«I found someone else. Pack your bags and get out of my apartment,» her husband declared, but his wife just gave him a cunning, narrowed look.
Viktoria had barely crossed the threshold when her husband, Igor, met her in the hallway with the look of a conqueror. The betrayal, which she hadn’t even suspected, hung heavy in the air alongside the scent of someone else’s perfume clinging to his shirt. The money her parents had invested in this two-bedroom apartment five years ago, right after they registered their marriage in college, suddenly took on an entirely different meaning.
«Look, honey, let’s skip the scene,» Igor said, crossing his arms. «I have a mistress. Almost a year now. And I want to live with her here. So pack your stuff and get lost.»
Viktoria slowly took off her shoes and carefully placed her bag on the side table. Igor’s mother—her mother-in-law—always bragged at every family gathering about how «she and her husband bought the kids an apartment.» And Igor apparently believed it so deeply that he was now looking at her like she was just some random tenant.
«Are you deaf or what?» Igor raised his voice. «I’m telling you plain and simple: get out of here. It’s my apartment. My mother paid for it. Your mother only chipped in a few pennies, that’s all.»
Viktoria walked into the living room, sat down in the armchair, and crossed her legs. For five years, she had been building her career while Igor pretended to be the big provider. She now had two people reporting to her, and this was only the first step. Her salary already exceeded what her soon-to-be-ex-husband was making.
«Igorchik,» she smiled, «go on. I’m listening.»
«What is there to go on about?» he threw his hands up. «You’re cold as a fish. Work, work, work. And I wanted some warmth. So I found it.»
«Warmth, is that it?» Viktoria nodded. «And how long have you been warming up?»
«Almost a year, I’m telling you!» Igor jerked his shoulder in annoyance. «And don’t look at me like that. It’s your own fault. I’m a young man, I need attention. Not your spreadsheets and reports.»
Viktoria pulled out her phone, but didn’t look at it. She laid it down on the armrest next to her. Igor didn’t even notice the gesture, fired up by his own speech.
«So what, is she moving in here with you?» Viktoria asked with genuine interest.
«Any day now!» Igor thrust his chin up triumphantly. «A divorce is just a formality. A month or two, max. So let’s skip the hysterics. You’ll pack your little things and head back to mommy’s.»
—
«Wait,» Viktoria raised a finger. «Let me get this straight. You’re sure the apartment is yours? Meaning—your mother’s?»
Igor rolled his eyes with the air of a man explaining something obvious to a child.
«Vika, don’t be dense. My parents bought this place. Your mother only chipped in symbolically, like for wallpaper and curtains. We both know that.»
«You’ve got a funny memory,» Viktoria leaned back in the armchair. «So selective. Like a goldfish, only in reverse—you remember things that never happened.»
«Don’t feed me that crap!» he shrieked, his voice rising. «My mother told everyone how she and my dad broke their backs to set us up with an apartment!»
«Telling and paying are two different verbs, Igorchik. They get conjugated differently.»
Igor turned crimson. He clearly wasn’t used to his wife not crying, not throwing a fit, and not begging him to reconsider. Instead, she was sitting there with a slight smile, as if she were watching an entertaining play.
«Look, I’m not standing here arguing with you!» he jabbed a finger in her direction. «Pack your junk. You’ve got two days.»
Viktoria picked up her phone and dialed. Igor frowned.
«Who are you calling?»
«Your mom. I want to clear something up about the apartment.»
«Go right ahead!» he smirked. «She’ll tell you the exact same thing. We paid for this place.»
Dial tones. Then a woman’s voice:
— Hello? Vika?
— Nina Petrovna, hello. You’re on speakerphone. Igor is right here. Could you please tell me what percentage of this apartment’s cost your family contributed when we bought it?
A pause. Viktoria watched as the confidence on Igor’s face began to melt like snow under the spring sun. Something about his mother’s silence unnerved him.
— Vikulia, — the mother-in-law’s voice turned cautious, — why are you asking?
— Just answer the question, please. Your son claims that you paid for practically everything, while my mother only chipped in a «few pennies.»
A heavy sigh came through the speaker.
