Marina stood at the checkout in Pyaterochka and counted the groceries in her head for the third time. Yogurt for the younger one, buckwheat, dumplings for two hundred and fifty, tomatoes. It came to one thousand eight hundred, and she had one thousand six hundred in her wallet.
“Mom,” her daughter’s voice on the phone was unusually calm. “Dad is buying an apartment. A three-room one. In Kuzminki.”
Marina held the box of dumplings and did not move.
“Miss, are we taking something off?” the cashier asked, looking over her glasses.
“The dumplings,” Marina said, placing the box back on the conveyor belt.
Sonya sat at the table, moving her fork around her plate. Nine years old, a thin neck, bitten nails.
“Sonya, finish your food.”
“Is it true Dad is going to take us to live with him?”
Marina slowly put the kettle down.
“Who told you that?”
“Liza. Dad will have a room for me.”
Liza was the older one, fifteen. In headphones, in her room. Marina went in without knocking.
“How do you know about the apartment?”
“Dad told me.” Liza pulled off one headphone. “On Saturday. When he picked me up.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“That the money for that project finally came through. Remember, he spent three years on it? He’s going to buy a three-room apartment so we can stay overnight at his place.”
Marina sat on the edge of the bed.
“Did he say how much money?”
“I don’t remember. Mom, what’s wrong with you? It’s a good thing. We’ll have our own room. At his place.”
Marina nodded and left. In the kitchen, Sonya was standing with a piece of bread, watching her closely.
“Mom, your face.”
“What face?”
“Like Grandma’s when she thinks they cheated her at the store.”
Andrei picked up on the third ring.
“What is it, Marina? Something with the kids?”
“How much money did you receive?”
A pause. Too long.
“Liza has a big mouth.”
“How much, Andrei?”
“It’s mine, Marina.”
“If you earned it during the marriage, it’s joint property. Have you forgotten basic accounting already?”
“Listen. Do you know how much time I killed on that thing? I lived inside that project for three years. I didn’t sleep. I went on a business trip when Sonya had a fever of thirty-nine. That money is mine.”
“And I was raising two children.”
“Raising them, sure. You were sitting at home.”
“I was sitting at home because you told me to, while the project was going on.”
“Nobody forced you.”
Marina bit her lip.
“Andrei, by law, half of it is mine.”
And then he laughed. Not nervously, but the way men in offices laugh at a foolish female subordinate.
“Good thing we got divorced. Now I’ll buy an apartment. And you, what, you want to live in my apartment too? You’re something else, Mother.”
“I don’t want the apartment. I want my half.”
“Go to court, Marina. Go ahead. Just keep in mind: I closed the project in December. We divorced in February. The money came in May. Let the lawyers figure out whose it is.”
He hung up.
Tatiana, the neighbor from the fifth floor, sat in Marina’s kitchen drinking compote. Tatiana had divorced four years earlier and had gone through everything — division of the apartment, the car, the dacha.
“Marinka, are you listening to me or what?” Tatiana snapped her fingers. “For heaven’s sake, what do you mean, ‘closed in December’? It wasn’t him who closed it, it was the acceptance certificate that was signed. And when did he do the work? During the marriage. That means it belongs to both of you. I’m telling you like family.”
“Tanya, he said I didn’t do anything.”
“Well, of course. And who dragged Sonya to the doctor at three in the morning when her throat swelled up? Some forest spirit? And I’ll tell you one more thing. He went to Saint Petersburg for six months in 2022. You raised two kids alone, went to work as a receptionist, earned fifteen thousand. And he didn’t bring his salary home; he poured everything into the project. So now you’re getting paid for that project too.”
“I’m not doing it for that.”
“Then what are you doing it for?”
Marina was silent. Tatiana finished her compote.
“Go to a lawyer. I’ll give you the number. He knows this stuff inside out.”
The lawyer — a man of about sixty, in a sweater, glasses on a chain — listened and nodded.
“The Family Code, Article 34. Income received by one spouse during the marriage is the joint property of both spouses. Regardless of who actually worked. The date the money was received does not matter if the work was performed during the marriage.”
“And if he says I didn’t work?”
The lawyer raised his eyebrows.
“That is irrelevant. The law does not require both spouses to earn money. One may work while the other keeps house. The income is still joint property.”
“And if part of the money has already been invested in an apartment?”
“If the apartment is registered after the divorce, in his name, using funds earned during the marriage, you have the right to demand compensation. Do you have documents?”
Marina placed printouts on the table. The lawyer studied them for a long time.
“Your chances are good. My fee is fifty thousand, plus the state duty. Do you want me to draft a formal claim? Sometimes that is enough.”
Fifty thousand. She had eleven thousand three hundred on her card.
“I’ll think about it.”
At home, Liza did not come out for dinner. Marina went to her door.
“Liz, cutlets.”
“I don’t want any.”
“Did something happen?”
The door opened. Liza stood there in pajamas, tear-stained.
“Why are you fighting with Dad?”
Marina went cold.
“I’m not fighting.”
“He wrote to me. He said you want to take half from him. That I can forget about having my own room. Mom, what are you doing?”
“Liz, it’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated? He worked, he earned it. Did you work on that project too?”
“I worked with you and Sonya.”
Liza was silent. Then she said quietly:
“That’s not work.”
And she closed the door.
Marina stood in the hallway. Music could be heard through the door, coming from the headphones. Sonya came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
“Mom, she’s stupid.”
