Alina wiped her hands on her apron, glancing at the clock. Twenty minutes until Viktor arrived. The stew was almost done, the salad chopped.
— “Mein Gott…” Alina froze with a ladle in her hand, silently running through a grammar rule. She hadn’t used her knowledge in practice for a long time. She didn’t want to lose the skill.
The front door lock clicked. Viktor was home from work earlier than usual.
— “Hi, I’m home!” her husband called from the hallway.
— “You’re early today—what happened?” Alina stepped out of the kitchen, trying to hide her anxiety. For the past year, Viktor had often been coming home after midnight.
— “A client canceled the meeting,” Viktor walked into the kitchen and kissed his wife on the cheek. “Smells good.”
They sat down to dinner, and as usual, Alina began asking him about work.
— “How did it go today? Did they sign that contract?”
— “Yeah, everything’s great,” Viktor chewed energetically, not lifting his eyes from his plate. “We’re expanding production, just like I planned.”
Alina smiled. She remembered how ten years ago they’d sat in the kitchen of a rented apartment. Viktor spread sheets of a business plan in front of her, talking passionately about his ideas, and she, exhausted after endless lessons, still listened carefully.
— “Do you remember how we started?” Alina scooted closer and took her husband’s hand. “You said that one day we’d have our own house and I wouldn’t have to work at all.”
— “Of course I remember,” Viktor awkwardly pulled his hand free to pick up his fork.
— “I’m so happy for you. For us,” Alina laid her palm on his shoulder. “Have you kept all your promises?”
Viktor stopped chewing. His face became distant.
— “Alina, we need to talk.”
A chill ran through her. That phrase never boded well.
— “About what?”
— “I filed for divorce today.”
Alina blinked several times, as if trying to shake off a spell.
— “What are you saying?” her voice turned hoarse and she coughed. “Is this some kind of joke?”
— “It’s not a joke,” Viktor pushed his plate away. “I met another woman. We’ve been together for six months.”
— “Six months?” Alina clutched the edge of the table. “What about… what about all our plans? Our house, our business? Everything we built together?”
— “The house has been in my name alone for a long time. The business too,” Viktor looked her straight in the eyes. “You yourself said you weren’t interested in that paperwork.”
— “But we… I helped you all these years! I worked two jobs so you could invest in your venture!” Alina jumped up, knocking over her chair.
— “I’m grateful to you for that, really,” Viktor stood up too. “I’m even willing to give you the car. Even though it’s registered to me.”
Alina stood there, unable to move. Everything inside her went numb.
— “What about the ten years of our life?” she whispered.
— “Listen, we had a good run, but I’ve got different plans for the future,” Viktor looked away, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “You have to understand.”
— “Understand?” Alina’s hands clenched into fists. “Understand what—that you used me all these years?”
Viktor suddenly turned sharply toward the door.
— “I’ll spend the night at a friend’s. And you pack your things. I’m giving you a week,” he stopped on the kitchen threshold. “And don’t worry about the documents. My lawyer prepared everything. All you have to do is sign.”
— “How could you…” Alina was on the verge of bursting into tears.
— “Oh, drop it, Alina,” Viktor pressed his lips together. “You’re thirty-five. No prospects ahead. An ordinary schoolteacher—hardly enviable.”
The door slammed, and Alina was left standing in the middle of the kitchen. The apartment had never felt so alien. So cold. Viktor owned everything. The money, the documents, even the credit cards. She didn’t have a penny to her name.
— “This is the end,” Alina whispered, sinking to the floor.
For three days she didn’t leave the apartment. For three days she cried into her pillow, tore up their photos, screamed into the emptiness.
Alina woke up with swollen eyes. A strange calm had settled inside. She got out of bed, washed her face with cold water, and flung open the wardrobe. There was a folder on the top shelf. She pulled it down, wiping the dust off with her palm.
— “Diploma with honors,” Alina smirked, studying the document. “Two foreign languages. And what have I been doing with that all these years? Cooking for my husband and cleaning.”
Alina opened her laptop and began writing a résumé. She sent it to a dozen schools and private educational centers.
At the same time she started packing. She praised herself for the small stash she’d kept between books. It was enough to rent a studio on the outskirts.
A week later she was reluctantly hired by a small school on the edge of the city. The principal, Marina Pavlovna, looked at Alina doubtfully.
— “Our kids are a handful,” Marina Pavlovna warned. “Parents are demanding. Can you handle it?”
— “I can,” Alina answered firmly.
She immediately began using a method from an academic journal. The children stared at her wide-eyed, because Alina started the lesson with a song in English.
— “You’re not like other teachers,” the cheekiest boy in the class told her after the bell.
A month later Marina Pavlovna peeked into her classroom.
— “Alina Sergeyevna, other classes are asking for you. Parents insist on you specifically.”
Soon Alina had a full teaching load, plus private students. She developed her own teaching method combining English and German. The kids started winning city competitions.