— Igor, what on earth did you say? — Nina Petrovna’s voice turned strict. — We contributed twenty percent. The other eighty came from Tamara, Vika’s mother.
Igor’s jaw dropped as if he’d been hit with a sack of cement. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again.
— Mom, what are you talking about? You always said…
— I said we helped with the apartment. And that’s true. Twenty percent is help, too, by the way. What on earth did you imagine?
Viktoria raised a finger, asking for attention.
— Nina Petrovna, and one more thing. Three months ago, you sold your share to my mother. Is that right?…
Viktoria walked into the living room, sat down in the armchair, and crossed her legs. For five years, she had been building her career while Igor pretended to be the big provider. She now had two people reporting to her, and this was only the first step. Her salary already exceeded what her soon-to-by-ex-husband was making.
«Igorchik,» she smiled, «go on. I’m listening.»
«What is there to go on about?» he threw his hands up. «You’re cold as a fish. Work, work, work. And I wanted some warmth. So I found it.»
«Warmth, is that it?» Viktoria nodded. «And how long have you been warming up?»
«Almost a year, I’m telling you!» Igor jerked his shoulder in annoyance. «And don’t look at me like that. It’s your own fault. I’m a young man, I need attention. Not your spreadsheets and reports.»
Viktoria pulled out her phone, but didn’t look at it. She laid it down on the armrest next to her. Igor didn’t even notice the gesture, fired up by his own speech.
«So what, is she moving in here with you?» Viktoria asked with genuine interest.
«Any day now!» Igor thrust his chin up triumphantly. «A divorce is just a formality. A month or two, max. So let’s skip the hysterics. You’ll pack your little things and head back to mommy’s.»
«Wait,» Viktoria raised a finger. «Let me get this straight. You’re sure the apartment is yours? Meaning—your mother’s?»
Igor rolled his eyes with the air of a man explaining something obvious to a child.
«Vika, don’t be dense. My parents bought this place. Your mother only chipped in symbolically, like for wallpaper and curtains. We both know that.»
«You’ve got a funny memory,» Viktoria leaned back in the armchair. «So selective. Like a goldfish, only in reverse—you remember things that never happened.»
«Don’t feed me that crap!» he shrieked, his voice rising. «My mother told everyone how she and my dad broke their backs to set us up with an apartment!»
«Telling and paying are two different verbs, Igorchik. They get conjugated differently.»
Igor turned crimson. He clearly wasn’t used to his wife not crying, not throwing a fit, and not begging him to reconsider. Instead, she was sitting there with a slight smile, as if she were watching an entertaining play.
«Look, I’m not standing here arguing with you!» he jabbed a finger in her direction. «Pack your junk. You’ve got two days.»
Viktoria picked up her phone and dialed. Igor frowned.
«Who are you calling?»
«Your mom. I want to clear something up about the apartment.»
«Go right ahead!» he smirked. «She’ll tell you the exact same thing. We paid for this place.»
Dial tones. Then a woman’s voice:
— Hello? Vika?
— Nina Petrovna, hello. You’re on speakerphone. Igor is right here. Could you please tell me what percentage of this apartment’s cost your family contributed when we bought it?
A pause. Viktoria watched as the confidence on Igor’s face began to melt like snow under the spring sun. Something about his mother’s silence unnerved him.
— Vikulia, — the mother-in-law’s voice turned cautious, — why are you asking?
— Just answer the question, please. Your son claims that you paid for practically everything, while my mother only chipped in a «few pennies.»
A heavy sigh came through the speaker.
— Igor, what on earth did you say? — Nina Petrovna’s voice turned strict. — We contributed twenty percent. The other eighty came from Tamara, Vika’s mother.
Igor’s jaw dropped as if he’d been hit with a sack of cement. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again.
— Mom, what are you talking about? You always said…
— I said we helped with the apartment. And that’s true. Twenty percent is help, too, by the way. What on earth did you imagine?
Viktoria raised a finger, asking for attention.
— Nina Petrovna, and one more thing. Three months ago, you sold your share to my mother. Is that right?
Silence. Then a sigh.
— Yes, Vikulia. Tamara offered to buy me out. I needed the money, you know how it is… She gave a good price. I’m very grateful to her for accommodating us.
