“Are you sure?” the realtor looked over the documents once more. “A deed of gift is serious. It’ll be hard to take it back later.”
“I’m sure,” Yana signed. Her hand didn’t tremble—she had made her decision.
The notary office was bathed in morning sunlight. The air conditioner buzzed softly on the windowsill, the scent of coffee drifted in from the waiting area. Just another ordinary day when extraordinary things are decided.
“Mom knows what to do,” Yana slipped a copy of the documents into her bag. “In case something happens.”
That was a year ago. Long before Dima started coming home late. Before the unfamiliar scent of women’s perfume lingered on his shirts. Before the strange evening phone calls.
Yana wasn’t naive. She had grown up in a family of lawyers, taught from childhood to think two steps ahead. They bought the apartment with her money—an inheritance from her grandmother. At the time, Dima had just started his career and was paying off a car loan.
“Sweetheart, put it in my name,” her mother had said back then. “Not because of divorce. Just to be safe. You never know what life brings.”
And Yana agreed. No fights, no discussions with her husband. She simply gifted the apartment to her mother. On paper—a clean deal. In reality—a backup plan.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Dima: “Working late again. Important meeting.”
Yana smiled sadly. An important meeting. Just like yesterday. And the day before. She opened a photo sent by the private investigator: Dima and a blonde woman entering a restaurant. His hand on her waist, both of them smiling.
“Coffee?” the secretary offered.
“No thanks,” Yana stood up. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, you’ll have the full document package in an hour.”
Yana stepped outside. The May weather was warm—the lilacs were fading, but the scent still lingered. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so reliable, so loyal. She believed…
Her phone buzzed again: “Sweetheart, I’ll be very late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Alright,” she typed. “I won’t. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”
The café was quiet—afternoon lull. Yana picked a table by the window and pulled out a folder of documents. It was her and her mother’s favorite place—cozy, with pastries just like from her childhood.
“Did you bring everything?” her mother asked as she sat down, taking off her light jacket.
Elena Sergeyevna, fifty-five but looking forty, was a well-known family lawyer. She had seen hundreds of divorces. She knew every legal trap and loophole.
“Here’s the bank statement,” Yana laid out the papers. “He withdrew almost all the money from our joint account. Yesterday.”
“He’s preparing,” her mother nodded. “And this?”
“The detective sent it. Last three months—restaurants, hotels, a jewelry store…”
“Jewelry?” Elena raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t given you anything lately, has he?”
“No,” Yana gave a bitter smile. “But his new girlfriend is wearing a Cartier bracelet. The same one I saw in the card statement.”
Their favorite lavender tea arrived. Yana stirred in two spoons of sugar, just like always.
“Alright,” her mother pulled out a planner. “The apartment has been in my name for a year. Clean and legal. No shared loans. The car is his—he can keep it. But we’ll need to deal with the bank accounts.”
“Mom, I don’t care about the money.”
“You do,” Elena said firmly. “This isn’t just money—it’s your time. You worked for it, you saved. And he…”
“I know,” Yana gripped her cup. “He spoke to a lawyer yesterday. I overheard. About splitting assets, about the apartment…”
“Let him talk,” her mother smiled. “He doesn’t know about the gift deed, does he?”
“No. He thinks he can claim half. Or at least a share.”
“Are you sure? About the divorce?”
Yana looked out the window. A young couple walked by, holding hands. Just like she and Dima used to.
“Remember when you taught me to drive?” she suddenly changed the subject. “You said—look not just ahead, but in the mirrors. Danger might be there.”
“I remember,” Elena placed her hand over Yana’s. “And what do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Betrayal. A double life,” Yana opened her photo gallery. “Look. This was last week—restaurant ‘Nebo’. Three days ago—cinema. And this…”
“That’s enough,” her mother gently took the phone. “I get it. When?”
“Tonight. He’ll come home late, after seeing her. I’ve got everything ready.”
“Documents?”
“In your office safe. I packed my essentials. I’ll get the rest later.”
Her phone buzzed again—Dima: “Should I pick something up for dinner?”
“No need,” Yana typed. “We need to talk.”
Yana returned home at seven. The apartment smelled fresh—she’d opened the windows in the morning, changed the curtains, rearranged the vases. Her last time cleaning this space.
On the table, their wedding photo. She had worn a simple white dress, he a gray suit. No big ceremony, just close family. “The wedding doesn’t matter. What matters is the life after,” Dima had said. It sounded nice then.
She picked up the photo, ran her finger along the glass. Six years. She had believed it was real.
A message from the detective: “They’re leaving the restaurant. Sending photos now.”
One photo showed Dima kissing the blonde—on the street, out in the open. Wearing the same shirt Yana had given him for his last birthday.
“Thank you,” she replied. “No more needed.”
Keys jingled in the hallway. He was earlier than usual. Yana placed the photo back on the table and sat in a chair.
“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Dima called cheerfully. He smelled of wine and someone else’s perfume. “I have a surprise!”
“Oh really?” she watched as he pulled out a bottle of champagne. He swayed slightly.
“Yes! Guess what—they promoted me! I’m development director now. Double salary and…”
“And more time for meetings?” she asked quietly.
“What?” he froze, bottle in hand.
“Meetings. At the ‘Nebo’ restaurant. At the cinema. At the ‘Riviera’ hotel…”
Dima slowly lowered the bottle. His smile faded.
