Irina stood by the window, watching autumn leaves drift and spin in the air. The apartment felt roomier without Dmitry—without his things, his presence, his constant dissatisfaction. Six months earlier, he had packed a suitcase and left for his secretary, Valentina.
“This apartment will be enough for you,” he’d said then, putting on a show of generosity. “I don’t need anything else from you.”
So noble. Back then Irina had almost believed he felt guilty about cheating. Now she understood: he was simply eager to run to his new woman.
The doorbell made her flinch. Was it the neighbor again, coming to borrow salt? But through the peephole she saw a familiar figure in an expensive coat.
“Dima?” she asked, wary, as she opened the door.
“Hi, Ir. Can I come in? We need to talk.”
He looked worn out. The costly coat hung on him like it didn’t belong, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. Where was the glow of a man who’d supposedly found the love of his life?
“What is there to talk about? The divorce is finalized. The documents are signed.”
“Things have changed,” Dmitry said, walking straight into the living room without waiting for an invitation. “I want my share of the dacha and the car.”
A cold wave ran down Irina’s spine. The dacha? The car? He had been the one to walk away from everything!
“Are you out of your mind? You said—”
“I said I didn’t need the apartment. I didn’t say anything about the dacha.”
“Dima, are you serious?” Her voice shook with outrage. “You left me, ran off to another woman, ‘generously’ let me keep the home—and now you’re back to grab the rest?”
“Don’t dramatize it. Valya and I have had some financial problems…”
There it was. So life with the secretary hadn’t turned out as sweet as he’d imagined. Irina clenched her fists, anger rising in her chest.
“What kind of problems?” she asked, her tone turning icy.
“That’s none of your business. What matters is the dacha and the car were purchased during the marriage, which means they’re marital property.”
Dmitry spoke briskly, like he was discussing a client deal. Had this man really once meant something to her? Had she truly cried over him at night?
“Do you even realize I spent half a year putting that dacha back in order? Alone! I dug up the whole garden, planted flowers, repaired the porch!”
“That was your choice. I didn’t ask you to.”
“And I learned to drive,” Irina snapped. “Do you think it was easy at forty?”
“Good for you. It doesn’t change the essence of the matter.”
She looked at her ex-husband and didn’t recognize him. The icy calculation, the brazen audacity—had he always been this way?
“Dima, you do understand how low this is, right?”
“I’m acting within the law,” he said, pulling out his phone and scrolling carelessly. “And if you keep being stubborn, we’ll have to go to court. I’m guessing you don’t want to waste money on lawyers?”
Threats—now threats too. Irina felt her cheeks burn.
“So you’re blackmailing me?”
“I’m offering a civilized solution. You sell the dacha—you get half. The car is more complicated, but we can agree on compensation.”
“And if I refuse?”
Dmitry shrugged.
“Then the court decides for us. But the case can drag on for years. Do you really want that?”
Irina sank into an armchair, her legs suddenly weak. That helpless feeling returned—that sense that someone else was steering her life again. Her mother had decided everything when she was a child, then Dmitry had spent twenty years telling her what to do. And now, just as she had started to breathe freely…
“Why now?” she asked softly.
“Valya wants to open a beauty salon. She needs money for the down payment.”
So it really was about money. And about the new woman—who, apparently, wasn’t as selfless as he’d pretended.
“I see. And how’s work?” Irina said sharply. “Ever consider simply earning it?”
“Ira, don’t be nasty. At my age, finding a good position isn’t easy.”
“But taking a dacha and a car from your ex-wife is easy, right?”
Dmitry got up and headed for the door.
“I’m giving you time to think. One week, and I expect an answer. I hope you’ll be reasonable.”
“And if I won’t?” Irina blurted.
“Then I’ll see you in court.”
The door slammed. Irina was left in silence that no longer felt calm—it felt heavy, crushing. Her hands trembled, her heart hammered in her chest.
Did he really think she would hand everything over again? That she’d nod obediently and agree, the way she always had?
