The day Svetlana had dreamed about for many years had finally arrived. But instead of the expected relief, she felt her hands trembling nervously.
Fifty-eight years old — is that not too late for a new life? That thought haunted her all morning.
She scrutinized herself in the hallway mirror. A strict suit, minimal makeup, hair pulled into a bun.
“Mom, are you ready? The taxi is already downstairs,” Maria peeked into the room, fastening her bag as she spoke.
“Almost. Do you think this suit looks okay? Maybe I should wear something simpler?”
Maria sighed.
“Mom, you’re going to the notary, not to an execution. You look great. Stop being so nervous!”
“Easy for you to say. Your father is sure he’s leaving today with our apartment and half of everything we’ve earned,” Svetlana nervously adjusted her collar. “Remember how he said at the family dinner a month ago? ‘I spent thirty years with you, I have the right to compensation.’”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“Dad always thought money was the most important thing in life. That’s why you’re getting a divorce, isn’t it?”
Svetlana was silent. How could she explain to her daughter that thirty years with a man who married her because of her parents’ apartment in the city center had drained her soul? How to describe all those years when every kopeck saved for a vacation went to his “promising investments”?
The notary office greeted them with the coolness of the air conditioners and hushed voices. Alexander was already there — impeccable suit, fresh haircut, a confident smile of someone who came to claim what was owed.
“Ah, here’s my almost ex-family!” he said theatrically, spreading his arms. “Sveta, you look wonderful. Divorce definitely suits you.”
“Let’s skip the introductions, Sasha,” Svetlana tried to keep her voice steady. “The notary is waiting.”
“As you say, dear. As you say.”
The notary’s office was exactly as Svetlana had imagined: strict, with heavy curtains and the smell of paper. A middle-aged woman with a watchful gaze invited them to sit.
“So, gentlemen, all documents are prepared according to your prior agreement. Let’s begin the procedure.”
Alexander leaned back arrogantly in his chair. Maria subtly squeezed her mother’s hand under the table. Svetlana took a deep breath. It would all be over soon.
And at that moment, the notary’s phone rang.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking at the screen. “This is from your law firm, Mr. Sokolov. I’ll take it.”
The call lasted less than a minute, but the notary’s expression changed noticeably.
“I’ve just received new information that significantly changes the situation,” she said. “The apartment on Leninsky 47 will not be part of the division because it has already belonged to Svetlana and her children for a whole year under a gift deed. All documents are in order, everything is official.”
Alexander’s face changed before their eyes — the smug smile slowly turned into a confused grimace.
“What gift deed?” he jumped up. “What nonsense is this? That’s our main apartment!”
The notary, keeping calm, produced a copy of the document.
“The donor — Igor Petrovich Korshunov, father of Svetlana Igorevna. Registration date — April 15 of last year.”
“Dad,” Maria breathed, eyes wide, “so that’s why Grandpa asked us to come to him then and say nothing!”
Svetlana sat motionless. A year ago, her father had called her, saying he had made a decision. “I see everything, Sveta. That scoundrel never appreciated you. And the apartment is mine; I earned it, and I decide who gets it.” She tried to dissuade the old man — didn’t want a scandal, feared her husband’s reaction. But her father insisted. “For the children and grandchildren, not for the freeloaders.”
“That’s forgery!” Alexander jumped up, looming over the table. “You bribed your senile father! Sveta, do you realize this is fraud?”
“Please sit down,” the notary said firmly. “The documents are in order. If you don’t believe it, you can go to court, but this document is valid now and there’s nothing to be done.”
“So what now?” Alexander’s voice trembled with anger. “What’s left to divide? The dilapidated summer house? The ten-year-old car?”
The notary methodically listed the remaining joint property. With every item, Alexander’s face darkened.
“You did this on purpose,” he turned to Svetlana. “I carried this family for thirty years! I worked like a dog!”
“You carried it?” suddenly Svetlana felt something inside snap, like a taut string breaking. “Who paid the loans after your ‘brilliant’ business ideas? Who stayed home with the child while you disappeared with your ‘partners’?”
