Margarita had long sensed that this day would come, yet when it finally arrived, she still felt lost. She stood there, unsure of what to do next. Roman, her husband, merely shrugged.
“You’re not fifteen anymore to be asking such questions. It’s time to think for yourself.”
“So, I have to leave?” she asked quietly.
“You got it right,” he replied dryly. “But don’t worry, I bought you half a house. It’s cheap, but at least it’s yours.”
Rita let out a bitter laugh.
“Only half? Couldn’t afford a whole one?”
Roman’s face flushed with irritation.
“Enough, Rita. Don’t start. We haven’t been husband and wife for a long time. I’m done with this.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room. Of course, he was done. Life had been easy for Roman while he controlled their finances—plenty of money for his entertainment, weekend trips with friends to the sauna, and possibly someone else, too. But the moment Rita stopped handing over her paycheck, his temper flared.
“You think your pennies make a difference in this house?”
“Roman, I’ve been wearing the same boots for four years,” she replied calmly. “Meanwhile, you’ve replaced your entire wardrobe. Is that fair? And why ‘pennies’? With my side jobs, I earn just as much as you.”
The argument had gone nowhere. Rita had known for a while that Roman was spending their shared money on his mistress. But when his finances took a hit and things likely soured with her, the fights at home became more frequent.
She had considered divorce, but one thing held her back—she had nowhere to go. That changed after their last argument. Roman had come home expecting dinner, only to find none. When she told him she had eaten at a café because he hadn’t given her money for months, he exploded.
“You’re worthless,” he had shouted. “You can’t even have kids. The only reason I stayed was out of pity.”
That night, Rita barely held back her tears, but she understood: their marriage was over. She had started preparing for the inevitable. When she asked what she should do today, it was more out of habit than expectation. She wasn’t going to fight for her half of their tiny apartment. But Roman, afraid she might, smirked.
“You’re so smart and righteous, aren’t you? Then buy out the other half of the house if you want.”
He knew it was impossible. He had gotten his half for almost nothing because no one would buy the other part. Soon, Rita understood why.
The story was simple. A married couple had once lived there, but the husband was in a terrible accident that left him disabled. His wife couldn’t handle it and filed for divorce, selling her share. The other half remained with the bedridden ex-husband. The house wasn’t physically divided, only the legal ownership was.
Rita packed her things, called a taxi, and headed straight to her new home. Why waste money renting a place she couldn’t afford? When she arrived, she was surprised. Did Roman actually spend this much? The house, though old, seemed sturdy and well-kept. Maybe she could even try to buy the second half. Living alone here, drinking tea under the acacia tree—it didn’t sound so bad.
She unlocked the door. The lock turned easily, without a creak, as if it was frequently used. The house looked well-maintained, but something felt off. Why was there only one entrance? She stepped inside. The air carried the faint scent of medicine. She glanced around—a spacious room, a combined kitchen and dining area, another room with an open door. Peeking inside, she saw a bright, mostly empty space. Two more doors led out from there. One was open, probably the former bedroom. The other was closed.
Rita hesitated only for a moment before pushing it open. She nearly gasped in shock. A man lay inside, staring at her. The television murmured in the background. A small table next to his bed held a bottle of water and some pills.
“Hello,” Rita said hesitantly.
The man smirked.
“Well, hello. So, you’re the one who bought half my house?”
Rita nodded, still glancing around in confusion.
“I don’t understand… Half the house means all of this? No walls, no separate entrance?”
“No,” he said evenly. “The house was never divided. So now you own half of it. With me.”
Rita exhaled sharply.
“That makes sense now. And here I was thinking my husband had suddenly become generous. Turns out, he stayed true to himself. Sorry, I’ll take the other room for now until I find another place.”
The man shrugged.
“Live wherever you want. Use the whole house if you’d like. I don’t care—I never leave this room. I don’t even go to the clinic. The doctors come to me. By the way, my name is Oleg.”
Rita was about to close the door but hesitated.
“Do you… cook for yourself? Take care of the house?”
“Of course not,” he replied. “A nurse comes every two days.”
Rita closed the door and went to unpack her things. Something about the situation felt off. A nurse every two days—what about the rest of the time? He was still young, probably close to her age.
She decided to make herself something to eat. Taking out a bag of groceries, she looked around. He probably wouldn’t mind if she took a shelf in the fridge. But when she opened it, she found not only that it was empty—it was unplugged. Searching the cabinets, she found a bit of grain, some salt, but not even sugar.
How was he living like this? She frowned and rolled up her sleeves.
An hour later, she knocked on his door.
“Oleg, I made dinner. Would you like to eat together?”
He gave her a hard look.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t need your pity. I’m not starving.”
Rita set the tray down anyway.
“Let’s get something else straight. I don’t pity you. I was just abandoned in a strange place by my husband, and I feel lonely. I just wanted to have dinner with a living person.”
Oleg hesitated.
“Sorry. I’ve just gotten used to people pretending to understand, offering advice.”
She sat down.
“I get it. People always think they know how you should live better than you do.”
He rolled his eyes as he took a bite.
“Rita, I’ll never forgive you. After this meal, I won’t be able to eat what the nurse makes.”
They talked long into the evening. Rita caught herself studying the room. A wheelchair sat in the corner, but he never used it.
“You do realize I’ll ask what happened at some point. If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”
“No, you should know. Two years ago, I had an accident. Nothing serious at first, but something went wrong during surgery on my spine. They barely saved me.”
At first, they told him everything would be fine. Then there were consultations, tests, but he could feel his legs stop responding. Eventually, they discharged him, saying recovery would take time. But nothing changed.
A year ago, a specialist examined him. His wife had arranged it. The doctor said the surgery went well, but rehabilitation should have started immediately. It hadn’t.
The moment his wife heard that, she packed up and left. Then he found out she had divided their property. She took their car, even though it had been in the accident. She sold half the house. And as he had just learned, to someone as heartless as she was.
Rita raised an eyebrow.
“So, what? You’re just going to lie here and wait for the end?”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Fight. Live.”
He stared at her.
“You really think I’m the only one in the world like this? There are thousands of people in your situation. And they don’t just give up.”
For the next two years, Rita made him move around the house, then down the porch. Eventually, a doctor came.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised. Your muscles had completely atrophied, yet somehow, you regained strength. I’d say love had something to do with it.”
Oleg glanced at Rita.
“I couldn’t have done it without her.”
“So, doctor, what’s next?”
“No reason you can’t start walking. It will take work, but your legs can support you.”
Oleg knew it wouldn’t be easy, but yesterday, Rita had told him she was pregnant. He looked at her now.
“I’ll do it. For you.”