Thirty-five thousand?!” Alexey slammed his palm on the table so sharply that the cup of lukewarm tea jumped, but didn’t spill. “Are you serious? That’s your salary? You can’t live decently on that kind of money!”
Marina tightened her grip around her mug, trying not to look at her husband—because she knew that if their eyes met, there would be a fight. And that same fight had been repeating for weeks now. She took a deep breath and said evenly:
“It’s a probation period, Alexey. Two months. After that the pay will go up to at least sixty. I told you.”
“Told me?” Alexey laughed with a nasty edge, pacing the room. “So what? With those thirty-five thousand we can’t even buy groceries, let alone live normally. I bust my back at work, and you… what do you do? Useless.”
“I’m trying,” Marina said quietly. “And you can see that.”
“Trying?” Alexey stopped by the window, turned around, and his eyes flashed with irritation. “That’s funny, Marina. Really. You got a job and think that in two months everything will magically change.”
“No. I know we’ll have to wait.” Marina set the cup down on the table and it rang lightly. “But this job has a future. I’ll grow there.”
“A future?” Alexey snorted, clenching his fists. “A future for who? For you or for us? We’re eating cheap pasta from economy packs, cutting corners everywhere, and you’re dreaming about career growth.”
Marina felt her heart drop. His words sounded like a sentence. She tried to explain, but every time she started, Alexey cut her off, listing their expenses—utilities, loans, transportation. His voice grew sharper and sharper, and Marina was exhausted before she’d even begun to argue.
“Maybe we should just break up, then?” she said softly, almost in a whisper.
Alexey froze, as if her words hit something deep inside him, but then his face spread into a cold smile.
“Great idea. I’ve been thinking about it.”
Marina got up from the couch and began packing her things into an old sports bag. Everything felt mechanical—T-shirts, jeans, her makeup pouch. Alexey watched in silence, not taking a single step toward her, as if what was happening was routine.
“Tell your mother she can be happy now,” Marina said from the doorway, and left, slamming the door behind her.
In the morning she came back for the rest of her things while Alexey was at work. She took her books and documents, leaving only dishes and photographs behind. She felt relief—this was the end of something that had been dragging her down for years.
The divorce went quickly. They rented the apartment, the car was in Alexey’s name, and neither of them had any real money—there was nothing to divide. And that was for the best.
Marina rented a tiny room in a коммуналка on the edge of the city—twelve square meters, a shared kitchen, an elderly neighbor shuffling down the hallway in slippers. But it was her space. Only hers. For the first time in a long while, she could breathe.
At first it was hard. Her money went to rent and food; there was nothing left for new clothes. After work she would collapse onto the bed, crushed by fatigue, but inside she felt free. The pain of the breakup and the old resentment slowly began to fade.
At work, Marina took initiative. Extra tasks, training, professional courses. Four months later her salary was raised to sixty thousand, then she was trusted with major projects. Slowly, step by step, she rebuilt her life.
Almost five years passed. Marina looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself—a confident, calm woman stared back. Her pay had grown, her apartment was still rented but cozy, her work was interesting, and her relationships with people were normal—without pressure or accusations.
And then the past reminded her it still existed.
One evening the doorbell rang—long and insistent. Marina lifted her head in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. The bell rang again. She went to open it, and there stood Alexey.
He looked different—gray hair, wrinkles, slightly hunched—but his eyes were the same: searching, assessing.
“Hi,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Marina froze, tension tightening inside her. Alexey stepped into the hallway, glanced around, and moved farther in, judging the place.
“Not bad,” he smirked. “Heard you got an inheritance from Aunt Vera.”
Marina crossed her arms.
“How did you find my address?”
“Mutual friends,” he said. “I figured I should stop by, see you… We used to be close.”
Marina watched him, not understanding why he’d come. Alexey sat down on the couch like he owned it and said:
“An apartment, an inheritance… now you fit us again.”
A cold anger rose in Marina. In one instant everything returned: his talk about her “pennies,” his mother’s contempt, all of it snapping back into focus.
“Us?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Me and Mom. Money’s tight, Mom needs help. It’d be easier together. You understand.”
Marina stepped closer.
“I don’t understand anything, Alexey. Five years ago I ‘wasn’t good enough.’ But now that I have money, suddenly I ‘fit’ again?”
Alexey hesitated. Marina continued calmly, her voice level:
“Five years ago you chose money over me. Now you’re choosing money again. Only this time it’s mine. And that’s your problem, not mine.”
