I never thought I would find myself in this situation—planning revenge against my own husband. Life sometimes presents twists that make it feel like you’ve been thrown out of your familiar reality. I developed a plan for retribution after his words at the holiday dinner, and every second of waiting was unbearably oppressive. Something inside me broke, like an expensive crystal vase that looks intact from the outside but is covered in fine cracks.
My name is Marina. I live in Berezovsk—a small town where each street holds its own stories. Here, mornings smell of fresh pastries from the bakery on the corner, and in the evenings, the elderly play chess in the park. Everyone knows each other, which makes our story even more painful.
Gleb and I met ten years ago at a corporate event. Back then, I was a financial analyst, and he was just starting his journey in construction. I remember his gaze—confident, slightly mocking, but warm. He asked me to dance, and the world around us disappeared.
‘You are the most beautiful girl here,’ he told me.
A year later, we got married. The wedding was modest but full of happiness. Gleb literally carried me on his arms. We dreamed of a big house, children, a dog. I continued my career and got promoted to lead analyst. Gleb also progressed, opening his own construction company.
Four years ago, Sonya was born—a little miracle with his eyes and my curls. That’s when I began to notice changes in his behavior. He became more authoritative. When we discussed my maternity leave…
‘You don’t need to go back to work,’ he stated decisively. ‘I earn enough for both of us.’
‘But work is important to me, Gleb. It’s part of me.’
‘Now the main part of you is our daughter. Think about her, not your career.’
‘Can’t we combine the two? We could hire a nanny…’
‘No!’ his voice echoed through the kitchen. ‘I don’t want strangers raising my child.’
I gave in. Perhaps, I made my first mistake. I convinced myself that it would be better for Sonya. I quit my job and fully immersed myself in domestic duties. I tried to be the perfect wife and mother. I cooked exquisite dishes, took Sonya to her activities, maintained order in the house.
Gleb successfully developed his business. We moved to a new apartment, bought a car. From the outside, we seemed like the perfect family. But gradually, I felt like I was losing my identity among the endless household chores.
The first serious confrontation happened at Sonya’s birthday party. Everyone came—parents, friends, Gleb’s colleagues. I had prepared for a week—decorated the apartment, ordered a special cake, organized entertainment for the kids. When it came to choosing a kindergarten, I suggested a private one with English.
‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Gleb rudely interrupted me in front of everyone. ‘I decide where my daughter will go.’
An awkward silence filled the room. My mother looked down, my father frowned. Lena, my friend, tried to change the subject, but the bitterness remained.
A week later, the story repeated when I talked about buying a new car—the old one often broke down, and I drove Sonya across town a lot.
‘Mare, have you forgotten your place?’ Gleb asked coldly, not even looking up from his phone. ‘You don’t earn, so you have no right to decide anything.’
Those words hurt my pride. I remembered the confident, successful woman I used to be, whose opinions were valued by colleagues and management. Where had all that gone?
Then came that evening. Gleb got a promotion to department head, and we decided to celebrate. I spent the whole day preparing his favorite dishes, decorating the table, wearing a new dress—striving for perfection. Guests praised the food, congratulated Gleb, but then he made a toast that turned my life upside down.
‘To real men who know how to keep their women in line! We are the heads of families, and only our decisions matter. And some forget their place—start rocking the boat, even though they mean nothing without us.’
His gaze was directed at me, full of superiority, causing nausea. I sat, forcing a smile, while inside everything froze. After the party, Gleb took all the money from our family budget—even those I had saved for my mother’s birthday—and left for his parents in Sosnovka, leaving Sonya and me alone.
I spent three sleepless nights wandering the apartment, recalling every detail of our life together. When did everything start to change? How did I not notice my loving husband turn into a tyrant? His phrases spun in my head: ‘You’re not so good anymore,’ ‘What do you know about business?’ ‘Don’t embarrass me in front of others with your stupid ideas.’
On the fourth day, I called my father. He had always been a man of few words but found the right ones.
‘Daughter, pack your things,’ he said after hearing my story. ‘I’ve already called a taxi.’ ‘Dad, am I exaggerating? Is it my fault?’ ‘Marina,’ his voice trembled, ‘you are my only daughter. I didn’t raise you for some tyrant to turn you into a powerless slave.’
By evening, Sonya and I were at my parents’ house in Lipovka. The old walls seemed to embrace us, protecting from all hardships. My mother silently stroked my hair as I cried on her shoulder. Sonya played with grandpa, not understanding why we were here.
Gleb called constantly. First, he threatened, then he pleaded, then switched back to threats. I ignored his calls. After a week, he rushed to Lipovka, trying to break in.
‘Marina, let’s talk!’ he shouted under the window. ‘I was wrong, I admit it! Come back, we’ll fix everything!’
My father went out to him. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I saw through the window how Gleb gesticulated, then crumbled under my father’s stern gaze.
I filed for divorce two weeks later. Gleb couldn’t believe I would take this step. At the first court hearing, he tried to use emotions:
‘We have a daughter, Marina! Think about the child!’
‘That’s exactly why I am thinking,’ I calmly replied. ‘I don’t want her to think that demeaning women is normal.’
The divorce process was not easy. Gleb tried to sue for Sonya, but the court sided with me. I allowed him to meet with his daughter on weekends. After all, he’s her father. Initially, he came regularly, brought gifts, walked with her in the park. But over time, his visits became less frequent until they stopped altogether. He only paid alimony diligently.
Later, I found a job as an accountant in a company. I started from scratch—four years of maternity leave had erased much from memory. But I studied anew, refreshed my knowledge, took advanced courses. My colleagues were wonderful people—they helped and supported me.
A year later, at a city festival, I met Igor—a local college economics professor. Tall, in glasses, a bit absent-minded—not at all like Gleb. We just talked for a long time, walked with Sonya in the park, discussed books and movies.
‘You know,’ he said once, ‘you are amazing, Marina.’ ‘Why?’ ‘You’ve survived betrayal, but you’ve kept your kindness. Strong and yet incredibly gentle.’
When Igor proposed, I hesitated for a long time. Afraid of repeating old mistakes, afraid of dissolving in someone else’s will again. But I had one firm condition: I would continue to work.
‘There’s nothing even to discuss,’ he smiled. ‘You’re a professional. And I really like how your eyes light up when you talk about your work.’
Now I hold the position of chief accountant in a large company. Igor and I are raising a son, whom Sonya sincerely considers her dad and constantly makes cards for him on every holiday. Finally, I feel truly happy—not because there’s a man by my side, but because there’s a person who sees me as an individual.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I learned something else: the best revenge is a life full of joy and success, without those who didn’t value you. I harbor no grudge against Gleb—he only helped me realize how valuable I am. Thanks to him, I found the strength to start all over.
We recently met him at the supermarket. He looked haggard—gray at the temples, a lost look in his eyes. He muttered something resembling an apology, and I just nodded. All words remained in the past. Now I have my own life—one where my opinion matters, where I am valued, where I can be myself. This is the sweetest victory I could never have dreamed of.
Yesterday Sonya asked me a question: ‘Mom, why did you leave Dad?’
I thought for a moment, choosing the right words. Then I answered: ‘Because every person deserves respect, dear. And you should never let anyone make you feel otherwise.’
She hugged me tightly and whispered: ‘I love you, mommy.’
And in that moment, I realized—all the trials were not in vain. My daughter will grow up to be a confident woman who knows her worth. And that is worth all the difficulties we had to go through