Tikhon stood in the middle of the living room with his hands buried in his trouser pockets. A familiar half-smile hovered on his lips—the one Larisa used to mistake for charm, but now recognized as nothing more than a smug mask.
— Are you serious? — Larisa slowly set the glass of water onto the coffee table. — After seven years of marriage you come home and say that to me?
— And what’s so shocking about it? — Tikhon shrugged. — You got the apartment from your grandmother before we even married. On paper, it’s yours. But we’re husband and wife—we’re supposed to help each other. My business is in trouble, I need cash. We sell the place, pay off my debts, and then we separate peacefully. Everyone goes their own way.
Tall, lean, dressed in an expensive suit—Tikhon always knew how to look like a successful businessman. Only the glossy packaging hid an entirely different reality.
— So you want me to sell the only home I inherited just to cover your debts? And then we divorce and I end up out on the street?
— Don’t be dramatic, — Tikhon said, flicking his hand in irritation. — You work. You’ll rent something. Or move back in with your parents.
— My parents? Who live in a one-room apartment in Saratov? — Larisa’s voice trembled. — Tikhon, do you even hear what you’re saying?
He paced the room, then stopped at the window. Outside, dusk was slowly thickening into night.
— Listen, Larisa, let’s do this without emotions. I’m in a tight spot. I took out a loan, the deal fell through, and now I’m stuck with a three-million debt. If I don’t pay it back within a month, the consequences will be serious.
— And how is my apartment involved? — Larisa got up from the couch. — You have a business, a car, a dacha—
— All of it is collateral, — Tikhon cut her off. — And it’s worth less than your three-bedroom in the city center. Your place is at least five million. That’s enough to cover the debt—and there’ll still be money left.
— Money left for who? — Larisa’s eyes flashed. — For me? Or have you already mapped out the whole plan?
Tikhon turned away from the window, and Larisa caught an expression she’d never noticed before—cold, careful calculation.
— Fine, since you want the full truth… — He sank into the armchair across from her. — Yes, there’s another woman. Alena. We’ve been together for six months. She’s pregnant.
Larisa lowered herself back onto the couch as if her body had suddenly become too heavy.
— Six months… — she whispered. — All those “business trips,” all those late nights…
— Exactly, — Tikhon nodded without a hint of shame. — I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t want to hurt you. But now things are critical. I need money, and I need it fast. After we sell the apartment, we split the proceeds down the middle. You’ll have enough to get by for a while.
— Down the middle? — Larisa let out a short, bitter sound. — My apartment—down the middle?
— We’ve been married seven years. By law I’m entitled to half of what we acquired together.
— But the apartment wasn’t acquired during the marriage! I inherited it!
— You renovated it using our shared funds. That counts as a joint investment, — Tikhon said evenly, like he was discussing the weather. — My lawyer checked. If we divorce through court, I can claim a share. But why make this ugly? Let’s settle it peacefully.
Larisa stayed silent, swallowing what she’d just heard. Seven years with a man who was now calmly plotting to leave her with nothing.
— And what about Alena? — she asked finally. — Where will you live?
— She has a place. Small, but it’ll be enough for us, — Tikhon stood, went to the bar, and poured himself wine. — Want a drink?
— No, — Larisa said sharply. — I want you to get out of my home. Right now.
Tikhon smirked.
— It’s my home too. I’m registered here, remember?
— Temporarily. At my request.
— Which I can challenge. Larisa, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Think logically—you’re thirty-two, no kids, your career is nothing special. What are you going to do alone? This way you’ll at least have money to start a new life.
Larisa rose and stepped close enough that he had to meet her eyes.
— You know what, Tikhon? All these years I put up with your contempt—your “jokes” about my looks, my job. I swallowed it when you called me “my little housewife” in front of your friends, even though I work just as hard as you. I watched you burn our shared money on your grand schemes, and then accuse me of wasting money if I bought myself a dress.
— What are you talking about? — Tikhon frowned. — I always treated you well.