Alexey tried to object, but Marina raised her hand.
“I’m the same Marina who left with one bag. Only now I’ve grown up. I learned to live without you, to earn, to value myself. Everything I have is mine.”
Alexey stood.
“We could try again…”
“No,” Marina said, opening the door. “Because you haven’t changed. You’re still the same selfish, greedy man. I won’t regret this.”
Alexey left. Marina shut the door and leaned her back against it. Silence. Calm. Freedom. The past stayed on the other side of the threshold.
The next few days passed in a strange mix of anxiety and certainty. Alexey had come, said his “you fit us again,” and left—but his visit had left a deep mark. On one hand, something clicked inside her: I’m right. I left in time. It was the right decision. On the other, irritation and distrust wouldn’t let go.
Marina tried to focus on work. But her colleagues noticed she was thoughtful, sometimes distracted. In the office kitchen Lena, her friend, asked:
“Why are you so spaced out? You were on fire recently.”
“It’s just… the past kind of reminded me it exists,” Marina said, forcing a smile.
“Oh, don’t, Marin,” Lena said. “You spent five years building your life, and now he’s… history. Seriously.”
“I know,” Marina sighed. “But for some reason that history keeps knocking.”
On her way home, Marina tried to distract herself with little things: new plants on the windowsill, tidy shelves, books. But in the evening, as she put the kettle on, the doorbell rang again. This time it was a courier with a package. She signed, took the box—and inside was a management book and a notebook, neatly labeled: “Alexey.”
Marina pressed the box to her chest, feeling a strange lump in her throat. She didn’t open it—just set it on the table. Why did he send this? she wondered. To remind me of him? Or to test my reaction?
At work something else was happening: Marina received a new assignment—a project that required negotiating with a major supplier, handling reporting, and training junior employees at the same time. The tasks were harder than before, and for the first time in a long while she felt a real challenge. Every day she stayed late, earning respect from colleagues and management—and with it, money that once felt unreachable.
But at home in the evenings, when she turned on the kitchen light, her calm would crack. Alexey surfaced in her thoughts like a ghost. She’d set the kettle on, stare out at the darkening courtyard, and ask herself: Why did he come? What does he want?
On the third day after her ex-husband’s visit, the doorbell rang again—this time a normal ring, but Marina felt every second of waiting. On the threshold stood a neighbor named Alexey—not her ex, but the new neighbor across the landing who was always complaining about noise upstairs. Marina almost laughed to herself: sometimes the past returns unexpectedly, but more often it’s life playing tricks in the little things.
That evening Marina sat at the table and opened the notebook Alexey had sent. Inside were neatly written lists—books, courses, topics in psychology and management. She turned to a page and saw a comment: “This will help you become better.” And something shifted inside her—irritation and suspicion, but also a strange bitterness.
The next day Alexey texted her: “Can we meet? I want to talk about something important.” Marina reread it several times. Annoyance rose in her chest. Talk about what? Money? The apartment? Or just check how much I’ve changed?
She replied coldly: “I can’t. I’m busy.” Then she turned her phone off for an hour to calm down.
That evening, while she was cooking, Lena called:
“Listen, Marina,” Lena hesitated. “Alexey went to your mom. Said he wants to help, that he’s having ‘difficulties.’”
Marina set the spoon down on the table. Difficulties, she repeated to herself. Her heart started beating faster. She could feel it: he wasn’t coming back for love—he was coming back for advantage.
“So what?” Marina said, keeping her voice steady. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know, but it all looks… shady. Be careful.”
After the call, Marina sat in silence. She knew Lena was right. Alexey had always been good at manipulation. She remembered how, early in their marriage, he’d handled conversations carefully, little by little turning her struggles into reasons to control and criticize her.
The next day, coming home from work, she found an envelope left at her door. Inside was a bank receipt showing a small amount of money and a note: “Just in case it gets hard.” Signed: Alexey.
Marina felt a cold, solid anger rise in her. She sat on the couch, hands folded on her knees, and told herself: Nothing has changed. He doesn’t want to help—he wants to trap me.
The next day she met Lena at a café.
“He didn’t come for you,” Lena said as they shared dessert. “He came for what you have. Believe me, Marin—I’ve seen this before.”
“I know,” Marina nodded. “I built my life on my own for five years. I’m not giving a chance to someone who only values me for money.”
“Then tell him that,” Lena advised.
Marina stayed quiet, but a plan was already forming in her mind: no emotions, only facts. No more games. No more doubts.
