— Why hasn’t the floor been washed? And where’s dinner? — Gleb tossed his briefcase onto the couch and looked around the room. — You’ve completely stopped taking care of yourself!
Marina froze by the stove, confused. It was past midnight, and she’d been sitting there like a fool, waiting for her husband with a hot dinner. Now a чужой, unfamiliar perfume clung to him — a subtle, expensive scent, nothing like her favorite vanilla fragrance.
— Gleb, I called you all evening. Where were you? — she tried to keep her voice even.
— I’m sick of your interrogations! — he snapped, waving a hand раздражённо. — I stayed late at work, okay? And my phone died.
Marina silently set a plate of casserole on the table. Gleb poked at it with his fork in disgust.
— This greasy crap again. Amazing you haven’t turned into an elephant with food like this, — he shoved the plate away. — Look at Sofia in our office. That’s what a real woman is supposed to look like.
— Sofia? The one who’s always texting you? — Marina felt her spine go cold.
Gleb rolled his eyes.
— Don’t start. Sofia’s my colleague, and by the way, she takes care of herself. And you? — he swept Marina with a contemptuous look. — That worn-out robe, those stupid slippers. A gray little mouse.
Marina swallowed the lump in her throat.
— I can lose weight, if it matters that much to you.
— Too late, — Gleb threw over his shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.
Marina sank into a chair, drained. What had happened to them? Once, Gleb had laughed about her softness, saying he loved “girls with curves.”
His phone, left on the table, vibrated. Marina couldn’t help glancing at the screen. A message from Sofia: “Same time tomorrow?” with a heart at the end.
With trembling hands, she picked up the phone. She’d known the password for ages — Gleb’s birthday. The chat opened at once: dozens of messages, each one like a punch to the gut.
“You’re so passionate.”
“When are you finally going to leave her?”
“I can’t wait…”
And photos. Gleb with a slim brunette. Hugs. Kisses. A bed.
Marina turned off the phone and set it back where it was. An icy emptiness settled in her chest. Three years of marriage. Three years after her parents died, when Gleb had become her only support.
She remembered how, after the funeral, Gleb had insisted on a modest wedding — “not the time for lavish celebrations.” How he’d moved into her three-room apartment — “why pay rent when you’ve got so much space?” How he’d admired the dacha — “great place, we could sell it and buy something more prestigious.”
Marina looked down at her hands — small, with plump fingers. Maybe she really was unattractive. Maybe Sofia really was better — if Gleb was happy with her.
From the bedroom came her husband’s snoring. His words from the day before flashed through her mind: “We need to sell the dacha. The price is good right now. We’ll start a business, live like normal people.”
Marina rose quietly and went to the bathroom. A mirror hung above the sink. A tired face, shadows under the eyes, messy hair. When had she become like this? When had she let herself sink into someone else’s желания, forgetting her own?
— Enough, — she whispered to her reflection. — Enough being a doormat.
In the morning, Gleb was unusually affectionate. He brought her coffee in bed — something he hadn’t done in years.
— Marinochka, I got carried away yesterday, — he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. — You know how it is — work, stress.
Marina nodded, pretending she understood.
— You’re right about the dacha, — she said. — Let’s sell it. I just need to go there one last time. To pick up Mom’s things.
Gleb brightened.
— That’s my smart girl! — he kissed her forehead. — Then this weekend you go to the dacha, and I’ll look for buyers. We’ll get it done fast.
Too fast, Marina thought, but she only smiled back.
The old cemetery was quiet. Marina placed flowers on her parents’ graves and sat on the bench nearby. Warm May air smelled of lilac.
— You were right about him, — she whispered, looking at her father and mother’s photos. — And I didn’t want to listen.
Memories rose up: college, her third year. Gleb — a confident красавчик from the economics department — noticing rosy-cheeked, laughing Marina. Back then he seemed like a fairy-tale prince: caring, attentive, full of big plans.
— Maybe you would’ve approved… of who he was at first, — she wiped away a tear.
