Victoria came home after her evening shift at the clinic and kicked off her shoes right by the door. Her feet were aching after eight hours on duty. So many children had come in today that she had not even managed to eat a proper lunch. In the refrigerator, there was a container of soup she had made two days ago, but she had no desire to heat it up. All she wanted was to collapse onto the sofa and think about absolutely nothing.
The door to the children’s room was slightly open. From inside came Nastya’s voice. The little girl was whispering something to her dolls, seating them in a circle on the floor. Victoria leaned against the doorframe and watched her daughter for a while. Nastya was the spitting image of her father: the same dark hair, the same stubborn chin, the same brown eyes.
“Mom, you’re home!” Nastya turned around and smiled. “Did Dad call?”
“No, sweetheart,” Victoria replied, feeling her heart tighten. “Dad is still away on business.”
It was a lie. Andrey was not away on business. He simply had not called for three weeks. Victoria did not know how to explain to her daughter that her father now lived somewhere else, with another woman, and seemed to have forgotten about them completely.
Twelve years earlier, Victoria had married Andrey believing it would be forever. They had met at university, dated for four years, and dreamed of having a big family. Their wedding had been modest. Victoria’s parents, Olga Mikhailovna and Sergey Petrovich, had helped pay for the reception. Andrey had sold his one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city so he could put the money toward buying a two-room flat. Victoria’s parents had added around one million rubles from their savings. Later, Nastya was born, and part of the apartment was registered in her name through maternity capital, just as the law required.
The apartment was in a typical nine-story building in a residential district. Two windows overlooked the courtyard, where old poplars grew and a children’s playground stood with peeling swings. Fifty-two square meters. Not a palace, of course, but it was theirs. Victoria had arranged the home with love: choosing curtains, putting up wallpaper in the nursery, buying furniture in installments. Andrey had helped too. He hung shelves, assembled wardrobes, fixed the plumbing. It seemed as if everything was going the way it should.
Victoria worked as a pediatrician at the local clinic. Her salary was modest, forty-eight thousand rubles a month, but the job was stable, with sick leave and vacation days. Andrey worked in sales as a manager at a large company that supplied equipment to factories. He earned more, around seventy thousand, but he was often away on business trips. Three or four days a week, Victoria was left alone with Nastya. She cooked, cleaned, took her daughter to school and dance lessons, came home exhausted from work, and then started the whole routine all over again.
Sometimes Victoria felt that Andrey was becoming distant. But she blamed it on fatigue and pressure at work. When he came back from trips, he was quiet. He ate dinner in front of the television and barely asked about his daughter. Victoria tried to draw him into conversation, asking how the trip had gone and what was new at work. Andrey answered in short phrases: fine, everything was okay, he was tired.
Then came that evening. Victoria remembered every detail, even though six months had passed. She was making dinner, slicing cucumbers for a salad. Nastya sat at the table, drawing something in her sketchbook. Andrey came home earlier than usual, took off his jacket, and hung it over the back of a chair. His face looked tense.
“Vika, we need to talk,” Andrey said without looking at her.
“About what?” Victoria put the knife down and turned around.
“Nastya, go to your room, please,” Andrey said to his daughter.
The girl obediently got up, took her sketchbook, and left, closing the door behind her. Victoria felt a chill spread through her. Andrey only used that tone before serious conversations.
“Listen, I don’t know how to say this,” Andrey said, sitting down and staring at the floor. “I met another woman. I fell in love. I’m sorry.”
Victoria froze, unable to grasp the meaning of his words right away. Fell in love. Another woman. I’m sorry.
“What?” she finally managed to say. “Andrey, what are you talking about?”
“I’m leaving,” Andrey raised his eyes and looked at his wife. “It happened a month ago. I tried to fight it, but I can’t. I don’t love you anymore, Vika. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”
“A month ago?” Victoria sank onto the nearest chair, feeling her legs give way. “You… you kept quiet for a whole month?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“And now you do?” Victoria’s voice broke into a shout. “You think this doesn’t hurt? Do you even think about us? About Nastya?”
