Galina stood in the middle of the living room, feeling every cell of her body fill with anger. Alexey was sitting in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, flipping through documents with the air of someone as if she were an uninvited guest in her own home.
“I told you yesterday,” he said without looking up from the papers. “Marina is moving in here in a week. You’d better start looking for a rental.”
Galina felt fury boil up inside her. Five years of marriage. Five years of putting up with his antics, his snobbery, his constant jabs that she wasn’t good enough for him—a successful manager at a construction company.
“Marina?” Galina’s voice sounded deceptively calm. “Your new fling from the sales department?”
“Don’t call her that.” Alexey finally looked up, irritation in his eyes. “Marina is my fiancée. We’re filing at the registry office as soon as I divorce you.”
Galina slowly lowered herself onto the sofa opposite him.
“And you decided I’ll just pack my things and leave?” she asked, lacing her fingers together.
“What’s there to decide?” Alexey shrugged. “The apartment is in my name. The mortgage was paid from my salary. You’ve been sitting at that penny job of yours in the library the whole time. Three hundred rubles an hour—ridiculous! Marina earns five times more than you do.”
“I see,” Galina nodded, feeling an odd calm before the storm. “So you think the apartment is entirely yours?”
“Of course,” Alexey snorted. “DON’T make me laugh, Galya. What’s your contribution? Your pathetic fifteen thousand a month? That wouldn’t even cover utilities.”
He got up and went to the window, admiring the view of the park. The apartment was in a new residential complex on the twelfth floor. From here there was a beautiful panorama of greenery and a lake.
“I’ll give you a month,” he declared magnanimously. “To find a place. You can even take your clothes and your books. But the furniture, the appliances—everything stays here. I bought it.”
Galina silently stood up and went into the kitchen. She took her favorite mug from the cupboard—the only thing she had brought from her parents’ house. She poured water from the filter and took a sip.
“You know, Lesha,” she began as she returned to the living room, “I’ve always been amazed by your ability to rewrite history. Do you actually believe what you’re saying?”
“What are you talking about?” Alexey frowned.
“About the apartment. About who bought it.”
“Oh, STOP IT!” he exploded. “Enough with the hysterics! I’ve made a decision, and it’s final. You can sulk as much as you like, but in a month you won’t be here.”
The next morning Galina woke up early. Alexey had already left for work—lately he’d been trying to spend as little time at home as possible. She brewed herself strong tea and sat down at the computer.
The folder with the documents lay at the very bottom of the desk drawer. Galina hadn’t opened it in a long time—there had been no need. But now it was time.
First she pulled out the purchase agreement. A four-room apartment, ninety-two square meters. Price: twelve million rubles. Date: five years ago.
Next came the bank statements. Galina carefully laid them out on the table in chronological order. Here was the transfer from her parents—three million rubles. Here was one from her sister Olga—one million four hundred forty thousand. From Aunt Vera—nine hundred sixty thousand. From her grandfather—one million six hundred eighty thousand.
She took out a calculator and began to add it up. Her own savings—money she’d put aside for five years before the wedding, working two jobs—two million six hundred forty thousand. Total from her family and from her personally: nine million seven hundred twenty thousand rubles.
The remaining two million two hundred eighty thousand they paid off over four years. If you split it in half, Alexey’s share was one million one hundred forty thousand. That meant nine and a half percent of the apartment’s price.
Galina leaned back in her chair. All these years Alexey had told friends, relatives, and coworkers how he’d bought the apartment. How he provided for the family. How his wife should be grateful to him for a roof over her head.
Her phone rang. Olga’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hi, sis,” Olga’s voice sounded worried. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Galina replied, shuffling the documents.
“Gal, don’t lie to me. Yesterday I saw Alexey with some blonde. They were kissing.”
“I know. That’s Marina. His fiancée.”
Silence hung on the line.
“WHAT?” Olga finally breathed out. “What fiancée? You two aren’t divorced!”
“Not yet. But he wants me out of the apartment. Says it’s his since it’s in his name.”
“He’s completely lost it!” Olga blew up. “I transferred money for the down payment! And Mom and Dad did too! More than half of it was our money!”
“Seventy-five percent, to be exact. And with my savings, eighty-one percent. He only owns nine and a half percent.”
“So why are you sitting there? Go to a lawyer! File for division of property!”
Galina looked out the window. The sun was shining; mothers with strollers walked along the park paths.
“You know, Olya,” she said slowly, “I don’t want to sue. I want him to understand it himself.”
“Galya, he won’t understand! People like Alexey only understand force!”
“Exactly,” Galina smiled. “Force. Just not the kind you’re thinking of.”
That evening Alexey came home in an excellent mood. He smelled of expensive cologne—not his. Galina was sitting in the living room with her laptop on her knees.
“Still here?” he smirked as he walked past. “Looking at apartments online?”
“You could put it that way,” Galina replied calmly.
Alexey went into the kitchen, took a bottle of water from the fridge, came back and sank into his favorite chair.