All week Irina swung between despair and fury. Sometimes she wanted to give up—why fight? And then she’d picture herself handing over her beloved dacha, where every garden bed had been watered with her sweat, and rage would wash over her again.
On Thursday she couldn’t take it anymore and made an appointment with a lawyer. An elderly woman with penetrating eyes listened carefully to her story.
“Technically he’s right,” Anna Vasilyevna said. “It is jointly acquired property. But there are nuances.”
“What kind of nuances?”
“Did you invest your own personal money into the dacha after he left? Make improvements? Do you have receipts, witnesses?”
Irina nodded. Of course she did. A new stove, roof repairs, seedlings, fertilizer—everything had been paid for after the divorce.
“Then we have arguments,” the lawyer said. “And if he voluntarily waived claims earlier, that can be interpreted in a certain way.”
“So I can fight this?”
“You can—and you should. Don’t let him manipulate you.”
Irina went home feeling lifted, almost weightless. For the first time in many years she felt someone could stand up for her—if only herself.
On Saturday Dmitry showed up exactly on time. He looked even worse—unshaven, eyes dull.
“Well?” he asked without greeting. “Have you decided?”
“I have,” Irina said, straightening her posture. “I’m not giving you the dacha or the car.”
“What?” He actually froze. “Ira, you’re a sensible woman…”
“Exactly why I’m not giving them up. The dacha is my home, my work, my investments these past months. And learning to drive that car took everything I had.”
“But legally—”
“Legally you’re entitled to compensation,” Irina interrupted. “I’m ready to pay you for your share in installments. Or you can buy out my share at market value.”
Dmitry clearly hadn’t expected that. He stood there in silence for several seconds, confused.
“Where are you going to get money to buy me out?”
“That’s my problem. And if you don’t like my options—then you’re welcome to take it to court.”
“Ira, don’t be stupid. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
“It can’t get worse for me,” she said, surprised by her own steadiness. “Worse was six months ago, when you betrayed our family.”
Something that looked like fear flashed in his eyes. Had he really counted on her obedience?
“Listen… maybe we can settle this like civilized people?” Dmitry’s voice turned pleading. “Valya is really counting on that salon…”
“And I was really counting on a faithful husband,” Irina cut in. “Not everyone gets what they’re dreaming of.”
“You know I’m having issues with work right now…”
“Dima, listen to yourself. You left your wife for a younger mistress, made a big show of ‘giving up’ the property, and now you’ve come crawling back for money because it turns out the new love is greedy.”
He flinched painfully—as if she’d hit the nerve exactly.
“That’s not true…”
“It is true. And you know what? I’m even grateful to you. You showed me what a fool I’ve been all these years. Always giving in, always sacrificing, always thinking about your comfort more than my own.”
Irina got up and went to the window. Outside, the leaves still fell, but now the sight didn’t seem sad—it felt cleansing.
“My terms don’t change. I’ll pay compensation in installments over two years, or you buy out my share. Option three is court—but understand this: I’m ready to fight to the end.”
“How much in installments?” Dmitry asked, his voice resigned.
“The assessed value of your share of the dacha is seven hundred thousand. Thirty a month for two years. The car stays with me—I need it more than you do.”
“That’s robbery!”
“That’s fairness. You get money for property you once claimed you didn’t want, and I keep what I poured my time and soul into.”
Dmitry stayed silent for a long time, nervously twisting his phone in his hand. Finally he let out a heavy sigh.
“Fine. But we do it properly, on paper.”
“Of course. Through my lawyer.”
After he left, Irina stood in front of the mirror for a long time, studying her reflection. She looked the same—but something had changed in her eyes. A firmness that hadn’t been there before.
For the first time in her life, she had defended what was hers. For the first time, she’d said “no” to a man who was used to hearing only “yes.” And the world didn’t collapse—if anything, it became more just.
Six months later, after receiving the first transfer from Dmitry, Irina heard from mutual acquaintances that his romance with the secretary had ended. Valentina had found a more promising sponsor for her business.
And Irina? She drove to the dacha in her own car, tended her garden, and for the first time in many years, felt truly free.