Her father had always said, “Look closely, Marisha. A man who truly loves doesn’t look at others.” And her mother would quietly add, “And he doesn’t stare at your flaws either.”
Her phone vibrated. A message from Gleb: “Where are you? I want to show the dacha to a potential buyer tomorrow.”
Marina didn’t answer. Instead, she scrolled through old photos: the wedding — modest, a month after the funeral. Gleb had convinced her not to wait: “Why do we need a big celebration? The main thing is we’re together.”
Now she understood: he’d simply wanted to закрепиться in her apartment, in her life, as quickly as possible. Knocking on the heart of a grieving girl hadn’t been hard — especially when she wanted so desperately to believe she wasn’t alone.
— He says the dacha and the apartment are a burden, — Marina told her mother’s portrait. — That we need money for a business, for a better life.
The wind stirred the birch branches over the graves. A sunbeam fell across the headstone like silent approval.
— But I get it now, — her voice steadied. — He wants to take everything, then leave. He thinks I’m blind.
Marina stood and ran her hand once over the cold marble.
— Remember what you always said, Mom? “We can only be deceived once. The second time, we deceive ourselves.”
She walked toward the cemetery exit with purpose. A plan had already formed — clear and firm. Gleb wanted to play dirty? He would get his game.
On the bus home, Marina dialed Sergey Petrovich — her father’s old friend, a realtor. The elderly man was genuinely happy to hear her.
— Marinochka, sunshine! How are you? I haven’t heard from you in ages.
— Sergey Petrovich, I need your help. Urgently — and confidentially.
— I never said I’d sell for that price, — Marina looked away from Gleb’s surprised stare. — The dacha is worth more.
— Sweetheart, this isn’t the best time to bargain, — Gleb said, hugging her shoulders gently. — This buyer is reliable. And your dacha, sorry, isn’t exactly amazing.
Marina shrugged his hand off.
— Our dacha, — she corrected. — Or is it not ours anymore?
Gleb narrowed his eyes.
— What’s that supposed to mean?
— Nothing, — Marina forced a smile. — It’s just strange to hear “yours” when we’re a family.
Gleb softened and kissed her forehead.
— Of course it’s ours. It’s just… on paper… ah, never mind. Everything’s for us, for our future.
Ours, Marina repeated bitterly. For the past week she’d been living in two realities: in one, the obedient wife agreeing to sell her inheritance; in the other, a woman meeting with realtors, lawyers, bank clerks.
— I’ll think about it, — she said. — I need to go to the dacha one more time. Sort through Mom’s things.
— Go, of course, — Gleb agreed unexpectedly easily. — Oh, and Marish, I almost forgot… I have an important meeting at the office tomorrow. Could you…
— Bring you the documents? — Marina prompted. — Sure. Which ones?
— An extract from the property register. My client wants to see the dacha paperwork, — Gleb smiled. — Just a formality.
— Okay, — Marina nodded. — And who’s the meeting with?
— Clients, — Gleb looked away. — You don’t know them.
His phone beeped. He snatched it fast, read the message, and shoved it into his pocket.
— Work? — Marina asked innocently.
— Yeah. They’re always pulling me around, — he said, visibly tense. — All right, I’m going to bed.
When the bedroom door closed, Marina quietly took out her own phone. Sergey Petrovich picked up immediately.
— The dacha sale contract is ready. The buyer agrees to your price. Deal’s tomorrow.
— And the apartment?
— There’s a buyer. They’re okay with a fast deal, no haggling. But are you sure?
— Absolutely.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Marina quickly hid her phone.
Gleb, already in sweatpants, went into the kitchen.
— You still awake? — he asked, pulling juice from the fridge.
— Thinking about Mom and Dad, — Marina said, hugging herself. — It’s three years today since they died.
— Starting again? — Gleb snapped. — Stop living in the past. You can’t bring back the dead.
Marina flinched at the грубость.
