“Your place is in the kitchen!” Alexey shouted, cutting his wife off sharply in front of the astonished guests.
The table on the veranda, decorated with a festive tablecloth and summer flowers, fell into a stunned silence. Tatyana slowly lifted her eyes from her plate and met her husband’s gaze. There were no tears and no anger in her eyes—only the resolve of someone who had finally made a choice after years of doubt.
“And yours is at your mother’s,” she replied evenly, and set her napkin beside the untouched dessert.
Alexey’s mother pursed her lips. His sister Nadezhda lowered her eyes, and Nadezhda’s husband gave an awkward cough. Tatyana’s friend Olga looked at her anxiously but said nothing. A July evening that had promised a pleasant family dinner had turned into the beginning of the end.
It had all started when Alexey was talking about his new business project—investing in the construction of a cottage community. Tatyana allowed herself to doubt the reliability of the partner her husband planned to work with.
“I feel like Igor isn’t trustworthy. Remember how last year he let Sergey down with the deliveries?” she said.
And then the very phrase was spoken—the one that turned their lives upside down.
Tatyana pushed back from the table and headed toward the house. From behind her came, “Where are you going? I didn’t allow you to leave!”
She didn’t turn around. She went up to the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed. A decision that had been ripening for years finally formed into a clear plan of action.
The next morning Alexey woke up alone—Tatyana had made up a bed for herself in the guest room. When he came down for breakfast, there was only his cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches on the table. His wife sat opposite him with documents.
“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the papers suspiciously.
“A divorce petition. I’m filing it today,” Tatyana said calmly, as if she were announcing a trip to the store. “I already consulted a lawyer a month ago.”
“Because of one phrase? Have you lost your mind?” Alexey let out a nervous laugh. “It was a joke!”
“No, Lyosha. Because of ten years of phrases like that—looks and actions. Yesterday you just did it in front of everyone, including our son.”
Alexey sank into a chair, suddenly realizing that Kirill really had heard everything before running off to play on his tablet.
“Tanya, let’s talk,” his tone changed. “I lost my temper, I admit it.”
“Too late,” she stood up, gathering the documents. “I found an apartment. Kirill and I are moving next Saturday.”
“What? What apartment? With what money?” Surprise and anger mixed in his voice.
“With what I’ve been setting aside for five years from my salary. The one you always called ‘pocket money,’ by the way.”
Alexey’s face darkened.
“So you were deceiving me? Stealing from the family budget?”
“No. I was building an emergency exit. And as it turns out, I was right to.”
She left, leaving him alone with his cooling coffee.
Three days later, Tatyana found out the dacha had been sold. A call from the tax office, asking about declaring income, caught her off guard. The dacha—left to her by her grandmother and re-registered as joint property after the wedding—had been sold a month earlier. Tatyana’s signature on the documents was forged—and she even knew by whom: Alexey’s friend worked at the registration office.
That evening she placed a printout of the sale document in front of her husband.
“Care to explain?”
He didn’t even try to deny it.
“I put it into the business. I was going to surprise you when we got the first profit.”
“One and a half million? Without my consent?”
“I’m the head of the family and I make the financial decisions,” he cut her off. “If you hadn’t staged this divorce circus, in six months we would’ve bought a new dacha—twice as good.”
“Where’s the money, Lyosha?” Tatyana looked him straight in the eyes. “I called Vitaly from your ‘business project.’ He said you didn’t invest anything.”
Alexey turned crimson.
“You’re spying on me? Calling my partners behind my back?”
“Answer the question. Where is the money from selling my grandmother’s dacha?”
He turned to the window.
“That’s none of your business anymore. You want a divorce—fine. But I’m not giving you our son.”
Alexey’s parents arrived two days later. Lyudmila Nikolaevna, an elegant woman with a hard gaze, got straight to the point.
“Tatyana, what is this nonsense? What divorce? You have a wonderful family—a child!”
They were sitting in the kitchen. Alexey had left for work, and Kirill was at summer camp.
“Lyudmila Nikolaevna, the decision has been made,” Tatyana replied gently but firmly.
“Because of what? Because your husband told you the truth?” her mother-in-law snorted. “A woman’s place really is in the kitchen, with the children. Men always speak harshly—it’s in their nature. My daughter-in-law didn’t like a lot of things either, but she and Nadya have been together for fifteen years.”
“Nadya is in her second marriage,” Tatyana reminded her. “She ended the first one for similar reasons.”
“And look how she suffered until she married again!” the mother-in-law threw up her hands. “It’s hard alone with a child.”
Viktor Petrovich, Alexey’s father, stood silently by the window. Short, fit, with attentive eyes, he always kept to the shadows of his domineering wife.
“Tatyana is doing the right thing,” he suddenly said without turning around.
“What?” Lyudmila Nikolaevna stared at her husband.
“I said she’s right,” he turned. “And stop pressuring her. The way our son treats her is unacceptable. He crossed a line.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Tatyana’s friend Olga came by to help pack. The new apartment would be ready for Tatyana and Kirill in three days.