“Don’t talk about your sister like that.”
“Well, isn’t she?” Sonya went into her room.
That night Marina lay awake and counted. Fifty thousand for the lawyer. One and a half million — that was her half, if things were fair. Minus the state duty, minus the lawyer. Minus the nerves.
But it was not about the money. Or rather, not only about the money.
She remembered how, in 2021, she had turned down the position of senior accountant at a construction firm. Andrei had said then, “Marinka, I’ve got this huge project right now, stay home for a while, and later I’ll get you a job anywhere you want.” She stayed home. Then he never got her a job. Then she went to work part-time as a receptionist at the district clinic.
And she also remembered how, in March 2023, she sat until three in the morning converting his pencil notes into Excel spreadsheets. He had said, “Marinka, just quickly, for the report, I don’t have time.” She did it. Twice. She no longer remembered how many nights there had been.
The phone on the nightstand flashed. A message from Tamara Vasilyevna.
“Marina, we need to talk. Tomorrow at twelve at my place. This is very important.”
Her mother-in-law lived in a two-room apartment near Preobrazhenskaya. She opened the door without smiling.
“Come in. Tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“Sit down.”
Marina sat on the edge of the sofa. Tamara Vasilyevna sat opposite her.
“Marinochka, I have always respected you. You gave birth to two children, you put up with Andryusha when he was young, with all his ambitions. I remember everything.”
“Tamara Vasilyevna, let’s get to the point.”
“To the point.” Her mother-in-law folded her hands. “Andrei told me everything. The money is his. He spent three years buried in that project. You had a hard life, I won’t deny that. But that is his sweat.”
“By law…”
“The law is the law, and conscience is conscience. How much do you receive in child support?”
“Forty-two.”
“Forty-two thousand. Every month. For two children. That is normal. Many people receive less. You live in your apartment — I don’t interfere. What more do you need?”
“I gave up my career.”
“You gave it up yourself. Nobody forced you.”
“Andrei asked me to.”
“He asked.” Her mother-in-law smirked. “Asked. A married woman makes her own decisions. She’s not a child.”
Marina stood up.
“I’m leaving.”
“Marinka, think about it. Don’t destroy things. He has Alyona, he has plans. The children will visit him, they will have their own room. It’s better for you too.”
“Goodbye, Tamara Vasilyevna.”
“Think about it, I’m telling you!”
Marina closed the entrance door behind her. Old women were sitting on a bench outside. One looked at her and said to the other:
“She was a good daughter-in-law. Always said hello.”
The lawyer called a week later.
“Marina Sergeyevna, I drafted the claim. As you requested.”
“I haven’t paid yet.”
“You’ll pay when you have the money. I know how these things are. Shall I file it?”
She was silent for a long time.
“File it.”
Two weeks later, Andrei came over. He came upstairs without calling first. He stood in the hallway without taking off his shoes.
“What are you doing, Marina?”
“You got the claim?”
“I got it. One and a half million. Have you lost your mind?”
“That is what I am entitled to.”
“What she’s entitled to.” He laughed, but not the way he had on the phone. Differently. More muffled. “Marinka, I’m talking to you like a human being. I took out a mortgage, paid the down payment. If you start this now, I won’t manage. I have payments. Alyona is pregnant.”
That was new.
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t. I’ll end up buried in debt.”
“And what kind of pit was I in these last two years?”
“Well, you live in your own apartment. You have a roof over your head.”
“I have two children and a part-time receptionist’s salary.”
“Go work. Nobody is stopping you.”
“And who will stay with Sonya when she has a fever?”
“Let Grandma stay with her.”
“Yours? She’s with you and Alyona, with her pregnancy.”
Andrei fell silent. Then he said:
“I thought you were a decent person.”
“I am a person.”
He turned around and left.
The court case lasted three months. Summer. Marina ran between the hearings, the clinic, and Sonya at camp — she had sent her to a session outside Moscow on a social voucher, free of charge. Liza barely spoke to her. She lived with her grandmother.
Once, in July, Marina met Alyona. At the entrance to the public services center in Tyoply Stan. Alyona stood there with her pregnant belly, eating ice cream. She saw Marina, turned away, then turned back.
“Marina?”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to say something.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t know you were still married when the money came in. He said it was after the divorce.”
“The money came in May. We divorced in February. What matters by law is when the work was done.”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“I understand.”
Alyona wiped her mouth with a napkin.
“He’s been walking around angry lately. I’m tired of him.”
“That is your life now.”
Marina walked on. She had to file for recalculation of child support at the public services center.
The court decision: one million four hundred twenty thousand in her favor. Andrei appealed. He lost the appeal.
In August, the money arrived in her account. Marina looked at the numbers in the app and felt nothing. No joy, no relief. Just numbers.
Liza returned from her grandmother’s at the end of August, before school. She stood in the doorway with a backpack.
“Mom.”
“Yes, Liz.”
“Grandma said you won.”
“I won.”
“Dad won’t buy the apartment now.”
“He will. Just a smaller one.”
“I like it better at Grandma’s. She doesn’t take things away.”
Marina nodded. She did not argue.
“Do you want tea?”
“I don’t.”
Liza went to her room.
Marina sat down on the stool in the hallway. Sonya came out of her room wearing her new school uniform, trying it on.
“Mom, the skirt is too long. Hem it.”
“Right now, Sonya. Bring me the thread.”
Sonya brought the spool. Marina took the needle, threaded it on the third try, and began to hem the skirt.