“I do. That’s why I’m telling you honestly now. I could have just left without explaining anything.”
Victoria felt everything inside her turn over. Honestly. He thought he was being honest by announcing the end of their twelve-year marriage over dinner, between chopping cucumbers and putting their daughter to bed.
“Who is she?” Victoria asked quietly.
“A colleague. She works in the next department.”
“And what now?”
“I’m moving out tomorrow. I’ve already packed my things. They’re in the car.”
Victoria looked at her husband. Andrey avoided her eyes and picked at the edge of the tablecloth. Twelve years of marriage were ending just like that, with one short conversation in the kitchen. No scandals, no long explanations. Just: I met someone else, I’m leaving, I’m sorry.
“And Nastya?” Victoria whispered. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her Dad went away for work. She’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to it? She’s eight years old, Andrey! She asks about you every day!”
“I’ll visit her. I’m not abandoning my daughter,” Andrey stood up and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, Vika. I really am.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Victoria sat in the kitchen, staring at the half-sliced cucumbers, unable to believe what had just happened. Twelve years. Twelve years of marriage, one child, a shared apartment, plans for the future. And all of it had collapsed in a ten-minute conversation.
The next six months passed as if in a fog. Victoria went to work, took care of Nastya, cooked dinner. But everything felt unreal, as if she were living someone else’s life. Andrey came once every two weeks. He took Nastya for a walk, bought her ice cream, and brought her back after a couple of hours. Each time, the girl asked when Dad would come home for good. Victoria did not know what to answer.
At night, Nastya cried into her pillow. Victoria could hear those quiet sobs through the thin wall, and her heart felt like it was being torn apart. The little girl did not understand why her father no longer lived with them. Why he came only for a short time and then left again. Why they had once been a family, and now they were not.
Victoria tried to stay calm. She smiled at her daughter, hugged her, and read her bedtime stories. But inside, everything was boiling. Hurt, anger, confusion — all of it twisted into one heavy knot. How could he? How could someone simply walk away from a family he had been tied to for twelve years?
After six months, Victoria understood there was no point in waiting anymore. Andrey was not coming back. He had built a new life without them, and in that life there was no place for either his wife or his daughter. His visits with Nastya became shorter and less frequent. First once every two weeks, then once a month, then once every month and a half. The girl waited by the window, watching passing cars, then walked back to her room in disappointment.
Victoria made up her mind. She booked an appointment with a lawyer and gathered all the documents for the apartment, the marriage certificate, and Nastya’s birth certificate. The lawyer, a young woman of about thirty with a tired face, looked through the papers and said,
“File for divorce. The sooner, the better. There’s no point dragging it out.”
Victoria filed the petition in court. It turned out to be easier than she had expected. Fill in a form, attach copies of the documents, pay the state fee. Just a few hours, and the process was underway.
A week after filing, Victoria received an envelope in the mail. Inside was a notice of a counterclaim from Andrey. Victoria unfolded the papers and could not believe her eyes. Andrey was demanding the entire apartment for himself. All of it. Without exception.
The claim stated that the main part of the money used to buy the apartment had come from Andrey, from the sale of his one-room flat. Victoria’s parents had added a smaller amount, which meant their contribution was insignificant. Therefore, according to the claim, the two-room apartment should belong to Andrey. Victoria, meanwhile, could rent a place with her pediatrician’s salary, since her income allowed her to pay for a one-room apartment somewhere on the outskirts.
Victoria read the claim three times, unable to believe what was written there. Andrey wanted to leave her and Nastya without a roof over their heads. He wanted to take the only thing they had: this cramped two-room apartment where they had lived for twelve years. Where Nastya had been born, where she had taken her first steps, where she had started first grade.