— Well? — Larisa laughed, bitterly. — Remember your partner’s birthday, when you told everyone you married me out of pity? That I was some “gray little girl” you “refined”?
— That was a joke…
— And remember how you forced me to turn down a promotion because “a wife should be home when her husband comes back”? Or how you threw out my paintings because they “cluttered the apartment”?
— Larisa, let’s not dig through the past—
— No! — her voice rang like glass. — I’m done staying quiet! You humiliated me for years, dismissed me, made me believe I couldn’t do anything without you. And now you come here demanding my apartment so you can pay for your reckless stupidity!
Tikhon finished his wine in one gulp and set the glass down.
— Enough of the hysterics. I’m giving you three days to think. If you don’t agree добровольно, I’ll go to court. And believe me—my attorney will make sure you end up with absolutely nothing.
With that, he headed for the door. At the threshold he turned back.
— And yes, tomorrow I’ll come get my things. I’ll be staying with Alena.
The door slammed. Larisa remained standing in the middle of the living room, staring into empty space.
The next morning began with a call. Larisa answered—Marina was on the line, her coworker and only close friend.
— Lara, how are you? You look awful, — Marina said, studying her when Larisa arrived at work.
— Tikhon filed for divorce, — Larisa replied simply.
— Finally! — Marina blurted, then caught herself when she saw Larisa’s face. — Sorry…
— He wants half my apartment. Actually, he wants to sell it completely to cover his debts.
Marina let out a low whistle.
— Wow… And what are you going to do?
— I don’t know, — Larisa rubbed her eyes, drained. — He’s threatening court.
— Listen, I know a lawyer—excellent family law specialist. Want his number?
— Yes, — Larisa nodded.
At lunch she met the attorney—a young but clearly capable man named Egor.
— You inherited the apartment before you got married? — he asked, scanning the documents.
— Yes. Two years before the wedding.
— Great. By law it isn’t marital property. The renovation—yes, that can be grounds for claiming compensation, but nothing more. Do you have receipts showing whose money paid for it?
— Some. But a lot was paid from Tikhon’s card.
— That makes it messier, but it’s not fatal. The maximum he can get is reimbursement for the money he can prove he invested. Not half the apartment. And it matters that he chose to do the renovation voluntarily and benefited from it for years—that’s a strong point in your favor.
Larisa exhaled for what felt like the first time in days.
— So the apartment stays mine?
— If you don’t do anything foolish—yes. Most important: don’t sign anything without me. And record every conversation with your husband. Keep your phone with you—turn on the recorder quietly, even at dinner. We’ll sort out the legal details later.
That evening Tikhon showed up with empty boxes to “pick up his things.” But Larisa was ready.
— Here’s a list of your personal items, — she handed him a sheet. — Take only those. Everything else was bought with my money or gifted to me.
— Have you lost your mind? — Tikhon crumpled the list. — We bought the TV together!
— It was paid from my card. You were “temporarily broke” then, — Larisa answered calmly.
— The kitchen set—
— A housewarming gift from my parents. They paid.
Tikhon flushed.
— You prepared this специально?!
— No, Tikhon. I’ve just always been an organized person. Unlike you.
The next hour was spent arguing. He tried to take one thing after another, but Larisa didn’t budge. In the end he left with two boxes of clothes and personal belongings.
— You’ll regret this, — he hissed on his way out. — My lawyer will smear you into the wall.
— Depends whose wall ends up dirty. We’ll see, — Larisa said evenly, and closed the door.
The next two weeks turned into a full-blown war. Tikhon called multiple times a day. Following Egor’s advice, Larisa recorded every conversation.
— Larisa, be sensible, — Tikhon insisted again and again. — Two million for you, the rest goes to the debt. That’s a fair offer.
— No.
— You don’t understand who you’ve messed with! My creditors have long arms!
— Those are your creditors, not mine.
— But you’re my wife!
— Not anymore. You said it yourself—we’re divorcing.