“You’ve been spying on me?”
“Not me. A detective,” Yana took out her phone. “Want to see the photos? They’re sweet. Especially the one in the car. And the kiss…”
“Wait,” he raised his hands. “Let’s talk. It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think, Dima?” she stood. “That my husband is sleeping with another woman? Giving her bracelets worth three hundred thousand? Emptying our joint account?”
“How do you…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yana turned toward the window. “What matters is that I know. And I’ve known for a while.”
“Sweetheart,” he stepped closer. “It was a mistake. Lera—she’s just a colleague…”
“Lera?” Yana smirked. “I thought it was Sveta. That’s what she’s called in your phone.”
“Yana…”
“Don’t touch me,” she pulled away. “And don’t bother explaining. I’ve already decided.”
“Decided what?”
“Divorce.”
“Divorce?” Dima laughed nervously. “Over a couple of meetings? Are you serious?”
“A couple of meetings?” Yana opened her photo gallery. “Here—March 15, restaurant. March 20, theater. March 25, restaurant again. April—four hotel visits. May—eight…”
“You counted?”
“The detective did. Very detailed. Dates, times, places. Lots of photos.”
Dima collapsed onto the couch. His tie was crooked, dark circles under his eyes. Not so happy now.
“So what now?” he rubbed his face. “You going to blackmail me?”
“Why?” Yana shrugged. “Just a divorce. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why else empty the account?”
He flinched. “How do you…”
“Bank statement. Yesterday—four million withdrawn. Preparing for asset division?”
“So what?” Dima turned defensive. “I have the right! That’s our money. And the apartment is shared. I’m legally entitled to half!”
“The apartment?” Yana smiled calmly. “Darling, the apartment isn’t mine. It’s my mother’s. So you can go ahead and file for divorce,” she said, handing him a printout. “This is the registry extract. Feel free to check it.”
Dima grabbed the papers. His hands shook as he read.
“How… when?”
“A year ago. Legal gift deed. My mother’s a lawyer—it’s all airtight.”
“You… you planned this?” he went pale. “You were preparing?”
“I was protecting myself,” Yana pulled out her packed bag. “Mom taught me—always think ahead. Especially when your husband starts working late.”
“Bitch…” Dima hissed.
“No need for insults,” she threw on her coat. “I’ll collect the rest of my things later. I’m leaving the keys with Mom—after all, it’s her place now. As for you… you can stay until the divorce. She’s fine with that.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. The game’s over, Dima. You lost.”
“Wait!” Dima jumped up, blocking the door. “Let’s talk. We can fix this!”
“Fix what?” Yana calmly zipped her coat. “The hotel visits? The bracelet? The lies?”
“I swear it’s over with Lera!”
“Really?” she pulled out her phone. “This photo was taken an hour ago. Quite a passionate kiss for ‘over’.”
Dima held his head. “Damn it… Yana, please. I was confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start fresh!”
“Fresh?” she gave a sad smile. “You know what’s funny? I really loved you. I resisted when Mom suggested signing over the apartment. I said, ‘Why? We’re a family…’”
She walked to the table, picked up their wedding photo. “Remember this day? You said we’d always be together. That you’d never betray me…”
“I love you!”
“No, Dima. You love yourself. And now that you’re losing the apartment, you’re trying to salvage what’s left.”
“That’s not true!” he went pale. “I really do love you!”
“Then why did you drain the account?” Yana set the photo down. “Why speak to a lawyer about asset division? Why search for a new apartment?”
“How do you…”
“The realtor you met on Monday? He’s my former client. Called me right after. You were looking for a two-bedroom. For you and Lera, right?”
Dima said nothing. The ticking clock echoed in the silence—a wedding gift from his parents.
“I had it all planned,” he finally muttered. “I was going to tell you. Make a clean break. Divide things fairly…”
“And take half the apartment,” Yana finished. “But you miscalculated. It’s my mother’s. And the money… take it. Consider it payment for six lost years.”
She headed to the door. Dima grabbed her hand. “Don’t leave! I’ll fix this!”
“It’s too late,” she gently pulled free. “The divorce papers will be ready tomorrow. Sign them and you’re free. Go live with Lera. Buy her jewelry… just not with our money.”
“I’ll sue!” he shouted. “I’ll prove the gift was fake!”
“Go ahead,” Yana turned. “My mother would love that. She hasn’t been in court for a while—she misses the thrill.”
The door closed. Yana walked slowly down the stairs. Her hands trembled, but she held herself together. Her mother waited in the car.
“How did it go?”
“Just like you said,” Yana fastened her seatbelt. “First denial, then begging, then threats when he realized about the apartment.”
“Classic,” Elena started the engine. “Home?”
“No. To your place. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The car pulled away. Yana looked out the window at the passing city. Somewhere out there, in a rented flat, Lera was waiting for Dima. Waiting for a glamorous life, expensive gifts…
“You know,” her mother said at a red light, “I’m proud of you. Most women endure for years, afraid to leave.”
“I just realized in time—it’s better to be alone than with a traitor.”
“And you’ve got a whole life ahead,” Elena smiled. “No more lies, no more humiliation. You’ll be okay.”
Yana nodded. Her phone buzzed in her bag—Dima again. She silenced it without checking. Tomorrow would be a new day. And a new life.