Her hands began to tremble. Victoria put the papers on the table and covered her face with her palms. How could someone be like this? How could a man demand an apartment from his own daughter? Nastya was registered here. Her room was here, her belongings, her life. Did Andrey truly not care?
The court hearings began. The first one was scheduled for Tuesday at ten in the morning. Victoria took unpaid leave; she had not been given three paid days off for a divorce. The head of the clinic grimaced while signing the request but said nothing.
Andrey came to court with a lawyer. The lawyer was a tall man in his fifties, wearing a dark suit and carrying a folder of documents under his arm. Victoria sat alone. She had no money for a lawyer. Her salary was enough only for food, utilities, and Nastya’s dance classes.
The judge, a middle-aged woman in a strict black suit, read out Andrey’s claim. The lawyer stood and began to speak. His voice was confident and forceful. He listed the facts: Andrey had sold his one-room apartment and invested the money in the purchase of the two-room apartment. The amount was two million three hundred thousand rubles. Victoria’s parents had added one million. Therefore, the larger contribution had come from Andrey.
“My client has every right to this property,” the lawyer said, pacing in front of the judge’s desk. “Victoria Sergeevna can move in with her parents. Their apartment is large enough. Or she can rent housing on her salary. A doctor’s salary allows for that.”
Victoria listened and felt anger rising inside her. Move in with her parents. Olga Mikhailovna was sixty-two, Sergey Petrovich was sixty-five. They had a two-room apartment on the other side of town. Her father had recently had heart surgery; her mother suffered from high blood pressure. How could she move in there with a child?
The lawyer spoke for another ten minutes about Andrey’s rights, about the insignificant contribution from Victoria’s parents, about how a woman with a child could live anywhere, while a man needed the apartment to build a new life.
A new life. Victoria remembered how Andrey had told her about the other woman. A colleague. She worked in the next department. So that was what this new life meant — that very colleague. And he needed the apartment for her. His former wife and daughter could go live with elderly parents or rent a one-room flat on the outskirts.
“Victoria Sergeevna, you may speak,” the judge said.
Victoria stood up. Her voice trembled as she began.
“This apartment is my daughter’s home and mine. We have lived there for twelve years. Nastya was born there. Her room is there, her things are there, her friends are in the courtyard. She goes to school in this district and takes dance classes near the building. How can I take that away from her?”
“You can move,” the lawyer remarked coldly. “Children adapt easily.”
“My daughter is eight years old!” Victoria raised her voice. “Her father has already left the family, abandoned her! Now you want to take away her home too? The only stable thing left in her life?”
“Please do not become emotional,” the judge said, tapping her pencil on the desk. “Stick to the facts.”
Victoria sat back down. Her hands were shaking. The hearing continued for another hour. Andrey’s lawyer presented more arguments, referred to laws and court precedents. Victoria tried to object, but her words sounded weak compared with the pressure of a professional attorney.
The judge scheduled the next hearing for two weeks later. Victoria left the courtroom feeling completely powerless. Andrey stood in the corridor, talking to his lawyer. When he saw his former wife, he turned away and continued the conversation as if she were not there.
Two weeks passed. Victoria again took unpaid leave. This time, the head of the clinic did not even hide her displeasure. The clinic was short of doctors, and Victoria was asking for time off for the second time in a month.
The second hearing began the same way as the first. Andrey’s lawyer again spoke about his client’s rights, about the insignificance of Victoria’s parents’ contribution, about the fact that a mother and child could live anywhere. Victoria listened and felt despair building inside her.
“In addition,” the lawyer said, taking new documents from his folder, “my client is planning to start a new family. His partner is expecting a child. They need their own home to raise the future baby.”
Victoria sharply raised her head. Expecting a child. Andrey’s new woman was pregnant. So it was serious. He really was building a new life. And for that new life, he needed the apartment — the same apartment where his older daughter was growing up.
“Victoria Sergeevna,” the judge looked at her, “would you like to say something?”
