It seemed Kirill had calculated everything: the sham bankruptcy, the divorce, the secret accounts. But he forgot that Anya was not just a “modest housewife.” Behind the borscht and baby diapers was a woman capable of turning his lies into financial ruin. When the last illusions collapsed, only one question remained: what is more frightening—losing your business or finding out that your wife has long been playing her own game? A story about how quiet revenge becomes louder than the crash of a collapsing empire.
— You’ll never be the CEO of a big corporation, honestly — Kirill said mockingly, looking at his wife with the air of an experienced psychologist disappointed in his patient. — You don’t understand a damn thing about business.
— How would I understand — Anya shrugged, not even turning away from the stove where she was stirring the borscht, her husband’s favorite dish. — I’m not some superhuman from the Planet of Cool Businessmen. Just a modest stay-at-home mom who’s in charge of the house, the baby, and your socks scattered all over the apartment.
This conversation, which had become routine over the last few years, sounded in their kitchen so often that even one-year-old Masha, sitting in her high chair, would automatically wrinkle her little nose whenever her father started another lecture about how hard it was to run his own company. Especially when his wife absolutely didn’t support him.
Kirill, a hereditary entrepreneur (according to him), and in reality just a lucky guy who had won a tender to supply construction materials for the head office at a time when all his competitors had gone under, loved to emphasize his own exceptional nature. Sometimes Anya felt he was wearing an invisible crown with the words “I am a business genius” on it and expected everyone around to bow accordingly.
— Look here — Kirill went on, throwing his legs onto the neighboring chair without even asking if she needed it. — If suddenly the company starts going bankrupt, you have to act quickly and decisively. Cut off everything unnecessary, minimize risks, preserve assets… You would get lost.
Anya silently stirred the soup, thinking that her husband had never once criticized her cooking. But as for her financial sense — constantly, even though it was her apartment, inherited from her grandmother, that had become their family nest. And it was her salary as a piano teacher that had been their only stable income when Kirill was “launching the business.”
— Good thing you’ll never have those problems — she handed him a plate of steaming borscht. — You’re a genius of entrepreneurship.
He didn’t even notice the irony — he just grunted contentedly and took up the spoon.
The conversation about bankruptcy turned out to be prophetic. A week later Kirill came home white as a sheet, with red eyes and smelling of cheap whiskey. He threw his briefcase into a corner of the hallway and collapsed into an armchair without even taking off his shoes.
— We’re ruined, — he declared in a dramatic voice worthy of an Oscar nomination. — Completely and irreversibly.
Anya, who was rocking Masha, froze.
— What happened?
— Everything happened! — he slammed his fist on the armrest. — A major client backed out of a contract, the tax authorities slapped us with some insane penalties, the bank is demanding early repayment of the loan… We’re totally screwed, you understand?
She understood. And first of all, she understood that despite all his talk about “cutting off the excess,” Kirill had now simply fallen into a panic.
— Calm down, — Anya laid the baby in the crib and walked over to her husband. — Let’s sort this out. What exact debts does the company have?
— Millions! — he flung his arms out. — Suppliers have sued us, we’ve got nothing to pay the employees their salaries with, the tax office is threatening to freeze the accounts… Anya, we’re finished.
She looked at her husband closely. In five years of married life she had learned to read his moods. When he was truly worried, his left eye twitched ever so slightly. Now his eye was perfectly calm.
— And what do you suggest? — she asked carefully.
— The only way out is complete liquidation of liabilities. — Kirill suddenly calmed down and switched to a businesslike tone. — We’ll have to sell all the assets we have. The apartment first of all.
— This apartment? — Anya clarified. — My grandmother’s apartment, which has absolutely nothing to do with your business?
— Not yours, ours — he corrected irritably. — We’re a family. And if we don’t sell it now voluntarily, then later the bailiffs will come and throw us out on the street. Is that what you want?
Anya perched on the armrest of the neighboring chair.
— And what about the money from the sale? Will the creditors take it all?
Kirill bit his lip, his gaze darting aside.
— Not exactly… — he hesitated. — There is one option. If we file for divorce before the lawsuits begin, part of the property will remain with you as someone not involved in the business. It’s standard legal practice.
— Divorce? — Anya raised her eyebrows. — You’re suggesting we get divorced to save the money?
— It’s a sham divorce, silly — he smiled and took her hand. — Just a legal procedure. We sell the apartment, give some of the money to the creditors, and hide some in your account. Then, when everything settles down, we get married again. Elementary!