“Listen, I was thinking,” he began in a condescending tone. “Maybe you need help searching. I can ask a realtor I know to find something cheap. A one-bedroom somewhere on the outskirts.”
“How generous,” Galina lifted her eyes to him. “But I don’t need a one-bedroom on the outskirts. I have a wonderful four-room apartment right here.”
“Galya, ENOUGH!” Alexey jerked his shoulder irritably. “We already talked about this. The apartment is mine.”
“Are you KICKING me out of the apartment?” Galina set the laptop aside and stood up. “Have you forgotten who bought it?”
“I bought it!” Alexey barked. “I paid the mortgage!”
“The mortgage?” Galina laughed. “What mortgage, Lesha? We paid for the apartment almost at once. Only two million two hundred eighty thousand remained, which we paid off over four years. That’s nineteen percent of the total price.”
“What are you even talking about?”
Galina walked to the table and picked up the folder.
“I’m talking about the fact that my parents put in twenty-five percent. Three million rubles. Transfer straight to the bank account. Here’s the statement.”
She placed the document in front of Alexey. He took it with an uncertain hand.
“Twelve percent came from my sister Olga—one million four hundred forty thousand. Here’s her transfer.”
Another paper landed on the coffee table.
“Eight percent—my aunt Vera. Nine hundred sixty thousand. Fourteen percent—my grandfather. One million six hundred eighty thousand. And my personal savings—twenty-two percent. Two million six hundred forty thousand.”
Galina laid out the documents one after another, like poker cards.
“Each transfer went straight to the bank account. All of them were official, with the note ‘for the purchase of an apartment, share of Galina Igorevna Muravyova.’ The remaining nineteen percent we paid off over four years. Half and half. Which means you, my dear husband, are entitled to nine and a half percent. That’s about eight and a half square meters. Take your pick—a storage closet or the balcony.”
Alexey’s face went pale. He stared at the documents, not believing his eyes.
“This… this is impossible,” he muttered. “The apartment is in my name!”
“Yes, it is,” Galina said. “Because my relatives trusted you. Because you swore we were a family. That you would take care of me. Remember your vows at the registry office?”
“But… but I’m the head of the family!” Alexey sprang up. “I earn more!”
“You earn more NOW,” Galina corrected him. “But when we bought the apartment, I worked two jobs and saved every kopek. Unlike you, who spent money on restaurants and new suits.”
Alexey paced the room. His confidence was crumbling before her eyes.
“This is some kind of forgery!” he shouted, grabbing the papers. “You forged these!”
“STOP TALKING NONSENSE!” Galina suddenly screamed so loudly Alexey flinched. “All the documents are real, and you know it perfectly well! You were there when my parents transferred the money! You thanked them, called them Mom and Dad!”
She stepped right up to him, fury blazing in her eyes, and Alexey involuntarily backed away.
“For five years I put up with your rudeness! Your contempt! You humiliated me in front of friends, said I wasn’t good enough, not pretty enough, not successful enough! And I stayed SILENT! I thought it would pass, that you’d change!”
“Galya, let’s not…”
“SHUT UP!” she roared. “Now I’m talking! You brought your mistress into MY home! Introduced her to your friends as your fiancée while I was away on a business trip! The neighbor Nina told me everything—how you drank champagne here, how she chose what curtains to hang in the bedroom!”
Galina grabbed a glass of water from the table and hurled it at the wall with all her strength. The glass shattered into tiny fragments.
“To hell with you and your Marina!” she screamed, and her voice made the windowpanes tremble. “GET OUT of MY apartment! RIGHT NOW!”
“You have no right!” Alexey tried to protest.
“No right?” Galina pulled out her phone. “I’ll call my uncle right now. He’s a retired colonel, in case you forgot. And I’ll call Olga’s brother too. He’ll want to know where his sister’s money went.”
She started dialing.
“Wait!” Alexey lunged toward her. “Don’t call anyone! We can work something out!”
“Work something out?” Galina lowered the phone. “About what? About how you’ll live in an apartment bought with my family’s money with your new fling? May the devils take you!”
She grabbed the phone again.
“Hello, Uncle Misha? It’s Galya. Here’s the thing…”
“NO!” Alexey snatched the phone from her hand. “Don’t! I… I get it. I’ll go.”
“What?” Galina yanked the phone back. “I didn’t catch that!”
“I said I’ll go!” Alexey shouted. “But this isn’t over! I’ll find a way to take my share!”
“Your share?” Galina laughed hysterically. “Nine and a half percent? Be my guest! Here—take the calculator, do the math! One million one hundred forty thousand! You can take it in cash as soon as you move out! And then we’ll sign everything with a notary.”
Alexey stood there with clenched fists, his face twisted with rage and humiliation.
“You’ll regret this,” he hissed.
“Oh, go take a steam bath!” Galina waved a hand. “You have an hour to pack. Then I call Uncle Misha and all my relatives. And believe me, they won’t be as polite as I am!”
Alexey packed in total silence. Galina sat in the living room and watched him rush around the apartment, stuffing clothes into a suitcase. His hands trembled with anger and shame.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he threw over his shoulder as he zipped the suitcase. “Marina is from a very influential family. Her father…”
“Let it all burn blue for all I care!” Galina cut him off. “I don’t give a damn who her father is! Get out!”