Igor grabbed his head.
— Mom! You sold it? Without me? You didn’t tell me anything?!
— What business of yours is it? — Nina Petrovna sounded surprised. — That was me and your father’s share. It had nothing to do with you. The apartment is registered in Vika’s name.
Viktoria put her phone on the coffee table without hanging up. Igor stood in the middle of the room like a monument to his own stupidity. All his arrogance had evaporated, leaving behind sheer confusion and a growing panic.
— Wait, — he licked his dry lips. — You mean… the apartment…
— Belongs entirely to my mom, — Viktoria spread her hands. — Who, by the way, never bragged about it at family gatherings. She just quietly paid for it.
— But we’re married! — Igor latched onto the thought like a drowning man clutching a straw. — It’s jointly acquired property!
— Igorchik, you weren’t listening carefully. The apartment belongs to my mom. Not to me. To my mom. Basically, we’re both living on her property. Except I’m the owner’s daughter. And you—who are you?
He turned pale.
— You planned this on purpose, — his voice grew hoarse. — Three months ago… Did you know about my… about Lera?
— This is the first time I’m hearing that name, — Viktoria shrugged. — Three months ago, I wasn’t thinking about your little flings at all. Mom just decided to simplify the paperwork. She likes things orderly.
The mother-in-law’s voice blared from the phone speaker:
— Igor! Is this true? You have a mistress?!
He flinched as if he’d been struck by lightning, having completely forgotten that his mother was still on the line.
— Mom, it’s… it’s complicated…
— Complicated?! You idiot! You traded Vika for some… And you actually tried to kick her out of an apartment that belongs to her?!
— Technically—her mom’s, — Viktoria chimed in.
— Vikulia, sweetheart, — the mother-in-law’s voice grew guilt-ridden, — forgive my idiot of a son. I raised him, of course, but sometimes even I’m amazed at what turned out.
— Mom! — Igor turned crimson. — You could at least support me!
— Support you in what? In deciding to toss your wife out onto the street from someone else’s apartment? With this delusion in your head that you’re the master of the house? Igor, get home right now. We need to talk.
Viktoria picked up the phone.
— Nina Petrovna, thank you for being honest. I appreciate it.
— Vika, — the mother-in-law’s voice trembled, — are you… are you getting a divorce?
— Your son announced it to me a minute ago. He has another woman. For almost a year. So yes. We’re getting a divorce.
Igor lunged forward.
— Wait! Maybe I spoke too soon…
— Spoke too soon? — Viktoria raised an eyebrow. — A year’s worth of speaking too soon? Every single day with Lera was what, a prolonged burst of passion?
— Vika, come on, let’s talk about it…
— A discussion is when two people talk. What we had was a monologue. Yours. About «packing your bags,» «my apartment,» «getting lost.» It was quite a performance. Very convincing.
She stood up from the armchair and walked right up to him. Igor instinctively took a step back.
— You know what amazes me? — Her voice was calm, almost gentle. — You didn’t even try to lie well. You didn’t make up a version about «we’re just two different people.» You didn’t pretend to suffer. You just walked in and announced I had to vanish because you had a new toy. That’s not even nerve. That’s a very special kind of talent.
— You’re mocking me, — Igor hissed. — Humiliating me on purpose.
— Humiliating you? — Viktoria laughed. — Igorchik, you did that all by yourself. Brilliantly. I didn’t even have time to do a thing. You walked in, announced your mistress, demanded I vacate someone else’s apartment, and then got a call from your mom confirming the whole thing. I just sat back and watched. Like going to the theater. Only I was missing the popcorn.
He clenched his jaw.
— And where am I supposed to go now? To my mother’s?
— Where else? To Lera’s? — Viktoria tilted her head. — Oh, wait. She doesn’t even have her own place, otherwise you wouldn’t have planned to move her in here. Isn’t that rich: you wanted to live with a new woman in an apartment belonging to your old wife’s mother. That is the absolute pinnacle of audacity.
— Shut up!
— I will not shut up. Five minutes ago, you were screaming that I needed to get lost. Now it’s my turn to talk. And your turn to listen.