— You didn’t even come with me to the cemetery.
— I’ve got work coming out of my ears! — he barked. — Someone has to earn money in this family.
— And I don’t earn money, in your opinion?
— A nanny in a kindergarten? — he snorted contemptuously. — Be grateful I married you at all. With your looks these days…
He cut himself off abruptly, as if remembering something.
— Sorry, — he muttered. — I’m tired. Rough week.
Marina stared at him in silence. Once she’d loved him blindly. Now a чужой, unpleasant man stood in front of her.
— I’m tired too, — she said quietly.
The next day Marina met Sergey Petrovich and the new owner of the dacha — an elderly professor, a friend of her father’s. The deal took less than an hour.
— Are you sure you don’t want to tell Gleb? — Sergey Petrovich asked when they were alone.
Marina shook her head.
— Gleb is too busy with his Sofia. He didn’t even notice I emptied half the closet.
At home, Marina began packing what was left. The apartment sale was scheduled for tomorrow. Everything was happening faster than she’d expected.
Her phone rang. Gleb.
— Did you bring the documents? — he demanded without greeting.
— Yes. I did everything, — Marina replied calmly.
— Great! — triumph rang openly in his voice. — Then I’ll be late. Don’t wait for dinner.
The night was hot and sleepless. Marina lay on the living-room couch under a thin sheet. Gleb hadn’t come home — for the first time in their marriage. He didn’t call, didn’t text, as if he’d vanished.
A loud knock came at 7:30 a.m.
— Who is it? — Marina asked.
— Real estate agency! — a man’s voice called. — By arrangement with Sergey Petrovich.
Marina opened the door. On the threshold stood a young couple with a little girl of about five, and a stern man with a briefcase — a notary.
— Good morning, — the girl held out her hand. — I’m Olga, we spoke yesterday. Sergey Petrovich said you’re ready to finalize everything.
— Yes, come in, — Marina let them into the apartment.
The notary briskly spread documents across the table.
— Passport, proof of ownership, and the preliminary agreement signed yesterday.
Marina pulled a folder from her bag. The young couple walked around, admiring the spacious kitchen and high ceilings.
— Will your husband be here too? the notary asked.
— No, — Marina said. — I’m the sole owner. The apartment belonged to me before the marriage — inherited from my parents.
— Excellent. Then let’s proceed.
Within an hour all signatures were done, and the money was transferred to Marina’s account. Olga hugged her tightly.
— Thank you! We’ve been looking for a place in this area for so long. When can we move in?
— Even today, — Marina replied, handing over the keys. — I’ve moved almost everything out.
— But there are still a lot of things here, Olga said, surprised.
— Whatever you find, you can throw away or keep.
As the family inspected every corner of their new home, Marina texted Sergey Petrovich: “All done. Going to the bank.”
At the bank she transferred most of the money into a new account and withdrew some cash. Now all that was left was to wait.
Gleb’s call caught her in a taxi.
— Hello, — his voice was hurried. — Marish, I’m coming home now. We need to talk.
— Don’t rush, Marina said evenly. — I still have things to do.
— What things? Gleb tensed.
— See you tonight. Around seven.
Marina ended the call and asked the driver to change route. She needed to check into the hotel she’d booked and prepare for the final act of this drama.
Gleb ran to the building right at seven. He rang the doorbell nervously. No one opened. He took out his keys — the lock wouldn’t turn.
— Who is it? The door cracked open, but instead of Marina, an unfamiliar woman stood there.
— I… this is my apartment, Gleb stammered.
— You’re mistaken, the woman frowned. — We bought it this morning.
— Bought it? Gleb went pale. — From whom?
— From the owner — Marina Sergeyevna.
At that moment Gleb’s phone rang. His wife’s name flashed on the screen.
— What did you do?! he screamed into the phone.
— Hello, Gleb, Marina’s voice sounded strangely firm. — How are you?
— Some woman says she bought our apartment! Gleb was almost shrieking.
