Vera sat in the kitchen and stared out the window. Rain drummed against the glass. Life was over.
“Mom, what are you doing in there?” her daughter Katya shouted from the hallway. “Sitting and being sad again?”
“I’m not sad,” Vera lied. “Just drinking tea.”
Katya walked into the kitchen, looked at her mother, and shook her head.
“Mom, how long are you going to do this? Dad left—so what? Life goes on.”
“Easy for you to say,” Vera muttered. “We lived together for thirty years. Thirty!”
“And what good are those thirty years if he’s living with someone else now?”
Vera set her cup down on the table. Her hands were trembling. How could she say that? As if thirty years had meant nothing. As if it was all Vera’s fault.
“Katya, you don’t understand,” she began.
“I understand perfectly. Dad’s an idiot for leaving the family for some girl. But are you really going to suffer for the rest of your life?”
A girl. That “girl” was twenty-five. Vera remembered seeing them together near the shopping center. Sergey was holding her hand and laughing. He hadn’t laughed like that at home in ten years.
“He said I’d become boring,” Vera said quietly. “That we’d become different people.”
“Mom, forget what he said!” Katya sat down beside her. “The important thing is the papers are signed—the apartment is yours. Live in peace.”
Vera nodded. Yes, the apartment stayed with her. A three-room place downtown. Sergey said it was fair—he’d buy himself another one, and she could live here. As if he’d done her some huge favor.
“And what am I supposed to live on?” she asked her daughter. “My pension is peanuts. I quit work when you were born.”
“You’ll find a job.”
“At fifty-eight? Who needs me?”
Katya sighed, stood up, and walked to the window. She stood there silently for a moment.
“Mom, have you talked to a lawyer?”
“Why? Everything’s already decided. The divorce is done, property divided.”
“But maybe there are options. Alimony, or something.”
Vera snorted.
“Alimony? For me? Come on.”
“Why not? You were married thirty years, you gave up your career for the family. He should help you.”
“Sergey doesn’t owe me anything,” Vera said, but her voice wavered.
But was that true—doesn’t he owe her? For thirty years she ran the household, ironed his shirts, cooked borscht. When he started his business, she sat up nights with him, rewriting documents. Then the kids came, and she forgot about work completely. He’d said it himself: why do you need it? I earn enough.
Now he earned enough for someone else.
“Mom, what if you do go see a lawyer?” Katya wouldn’t let up. “Just ask. Maybe something really can be done.”
“Oh, stop inventing things,” Vera waved her off. “I’ll just waste money.”
But the thought stuck. What if? What if Katya was right? What if it wasn’t as simple as Sergey had explained?
That evening, after her daughter went to her room, Vera couldn’t sleep for a long time. She lay there thinking about a lawyer. Sergey kept saying everything in the divorce was fair: he’d take the dacha and the car, she’d keep the apartment. Equal, he said. Only the dacha was worth about twice as much as the apartment—and the car wasn’t some old junker, but a brand-new foreign model.
And what did she get? An apartment where she now sat alone, and memories of thirty years of life together.
Maybe Katya really was right. Maybe it was worth at least finding out.
In the morning Vera finally decided. She found the address of a legal consulting office online, got dressed, and went.
The lawyer turned out to be a young woman of about thirty. Lena, as she introduced herself.
“Tell me what happened,” Lena said, opening a notebook.
Vera started mumbling about the divorce and the property division. She spoke softly and kept apologizing.
“I’m sorry—maybe I came here for no reason…”
“Wait,” Lena stopped her. “Let’s go in order. How many years were you married?”
“Thirty.”
“Did you work?”
“Before my daughter was born, yes. After that my husband said there was no need.”
“Got it. And what income do you have now?”
“My pension. It’s small.”
Lena wrote something down and nodded. Then she looked up.
“Vera, do you know you have the right to support from your ex-husband?”
“How’s that?”
“Alimony. For you. If you’re unable to work or you need assistance.”
Vera blushed.
“But I’m not disabled or anything…”
“It’s not about disability. You didn’t work for thirty years, and your pension is tiny. That’s grounds for alimony.”
Vera fell silent. The same thought spun in her head: could something really be done?
