Do you think we could move into a place like that? You’ve dreamed of it for so long, haven’t you?” I asked while examining pictures of houses on my laptop screen.
Igor snorted and put down his fork.
“On your salary? Let’s be honest, Anya, the whole budget runs on me. And I’m just not ready yet.”
I struggled to swallow the lump of hurt. He used to say something entirely different.
When we met three years ago, he admired my independence—how I managed my life despite my orphanage past.
Now every conversation about money turned into a reminder of my “inadequacy.”
“I could look for a better-paying job,” I suggested.
“Come off it,” Igor waved me off. “Everything’s going great at the auto repair shop. The new management may be quiet, but they’ve raised our wages. Just be patient, I’ll save up for a down payment.”
I slowly closed the laptop. Inside, I felt a sting at the mention of “new management.”
Uncle Mikhail, who left me a chain of auto repair shops in his will, set one condition: no one should know about the new owner for at least three years. Not even your husband.
“Check, Annyushka, whether he’s worthy of you when he doesn’t know about your capital,” he had said before he passed away.
And I was checking—silently watching how my beloved was turning into a person I no longer recognized.
“Dear, aren’t we a team?” I asked softly.
“Team, team,” Igor came up and ruffled my hair like a child. “There’s only one captain, and the other is just a cabin boy. I earn the money, you… create the comfort.”
Something inside me shattered, like a delicate crystal chandelier crashing against a stone.
The next day, Igor invited his friends over. I prepared dinner and set the table.
“Your wife cooks so deliciously!” Sergey complimented as he sampled the fish.
“That’s the only thing she does well,” Igor laughed, winking at a friend. “Well, almost the only thing.”
The men chuckled. I gripped a napkin under the table, feeling my cheeks burn. Once, such jokes had struck me as funny; now, they dripped with outright contempt.
Yet I stayed silent. The dream of a family, a home of my own, and children I would never send to an orphanage held me tighter than any chain.
Later that week, Igor’s mother arrived with his sister Kristina.
“Annyushka, you’ve gotten so skinny!” his mother burst out, flinging her hands. “Doesn’t Igor feed you at all?”
“She’s just being economical, Mom,” Igor smirked. “Afraid I might stop giving her money.”
“Actually, I just don’t eat much,” I replied, striving to keep calm.
“Oh, come on now,” Kristina interrupted. “Everyone knows that orphans are always scared that the food will run out. It’s normal.”
A tense silence filled the room.
In the past, Igor had never allowed anyone to mention my past. Now he smirked:
“Right. My Anya is stockpiling supplies. Open the closet—there’s grains for a whole year!”
They all laughed, and I felt like an exhibit in a museum—strange and alien.
That evening, I called Viktor Palych, Uncle’s assistant who managed the auto repair shops on my behalf.
“How’s our head mechanic, Igor Sokolov?” I inquired.
“An excellent specialist,” replied Viktor Palych. “But forgive my frankness, Anna Mikhaylovna, his temperament is worsening. He’s already started talking down to the clients.”
I took a deep breath.
“Alright. Thank you for keeping me informed.”
Igor entered the bedroom as I lay in bed with a book.
“Who were you chatting with?”
“A friend called,” I replied.
He raised his eyebrow skeptically.
“What friend? You don’t even have any friends.”
Those words stung bitterly. How had it come to this—that the man I had loved for his kindness and understanding now saw me only as his property?
I said nothing. I just turned away, watching the rain outside the window blur the city lights. Soon, very soon, I would have to make a choice.
“Annyushka, dear, pass the salad!” Aunt Valya, a cousin of his mother, chirped.
I smiled and passed the dish across the table. Our apartment was filled with Igor’s relatives—today they were celebrating his promotion.
A promotion I had signed off on myself through Viktor Palych a week ago.
“What are the plans for the future?” Uncle Grisha asked. “Kids, a house, all that?”
I wanted to answer, but Igor beat me to it:
“I’m working on it, Uncle Grisha. First, I’d like a bigger apartment.”
“After all, mine just doesn’t want to earn,” he laughed, patting me on the shoulder. “She dreams of a home while she brings in barely anything.”
For a moment, it seemed as if the lights in the room grew brighter, then dimmed again. He had never before made such statements in public, only in private.
“But she’s domestic and good at running the household,” his mother tried to defend him. “It’s hard to find someone like that nowadays.”
“Come off it, Mom,” Igor smirked, pouring his third glass of wine. “Anyone can cook. But earning… What can you take from an orphan?”
The room swayed before my eyes. He had never before used my past as a weapon against me. Yes, for the last month he had grown colder, but this threshold… It had always seemed inviolable.
“Igor,” I said quietly, clutching my fork. “Let’s not talk about this.”
“Come on, Anuty!” he beamed broadly, but his eyes remained icy. “We’re family here, all one. Let them know whom I married. The orphan from the children’s home who goes nowhere without me.”
