Her husband was stretched out on the couch, phone in hand, not even glancing up when Marina entered the apartment. The grocery bag weighed down her shoulder, and the hallway was filled with the smell of yesterday’s fried potatoes mixed with stale cigarette smoke. She took off her coat, hung it on a hook, and walked into the kitchen. Viktor was scrolling through something, random bits of a video drifting from his phone’s speaker.
“Mom called,” he said without looking up from his screen. “She’s coming tomorrow. You need to clean the floors.”
Marina opened the fridge and put the milk on a shelf.
“I have a shift tomorrow. I can’t.”
“You can. You just don’t want to,” Viktor finally looked up. “Mom is old. It’s hard for her.”
“She’s sixty-two. She shops and goes to the market by herself. Let her clean it herself.”
Viktor set his phone aside and slowly sat up. His eyes grew heavy, like a man preparing to say something important but unpleasant.
“If you don’t go, it means you don’t care about the family. So let’s get divorced.”
Marina froze with a bag of rice in her hand. Inside, something snapped—not from pain, but from exhaustion. For a year and a half, while Viktor was unemployed, she had heard that word dozens of times. Usually, he’d toss it like a stone into water, watching the ripples. She’d get scared and give in. But today, there were no ripples.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Divorce it is.”
Viktor blinked. He hadn’t expected that answer.
“Are you serious?”
“Are you?” Marina looked him straight in the eye. “Do you really think I’m going to leave my job and go clean your mother’s floors just because you said so?”
“That’s your duty. You’re my wife.”
“I’m a wife. And who are you?” she said, her tone calm. “Who are you, Viktor? The man who hasn’t worked in a year and a half? The one who asks me for cigarette money? Who tells your mother that you’re supposed to be supporting me?”
Viktor got up and walked right up to her. He smelled of unwashed skin and stale alcohol.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” Marina replied. “But not today.”
She reached for the keys to her mother-in-law’s apartment on the shelf. The blue keychain felt cold in her hand. Viktor watched as she put them in her pocket, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He assumed she had given in. That she would go, clean the floors, and everything would go back to how it was.
Marina stepped outside the building. The evening air hit her face with a chill. She got into her own car—the one she bought before she got married—and started the engine. She typed ‘Airport’ into her GPS. Her fingers trembled, not from fear, but from anger. Anger at herself for letting this man spend a year and a half telling her what she could and couldn’t do.
At the airport, she bought a ticket to the city where her sister lived. There were two hours left before her flight. She sat in a chair by the big window, watching the planes and, for the first time in a long while, breathing freely. Her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Viktor called twelve times. Then the messages began.
“Where are you?”
“Mom is standing outside the building with her bags!”
“Answer me now!”
Then her mother-in-law called. Marina declined the call. A message popped up: “You left my son hungry! You’re not a real woman!”
Marina looked at the screen and muted her phone. She wasn’t going to explain anything. To anyone.
Two hours later, she was already in the air. Viktor texted, “You’ll regret this. The apartment is mine too.” She read the message and slipped the phone into her pocket. Let him write as much as he wants.
Her sister picked her up at the airport. Gave her a big hug without asking any questions. She just said:
“You did the right thing leaving.”
Marina nodded. There was a lump in her throat but no tears. She didn’t cry. She just thought. She stayed up all night, staring at the ceiling, remembering how a year ago Viktor had come home and said he quit because “the boss is an idiot.” After that, he spent six months looking for a “real job.” Then he stopped looking altogether. She was the one paying for the apartment, electricity, water, food. He used her card for deliveries and toys. And when she asked him to at least get a job at a store, he got offended and said she didn’t respect him.
In the morning, she called a lawyer. Her sister had the number of a friend who handled family matters. They met at a café. The lawyer, a man in his fifties with tired eyes, drank black coffee and listened without interrupting.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said once she finished. “The apartment—was it bought during the marriage?”
“During the marriage. But I’ve been paying the mortgage. I have all the receipts.”
“That’s good. But by itself, it doesn’t mean the apartment is all yours. It’s considered jointly acquired property. Your husband has a right to a share, even if he didn’t work.”
“So, he’ll get half?”
The lawyer grimaced.
“The court can reduce his share. If you can prove he was unemployed without a valid reason and spent joint funds to the detriment of your family. Do you have proof of his spending?”
“Yes. He was withdrawing forty thousand a month from our joint account—for games and food delivery. I saved the screenshots.”
“Screenshots aren’t official documents. You’ll need bank statements. Go to the bank and get a printout. And keep all your messages. If he wrote anything about money or about not planning to work, that’ll help too.”
Marina nodded. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like a victim—she felt like someone with a plan.
“One more thing,” the lawyer said. “Be prepared—he might file first. It’s common. They do it to scare you.”
He finished his coffee and checked the time.
“I’ll send you a list of the documents you need. And don’t wait. The more you gather, the better.”