“And how much will it cost? Court and all that?”
“The state fee is basically nothing. My services aren’t expensive either.”
“And if we lose?”
“Then you don’t pay me anything. Just the fee.”
Vera left the lawyer’s office with papers in her hands and a strange feeling in her chest—half hope, half fear.
At home she called Katya.
“Can you believe it? Turns out I can demand alimony!”
“Finally!” her daughter rejoiced. “Are you going to file?”
“I don’t know. It’s scary.”
“Mom, what’s scary about it? It can’t get worse.”
Vera agonized with doubts for three days. Then she signed an agreement with Lena and filed the claim.
“Now we wait,” Lena said. “They’ll send a summons.”
A week later the phone rang. Sergey. His voice was angry.
“Vera, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m not doing anything,” she answered, her heart pounding.
‘Not doing anything’? I got a paper from the court! You’re demanding alimony!”
“So what?”
“What do you mean, ‘so what’?! We agreed on everything! We divorced like normal people!”
“Like normal people,” Vera repeated. “Is that when you live with a young woman and I survive on pennies?”
Sergey went quiet.
“Listen—maybe we should meet and talk like adults?”
“Talk about what? I filed in court—let them sort it out.”
“Are you serious? Why do we need court? I’m not greedy. I’ll help however I can.”
“Sergey, for thirty years I worked for you. The house, the kids, your business. And now what—thanks and goodbye?”
“But you got the apartment…”
“The apartment?” Vera felt something boil inside her. “And how much is your dacha worth? And the car? And the bank accounts?”
Sergey fell silent again. Then he said quietly:
“You shouldn’t have filed, Vera.”
“And I’m not scared anymore,” she replied, and hung up.
Her hands were shaking, but inside there was a new feeling. For the first time in many years she’d told Sergey what she really thought—and she didn’t apologize.
Lena called every week, updating her on how things were going. Sergey filed an objection, but a weak one.
“He’s trying to prove he doesn’t have to support you,” Lena explained. “But he’s not doing very well.”
“And if he says he has no money?”
“He has a business, real estate. It’s hard to hide income.”
Vera listened and surprised herself. When had she become so determined?
The hearing was set for Thursday. Vera woke up at five in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. She lay there thinking: what if Sergey is right? What if she really has no right to demand money?
“Mom, how are you?” Katya asked over breakfast.
“Fine,” Vera lied. “Just a little nervous.”
“Everything will be okay. Lena says the case is solid.”
Vera nodded, but her hands trembled as she poured the tea.
They arrived at court together. Lena met them at the entrance.
“Don’t worry,” she told Vera. “Just answer the questions honestly.”
“And what if I say something wrong?”
“Say what is. Thirty years of marriage, you quit work for the family, now you live on almost nothing. Is that true?”
“It’s true,” Vera nodded.
In the corridor she saw Sergey. He stood next to his lawyer, a man in an expensive suit. Sergey looked at Vera and turned away.
“Sergey,” Vera called.
He came over reluctantly.
“Hi,” he said dryly. “Well—happy? You dragged this to court.”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“We could’ve agreed like normal people.”
“Is that how you lived ‘like normal people’—thirty years with me, then you ran off to a girl?”
Sergey flushed.
“Vera, don’t mix my personal life into this.”
“How can I not? You left because of her!”
“I left because we became different. With Nastya I’m interested.”
“And with me you stopped being interested, right?” Vera felt her voice shake. “Thirty years wasn’t interesting?”
“Don’t shout here,” Sergey hissed. “People are watching.”
“Let them watch! Let them see what you’re like!”
Lena came up and took Vera by the hand.
“Come on. We’re being called.”
In the courtroom the judge was a strict middle-aged woman. She spoke quickly and asked questions. Vera answered softly and kept stammering.
“Tell me why you stopped working,” the judge asked.
“My husband said there was no need. The children were small, then the house, his business…”
“What income do you have now?”
“My pension. Twelve thousand.”
The judge wrote something down, then turned to Sergey.
“Your objections?”
Sergey stood up and started talking about how he wasn’t obligated to support his ex-wife, that she herself chose not to work.
“I didn’t force her,” he said. “It was her decision.”
