“Are you sure?” the realtor asked again, skimming through the paperwork.
“A deed of gift isn’t something simple. Reversing it later will be complicated.”
“I’m sure,” Yana replied, signing her name with a steady hand. She didn’t hesitate—she had made her decision long ago.
The notary’s office was filled with soft morning light. The air conditioner purred quietly, and the waiting room smelled faintly of coffee. Just an ordinary May day when life-changing choices were being made.
“Mom knows what to do if anything ever happens,” Yana said, slipping the signed documents into her purse.
That was a year ago. Long before Dima’s late nights at work. Before the perfume that wasn’t hers started clinging to his clothes. Before the hushed phone calls and locked phone screen.
Yana wasn’t naive. She’d been raised in a family of lawyers and had learned early to think two steps ahead. The apartment was bought with the inheritance she received from her grandmother. Dima had been just starting out back then, buried in car loans and career hopes.
“Sweetheart, put the apartment under my name,” her mother had gently suggested. “Not because I expect trouble, but as a safety net. Life is unpredictable.”
Yana hadn’t fought it. No argument, no dramatic scene. She just quietly transferred the apartment to her mother with a legal deed of gift. Clean on paper. Strategic in reality.
That morning, a message from Dima buzzed on her phone. “Staying late again. Big meeting.”
Yana smiled faintly. Big meeting. The same words as the day before. And the day before that. She opened the latest photo from the private investigator: Dima and a blonde woman entering a restaurant, his hand on her waist, their smiles careless and easy.
“Coffee?” the receptionist asked.
“No thanks,” Yana said, standing up. “Is everything ready?”
“In about an hour the final documents will be here.”
Outside, the May air was soft and warm. The lilacs had already faded, but a hint of their scent still lingered. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so solid, so sincere. She had believed in him.
Her phone rang again. “Love, I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Alright,” she answered. “I’ve got a few things to take care of myself.”
The café was quiet, caught in the lull between lunch and dinner. Yana chose a seat by the window and took out a folder from her bag. This was her mother’s favorite spot. They often came here to drink lavender tea and reminisce.
Her mother arrived a few minutes later, removing her light jacket as she sat across from her.
“Did you bring everything?” Elena Sergeyevna asked.
Yana nodded and spread the documents out across the table.
“Here’s the bank statement. He drained almost the entire joint account. Yesterday.”
“He’s preparing his exit,” her mother said calmly. “What’s this?”
“A report from the detective. The past three months—dinners, hotels, jewelry purchases…”
“Jewelry?” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t given you anything, has he?”
“No,” Yana said softly. “But his new girlfriend wears a Cartier bracelet. The exact model listed on the credit card statement.”
The waitress brought their lavender tea. Yana stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar, just like she always did.
“Well,” her mother said, flipping through her planner, “the apartment’s been in my name for over a year now. Everything was done legally. You have no joint loans. He can keep the car. But we’ll need to work on the finances.”
“I’m not interested in the money,” Yana replied.
“You should be,” her mother said firmly. “It’s not about greed. It’s about fairness. You worked hard, you saved, and he… well, he made other plans.”
“I overheard him speaking with a lawyer,” Yana added. “He thinks he can claim part of the apartment.”
“Let him think that,” her mother said with a hint of a smile. “He doesn’t know it’s no longer yours.”
“No. He believes he’ll get half.”
“Are you completely sure about the divorce?”
Yana looked out the window. A young couple passed by, hand in hand, laughing. Once, she and Dima had looked just like that.
“Do you remember teaching me to drive?” she asked suddenly. “You said to look ahead, but also always check the mirrors.”
“I remember,” her mother said, taking her hand gently. “What do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Deception. A life built on false promises.” Yana pulled out her phone. “Look. This one’s from last week—restaurant. This one’s from three days ago—movie theater. And this—”
“That’s enough,” her mother said quietly, taking the phone. “I believe you. So… today?”
“Yes. He’ll be home late again. I’ve prepared everything.”
“Documents?”
“In the office safe. I packed the essentials. I’ll pick up the rest later.”
Her phone buzzed again. “Need anything for dinner?” Dima asked.
“No need. We need to talk,” she typed back.
She arrived home before seven. The place smelled clean and fresh. She had opened the windows earlier that morning, changed the curtains, polished the table. A farewell ritual.
On the table stood their wedding photo. She touched the glass gently. Back then, she wore a simple white dress. He wore a gray suit. They had smiled, surrounded only by close friends and family. Dima had said, “The wedding isn’t what matters. It’s the life we build together.” How beautifully he had spoken.
A message came in from the detective. “They’ve left the restaurant. Sending the photo now.”
In the image, Dima was kissing the woman. Right there on the sidewalk. He was wearing the shirt she had given him for his birthday—just the day before.
