Are you sure?” — the realtor looked over the documents once more. “A deed of gift is serious. It will be hard to return it later.”
“I’m sure,” — Yana signed the papers. Her hand didn’t shake — she had made up her mind.
The May morning flooded the notary’s office with sunlight. The air conditioner hummed peacefully on the windowsill, and the scent of coffee from the reception area filled the room. An ordinary day when extraordinary matters are decided.
“Mom knows what to do,” — Yana tucked a copy of the documents into her bag. “In case something happens.”
It was a year ago. Long before Dima started staying late at work. Before unfamiliar women’s perfume appeared on his shirts. Before the strange evening phone calls.
Yana wasn’t naive. She had grown up in a family of lawyers, where she was taught to think two steps ahead from a young age. They had bought the apartment with her money — inheritance from her grandmother. Dima had just started his career and had taken out a car loan.
“Sweetheart, change the ownership to my name,” — her mother had insisted. “Not for the divorce — just as a precaution. You never know what life may throw at you.”
And Yana had agreed. Without a fight, without explaining anything to her husband. She simply gave the apartment to her mother. The paperwork — clean and clear. In reality — an escape plan.
The phone pinged — a message from Dima: “I’ll be late tonight. Important meeting.”
Yana smiled sadly. An important meeting. Just like yesterday. And the day before. She opened the photo sent by the private detective: Dima and some blonde entering a restaurant. His hand around her waist, their smiles broad and happy.
“Would you like some?” — the secretary offered a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, I’m good,” — Yana stood up. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, in an hour, we’ll have the full set of documents.”
Yana stepped outside. It was warm for May — the lilacs had already bloomed, but the air still carried their scent. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so reliable, so faithful. She had believed him…
The phone pinged again: “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll be very late tonight. Don’t wait for me.”
“Okay,” — she replied. “I’ll be late too. Got some things to take care of.”
The café was quiet — the post-lunch lull. Yana chose a table by the window and pulled out a folder with documents. Their favorite place — cozy, with pastries just like when she was a child.
“Did you bring everything?” — her mother sat down opposite, removing her light jacket. “Let’s take a look.”
Elena Sergeevna, at fifty-five, looking forty, was a well-known family law attorney. She had seen hundreds of divorces and knew all the pitfalls.
“Here’s the bank statement,” — Yana spread the papers out. “He withdrew almost all the money from the joint account. Yesterday.”
“Preparing,” — her mother nodded. “And this?”
“The detective sent this. For the last three months — restaurants, hotels, a jewelry store…”
“Jewelry?” — Elena Sergeevna raised an eyebrow. “Has he bought you anything lately?”
“No,” — Yana smiled bitterly. “But his new girlfriend is wearing a Cartier bracelet. The same one I saw on the bank statement.”
The waitress brought their favorite lavender tea. Yana absentmindedly stirred in two spoons of sugar, as always.
“So, here’s the plan,” — her mother took out a planner. “The apartment’s been in my name for a year now. Clean, legal. No joint debts. The car is his — let him have it. But the accounts, we’ll have to work on.”
“Mom, I don’t need the money.”
“You do,” — Elena Sergeevna looked at her daughter sternly. “It’s not just money — it’s your years. You’ve worked, saved. And he…”
“I know,” — Yana clenched her cup. “He talked to a lawyer yesterday. I overheard the conversation. About asset division, about the apartment…”
“Let him talk,” — her mother smiled. “Does he know about the deed of gift?”
“No. He thinks he’ll be able to claim half. Or at least a share.”
“Are you sure? About the divorce?”
Yana looked out the window. A young couple walked by, holding hands. Just like she and Dima once did.
“Remember when you taught me how to drive?” — she suddenly changed the subject. “You said, don’t just look ahead, but also in the mirrors. There might be danger there.”