Viktoria walked over to the window and turned her back to him.
— Five years, Igor. I worked twelve hours a day. Built a career. I thought it was for us. For our future. But turns out, you were busy building a different future on the side. With Lera. On my square footage—or rather, my mom’s.
— It’s your own fault! — he blurted out. — You didn’t give a damn about me! You never noticed me!
— Never noticed you? — She spun around. — I cooked dinners. Washed your shirts. Remembered your friends’ birthdays. Put up with their hangouts. Blew up that stupid air mattress for Antoha when he slept on our couch for a week after his divorce. You call that «not noticing»?
Igor looked away.
— That’s just domestic routine. I needed something else.
— What else? Admiration? Applause just for getting out of bed in the morning? A medal for taking out the trash once a week?
— Oh, go to hell!
Viktoria walked over to the closet and pulled a folded air mattress off the top shelf.
— Here, catch, — she tossed it to Igor. — You’ll sleep on this. In the living room. In the morning, you’ll go to your mother’s. Or to Lera’s. I couldn’t care less.
He caught the mattress and stared at it like it was an alien artifact.
— Are you serious?
— Completely. I’m not going to throw you out into the middle of the night. That would be petty. But you are not sleeping in my bedroom. And tomorrow, you will not be here. That is non-negotiable.
— Vika, — his voice suddenly turned plaintive, — can’t we talk like adults? Without emotions?
— Without emotions? — She scoffed. — Igorchik, you just spent the last year cheating on me, called my mother a freeloader, ordered me out of my own home, and now you want «no emotions»? Do you even hear yourself?
He slumped down onto the sofa, still clutching the mattress.
— I didn’t think it would turn out like this.
— And how did you think it would go? — Viktoria sat down on the armrest of the opposite chair. — Let’s reconstruct your brilliant master plan. You break the news about your mistress to me. I sob and beg, and you magnanimously allow me to pack a suitcase. I walk out into the dark night. Lera moves in. You live happily ever after in a rent-free apartment. Right?
He remained silent.
— You know what the saddest part is? — she continued. — You didn’t even bother to check the paperwork. For five years of marriage, you never once asked whose name was on the deed. Your mother’s stories were enough for you. Because that version was convenient. You’re the heir. I’m the freeloader. Quite a neat picture.
— I thought…
— You didn’t think, Igor. That’s the whole problem. You didn’t think when you started seeing Lera. You didn’t think when you decided to kick me out. You didn’t think when you opened your mouth today. You never think. You just do whatever you feel like. Like a child. Only you’re thirty years old.
Igor looked up at her.
— So what now?
— Now—we get a divorce. It’s what you wanted, after all. Or have you changed your mind already?
He hesitated. Viktoria could see the gears turning in his head. The apartment was gone. His mother was furious. Lera was homeless. His wife’s career was skyrocketing. The landscape had drastically changed.
— Maybe… we give ourselves some time? — he tried a weak smile. — Cool off, think about it…
— Time? — Viktoria stood up. — Igor, you gave yourself a whole year with another woman. And now you’re asking me to think? After everything you pulled? After calling me a frozen fish? After trying to move your mistress into my home?
— Vika…
— No, — she shook her head. — I’m accepting your decision. A divorce. Since you brought it up, let’s go through with it. Clean and simple. No drama, no dirty tricks, no trying to ruin your life. You just pack up and leave. But don’t ask me to pretend none of this ever happened.
Igor hunched over on the sofa. All his arrogance, all his bravado—gone in an instant. Just a bewildered man left behind, having severely miscalculated his standing.
— I’m an idiot, — he said quietly.
— Finally, something we can agree on, — Viktoria headed toward the bedroom door. — There’s a pump in the box for the mattress. Grab a blanket from the hall closet. In the morning, I expect you packed and ready to go.
She paused on the threshold.
— And Igor… Don’t try coming in to make up tonight. The door will be locked. And tomorrow—tomorrow our new life begins. Separately. Just like you wanted.
The door clicked shut. Igor sat alone in the darkening room, clutching the inflatable mattress—the symbol of his brand-new life. The very one he had chosen for himself. Only for some reason, it looked nothing like what he had planned.