Vera listened and couldn’t believe her ears. Her decision? He’d practically forbidden her to work.
“May I speak?” she asked suddenly, surprising even herself.
The judge nodded.
“He’s lying,” Vera said loudly. “I wanted to work, and he kept saying, ‘Why? There’s enough to do at home.’ I ran his business—rewrote documents, met clients. For free! I worked for thirty years for free!”
Sergey twitched.
“That wasn’t work…”
“How isn’t it work?” Vera stood up. “Who kept your papers in order? Who spoke with suppliers? Who did everything at home so you could build your business in peace?”
“Well, that’s… family duties…”
“Family?” Vera laughed. “And now there’s no family, so there are no duties?”
The judge tapped her gavel.
“Calm down, please.”
Vera sat, but inside everything was boiling. For the first time in thirty years she’d told Sergey the truth to his face—in front of people—and she wasn’t afraid of his displeased expression.
“Do you have anything else to add?” the judge asked Vera.
“I do,” Vera said firmly. “I gave this man the best years of my life. My career, my youth, my health. And he threw me away like something useless. For what? Because I got older? Because I got wrinkles?”
Her voice trembled, but she continued:
“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for justice. Let him pay for the years I worked for him.”
The court’s decision came two weeks later. Lena called in the morning, her voice cheerful:
“Vera, we won! They awarded alimony—fifteen thousand a month.”
Vera held the phone and couldn’t believe it.
“Fifteen? Seriously?”
“Seriously. The court took into account that you didn’t work for thirty years at his request and helped in the business. It’s a fair decision.”
Vera hung up and cried—not from grief, but from relief. For the first time in half a year, the tears weren’t bitter.
Katya rushed over an hour later.
“Mom, how is it?”
“I won,” Vera said, smiling. “Fifteen thousand every month.”
“Wow!” Katya hugged her. “I’m so proud of you!”
“What is there to be proud of? I just stood up for my rights.”
“Exactly! Finally.”
Sergey called that evening. His voice was angry but controlled.
“Well, are you happy now?”
“I am,” Vera answered calmly.
“Fifteen thousand—damn it. I’m not a millionaire.”
“Sergey, you have three companies and two apartments. Don’t play poor.”
“What if I file an appeal?”
“Go ahead. You’ll just waste time.”
Sergey was silent.
“Listen, Vera… Maybe we can agree somehow? I’ll give you a lump sum right away, and you отказаться from the alimony.”
“No,” Vera said firmly. “Fifteen thousand every month. As the court decided.”
“Have you completely lost it?”
“I haven’t lost it. I just got smarter.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
The first payment came a month later. Vera stared at the bank statement and couldn’t believe her eyes. With her pension, it came to twenty-seven thousand total income. She could live normally.
“Mom, let’s celebrate?” Katya suggested. “Let’s go to a restaurant.”
“Let’s,” Vera agreed. “Just not an expensive one.”
“Why? You can afford it now.”
“I can. But I’m used to saving.”
Over dinner Katya asked:
“Do you regret going to court?”
Vera thought for a moment.
“No. I only regret that I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“And you don’t feel sorry for Dad?”
“I do. But that was his choice. He wanted a new life—he got it. He’ll just have to pay for the old one.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to live,” Vera said. “Live normally. Maybe I’ll even find a job. Not out of necessity—just for the soul.”
“Not going to get married again?”
Vera laughed.
“Katya, I’m fifty-eight! What marriage?”
“Well, you never know. You might meet someone…”
“We’ll see,” Vera said. “First I need to get used to being on my own.”
They took a taxi home. Vera looked out at the evening city and thought that life really was just beginning. Not at twenty, not at thirty. At fifty-eight you can start over too.
Sergey called a couple more times, trying to talk her into a settlement. But Vera wouldn’t budge. The court had decided fairly, and that was that.
Six months later she signed up for a floristry course. She’d always loved flowers, but never had the time. Now she did. And she had the money too.
The payments arrived regularly every month. Vera no longer stared in disbelief or felt giddy about them. She’d gotten used to it. They weren’t handouts from her ex-husband. They were justice—late, but justice.
And justice, as it turned out, could be a foundation for a new life