,” she said softly. “I tried. I tried for a long time. I endured, stayed quiet, kept hoping. I thought—now he’ll get it. Now he’ll notice. Now he’ll say something kind. But every time, he just said, ‘Without me, you’re nothing.'”
And what changed?” Sveta asked.
I believed him. Just the opposite, though. I realized that without him, I am myself. And with him, I was just a shadow. That’s when I stopped being afraid. The scariest thing isn’t divorce. The scariest thing is to live someone else’s life and, in the end, find out you never lived your own.
Kostya set down his mug and looked at his sister seriously.
Marina, do you ever regret not leaving sooner?
I do. Every day. But now it doesn’t matter anymore. Now the only thing that matters is what’s ahead. This terrace. This garden. This peace. My peace. Not his.
Sveta offered her a handful of cherries. Marina picked one up, turned it around in her fingers, and laughed.
What?” Sveta asked, surprised.
I just remembered. He hated cherries. He always said, ‘They’re pointless, all they do is stain shirts.’ For eight years, I never bought cherries.
What about now?
Now I have a whole garden. And not a single other person’s shirt.
The sun slowly moved toward the horizon. Three people sat on the new terrace of a new house. The cherries were sweet. The wind played with the curtains. And no one was yelling.