“I remember,” — Elena Sergeevna placed her hand over her daughter’s. “And what do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Betrayal. A double life,” — Yana pulled out her phone, opened the gallery. “Look. This was a week ago — ‘Sky’ restaurant. And this was three days ago — the cinema. And this…”
“That’s enough,” — her mother gently took the phone. “I understand. When?”
“Tonight. He’ll come home late, after meeting with her. I’ve prepared everything.”
“The documents?”
“In the safe at your office. I’ve packed the essentials. I’ll get the rest later.”
The phone pinged — another message from Dima: “Buy something for dinner?”
“No need,” — Yana typed. “We need to have a serious talk.”
She returned home at seven. The apartment smelled fresh — she had opened the windows in the morning, changed the curtains, rearranged the vases. The last cleaning in this house.
On the table — their wedding photo. She had worn a simple white dress, he had worn a gray suit. No grand ceremony, just close family. “It’s not the wedding that matters, it’s the life after,” — Dima had said. He had said it so beautifully.
Yana took the photo, ran her finger along the glass. Six years. Six years she had believed their life was real.
The phone pinged — a message from the detective: “They’re leaving the restaurant. Sending a photo.”
The picture showed Dima kissing the blonde. Right in the street, without any shame. In the very shirt Yana had given him for his last birthday.
“Thanks,” — she texted back. “No more needed.”
The keys jingled in the hallway. Earlier than usual. Yana put the photo back on the table and sat in the armchair.
“Sweetheart, I’m home!” — Dima was unusually cheerful. He smelled of wine and someone else’s perfume. “And I’ve got a surprise!”
“Really?” — she watched him take a bottle of champagne out of a bag. He was swaying a bit.
“Yes! Guess what? I got promoted! Now I’m the Director of Development. My salary is double, and…”
“And more time for meetings?” — Yana asked quietly.
“What?” — he froze with the bottle in his hands.
“Meetings. At ‘Sky’ restaurant. At the cinema. At ‘Riviera’ hotel…”
Dima slowly lowered the bottle. The smile faded from his face.
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Not me. A detective,” — Yana took out her phone. “Want to see the photos? They’re quite cute. Especially the one where you’re kissing her outside the restaurant. And in the car. And…”
“Wait,” — he raised his hands. “Let’s talk. This isn’t what you think.”
“What do I think, Dima?” — she stood up. “That my husband is sleeping with another woman? That he’s buying her a bracelet worth three hundred thousand? That he’s withdrawing money from the joint account?”
“How do you…”
“It doesn’t matter,” — Yana walked to the window. “What matters is I know everything. And I’ve known for a while.”
“Sweetheart,” — he stepped toward her. “It’s a mistake. I’ll explain. Lena is just a colleague…”
“Lena?” — Yana smirked. “So, Lena. I thought it was Sveta. That’s what she’s saved as in your phone.”
“Yana…”
“Don’t touch me,” — she pulled away. “And don’t explain. I’ve already made up my mind.”
“What have you decided?”
“Divorce.”
“Divorce?” — Dima laughed nervously. “Because of a couple of meetings? Are you serious?”
“A couple of meetings?” — Yana opened the gallery on her phone. “Here — March 15th, restaurant. March 20th — theater. 25th — another restaurant. April — four meetings at the hotel. May — already eight…”
“You kept count?”
“The detective kept count. A very detailed report — dates, times, places. And photos. Lots of photos.”
Dima plopped down on the couch. His tie had shifted, dark circles under his eyes. Not so happy now, as in the photo with his mistress.
“So, what now?” — he wiped his face with his hands. “Are you going to blackmail me?”
“Why?” — Yana shrugged. “Just divorce. You wanted this, didn’t you? Otherwise, why withdraw money from the account?”
He flinched: “How do you…”
“The bank statement. Yesterday, you withdrew almost everything — four million. Preparing for asset division?”
“So what?” — Dima suddenly became aggressive. “I have the right! It’s our joint money. And the apartment is ours. According to the law, I’m entitled to half!”