Tikhon snapped and began shouting:
— I picked you up! You were some dorm girl! Nobody even noticed you! I made you into someone!
— You know what, Tikhon? — Larisa’s voice stayed level. — You’re right. I really was a gray little mouse—because you methodically killed everything alive inside me. But that ends now.
She ended the call.
The next day Alena—the pregnant mistress—came to Larisa’s publishing office. A young, polished blonde with a fresh manicure and an expensive handbag.
— We need to talk, — she announced, sitting across from Larisa in a meeting room.
— I’m listening.
— Tikhon is desperate. If he doesn’t repay the debt, it’ll be bad for all of us. For you too.
— For me? — Larisa raised an eyebrow. — Why would it be?
— His creditors… they’re serious people. They can reach anyone.
— Are you threatening me? That won’t work.
— I’m warning you! — Alena leaned closer. — Sell the apartment. It’s in your best interests.
— And in your best interests is keeping the father of your child alive and well, right? Then sell your apartment.
Alena flared.
— Don’t say it like that! I didn’t know he was married when we started dating!
— But you found out later and didn’t stop.
— We fell in love! Is that a crime?
Larisa looked at her carefully.
— How old are you, Alena?
— Twenty-four. Why?
— Because Tikhon is thirty-seven. And you’re not his first “love.” Before you there was Katya from accounting. He promised her he’d divorce me too.
— You’re lying!
— Check it. Katya Smirnova. Worked at his company three years ago. She quit after Tikhon promised to marry her—and then told her he’d changed his mind.
Alena went pale.
— That’s not true…
— Believe whatever you want. But think: if I sell my apartment, Tikhon gets the money and then what? Are you sure he won’t find a new “love” next?
Alena stood up, grabbed her handbag.
— You’re… you’re just jealous! He chose me, not you!
— Chose you? Sure. I’ve already been “chosen”—and you? Good luck, Alena. You’re going to need it.
The days went by, and Tikhon grew bolder. He dragged his parents into it—Larisa started getting calls from his mother, Valentina Sergeyevna.
— Larisa, dear, how can you treat Tikhon like this? — she cooed into the phone. — He’s your husband! In sickness and in health—remember?
— Valentina Sergeyevna, your son has a mistress and is demanding I sell my apartment.
— Oh, come on… men are like that. But he’s a good provider!
— A “provider” who got himself into debt and now wants to pay it off with my apartment.
— Larisa, don’t be so greedy! It’s unbecoming!
— Then make it simple—sell your apartment for your hopeless son. Goodbye, Valentina Sergeyevna.
Then Tikhon’s father, Sergey Petrovich, called. His approach was blunt.
— Listen, girl, don’t be stupid. Sell the apartment and we’ll split peacefully. Otherwise we’ll drag you through court and leave you with nothing.
— Don’t threaten me— a judge might not take that kindly. But go ahead and try, — Larisa answered and hung up.
The decisive meeting happened three weeks after that first conversation. Tikhon asked to meet “to settle everything once and for all.” Larisa agreed—but brought Egor with her.
They met at Egor’s law office. Tikhon came with his own attorney—an older man with a predatory stare.
— So, gentlemen, — Tikhon’s lawyer began. — My client is willing to compromise. The apartment is sold, Larisa receives one million, and the rest goes toward paying Tikhon’s debts.
— Funny, — Egor said flatly. — The apartment is my client’s premarital property. The maximum your client can claim is compensation for the renovation—if he can prove his spending. And don’t forget: he did it voluntarily and enjoyed the results for years. So… I’m not sure what you’re hoping for.
— We have evidence!
— Great. Let’s see it.
The next hour was spent reviewing documents. It turned out Tikhon really had paid part of the renovation—but the amount was nowhere near the apartment’s value.
— Two hundred thousand rubles, — Egor summarized. — That’s the maximum compensation your client can count on. And if we start calculating who paid utilities over the years, that figure will shrink fast.
— This is ridiculous! — Tikhon exploded. — Two hundred thousand? I need millions!