That evening she sat at her table and laid out all the papers—receipts, project documents, the notebook Alexey had sent. Everything neat. Clear. She thought: Now he’ll learn that I decide what I need, and I’m not going to fall into anything.
And then a new message came from Alexey: “Let’s meet. I need to talk.” Marina took a deep breath. She knew it would be hard—emotion tightened inside her—but this time she decided to act differently.
“Fine,” she told herself softly. “We’ll meet—but on my terms.”
That decision became the starting point for the final confrontation with the past—one that was inevitable.
They met in a small café on the outskirts of the city. Marina arrived first, chose a table by the window, and sat so she could see the entrance. Her heart tightened slightly, but her breathing was even. She knew: today she had to close this once and for all.
Alexey arrived exactly on time. He looked familiar—confident, a bit tired, but with the same self-assured manner that had always infuriated Marina.
“Hi,” he said, sitting across from her. “I’m glad you agreed to meet.”
“I’m here to listen,” Marina said calmly, “not to start anything again.”
Alexey smirked.
“Of course. I get it—you’re strong, independent… But I just want to explain, to talk things through.”
“Explain?” Marina raised an eyebrow. “Explain that back then you behaved like a selfish, greedy man, and now you want to come back to the convenient version of me—rich and successful?”
He shook his head, trying to look sincere.
“It’s not like that. I’ve been through a lot, I realized my mistakes. I’m having a hard time now—Mom, work, loans. I thought it would be easier together.”
Marina took a slow breath.
“Listen carefully, Alexey. Five years ago you chose money over me. You called my salary pennies, humiliated me, made me feel like a burden. Now I have an apartment, money, a stable life—and you think that’s a chance for you?”
“Marin, I just…” he began, but Marina lifted her hand.
“Don’t. I don’t want excuses, I don’t want pity, and I don’t want a relationship. You didn’t come because you missed me. Not because you love me. You came because you want to use what I have. That’s a huge difference.”
Alexey frowned.
“So you’re rejecting me just because of money?”
“Not only because of money,” Marina said calmly, evenly, without hysteria. “I’m rejecting you because you haven’t changed. Five years ago and now—you’re the same. Greedy, selfish, incapable of valuing people. I don’t want anyone controlling my life, deciding whether I ‘fit’ or not, trying to manage me through pressure and manipulation.”
Alexey fell silent. He stared at her, trying to read her—but in Marina’s eyes there was no longer that confused girl who used to fear his words.
“You don’t understand,” he said at last. “I can change. I can give you everything. Together it’ll be easier.”
“You’ve already shown that it wouldn’t be easier with you,” Marina replied. “I built my life myself. I got through every hardship without you. And I don’t need someone who chooses people by their bank balance.”
Alexey tried to argue, said something about mutual support, about helping each other, but Marina listened as if it were a stranger speaking. She understood: no words would change someone who isn’t truly ready to change.
“Marin,” he finally said quietly, “maybe at least Mom…”
“Mom?” Marina echoed, lifting an eyebrow. “You want me to be a safety cushion for your family because you can’t handle your problems? Why? So you can feel comfortable again at my expense?” She paused and continued in a softer voice, but firm: “No. Not then. Not now.”
Alexey lowered his eyes. He understood he wasn’t going to get what he wanted today.
Marina, feeling a calm, hard certainty rise inside her, leaned back slightly.
“Everything I have now is mine. My work, my apartment, my decisions. And you have nothing to do with it. I’m grateful to you for once showing me how important it is to value myself—but that’s enough. From here on, it’s just me.”
He stayed silent for a long time. Then he slowly stood up, walked around the table, and looked at her one last time.
“You’ll regret it,” he whispered.
“No,” Marina replied with a calm smile. “The only thing I would regret is letting you back into my life.”
Alexey left. Behind him was an empty street, evening lanterns casting soft light over wet asphalt. Marina stayed at the table, feeling the tension drain away.
At home she set her tea mug on the windowsill, went to the window, and inhaled the cool evening air. Inside, everything was quiet. The silence didn’t crush her—it felt light, free.
Marina understood: the past was finally gone. No more fights, accusations, or manipulation. Ahead of her was life—her life, built with her own hands.
She sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and looked at the screen: plans, projects, books, ideas. Everything that once felt unreachable was now within her grasp. She smiled.
No doubts. No looking back. Only the certainty that from now on, she chooses how to live.
And that feeling—being the owner of her own life—was the most valuable thing she had ever had.
The end