— Not ours. Mine, Marina corrected. — And yes, she’s right. I sold the apartment this morning. And the dacha too — yesterday.
— Are you… out of your mind?! Gleb choked with rage. — Where am I supposed to live now?!
— Ask Sofia to take you in, Marina said calmly. — Judging by your messages, you spend plenty of time together anyway.
— You went through my phone? Gleb hissed. — You had no right!
— And you had the right to humiliate me for three years? Use me? Cheat on me? Marina’s voice trembled. — You thought I wouldn’t figure out your plan? Sell my property and then disappear with your perfect Sofia?
Silence hung on the line.
— Marina, it’s a misunderstanding, Gleb finally said, changing tactics. — I never… Sofia is just a colleague. Let’s meet and talk it out.
— It’s too late, Gleb, Marina said, without gloating — only tired. — You got what you deserved.
— But… our future? Our plans? The business? he asked desperately.
— Our marriage ended the moment you decided I didn’t deserve respect. You’re free. Goodbye.
Marina hung up and blocked his number.
A minute later her phone rang again — Gleb calling from another number.
— You filthy—! he screamed. — You’ll pay for this! I’ll sue you! I’ll destroy you!
— Gleb, Marina interrupted. — Everything is legal. The apartment and the dacha were my personal property from before the marriage. We never signed a prenuptial agreement. Legally, I don’t owe you anything.
She heard Gleb’s heavy breathing on the line.
— You shouldn’t have called me a gray mouse, she said quietly. — You lost, Gleb. Now I’m going to live for myself.
Marina sat by the hotel window, watching the evening city. Her phone had been silent for three days. Gleb stopped calling after every attempt to reestablish contact failed.
A soft knock came at the door.
— Come in, she said.
Sergey Petrovich entered, holding a folder of documents.
— It’s all ready, Marinochka. The one-bedroom apartment is in your name now, he said, handing her the keys. — Small, but cozy. In a good neighborhood.
— Thank you, Marina hugged her father’s friend tightly. — I don’t know what I’d do without you.
— Your father would’ve done the same for my daughter, he said, patting her shoulder. — The bank called. The deposit is opened — the money is safe.
Marina nodded, feeling an odd emptiness. The revenge was done — but it didn’t feel lighter.
— I heard Gleb tried to get into the sold apartment, Sergey Petrovich said carefully. — The new owners called the police.
— I know, Marina said quietly. — Olga called. Gleb was drunk and yelling that he’d been robbed.
— And Sofia? His… colleague.
Marina smiled sadly.
— She dumped him as soon as she found out he was left without a home or money. Classic, right?
Sergey Petrovich shook his head.
— Do you regret it?
Marina went to the window. Below, people hurried along — tiny figures with their own stories, victories and losses.
— You know, I thought I’d feel triumph, she said thoughtfully. — But I only feel… free. Like I finally dropped a heavy backpack I’d been dragging for years.
Her phone buzzed — a message from an unknown number. Marina opened it.
“I know you blocked me. But I have to say: you’ll regret this. Everything I did was for us. For the family. You misunderstood Sofia. Give me back at least part of the money, and we’ll forget this nightmare. Gleb.”
Marina silently showed the message to Sergey Petrovich.
— Even now he can’t admit he’s wrong, the old man said, shaking his head.
Marina deleted the message and tossed her phone onto the bed.
— Tomorrow I’ll change my number, she said firmly. — And I’ll start a new life.
A week later, Marina moved into her new place. A bedroom, a kitchen, a small living room — everything one person needed. She set out a few photos of her parents, hung a painting she’d found at a flea market, and for the first time in a long while, she felt at home.
That evening, sitting on the balcony with a cup of tea, she took out an old family album — the only thing she’d brought from her past life. On the last page was her wedding photo with Gleb.
Marina stared at it for a long time, then carefully slid it out and tore it into tiny pieces.
— Thanks for the lesson, she whispered, tipping the scraps into the trash. — Now I know exactly what I’m worth