Someone at the table coughed awkwardly. Someone else averted their eyes.
“Igor Maksimovich,” I addressed him formally, feeling heat rising to my cheeks, “you’ve gone too far.”
“Oh, aren’t we sensitive!” he spread his arms. “She’s hurt! She’s had a complex since childhood that she’s not as good as others. Can you imagine, she was even ashamed to say that she doesn’t even have a proper family name—she’s from the orphanage.”
Time seemed to slow. Every sound grew sharper. The fork clinked against the plate. Someone swallowed. A fly hit the glass. My throat dried up.
“Excuse me,” I whispered, rising from the table. “I need….”
“Sit down!” Igor roared, slamming the table so hard that the silverware jumped. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not finished!”
I froze, not believing my ears. He had never yelled at me before—never.
“Sit back,” he said more calmly, but with a steel edge in his voice. “I want to make a toast for my promotion and for the wife who owes me everything.”
“Igor, perhaps that’s enough?” his mother timidly intervened.
“No, Mom. Let everyone know. I rescued her from the mud. I gave her a roof. I clothed her, shod her feet. And she can’t even say thank you.”
Blood pounded in my temples. Something inside finally broke.
“Igor,” I said softly, looking him straight in the eyes, “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. But you have no right to…”
“Right? What right are you talking about? Who would you be without me? Sitting in your little cell with a miserable salary! You’re nothing but a pauper! Who would you be without me?”
His last word landed like a slap. Pauper.
A dead silence fell over the table. His mother paled. Someone buried their face in their plate.
And inside me, the final barrier collapsed. For three years I had waited, believed, hoped. Three years of pretending to be poor, helpless, obedient. Yes, for the first couple of years, he was normal, but now…
For three years I had kept silent about the fact that from the very first day I could have bought Igor a car, an apartment—the life he dreamed of.
But now…
I slowly rose from the table. I squared my shoulders. I wiped my lips with a napkin. And I felt a strange calm—the confidence coursing through my veins.
“You know, Igor,” I said quietly, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I think it’s time you learn who your real boss is.”
“What are you babbling about?” Igor nervously smirked, glancing from me to the guests. “Have you gone too far, darling?”
I smiled—for the first time that evening, a sincere smile.
“Phone, please,” I said, extending my hand towards my purse, which his mother silently handed me.
My fingers didn’t tremble as I dialed the number. My mind was surprisingly clear. Three years of waiting, three years of testing—and now the result was clear.
“Viktor Palych? Good evening. Yes, this is Anna Mikhaylovna. Please come over and bring the file for Senior Mechanic I.M. Sokolov and the incorporation documents. Yes, right now. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone and set it in front of me.
“Anya, what circus is this?” Igor began, irritated. “Why in the world are you calling your boss at his home?”
“Your boss?” I raised an eyebrow. “No, Igor. I’m calling my assistant.”
A strange pause fell. Someone from the relatives gasped in alarm.
“You work in the accounting department of the auto repair shop?” Uncle Grisha asked, bewildered.
“No,” I shook my head. “I own it.”
Igor burst into laughter, throwing his head back. “What a joke! You own a chain of five auto repair shops? You? You can’t even afford new boots!”
“Because I was saving for the house you dreamed of,” I replied calmly. “For the family I wanted to build with you. And I’m investing half the profit in orphanages.”
Igor’s laughter ceased. He looked at me, trying to tell whether I was joking or not.
A sharp knock came at the door. His mother sprang up, but I stopped her with a gesture: “I’ll open it. It’s for me.”
At the door stood Viktor Palych—a distinguished, neatly dressed man in a strict suit. The very one whom Igor had called “that miser from the administration.”
“Good evening, Anna Mikhaylovna,” he said, bowing slightly as he handed me a folder with documents. “Everything is as you requested.”
I led him into the room. Igor’s jaw dropped when his “boss” respectfully pulled out a chair for me.
“Allow me to introduce,” I said, sweeping my gaze over the stunned relatives. “This is Viktor Pavlovich, the manager of the auto repair chain ‘Autoprofi’ that my late uncle Mikhail Petrovich Severtsov left me.”
Three years ago.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Igor asked in a strained tone.
I opened the folder and laid out before him the incorporation documents. His employment contract. His promotion request. And at the bottom—my signature. A bold, confident signature. The signature of the owner.
“I couldn’t tell you earlier,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “Uncle’s condition was that no one should know for three years that the company has a new owner.”
Especially not my husband. “Check if he’s worthy of you when he doesn’t know about your capital,” my uncle had said. My uncle had no kin; he found me through special channels.
I had known my only real relative for barely a year, but he left me everything and even told me about my father, who had passed away before I was born.
The room grew so stifling that I had to wipe the sweat from my brow.
“You lied to me for three years?” Igor whispered.