She returned home after three days. Viktor was in the kitchen with his mother. Alevtina Semyonovna was drinking tea out of her favorite mug, chatting with her son. When Marina walked in, they both fell silent.
“So you finally showed up,” her mother-in-law said. “Where have you been? Out running around with other men?”
Marina set her bag down on the floor.
“I was at my sister’s. And with a lawyer.”
Viktor turned pale.
“What lawyer?”
“A divorce lawyer. You were the one who suggested it, remember?”
Her mother-in-law threw her hands up in the air.
“See! This is what we get for welcoming her into the family! For buying her an apartment!”
“I bought the apartment,” Marina said. “With my own money. You didn’t give me a single ruble.”
“We raised your husband!”
“He’s your son. Feed him if you want. I’m done.”
Viktor stood up.
“You can’t kick me out. I’m registered here.”
“I’m not kicking you out. Live here if you want. But clean the floors for your mother yourself.”
Her mother-in-law started screaming—shouting that Marina wasn’t a real woman, that she was destroying the family, that she was supposed to obey her husband. Viktor stayed silent, staring at the floor. That silence was scarier than yelling. Marina realized he would never protect her—not from his mother, not from anyone.
A week later, a court summons arrived. Viktor had filed for the division of property. He wanted half the apartment and half the car. Marina read the papers and smirked. The car was bought before the marriage, but Viktor “forgot” that. The apartment was in her name, and she’d been paying the loan herself. He hadn’t included a single receipt.
That same day, her mother-in-law showed up unannounced, carrying a bag. Marina opened the door and didn’t let her past the threshold.
“Let me just sign one paper,” Alevtina Semyonovna said. “It’s a waiver for part of the apartment. So there won’t be a court case. Let’s do this the easy way.”
Marina took the document and read it. It wasn’t a waiver for part of the apartment. It was a complete, unconditional waiver for everything.
“You want me to just hand over my apartment to you?”
“Not to me. To my son. He’s a man—he needs a place to live.”
Marina handed the paper back.
“No. I’m not signing this. And don’t come here unannounced again. Or I’ll call the police.”
Her mother-in-law was outraged. She started yelling about Marina being ungrateful, about her ‘mixing with lawyers’, about how ‘the court will side with her son anyway.’ Marina shut the door. And locked it.
The court date was set for the end of the month. Marina gathered all her documents: bank statements, screenshots of their chats, copies of receipts. Her lawyer told her it was enough to reduce Viktor’s share. But Marina wasn’t sure. She knew how unpredictable our courts could be.
Three days before the hearing, a man called her. He introduced himself as Viktor’s former colleague.
“I heard you’re going to court. I can testify. He told me himself he doesn’t want to work. Said his wife supports him while he ‘relaxes’. He even offered me a scheme, a way to take the apartment from you. I said no. And now he set me up too.”
Marina listened, feeling a chill inside. She didn’t know if she could trust this man. But her lawyer said a witness statement was valuable. Combined with the documents, it meant a lot.
In court, Viktor acted like a victim. He talked about losing his job, how hard it was on him, how his wife didn’t support him. Alevtina Semyonovna sat crying in the hallway. The judge listened carefully to everyone. When Marina showed the statements, Viktor said, “It’s her money, she spent it herself.” But the bank statements were from a joint account, which even included the side jobs Viktor kept hidden.
The witness confirmed Viktor could work, but simply didn’t want to. He even named the company that offered Viktor a position, which Viktor turned down. The judge took notes.
The verdict wasn’t like in the movies. The court didn’t strip Viktor of his share entirely—just reduced it. Instead of half, Viktor got one third. Marina received two thirds. The car stayed with her. So did the loan. Viktor was told to pay his share of the debt, but as he said in the hallway, “I don’t have any money.”
After court, Alevtina Semyonovna approached Marina. For the first time, she didn’t shout. She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper:
“We’ll see who comes out on top.”
Marina didn’t answer. She got in her car and drove home. That evening, she called a locksmith and changed the locks. Viktor’s old keys no longer fit. She packed his things in boxes and left them with the concierge. Then she called Viktor and said:
“Pick up your things. You won’t be coming into the apartment again.”
He showed up an hour later, knocking at the door.
“Open up! This is my apartment!”
Marina spoke through the door without opening it.
“This apartment is decided by the court. If you want to appeal, go ahead. But for now—goodbye.”
He knocked for another ten minutes, then left. A few days later, Marina got a message from her lawyer: Viktor had filed an appeal. She read it and exhaled. She knew it would drag on. But she was ready.
She sat on the floor in her empty room, sipping tea. Snow was falling outside. Her phone was next to her, glowing with a message from her sister: “You did it.” Marina smiled. She didn’t know what the future held. But she knew now that she’d never let anyone decide for her again.
A month later, her mother-in-law called. Marina didn’t pick up. Then she received a message: “Viktor found a job. He wants to talk.” Marina looked at the keys to her apartment sitting on the table—heavy and cold. She picked them up and squeezed them tight. There would be a conversation. But not today. And not on his terms.