Anya looked at his hand squeezing her fingers. Too tightly, too confidently for a man whose business was supposedly collapsing.
— All right, — she said at last. — Tomorrow we’ll talk to a lawyer. I want to understand all the details.
— What details? — he frowned. — We don’t have time for lawyers. We need to act fast.
— I’m not going to act fast when our daughter’s roof over her head is at stake, — Anya cut him off, pulling her hand free. — Either we do everything legally and with a specialist’s consultation, or not at all.
Kirill twisted his mouth but didn’t argue. He knew that in some matters his quiet, obedient wife became more stubborn than a mule.
The lawyer, an older woman, listened attentively to Kirill’s story about the company’s ruin.
— Strange, — she said, looking through the statements Kirill had brought. — On paper your position is quite stable. You do have debts, but they aren’t critical for a business of your scale.
— Those are outdated figures, — Kirill cut her off. — Now everything is much worse. You’d better tell us about the divorce procedure.
The lawyer turned her gaze to Anya.
— Are you sure you want a divorce? Especially with a small child?
— No, — Anya answered honestly. — But if this is the only way to protect my daughter from the consequences of bankruptcy…
— There are different ways to protect her, — the lawyer tapped her pen on the desk. — For example, your apartment, as premarital property, is not subject to collection for your husband’s debts. Provided, of course, that you didn’t act as a guarantor for any loans.
Anya shook her head:
— No, I didn’t sign anything like that.
— Then why sell the apartment? — the lawyer looked at Kirill inquiringly.
— Because by law the creditors can claim half of the couple’s joint property — he replied quickly. — And the divorce will allow us to protect at least a part of it.
— True, but only for property acquired during the marriage. Premarital property is protected as it is. — The lawyer turned back to Anya. — If the apartment is yours and you received it before the marriage, then it is entirely yours. They won’t take it.
Kirill shifted uneasily in his chair.
— That’s in theory. But in practice our courts do whatever they want. Better to play it safe.
The lawyer shrugged.
— It’s your decision. But I see no grounds for an urgent sale of the apartment.
When they left the office, Kirill was as black as thunder.
— That fool doesn’t understand a thing about real business, — he muttered. — Look, let’s just do as I say. I’ve thought it all through.
Anya said nothing. Too many questions were spinning in her head. If the apartment was protected by law, why sell it? If the company was not in critical condition, where did all the panic come from? And why was Kirill so insistent on a speedy divorce?
— I need to think, — she said at last. — And talk to Mom.
— What’s your mother got to do with it? — Kirill exploded. — This is our family business!
— She’s a finance specialist with thirty years of experience, — Anya reminded him. — And she loves you like a son. Maybe she’ll suggest something.
That was a lie. Her mother, Yelena Viktorovna, couldn’t stand Kirill, considering him a puffed-up turkey with no real abilities. But Anya knew her husband was wary of his mother-in-law and tried not to cross her.
— Fine, — he agreed reluctantly. — Just don’t drag it out. Time is working against us.
When she heard her daughter’s story, Yelena Viktorovna didn’t even try to hide her skepticism.
— Bankruptcy? — she snorted. — Have you seen any documents confirming that? Notices from the tax office? Court summonses? Or just his dramatic speeches?
Anya thought. In fact, she hadn’t seen any proof of the company’s collapse. Only Kirill’s words.
— And why sell your apartment if, by law, it can’t be seized? — her mother went on. — Even if his business really is going under, your property will remain yours. You got it before the marriage.
— Kirill says that in practice the courts might decide differently…
— That’s utter nonsense! — Yelena Viktorovna cut her off. — I’ve been working with bankruptcies for forty years. Premarital property is sacrosanct. No court will touch your apartment.
She paused, then added more gently:
— Anya, think for yourself: if a man truly cares about his family, would he insist on selling the only home where his small child lives?
Anya recalled how Kirill had been nervous in the lawyer’s office. How he insisted on a quick divorce. How he dodged specific answers.
— What do you suggest? — she asked quietly.
— Check him, — her mother replied simply. — Tell him you agree to the divorce, but you’ll sell the apartment yourself. And the money will stay in your account until the situation is completely clear.
— And if he doesn’t agree?
— Then you’ll have your answer to all your questions, — Yelena Viktorovna stroked her daughter’s hair. — And remember: at any time you can come back to me with Masha. My apartment is big enough for all of us.
— I agree to the divorce, — Anya announced that evening when Kirill came home. — But I have conditions.