Alexey grabbed the suitcase and headed for the door. On the threshold he turned back.
“Leaving the keys on the console. But this isn’t over, remember that!”
“Roll out of here like a sausage!” Galina shouted after him and slammed the door.
She leaned her back against it and closed her eyes. Inside, anger was still boiling, but at the same time she felt a strange relief.
Her phone rang. Olga.
“So? How did it go?”
“He left,” Galina exhaled. “Packed his things and left.”
“Good!” Olga said. “I’m proud of you, sis! Finally you put that turkey in his place!”
Galina went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Outside it was already dark; lights were coming on in the windows of neighboring buildings.
“You know, Olya, I thought I’d cry. That I’d regret it. But all I feel is anger and… freedom.”
“That’s exactly how you should feel! He wasn’t worth it. By the way, I’m coming tomorrow to help with the paperwork. It all needs to be made official.”
The following weeks flew by in a blur. Galina hired a good lawyer who helped prepare all the necessary documents. It turned out proving her relatives’ financial contribution to the purchase was easy—every transfer was official, with clear wording.
Alexey tried to fight. He hired an attorney, threatened her, demanded half the apartment. But when he saw all the documents—the bank statements, the calculations—he gave up. He agreed to take his nine and a half percent in cash.
And a month later Galina heard an interesting piece of news from her neighbor Nina. Marina, it turned out, was not who she claimed to be. No influential father. She lived in a rented apartment and was hunting for a well-off man. As soon as she found out Alexey was left without the apartment and was living in a hotel, she dumped him on the spot.
“Can you imagine,” Nina said, “he came by yesterday. Wanted to talk to you. He looked so pathetic standing by the entrance. I told him you weren’t home. He stood there for an hour and left.”
Galina only smirked. She sat at her computer, finishing an application. After quitting the library, she decided to start her own business—a small bookstore with a coffee corner. The money her uncle gave her was just enough for start-up capital.
That evening the doorbell rang. Galina looked through the peephole—Alexey. He didn’t look good.
“What do you want?” she asked through the door.
“Galya, open up! I need to talk!”
“Go away!”
“Please! I know I was wrong! Marina left me, I lost my job… Galya, let’s start over!”
Galina flung the door open.
“Start over?” She looked at him with contempt. “After everything you did? May you fall through the earth! GET OFF my doorstep!”
“But I’m your husband!”
“You WERE my husband. The divorce became final a week ago. Now get lost before I call Uncle Misha!”
She slammed the door right in his face.
Six months later the bookstore “Page,” with its cozy coffee corner, opened in an old part of town. Galina was behind the counter, arranging new arrivals, when the little bell above the door rang.
A man about thirty-five walked in, wearing jeans and a warm sweater. In his hands he held a worn volume of Brodsky.
“Good afternoon,” he smiled. “Do you have anything from Brodsky’s later poetry?”
“Of course,” Galina said, coming out from behind the counter. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
They walked to the poetry shelf. The man studied the spines with interest.
“Excellent selection,” he nodded approvingly. “My name’s Pavel. I teach literature at the university.”
“Galina,” she introduced herself. “Owner of the shop.”
“Did you open recently? I live nearby, but I hadn’t noticed you before.”
“Two months ago.”
Pavel chose a few books and went to the register.
“And is your coffee any good?” he asked, nodding toward the café door.
“Excellent. I picked the beans myself.”
“Then I’ll definitely drop in after lectures.”
He stopped by almost every day. Bought books, drank coffee, talked literature with Galina. And three months later, he invited her to the theater.
That evening, walking home after the performance, Galina saw Alexey. He stood at the entrance of an expensive restaurant—the very place he used to take Marina. Only now he was wearing a parking attendant’s uniform, opening doors for guests.
Their eyes met. Alexey went pale and looked away. Galina walked past, holding Pavel’s arm.
“Someone you know?” Pavel asked.
“Used to be,” Galina replied. “In a past life.”
She didn’t look back. The past was behind her, and a new life lay ahead.
The apartment welcomed her with silence and warmth. Galina turned on the floor lamp in the living room and put the kettle on. On the coffee table lay a folder of documents for expanding the shop. Business was going well, and she planned to open a second hall—for children’s literature.
Her phone rang. Pavel.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed a show that much.”
“No—thank you for the invitation.”
“Galya, I wanted to ask… On Saturday there’s an exhibition of rare books opening. Would you like to come with me?”
“With pleasure.”
After she hung up, Galina went to the window. Down below, in the streetlight, she could see the park—the very one Alexey loved to admire, talking about how lucky he was to have bought an apartment with such a view.
“To hell with you, Alexey,” she thought without anger, more with pity. “You chose your own path.”
Then she turned from the window and went to make tea. Tomorrow would be a new day.
Galina smiled. It turned out anger could be a creative force. It helped her defend her right to dignity, to respect, to her own life. And that was the most important lesson her failed marriage had taught her.