Victoria stood up. Her head was spinning. Faces blurred before her eyes: the judge, the lawyer, Andrey. The lawyer kept speaking, listing reasons why Andrey should receive the apartment. Reason one, reason two, reason three. The future child. The financial contribution.
Something snapped inside Victoria. All those weeks of restraint, all her attempts to speak calmly and reasonably — everything collapsed in a single second.
“Let your new woman take you, and let the apartment stay with your daughter!” Victoria shouted, no longer controlling the volume of her voice. “Do you hear me, Andrey? The apartment will stay with Nastya! You already abandoned her and took away her father! Now you want to take her home too? What kind of man are you…”
“Victoria Sergeevna!” the judge struck the gavel sharply. “I call you to order! Calm down immediately!”
Victoria fell silent, breathing heavily. The words that had burst from her lips hung in the air. Andrey’s lawyer grimaced and gave the judge a meaningful look, as if to say, See? She’s hysterical.
“I am declaring a fifteen-minute recess,” the judge said and left the courtroom.
Victoria sank onto a chair and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat. She had lost control. She had shouted in court. Now she would definitely lose; surely the judge would consider her unstable.
But then a woman approached her, the same woman who had been sitting in the corner of the courtroom. Victoria had noticed her at the first hearing but had not known who she was. The woman handed her a business card.
“My name is Elena Viktorovna. I’m a lawyer. I work with family cases. Will you allow me to help you?”
Victoria lifted her head and looked at the woman. Elena Viktorovna was about forty-five, wearing a strict gray suit, with short hair and attentive gray eyes.
“I don’t have money for a lawyer,” Victoria said quietly.
“I know. That is why I am offering to help free of charge. Your case caught my attention,” Elena Viktorovna sat down beside her. “You mentioned your daughter. How old is she?”
“She’s eight. Eight years old.”
“Do you have the apartment documents? The ones from the purchase?”
“Yes, at home.”
“Bring them to the next hearing. The document confirming the use of maternity capital is especially important. If a share was registered in your daughter’s name, that changes the case.”
Victoria remembered. Yes, when they had used the maternity capital, they had been told they needed to allocate a share to the child. At the time, Andrey had not objected. What difference did it make whose share it was if they were a family? But now…
“A share is registered in Nastya’s name,” Victoria said. “Through maternity capital. One third of the apartment.”
“Excellent,” Elena Viktorovna took out a notebook and wrote something down. “That is our advantage. Your husband cannot claim your daughter’s share. And if one third belongs to her, then only the remaining two thirds are subject to division between the spouses.”
The recess ended. The judge returned, and the hearing continued. Elena Viktorovna asked to speak and introduced herself as Victoria’s lawyer. Andrey’s attorney raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Your Honor,” Elena Viktorovna began, “I would like to draw the court’s attention to one important point. Maternity capital was used when the apartment was purchased. Under the law, a share must be registered in the child’s name. I request an expert review of the documents to verify this fact.”
The judge nodded and ordered the examination. The hearing was postponed for another month. Victoria left the courtroom with Elena Viktorovna. The lawyer walked her to the courthouse exit.
“Thank you,” Victoria said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Bring the documents to the next hearing. Everything will be all right,” Elena Viktorovna smiled and left.
The month passed in anxious waiting. Victoria found all the apartment papers at home and placed them in a folder. Among the documents was the agreement regarding the use of maternity capital and the certificate of property registration. There it was, written in black and white: Nastya owned one third of the apartment.
The examination confirmed it. At the next hearing, the judge announced the results. Andrey had a right only to his share of the remaining two thirds of the apartment. In other words, to one third of the entire property. The rest belonged to Victoria and Nastya.
Andrey’s lawyer tried to challenge the conclusion, but the judge was firm. The law was the law. A child’s share was untouchable. The court ruled that Andrey had the right to one third of the apartment. He could either continue owning that share or demand a buyout at market value.