“The apartment?” — Yana smiled calmly. “Darling, the apartment doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to my mother. So, you can go ahead and file for divorce,” — Yana told Dima calmly. “Here’s the land registry statement. You can check it.”
Dima grabbed the papers. His hands trembled as he read.
“How… when?”
“A year ago. A legal gift deed. Mom’s a lawyer — everything was properly done.”
“You… you did this on purpose?” — he turned pale. “Prepared?”
“Insured,” — Yana went to the wardrobe and pulled out her packed bag. “Mom taught me — always think one step ahead. Especially when your husband starts staying late at work.”
“Bitch…” — Dima hissed.
“Don’t stoop to insults,” — she threw on her coat. “I’ll collect my things later. I’ll leave the keys with Mom — it’s her apartment. You can live here until the divorce. Mom said it was fine.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. Just the end of the game, Dima. You lost.”
“Wait!” — Dima jumped up, blocking the door. “Let’s talk. This can be fixed!”
“Fix what?” — Yana calmly fastened her coat. “Your hotel visits? Or the bracelet worth three hundred thousand? Or the lies about staying late at work?”
“I’ll explain everything! Lena and I are done, I swear!”
“Really?” — she pulled out her phone. “But this photo was taken an hour ago. A very passionate kiss for ‘we’re done.'”
Dima grabbed his head: “Damn… Yana, listen. I’m confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start over!”
“Start over?” — she smiled sadly. “You know what’s the funniest thing? I really loved you. I believed you. When mom suggested changing the apartment ownership, I resisted. I said — why, we’re a family…”
She walked to the table, picked up their wedding photo: “Remember that day? You said we’d always be together. That you’d never betray me…”
“I love you!”
“No, Dima. You only love yourself. And now that you know you’ll lose the apartment, you’re trying to salvage something.”
“That’s not true!” — he paled. “I really love you!”
“Then why did you withdraw all the money from the account?” — Yana placed the photo back. “Why were you consulting a lawyer about asset division? Why were you looking for another apartment?”
“How do you…”
“The realtor you met with on Monday — he’s my old client. He called and told me. You were looking for a two-room apartment in the city center. For you and Lena, right?”
Dima was silent. The ticking of the clock on the wall was audible — a wedding gift from his parents.
“I’ve thought it through,” — he finally muttered. “I was going to talk to you. Honestly split up. Divide the property…”
“And take half of the apartment,” — Yana finished. “But you miscalculated. The apartment is my mom’s. As for the joint money… well, take it. Consider it payment for six years of wasted life.”
She headed for the door. Dima grabbed her hand: “Don’t go! I’ll fix everything!”
“Too late,” — she gently pulled her hand away. “The divorce papers will be ready tomorrow. Sign them — and you’re free. You can live with Lena, buy her bracelets… But now, on your own money, not ours.”
“I’ll take you to court!” — he shouted after her. “I’ll prove the gift deed is fake!”
“Try,” — Yana turned around. “Mom will be happy. She hasn’t been to court in a while — she misses the process.”
The door closed. Yana slowly descended the stairs. Her hands were shaking, but she held herself steady. Her mom was waiting in the car.
“How did it go?”
“Just like you predicted,” — Yana fastened her seatbelt. “First he denied, then begged me to come back. When he realized about the apartment, he threatened to go to court.”
“Typical scenario,” — Elena Sergeevna started the car. “Home?”
“No. To you. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The car moved. Yana looked out the window at the passing city. Somewhere out there, in a rented apartment, Lena was waiting for Dima. Waiting for a beautiful life, expensive gifts…
“You know,” — her mother said, stopping at a traffic light, “You did well. Many people tolerate for years, afraid to leave.”
“I just realized in time: better to be alone than with a traitor.”
“And ahead lies a whole life,” — Elena Sergeevna smiled. “No lies, no humiliation. You’ll be fine.”
Yana nodded. Her phone pinged — it was Dima. She turned off the sound without looking at the screen. Tomorrow would be a new day. And a new life.