“Are you sure?” Olga asked, taping up a box of books. “Ten years of marriage… maybe you should try therapy?”
“You saw everything yourself,” Tatyana said, carefully wrapping photos of her son in paper. “This isn’t a spontaneous decision. I’ve been preparing for this step for more than a year.”
“And what about Kirill? Kids take divorce hard.”
“Harder is watching a father humiliate a mother,” Tatyana paused. “Yesterday, in front of our son, Alexey called me a thief because of the money I saved. Kirill cried and asked if they were going to send his mom to prison.”
Olga shook her head.
“Oh, Tanya…”
“You know what’s the scariest part? I did love him. When we met, Lyosha was different—attentive, cheerful. Remember our wedding?”
“I remember how he read you poems he wrote himself,” Olga smiled. “And swore he’d carry you in his arms.”
“And then Kirill was born, Alexey got promoted, and little by little I turned into a function—cook, clean, raise the child. I stopped being a person with an opinion, desires, dreams.”
The doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Nadezhda, Alexey’s sister.
“Can I come in?” she asked uncertainly.
Tatyana nodded, though she expected another round of pleading.
“I came to apologize for my brother,” Nadezhda began, sitting on the edge of the couch. “And to say that I understand you. My first husband was exactly like that.”
“Thank you,” Tatyana said, surprised. “Your mother thinks differently.”
“Mom grew up in a different time. She endured the same kind of treatment from Dad all her life and thinks it’s normal,” Nadezhda sighed. “You know, Dad only changed a couple of years ago—when he got seriously ill and realized he’d been missing what mattered his whole life.”
“Viktor Petrovich supported me yesterday,” Tatyana noted. “That was unexpected for me.”
“He’s rethought a lot,” Nadezhda nodded. “It’s a pity Lyoshka followed in his early footsteps.” She pulled out an envelope. “Here—take it. These are statements from my brother’s accounts. I work at a bank; I have access.”
“Is that legal?” Tatyana asked warily.
“No. But it’s fair. Look where the money from selling the dacha went.”
At Kirill’s school there was a summer camp. The homeroom teacher called both parents in after the boy got into a fight with another child—for the first time in all his years at school.
“Kirill has always been a calm child,” Anna Sergeyevna said as they sat in an empty classroom. “What’s happening at home?”
“We’re getting divorced,” Tatyana answered plainly.
“We’re not getting divorced,” Alexey said at the same time. “We’re having temporary difficulties.”
“I filed two weeks ago; the documents have been accepted for review,” Tatyana clarified. “My son and I are moving this Saturday.”
“You’re not moving anywhere,” Alexey snapped. “I won’t consent to changing the child’s place of residence.”
“The court will decide,” Tatyana stayed calm.
“The court will leave my son with me,” Alexey raised his voice. “I have a stable high income, an apartment in my name. And what do you have? A rented one-room place and a salary three times smaller than mine!”
“I have statements too,” Tatyana pulled papers from her bag. “About your credit card debts—one and a half million. Interesting where the dacha money went, considering you didn’t invest it in the project.”
Alexey’s face twisted.
“You’re digging into my finances? That’s illegal!”
“Like forging my signature to sell real estate.”
Anna Sergeyevna looked from one parent to the other, bewildered.
“Listen,” she finally said. “Your financial and legal disputes should be resolved through the proper authorities. Right now this is about Kirill. He’s suffering because of your conflict.”
“She’s turning him against me,” Alexey declared. “Yesterday he refused to go to the movies with me!”
“Because you’ve promised him that trip for three weeks and canceled at the last minute every time,” Tatyana shot back. “He’s simply run out of patience.”
Anna Sergeyevna raised a hand.
“Stop. Let’s invite the school psychologist. Kirill already spoke with her yesterday, and it’s important we hear a professional opinion.”
The psychologist, a young woman with kind eyes, spoke softly but confidently.
“Kirill is under severe stress. He blames himself for his parents’ problems and is afraid of losing his dad.”
“See!” Alexey looked triumphantly at his wife.
“He also told me about your last argument,” the psychologist continued, addressing Alexey. “When you called his mother a thief and threatened to ‘leave her with nothing and take Kirill away.’”
Alexey flushed red.
“That’s a lie! She put that in his head!”
“Children rarely invent details like that,” the psychologist countered. “Especially phrases they don’t fully understand. Kirill asked me what it means to ‘win custody’ and whether one parent can forbid the other from seeing their son.”
Anna Sergeyevna sighed.
“Alexey Viktorovich, Tatyana Andreyevna, you both love your son. But right now your actions are traumatizing him. If you can’t solve your problems peacefully, at least stay neutral in front of the child.”
The psychologist added:
“We’ll monitor Kirill’s condition. And if necessary, I can provide an assessment for child welfare services or the court.”
A shadow of worry crossed Alexey’s face.
When Tatyana and Kirill moved into the new apartment, the first week went relatively calmly. Alexey saw his son twice—walked with him in the park, took him to a café. But the next Tuesday he showed up at the building drunk.