He lit up.
— Whatever you want, darling! I knew you’d understand!
— I’ll sell the apartment myself — she spoke firmly, looking him straight in the eye. — Through an agency my mother recommends. And the money will stay in my account until the divorce is finalized, and after that we’ll decide when I’ll transfer it to you.
Kirill visibly tensed, his self-confident smile fading.
— But we have to act quickly. If we wait for your snail-paced agencies…
— Either this way or not at all, — Anya cut him off. — It’s my apartment, and I’m not going to rush its sale.
That evening Kirill was unusually considerate — he put Masha to bed himself, washed the dishes, and even suggested they watch a movie together. Anya agreed, but her thoughts were far away. She was already beginning to suspect that the bankruptcy story wasn’t exactly what Kirill was making it out to be.
Her suspicions turned into certainty a week later. Masha fell ill, and Anya decided to look for a thermometer in her husband’s desk. Instead of a thermometer she found bank statements — several transfers of rather large sums labeled “To Mom.”
“Why is he secretly transferring money to his mother if the company is on the brink of collapse?”
The next day, taking advantage of a moment when Kirill was in the shower, Anya checked his phone. His messages with his mother confirmed her fears: there was no bankruptcy. The company was operating steadily, and Kirill was methodically transferring money to his mother’s account “for safekeeping,” as he wrote.
“So that’s where this whole sham-divorce-and-apartment-sale story came from,” Anya thought. Kirill was clearly preparing an escape route, securing himself a backup airfield.
It took all her self-control to keep playing the role of the obedient wife. Inside, anger was flaring up — not only at his betrayal, but at how easily Kirill had decided to strip his own daughter of a roof over her head.
A month after his dramatic “bankruptcy announcement,” her mother-in-law suddenly showed up at their apartment with complaints.
— Kirill doesn’t help me anymore, — Nina Petrovna declared without even taking off her coat in the hallway. — And I know whose fault that is.
Anya, rocking a dozing Masha, raised her eyebrows in surprise:
— What are you talking about?
— Don’t pretend! — the mother-in-law snorted. — If you helped my son in the business instead of sitting at home with the child, his company wouldn’t have gone under!
Anya barely suppressed a laugh.
— Are you serious, Nina Petrovna? Kirill himself insisted I quit my job and focus only on the house and the baby.
— Everyone says that! But a proper wife should understand that her husband needs help. Instead, you let his business go broke! And now he can’t even help his own mother!
Anya gently laid the sleeping Masha in the crib and straightened up.
— Let’s go to the kitchen; we shouldn’t wake the baby.
When they sat at the table, Anya asked bluntly:
— Nina Petrovna, are you aware that there is no bankruptcy? Kirill’s firm is working as usual.
Her mother-in-law blinked, clearly thrown off balance:
— What nonsense is that? Kirill said…
— Kirill says a lot of things, — Anya interrupted softly. — But the documents say something else. And those regular transfers from your son to you say something else, too.
Her mother-in-law flushed and stared down into her cup. It was obvious she had said more than she intended.
— I don’t know what you’re talking about, — she mumbled. — Kirill helps me like any good son. That doesn’t mean he has no problems.
— Nina Petrovna, — Anya leaned forward, — Kirill plans to divorce me, sell my apartment and disappear with the money. Are you part of that plan?
— How awful! How can you say that about my son? — the mother-in-law was clearly shocked by the question.
But in her eyes something flickered that looked very much like guilt. She knew. Maybe not all the details, but the general idea — definitely.
The solution came surprisingly easily. Anya agreed to the expedited divorce procedure Kirill wanted so badly. He didn’t even insist on dividing the property, afraid the case would drag on.
— I’ll sell the apartment right after the divorce, — she promised. — And the car too.
The car — an expensive wedding gift from her father — was worth almost as much as a one-bedroom apartment. Kirill couldn’t hide a satisfied smile.
The divorce was formalized quickly, almost without scandals. Kirill was remarkably compliant and even agreed to a generous child support amount, which he had no intention of paying anyway once he implemented his planned “disappearance.”
A week after receiving the divorce certificate, Anya invited her ex-mother-in-law over for tea. And Kirill too.
— I want to discuss the sale of the apartment and how we’ll divide the money, — she explained. — You’re interested as well, aren’t you, Nina Petrovna?
Her mother-in-law agreed to come, though she looked wary. Anya knew Kirill wouldn’t resist — he was used to thinking she was weak and compliant, incapable of serious steps without his guidance.