— You’re good at making debts, but when it’s time to pay them you try to dump them on me, — Larisa said coldly. — You shouldn’t have gotten into them in the first place.
— You—! — Tikhon jumped up, but his lawyer grabbed his arm.
— Calm down, Tikhon. We’ll file in court.
— Go ahead, — Egor nodded. — But keep in mind: I have recordings where your client admits adultery and threatens my client. That won’t help you in any property dispute. And of course we’ll calculate everything—renovation, utilities, and every other detail.
Tikhon’s lawyer frowned.
— What recordings?
Egor turned on a recorder. Tikhon’s voice filled the room: “I have another woman. Alena. We’ve been together for six months. She’s pregnant.”
Then another: “You’ll regret this! My lawyer will smear you into the wall!”
And another: “My creditors have long arms!”
Tikhon’s face went red.
— You recorded our conversations?!
— I had every right. It was self-defense.
Tikhon’s lawyer cleared his throat.
— We need to discuss this privately with our client.
Fifteen minutes later they returned. The attorney looked irritated; Tikhon looked beaten.
— My client withdraws all claims to the apartment, — the lawyer said dryly. — In exchange, he asks that the recordings not be shared and that you consent to a divorce with no mutual claims.
— Agreed, — Egor said, glancing at Larisa.
The papers were signed. On the way out, Tikhon turned back.
— I hope you’re happy. You ruined my life.
Larisa almost laughed.
— No, Tikhon. You ruined it yourself.
The divorce went through quickly. Larisa returned to her maiden name with a long, relieved breath. The apartment remained hers—along with the freedom to start over.
Marina threw a small “freedom party.” A few close colleagues and old friends came.
— To your new life! — Marina toasted, raising her glass.
— To freedom! — the others echoed.
Larisa smiled. The heavy weight of the past finally felt behind her.
Six months passed. Work absorbed Larisa and, for the first time in a long while, brought her genuine satisfaction.
Her personal life slowly began to heal too. At a course she met Andrey—a calm, intelligent university lecturer. They started seeing each other without rushing, learning one another gradually.
She tried not to think about Tikhon. But fate had other plans.
One autumn evening Larisa was coming home from work. Near the entrance she saw a man she didn’t recognize at first.
— Larisa… — he stepped toward her.
— What are you doing here?
— I need help. Please—just listen.
— You have five minutes.
They sat on a bench in the courtyard. Tikhon looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
— Alena left, — he forced out. — She had an abortion and left for someone else. She said I’m a loser.
Larisa said nothing. She waited.
— The business collapsed completely. The creditors took everything—the car, the dacha, the last of my money. I’m bankrupt.
— And? — Larisa replied, flat.
— That’s not even the worst part, — Tikhon pressed his hands to his head. — Remember the money I borrowed from private people? They want it back. They’re threatening… never mind. I have one week to find at least a million. Otherwise—
— And what do you want from me?
— Lend me the money. Please! I’ll pay you back, I swear! I’ll find a job, I’ll repay in installments—
— And what about your parents? Are they really going to abandon their precious son? — Larisa asked. He didn’t answer.
— They’ll kill me! — Tikhon blurted, then corrected himself. — Not my parents—the others—
— Tikhon, your life and your choices brought you here. I’m not helping you.
— How can you be so cruel? I’m your ex-husband!
— Exactly. Ex. The man who wanted to leave me homeless to cover his debts—and who behaved like a disgusting coward even with his mistress. I can’t stand looking at you, let alone lending you a single ruble.
Tikhon stood up, swaying slightly.
— I thought you still had at least a little compassion…
— I do. Just not for you. Goodbye.
She rose and walked toward the entrance. Behind her she heard his voice:
— Larisa! If something happens to me, it’ll be on your conscience!
She turned.
— No, Tikhon. That will be on yours—and on the conscience of your parents too, since they tucked their tails and refused you, from what I understand.
Larisa drew a line under it all. And what happened to Tikhon after that—that was a different story.