Marina, a coworker, had disliked quiet Larisa from the clinic. Partly out of jealousy toward Larisa’s husband, Mikhail, who had become pointedly caring after a recent family scandal (which no one at the clinic knew about). Partly out of envy: Marina also sold handbags, but they were cheap trinkets with rhinestones, while Larisa was secretly creating expensive, high-quality handmade pieces from genuine leather.
After Mikhail threw his mother and sister out—because they had been humiliating Larisa—he began to see his wife differently. She told him about her dream, about sleepless nights at the sewing machine, showed him her work and her modest bookkeeping. Mikhail felt ashamed of his blindness.
“Lara,” he said, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. That you’d say it was nonsense. Your mother always said my job was to cook borscht.”
“My mother won’t be saying anything about your work anymore,” Mikhail said firmly. “And you… you need to quit the clinic.”
“Quit? But what about money? Stability?”
“What stability, sweetheart? Eighteen thousand? You make more on one bag! You should do what brings you joy and money. And I’ll support you. What do we need to do?”
“I need to register… as self-employed. But it all seems so complicated…”
“It’s not complicated,” Mikhail said, pulling out his smartphone. “Everything’s done through the ‘My Tax’ app now. Let’s do it right now.”
Sitting right there in the kitchen, they registered her small business. A week later Larisa quit, to Marina’s hissing: “Found yourself a sugar daddy, I guess.”
Mikhail became a true partner: he took over the household chores, helped with packaging, learned about leather, drove her to pick up hardware and fittings. He saw how happy Larisa was doing what she loved. One day, while driving his boss, Viktor Sergeyevich, and Viktor’s wife, Angelina, Mikhail overheard Angelina complain that she didn’t know what to give the famous actress Irene Adler as a gift. Taking a chance, he told her about his wife’s bags. Angelina was intrigued, and the next day Mikhail brought her a cherry-colored leather briefcase.
“My God, what a beauty! This is no worse than the Italians’! How much?” Angelina exclaimed—and bought it on the spot, without bargaining. “She has a great future!”
And then, a week later, thunder struck. Irene Adler showed up at a premiere carrying Larisa’s briefcase. Photos hit the internet, and a fashion blogger posted a glowing review. Larisa’s account exploded with followers and orders. She was both happy and terrified—there was no way she could fill that many orders.
But trouble arrived immediately. A message came from an unfamiliar account:
“Thief! You stole my design! I invented that briefcase! I’m suing you for plagiarism!”
The accuser’s profile showed a similar but sloppily stitched bag, with a posting date three days earlier than Larisa’s. A wave of harassment began online: bots, furious comments, paid hit posts, phone threats. Larisa was crushed.
“It’s over, Misha. My reputation… I’ll never wash it clean.”
“Stop,” Mikhail said, gripping her shoulders. “Nothing is over! You didn’t work this hard to give up now. You can fight—and you must. I’m calling Angelina right now. Viktor Sergeyevich has the best lawyers.”
A copyright lawyer, Igor Vladimirovich, sorted it out quickly:
“Classic patent trolling. In Russia, design is protected with a patent for an industrial design. A social media posting date is weak evidence—it’s easy to fake. We gather your proof: sketches, process photos, receipts.”
They found drafts from a year earlier, photos of the cutting process, and a receipt for buying that exact leather.
“Excellent,” the lawyer said. “Rock-solid foundation. But first… I need to check something.”
That evening he called:
“Our accuser isn’t so anonymous. Her name is Marina Volkova. Does that mean anything to you?”
Larisa gasped. Marina. The nurse!
“But that’s not all. The account was created a week ago. And the posting date was changed using software. That can be proven by an expert examination. We can confidently file a countersuit—for defamation and fraud.”
The next day Larisa went to the clinic and ran into Marina.
“So, you came to beg forgiveness, thief?” Marina smirked.
Larisa stepped close and said quietly, “I came to tell you, Marina, that I know everything. Your name, the fake date, and your Chinese faux leather. My lawyer is preparing a lawsuit. For defamation, lost profits, moral damages. And a police report—for the threats. So start packing your prison rations. Or… you have another option.”
Marina went pale. “What option?”
“You publicly apologize on the same social network. You write that you slandered me out of envy. You delete every lie. And you disappear from my life forever. Think. You have 24 hours.”
That evening a post appeared online with an apology. The next day Marina quit.
Six months passed. Larisa rented a workshop and hired assistants. Orders were booked out a year in advance. Mikhail became her manager. They were a real team.
“You know, I’m so glad everything happened the way it did,” Larisa said once. “That situation forced me to fight—for myself, for my work. It made me stronger. Yesterday they finally gave my mom the keys to her apartment. She was crying on the phone.”
Mikhail hugged her. “You did it, Lara. With your talent, your hard work, your character. I was just there beside you. And I’m so proud of you.”
They went through humiliation and envy, but only grew stronger and closer. A new life lay ahead—one they were building themselves