Andrey left the courtroom pale with anger. Victoria saw him gesturing furiously as he spoke to his lawyer in the corridor. The lawyer explained something and spread his hands helplessly. Andrey grabbed his phone and started calling someone, turning his back to his former wife.
A week later, Andrey sent Victoria a message. It was short, without even a greeting: “Buy out my share. I urgently need money for a new apartment.” Victoria read the message and placed the phone on the table. Buy it out. One third of the apartment at market value meant around one and a half million rubles. Where was she supposed to get that kind of money?
Victoria called her parents. Olga Mikhailovna and Sergey Petrovich came the next day. Her mother hugged her daughter at the door, while her father silently walked into the room and sat down on the sofa. Victoria made tea and put cookies on the table.
“Mom, Dad,” Victoria began, “I need help. Andrey is demanding that I buy out his share. One and a half million. I don’t know where to get that money.”
Sergey Petrovich sighed and looked at his wife. Olga Mikhailovna nodded.
“We’ll take out a loan,” her father said. “We can use our apartment as collateral. They’ll give it to us. You can pay it back when you’re able.”
“Dad, you already helped us buy this apartment,” Victoria felt tears rise in her throat. “I can’t ask you again.”
“You are our daughter. And Nastya is our granddaughter,” Olga Mikhailovna took Victoria’s hand in hers. “We won’t let that… we won’t let Andrey take your home from you.”
Her parents took out a loan secured by their apartment. One and a half million rubles. Victoria burst into tears when her father handed her the bank card with the money. How much had they already done for her? How many times had they helped without asking for anything in return?
Victoria transferred the money to Andrey. He received it and sent a short message: “Received.” That was all. Nothing more. No thank you, no goodbye. Just: received.
After that, Andrey disappeared from their lives completely. He did not visit Nastya, did not call, did not answer the girl’s messages. Nastya wrote to him: “Dad, when are you coming?” “Dad, I miss you.” “Dad, I have a dance competition. Will you come?” Andrey did not answer. The messages remained unread.
Victoria watched her daughter wait for a reply and did not know what to say. How could she explain to a child that her father no longer wanted to see her? That he now had another life, another family, another child?
Victoria filed for child support through the court. The process was quick. The court ordered Andrey to pay twenty-five percent of his salary for his daughter’s support. Every month, around seventeen thousand rubles came to Victoria’s card. The money arrived regularly, without delays. But there was no father for Nastya in that money. Only a line in a bank statement: “Transfer from Andrey Viktorovich.”
Victoria began repaying her parents. Every month, she set aside ten thousand rubles and transferred it to Olga Mikhailovna. It was not much, but she could not put aside more. A doctor’s salary went toward food, utilities, clothes for Nastya, and dance lessons. Victoria started taking extra work: home consultations and weekend shifts at a private clinic. She slept five hours a night, but she kept paying back the debt steadily.
Nastya gradually got used to life without her father. At first, it was difficult. The girl cried and asked why Dad was not coming. Victoria hugged her, stroked her hair, and said that Dad was very busy. The lie was hard to tell, but the truth was even harder.
Little by little, Nastya stopped asking about her father. She went to school, attended dance classes, and played with her friends in the courtyard. She had her mother, her grandparents, and her small room with pink wallpaper and stuffed toys. It was enough. Not perfect, but enough.
Victoria worked, repaid the debt, and raised her daughter. The apartment remained their fortress — small, a little cramped, but theirs. No one could take it away from them. Not Andrey with his new wife and future child. Not a lawyer with a folder of documents. This apartment belonged to her and Nastya, and it would stay that way forever.
Sometimes in the evenings, after Nastya had fallen asleep, Victoria sat by the window with a cup of tea and looked out into the courtyard. The streetlights glowed, the branches of the poplars swayed in the wind, and someone walked a dog below. Ordinary life. Nothing special. But that ordinary life was theirs — hers and Nastya’s. And no one could take it away from them.