“Mom…” Maria tried to calm her mother, but it was too late.
“No, Masha, enough!” Svetlana stood up, looking straight into her husband’s eyes. “For thirty years I listened to you say I didn’t earn enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t smart enough. For thirty years I feared losing the house and leaving you without children. But you know what? That house was never yours. My father saw through you from the start.”
“Masha, say something!” Alexander turned to his daughter. “You can’t approve of this robbery! It’s your inheritance too!”
Maria looked at her father with sadness and pity.
“Dad, Grandpa did everything right. I know about your ‘assistant’ Veronika. And about the money you withdrew from Mom’s card. We all knew.”
Alexander froze as if the air was cut off. His gaze darted between his wife, daughter, and the notary, seeking support and finding none.
“If all formalities are settled,” Svetlana said quietly, turning to the notary, “let’s continue.”
The notary nodded and pushed the documents forward.
Alexander sank into the chair, hunched over as if he had aged ten years in the last five minutes.
“You can’t treat me like this,” he said almost in a whisper. “I am your husband. I am your father.”
“You were,” Svetlana replied briefly, picking up the pen.
The rest of the procedure passed in oppressive silence. Alexander signed mechanically, losing a part of his confidence with each page. Svetlana, on the contrary, felt a strange lightness, as if an invisible burden was lifting from her shoulders with every signature.
When it was over, the notary gathered the papers.
“Congratulations, the divorce procedure is complete. You will receive the certificate of dissolution within ten business days.”
Alexander stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair.
“This is not the end,” he ground through his teeth. “I will challenge the gift deed. Your father was not in his right mind when he signed it!”
“Dad!” Maria exclaimed indignantly. “Grandpa is perfectly healthy and sane! He plays chess with his friends every week.”
“Don’t defend her!” Alexander raised his voice at his daughter. “Your mother was always cunning. A quiet accountant with a calculator! She planned all this!”
Svetlana slowly gathered her bag, feeling something new growing inside her — not anger, not resentment, but something like freedom.
“Sasha,” she looked him in the eyes without fear for the first time in many years, “do you know what’s the saddest thing? I really loved you. Long, painfully, despite everything. And if you had asked me once about my feelings instead of the bank balance, maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“Spare me the melodrama,” he snorted, but something in his eyes trembled.
“Already spared,” she turned toward the door.
When they left the building, Alexander quickly headed for his car.
“Don’t you want to go to a café?” Maria asked, looking at her mother worriedly. “You look tired.”
“No. You know what I want? To go home. To our apartment.”
On the way home in the car, Maria finally dared to ask:
“Mom, why did you never tell me about the gift deed?”
Svetlana looked out the window at the passing city.
“I didn’t know it was already registered myself. Dad said he would take care of everything, but I thought it was just talk. He wanted to shield me… from what happened today.”
“But you could have told me…”
“And what would have changed?” Svetlana turned to her daughter. “You would have carried this secret, hidden it from Dad. I didn’t want to put you in that position.”
The car stopped at a familiar building.
They climbed to the third floor, and Svetlana unlocked the door of the apartment where she had lived most of her life. Maria grew up here; her best and worst days happened here. But now the apartment seemed different — without Alexander’s things, without his loud voice and controlling habits.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Maria looked around the spacious living room. “Like the apartment sighed with relief.”
Svetlana suddenly laughed.
“You sound just like my father! He always said houses have a soul.”
They went to the kitchen, and Svetlana mechanically turned on the kettle.
“You know, I really thought he married me because of this apartment,” she said thoughtfully, taking out cups. “We met when Dad had just gotten the deed. A three-room apartment in the center — that was something incredible back then.”
“And what was it really like?”
“I don’t know, Masha. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe at first he really loved me, and then… people change.”
The kettle clicked, and in the ensuing silence, Maria’s phone rang.
“That’s Dad,” she said, hesitating as she looked at the screen.
Svetlana nodded.
“Answer. He’s still your father.”