A year later the phone rang.
— “Alina Sergeyevna? This is Kirill Andreevich, director of the Polyglot Language Center. I’ve heard about your success. We’d like to invite you for an interview.”
At Polyglot they offered a salary three times higher than at the school. Alina almost burst into tears right during the interview.
— “I accept,” she simply said.
Six months later, Alina was earning over a hundred thousand rubles. She saved half. She dreamed of only one thing: her own apartment. She went around to plenty of banks. And finally she got the answer:
— “Mortgage approved! Congratulations on your new apartment, Alina Sergeyevna.”
Five years flew by before Alina even realized it.
Fried eggs sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with an appetizing smell. Alina carefully divided them into two equal portions and plated them. She set out two mugs—one blue, one green—and reached for the milk.
— “Forgot again,” Alina opened the fridge and sighed in disappointment. The milk was gone.
She looked at the clock—there was still half an hour before wake-up time. Plenty of time to run to the corner store.
Alina threw on her coat right over her pajamas, slipped her feet into comfortable loafers, and dashed out the door. The morning was fresh and sunny. At times like these she especially loved her new neighborhood—quiet, green, with neat houses and tidy courtyards.
Turning the corner, Alina almost bumped into a tall man in an expensive suit. They both jerked back, and only then did she look up.
— “Viktor?” Alina froze, unable to believe her eyes.
Her ex-husband looked older. Wrinkles creased his forehead, crow’s feet had appeared at the corners of his eyes, and gray glinted in his dark hair. Only the self-satisfied smirk remained the same.
— “Alina?” He gave her a once-over. “Well, what a coincidence.”
— “What are you doing here?” Alina instinctively pulled her coat tighter.
— “Business,” Viktor waved vaguely. “And you, I see, are still teaching?”
He emphasized the word as if speaking about something shameful. Alina winced.
— “Just ran out for milk,” she nodded toward the store ahead.
— “Yeah,” Viktor smirked, eyeing her pajama pants peeking out from under the coat. “Look at you. Five years have passed and you’re still the same slob. Running out in the morning for milk in your pajamas.”
Alina flushed bright red. But not from shame—from anger.
— “And what’s so wrong with that?” She lifted her chin. “Unlike you, I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”
— “Sure, sure,” Viktor gave her a condescending look. “Don’t get mad. I told you back then that no one would want you, didn’t I? And that’s how it turned out, right? All alone.”
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
— “By the way, did you hear my company went global? Opened a branch in Europe. Bought a house on the coast. And you’re still bouncing from one rental to another?”
Unexpectedly, Alina chuckled. His smugness—this need to jab at her—suddenly seemed funny. There was no more pain, only mild surprise that she had once loved this man.
— “You know, Vitya,” she pulled her right hand out of her coat pocket, “I’ve never been more grateful to fate than for you showing your true face five years ago.”
A ring with a solid diamond surrounded by small sapphires glittered on her ring finger. Viktor’s gaze dropped to the jewelry, and his self-assurance faltered.
— “Is that…?” he trailed off, at a loss for words.
— “A wedding ring,” Alina smiled. “Three years now.”
She pulled a set of keys from her other pocket, with a fob from a well-known car brand, and pressed a button. A black, premium-class SUV nearby chirped and flashed its lights.
— “You thought without you I’d end up on the street?” Alina smiled. “That I’d beg you to come back?”
Viktor stood there blinking. His arrogance dissolved, replaced by confusion.
— “I… I’m happy for you,” he tried to regain his poise. “So you found some rich old man?”
— “No, Vitya,” Alina shook her head. “I found someone who sees me as an equal partner. Who supports my ambitions and celebrates my successes. And I run an educational center; I’ve got my own language-teaching method.”
Alina watched her ex-husband’s face stretch. She added sincerely:
— “I’ve never been this happy. And I’m grateful to you for that. If not for your betrayal, I would have kept living someone else’s dreams, giving myself away piece by piece.”
Viktor shifted from foot to foot, clearly at a loss for words.
— “Your… husband… what does he do?” he finally squeezed out.
— “He’s a wonderful man,” Alina smiled. “Caring, smart, and very talented. And most importantly—he loves me as I am. Even in pajama pants under a coat.”
She tossed the keys from one hand to the other.
— “Sorry, I have to run for milk. Our breakfast is getting cold.”
Alina easily walked around the frozen Viktor and headed for the store. Her stride was springy and confident—nothing like five years ago, when she’d shuffled out of their shared home hunched over, head down.
— “Who is he?” Viktor’s voice carried after her. “What does he do?”
She turned around, still smiling.
— “What difference does it make to you? You don’t know him.”
Alina waved and went into the store. It was amusing to see her ex-husband’s face. But it would be even more fun to tell the story over breakfast. She could already imagine them laughing about the coincidence, and the warm eyes across from her as she described the scene.
She bought the milk, and also grabbed her favorite croissants with almond cream. The day was off to a great start.