When all three of them were seated at the table, Anya pulled out a folder with documents.
— I’ve prepared all the papers for the sale, — she said. — But before that, I want to clarify a few things.
She laid out printed messages, bank statements, and photographs on the table.
— Kirill, I know there is no bankruptcy. I know you transferred money to your mother’s account. And I know about Sofia, with whom you’re planning to leave.
At these last words Nina Petrovna flinched:
— What Sofia?
— My assistant, Mom — Kirill waved a hand wearily. — Anya’s gone crazy with jealousy.
— The assistant you’re renting an apartment with in Severny? — Anya spread out a few more photos. — The one you’re choosing furniture with for a new house in Sochi?
Nina Petrovna turned pale.
— Kirill, is that true?
— Nonsense! — he jumped up. — Anya, what kind of circus is this?
— Not a circus. The truth, — she replied calmly. — You wanted a divorce — you got it. You wanted my apartment — but you won’t get it. I’m not going anywhere with Masha.
— What about our agreement? — Kirill hissed.
— What agreement, son? — his mother cut in. — You promised to sell your wife’s apartment?
Kirill faltered, realizing he had backed himself into a corner.
— It was a temporary measure, Mom. To protect the assets from creditors…
— What creditors? — his mother raised her voice. — You said the company was doing fine; you just wanted to protect the capital! And now it turns out you were going to rob your own wife and abandon your daughter?
Anya silently watched as the house of cards Kirill had built collapsed. Everything was going even better than she had planned.
Over the next two weeks Kirill’s life fell apart completely. His mother, who adored her granddaughter, kicked him out of her apartment where he had been staying temporarily after the divorce.
— I don’t want to see a man who is ready to deprive his own child of a roof over her head, — she told him, not letting him step over the threshold. — And I’ll return the money to you down to the last cent. It’s shameful that my son turned out to be such a…
Anya chose not to repeat that last word even in her thoughts.
Then a real crisis hit Kirill’s company — one after another, major contracts fell through, his best employees started quitting, and his competitors suddenly dropped their prices below cost.
Anya didn’t bother to play the noble ex-wife. After the divorce she went to court to obtain her share of her ex-husband’s business assets, having proved his attempt to conceal property before the divorce. She immediately sold her share to Kirill’s main competitors — the very ones now squeezing him out of the market.
Sofia, the embodiment of “a real woman who knows how to support a man,” vanished from Kirill’s life as soon as his bank account ran dry. In the rented apartment she left a note: “Losers don’t get lucky even in love.”
Six months later, Nina Petrovna stood on the threshold of her former daughter-in-law’s apartment with a bag of groceries and a toy for her granddaughter.
— May I come in? — she asked uncertainly.
Anya silently stepped aside, letting her in. They hadn’t spoken in several months, ever since Kirill had finally gone under.
— I know you have every right to hate me, — the former mother-in-law began. — What Kirill did… what we both did… is unforgivable.
— He’s your son, — Anya shrugged. — You wanted to help him.
— I didn’t know the whole truth, — Nina Petrovna shook her head. — I didn’t know about the mistress, about his plans to take your apartment away. Kirill told me he just wanted to hide the money from the tax authorities.
Anya put the kettle on.
— You don’t have to justify yourself.
— I do, — her mother-in-law said firmly. — Because I raised my son wrong. I always indulged his egoism, his feeling that everyone owed him. And here’s the result — he’s lost everything he had.
They were silent for a moment. From the nursery came the soft sound of Masha’s breathing in her sleep.
— You know, — the older woman went on, — when I found out that my son was ready to take the roof from over his own child’s head, I realized I couldn’t forgive him. Betraying your family is a line you can’t cross.
Awkwardly, she held out a small box to Anya.
— These are my earrings, my grandmother’s. I want Masha to have them. So that at least something… some part of our family remains with her.
Anya carefully took the box. Inside lay antique silver earrings with garnets — she had seen them in old photographs of Kirill’s great-grandmother.
— Thank you, — she said quietly. — Masha will be happy to see you. She misses you.
— Really? — tears sparkled in Nina Petrovna’s eyes. — May I… may I visit her sometimes?
— Of course, — Anya nodded. — After all, she’s your granddaughter.
Her former mother-in-law nodded gratefully, realizing she had been given more than she deserved — a second chance to be part of her granddaughter’s life.
“‘A coward hides his fear behind loud words, and a scoundrel hides behind other people’s money.’” — Erich Maria Remarque