“Thanks,” she replied. “No more photos.”
Moments later, keys jingled in the hallway. He was earlier than expected. Yana placed the wedding photo back on the table and sat in the armchair.
“Darling, I’m home!” Dima called, his voice unnaturally cheerful. He reeked of wine and another woman’s perfume. “Guess what? I’ve got a surprise!”
“Really?” she said evenly, watching him pull a bottle of champagne from a bag.
“Yes! I got promoted. Development Director now. Twice the salary. Can you believe it?”
“And more meetings, I suppose?” she said quietly.
“What?” he blinked.
“Meetings. At the restaurant. At the theater. At the Riviera hotel.”
His hand slowly lowered the bottle. The smile disappeared.
“Have you been spying on me?”
“No,” she answered. “The detective has. Would you like to see the photos? They’re very clear. Especially the one where you’re kissing her in the car.”
“Wait, listen,” he said quickly. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Then what is it, Dima? That you’re having an affair? That you gave her a bracelet worth three hundred thousand? That you cleared out our joint account?”
“How do you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. “What matters is, I know. And I’ve known for a while.”
“I can explain. Lena is just a colleague—”
“Lena?” she laughed softly. “Funny. In your phone she’s saved as Sveta.”
“Yana, please—”
“Don’t touch me,” she said firmly. “And don’t bother explaining. I’ve already made my decision.”
“What decision?”
She turned back to the window. The same young couple walked by again, still holding hands. “I’ve decided on divorce.”
“Divorce? Over a few dinners? You can’t be serious.”
“A few dinners?” She opened her phone. “March fifteenth. March twentieth. March twenty-fifth. April? Four hotel visits. May? Eight. Shall I go on?”
“You kept track?”
“The detective did. Full report. Times. Dates. Photos.”
Dima sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.
“And now?” he said weakly. “You want to blackmail me?”
“No,” she answered. “I just want to move on. You clearly already have.”
“I have rights,” he snapped suddenly. “The apartment is ours. By law, I get half!”
“The apartment?” Yana smiled. “It’s not mine. It’s my mother’s. Transferred a year ago. Here—check the official records.”
He grabbed the document with shaking hands.
“How… when?”
“Last May. Everything legal. My mother made sure of that.”
“You planned this,” he muttered. “You were waiting for this.”
“I was preparing. My mother taught me to be smart. Especially when husbands start coming home late.”
“Unbelievable…”
“Don’t be rude,” she said, pulling her coat on. “I’ll collect the rest of my things later. You can stay—for now. It’s Mom’s apartment. She agreed.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, Dima. This is checkmate. You lost.”
He jumped to block the door. “We can fix this. Let’s talk.”
“What exactly are we fixing? The betrayal? The stolen money? The lies?”
“I ended it with Lena. I swear.”
She raised her phone. “Then explain this photo. From just an hour ago.”
He clutched his head. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. Please—let’s start over.”
“And here’s the sad part,” she said quietly. “I loved you. I believed in us. I didn’t want to transfer the apartment, but Mom insisted. I told her we were a family.”
She picked up the wedding photo. “Remember what you said that day? That you’d never betray me.”
“I still love you.”
“No. You love comfort. You love yourself. And now that you’re losing everything, you’re scrambling.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Really?” she said. “Then explain the apartment search. The new place you were planning. My client is the realtor you met.”
He didn’t respond. The clock ticked loudly behind them.
“I was going to do this peacefully,” he finally said. “Divide things equally.”
“And take half of everything,” she finished. “But you miscalculated. The apartment is already gone. And the money? Keep it. Consider it your payment for wasting six years of my life.”
She walked to the door. He grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t go. I can fix this.”
“It’s too late,” she said, gently freeing herself. “The papers will be ready tomorrow. You’ll sign them. And you’ll be free—to buy bracelets with your own money.”
“I’ll go to court! I’ll challenge the gift deed!”
“Go ahead,” she said. “Mom will be thrilled. She misses the courtroom.”
She closed the door behind her. Her hands trembled slightly as she descended the stairs. Outside, her mother waited in the car.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Exactly as you said. First denial. Then pleading. Then threats.”
“Classic,” her mother said, starting the engine. “Shall we go home?”
“No. Your place. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The car rolled forward. Yana stared out the window. Somewhere, Lena was probably waiting for Dima in some tastefully decorated apartment, dreaming of luxury.
“You did the right thing,” her mother said at a red light. “Most women wait too long.”
“I just saw the truth in time,” Yana replied. “And I realized I’d rather be alone than betrayed.”
Her phone buzzed again—Dima. She turned it off without looking.
Tomorrow was a new day. And her life was finally hers again.