“And did you love me for three years?” I asked softly in return. “When we met, you admired my strength, my independence. You said money didn’t matter to you. That we were a team. And then…”
“She was merely fulfilling the conditions of the will,” Viktor Palych interjected firmly, staring hard at Igor. “And judging by your behavior, young man, you have failed that test.”
Igor flushed scarlet. “What right did you have to test me? To watch over me? To toy with me?”
“The right of a woman whom you called a pauper,” I said, closing the folder. “The right of your boss—the one who paid your salary.”
The right of a man who, for three years, loved and believed in you despite your growing arrogance.
I rose from the table and stated firmly, “Igor Maksimovich Sokolov, you’re fired. Effective tomorrow. Viktor Palych will prepare your final settlement papers. And also…”
I removed my wedding ring from my finger and placed it beside the folder. “I’m filing for divorce. I’ll have my belongings packed up within a week.”
The relatives were frozen in shock. Igor opened and closed his mouth like a fish flung onto the shore.
“You can’t do this to me,” he finally managed to say.
“A pauper just did,” I allowed myself a smile and took Viktor Palych by the arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—I have urgent business.”
I needed to inspect the house I had long been eyeing. With a pool, just as you always dreamed of. Pity you’ll never see it.
When we stepped outside, I took a deep breath of the evening air. My heart pounded, yet an amazing calm spread inside me. “Are you alright, Anna Mikhaylovna?” Viktor Palych asked with concern.
“Yes,” I replied, gazing at the stars. “It feels like, for the first time in three years, I’m truly okay.”
Two years later, the sun bathed the terrace, making me squint. I tilted my face toward the rays and took a deep breath. My house. A real one, not imaginary. With a view of the garden where Petrovich, our gardener, fussed over the roses.
“Here, while it’s hot,” Lyosha said, setting a steaming cup before me and leaning in for a quick kiss. “Well, did you convince the investors?”
I took a sip and closed my eyes in pleasure.
“Of course! We’ll open two new branches by autumn,” I said, playfully nudging him under the table with my bare foot. “And you? Have they approved the home construction?”
Lyosha snorted, but pride shone in his eyes. “Naturally! They almost carried me off in their arms. Listen, I invited those guys over on Friday to celebrate. Is that cool?”
“No problem,” I shrugged. “We’ll order something from that little restaurant.”
I immediately appreciated his openness—no games. An architect with a name, his own studio, popular among clients—and he treated me as an equal, even though his income was three times mine.
We had met by chance when I was looking for a specialist to renovate the head office of the auto repair shop.
He spent an hour telling me about his projects, and then unexpectedly suggested continuing the conversation over a glass of wine. That conversation stretched until midnight, and somehow the business meetings gradually turned into something more.
“What are you thinking about?” Alexey gently touched my hand.
“About how my life has changed,” I replied, interlacing our fingers. “I used to be afraid to show who I really was.”
I hid my capabilities, my strength. As if I made myself smaller so as not to scare anyone.
“And what is it like to live without a mask?” His eyes shone with genuine curiosity.
“Like taking the first deep breath after being underwater for too long,” I laughed. “In the orphanage, they taught us to be like everyone else, not to stand out. And with Igor, I continued hiding—but for a different reason.”
Alexey nodded. “And now?”
“Now I’m finally just living. I openly run my business. I help orphanages without hiding.”
I was with a man who knew everything about my past and present. And that… was liberating.
“You know what impressed me about you when we first met?” Alexey said thoughtfully, looking at the garden. “It wasn’t your money or status.”
He paused, as if choosing his words. “It was the eyes of a man who had been through so much yet remained kind.”
“Do I have a kind heart?” I jokingly raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” he laughed. “But you also have a strong heart that chooses kindness no matter what. They’re different things.”
My phone rang—a message from Viktor Palych regarding something urgent with supplies.
“Work?” Alexey noticed the shift in my expression.
“Yes, I need to stop by the office,” I said after finishing my coffee. “I’m sorry for the sudden change.”
“Sorry? For what?” he shrugged with a smile. “It’s your business, your passion. I’m proud of you.”
I stood still, looking at him. In that simple phrase was everything I had ever wanted to hear.
“I love you,” I said, surprising myself with the words.
“I know,” he winked. “And I love you too. Now go—go save your empire.”
On my way to the office, I thought about how strangely everything had turned out. The humiliation from Igor, which had once seemed unbearable, became the very push that led me to true happiness.
It was as if fate purposely confronted me with the truth—to teach me to value myself and to never settle for less than I deserved.
That painful day, when my husband called me a pauper, became the first day of my real freedom.
Freedom to be myself without fear or excuses.
I smiled at my reflection in the rearview mirror. A strong, independent woman looked back at me with unwavering confidence. Ahead lay a life without secrets, without games, without pretense.
A real life that I had built on my own.