“Open up!” he shouted, pounding on the door. “I have the right to see my son!”
Kirill pressed fearfully against his mother in the hallway.
“Dad, please go,” the boy cried. “You’re acting strange!”
“Son, your mom made me like this!” Alexey kept yelling. “She ruined our family!”
A neighbor from across the hall peeked out.
“I called the police. Don’t worry.”
When the patrol arrived, Alexey was taken to the station to write up a report for disorderly conduct. The next day he called Tatyana.
“You’ll regret this. I swear I’ll take Kirill away from you.”
Instead of answering, she turned on the recording and logged the call.
Viktor Petrovich came to see Tatyana without warning. She had never seen him so determined and serious.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, refusing tea. “About the dacha money.”
They sat in the kitchen of the new apartment. Kirill was in his room with headphones on, absorbed in an online game.
“Alexey lost it,” Viktor Petrovich said, looking out the window. “He’s been gambling for a long time. First sports betting, then online casinos. His debts aren’t just credit cards.”
Tatyana stayed silent, stunned. She had suspected many things—but not this.
“I found out by accident,” her father-in-law continued. “I ran into him near a bookmaker’s office. He swore it was the first and last time, that he wanted to win back money he’d already lost before…” Viktor Petrovich shook his head. “I believed him. I lent him money to cover part of the loans. And he blew it again.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Lyudmila is pushing him to file a counterclaim to have Kirill live with his father. She thinks her grandson should live in a ‘normal’ family—with grandparents—not with a single mother in a rented apartment.”
Tatyana clenched her fists.
“He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“He does—if he proves he can provide better conditions. And Lyudmila and I could testify in his favor. Or rather—she’s ready to. I refused.”
“Thank you,” Tatyana said quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Viktor Petrovich stood up. “I stayed silent for forty years when I should’ve spoken. I don’t want my grandson to grow up as weak as his grandfather—or as much of a tyrant as his father.”
The property division hearing took place in mid-October. By then Tatyana had put together an impressive dossier: statements of her husband’s debts, evidence of the dacha sale, neighbors’ accounts of the scandal, and the school psychologist’s report.
Alexey arrived with his mother and a lawyer. He had lost weight and looked worn out.
“Let’s settle,” he suggested before the hearing began. “I’ll leave you all the furniture from the apartment, the car, and I won’t seek to have Kirill’s residence assigned to the father.”
“And what do you want in return?” Tatyana asked.
“You take half my debts and drop your claims about the dacha.”
Tatyana’s lawyer, a young energetic woman, shook her head.
“My client will not assume debts she didn’t create. And the dacha is a separate matter—there are elements of a criminal offense: document forgery.”
Lyudmila Nikolaevna pursed her lips.
“Alexey, I told you—there’s no negotiating with her. She was always materialistic.”
Tatyana looked at her former mother-in-law.
“Materialistic? For ten years I put my entire salary into the family. Bought you gifts for every holiday. Took you to doctors when you were sick. And I’m the materialistic one?”
The hearing lasted three hours. The court ordered the property divided according to the law, and declared the dacha sale invalid due to the forged signature. The issue of initiating a criminal case for document forgery was separated into its own proceeding.
As for Kirill’s place of residence, the judge took into account the psychologist’s report, the school’s character reference, and the fact that Alexey had outstanding loans and a documented public order violation. Kirill remained with his mother, and specific days for visits were set for the father.
The school New Year concert filled the hall with parents. Kirill performed in a skit, playing Winter. Tatyana sat in the third row. Two seats away, Alexey sat down—there had been no agreement; it just happened that way.
After the concert, when the children ran off to change, he came up to her.
“Hi. He did great, didn’t he?”
“Very,” Tatyana nodded. “Will you come see him this weekend?”
“If I can,” Alexey looked uncertain. “I bought him a present—I’d like to give it to him myself.”
Tatyana nodded.
“Of course. He misses you.”
They stood side by side—former spouses, no longer enemies, but not yet friends.
“I started seeing a psychologist,” Alexey said suddenly. “And I joined a support group for addicts. I haven’t placed any bets for four months.”
“I’m glad for you,” Tatyana replied sincerely.
“I wanted to apologize. For everything. Especially for that line about the kitchen.”
“Thank you. But you know, in a way I’m grateful to you for it. It was the last straw that finally made me decide.”
Alexey gave a sad smile.
“Looks like my place really was with my mom. I never truly grew up.”
Tatyana saw Kirill running toward them—happy and excited after the performance, glitter on his cheeks.
“Dad! Mom! Did you see how awesome I was?”
They both crouched down to hug their son, and for a moment their eyes met above his head. In Alexey’s eyes there was regret for the past—and hope that in the future he could become better, for his son and for himself.
Tatyana understood she would not return to her ex-husband. But for the first time in a long while she felt not bitterness or anger, but a calm certainty that she had done the right thing. Each of them was now in their own place—and that was the beginning of a new, healthier chapter in their lives