Maria stepped into the hallway, and Svetlana heard fragments of the conversation — first tense monosyllabic answers, then something more emotional. She didn’t listen on purpose — just poured tea and thought about the strange feeling of emptiness filling her. Not painful emptiness, but as if space had opened for something new.
“He wants to take his things,” Maria returned to the kitchen with a puzzled look. “He says he’ll come tomorrow morning. And asked me to say he’s sorry for the scene at the notary.”
“Sorry?” Svetlana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s new.”
“He… seems upset. Really,” Maria sat down at the table. “He said he didn’t expect it to turn out like this.”
“And what did he expect?” Svetlana placed a cup in front of her daughter. “That I would cry and beg him to stay? Or that you and I would end up on the street?”
“Mom,” Maria gently touched her hand, “you didn’t expect the apartment to be already transferred either. Admit it, it was risky — to start the divorce without knowing for sure.”
Svetlana thought. Indeed, deciding to file for divorce had not been easy. After that last scandal when she found yet another mistress and money missing from their joint account, something inside her finally broke. She was no longer afraid to lose property — she was ready to start from scratch, just to get out of that prolonged lie.
“You know, Masha, I was ready to lose the apartment,” she said quietly. “I just couldn’t live like that anymore. Waking up every morning wondering: will he be kind today or make a scene? How much money will disappear this month? What lies will I hear today?”
Maria squeezed her mother’s hand tightly.
“I never understood why you endured so long. Even as a child, I saw how he treated you.”
“For you,” Svetlana shrugged. “That’s how it seemed right to me. And then… then it gets scary to change anything. It feels like it’s already too late.”
“And now it’s not scary?”
Svetlana looked around the kitchen where so many family dramas had played out, where she swallowed tears while cooking dinner, where she listened to reproaches and tried to please.
“It’s scary,” she admitted honestly. “But different. Like standing on the edge of something huge and unknown. But for the first time in many years, it’s my choice, you understand?”
The doorbell rang, making both of them jump.
“Dad?” Maria was surprised. “But he said tomorrow!”
Svetlana stood, feeling her insides tighten with tension. She wasn’t ready to see Alexander again today. She needed time to come to terms with her new reality.
But it was not Alexander at the door. An elderly man with a cane and sly eyes smiled at her.
“Well, daughter, ready to receive guests?”
“Dad!” Svetlana rushed to hug her father. “What are you doing here?”
“Grandpa!” Maria exclaimed, running to the hallway.
Igor Petrovich hugged them both, then stepped back, looking intently at his daughter.
“So, how did it go? Your ex called, yelling something about betrayal and fraud. I guess the gift deed worked?”
Svetlana laughed through unexpectedly falling tears.
“It worked. But you could have warned me!”
“And give you a chance to refuse out of nobility?” the old man squinted slyly. “No way. I’ve watched this scoundrel use you for too long. Enough!”
They went into the kitchen, and Svetlana took out another cup.
“I thought I would start a new life all alone,” she said quietly, pouring tea. “But it turns out I have you. And I have a home.”
“You always had a family,” Igor Petrovich placed his wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “You just got too caught up playing the martyr wife. Now you’ll just be Svetlana. How do you like that prospect?”
Svetlana thought about her younger self — with dreams, ambitions, plans. Where had all that gone over the years of marriage? Dissolved in routine, fears, and exhaustion from constant conflicts.
“I don’t even know who this ‘just Svetlana’ is,” she admitted. “I’ll have to get to know her all over again.”
“I’m sure she’s great,” Maria smiled. “And now she has plenty of time for herself.”
Outside, the sky was darkening. The first day of the new life was ending. There would still be difficulties ahead, conversations with Alexander, maybe even court battles. But something told Svetlana that the hardest part was already behind her. She had stepped into the unknown and hadn’t fallen. That meant she could take the next step.
“To new life,” Igor Petrovich raised his cup of tea.
“To new life,” Svetlana and Maria echoed.
And for the first time in many years, Svetlana felt not like a wife, not like a mother, not a victim of circumstances — but simply herself. Free. Imperfect. Real.