Are you sure?” the realtor reviewed the documents once more.
“A deed of gift is serious. It will be difficult to reverse later.”
“I’m sure,” Yana signed. Her hand did not tremble—she had decided everything.
The May morning bathed the notary office in sunlight. The air conditioner hummed peacefully on the windowsill, and the reception area smelled of coffee. An ordinary day when unusual issues are being decided.
“Mom knows what to do,” Yana said, tucking a copy of the documents into her purse. “In case something happens.”
That was a year ago—long before Dima began staying late at work. Before the appearance of an unfamiliar woman’s perfume on his shirts. Before the strange evening phone calls.
Yana was not naive. She had grown up in a family of lawyers, where from childhood she was taught to think two steps ahead. They had bought the apartment with her money—a legacy from her grandmother. Dima was just starting his career then and had signed a car loan.
“Sweetheart, transfer the title to me,” her mother had said at length. “Not for a divorce—just as insurance. You never know what life holds.”
And Yana agreed. No scandal, no explanations to her husband. She simply gifted the apartment to her mother. On paper—a clean transaction. In fact—a backup plan.
The phone rang—a message from Dima: “I’ll be late today. An important meeting.”
Yana smiled sadly. An important meeting. Just like yesterday. And the day before. She opened the photo that a private detective had sent: Dima and some blonde walking into a restaurant. His hand on her waist, happy smiles.
“Would you like some?” the secretary offered a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, I don’t feel like it,” Yana replied as she stood up. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, in an hour the full set of documents will be here.”
Yana stepped outside. May was warm—the lilacs had already finished blooming, but the air still held their scent. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so reliable, so faithful. She believed him…
The phone rang again: “Darling, sorry, tonight will be very late. Don’t wait.”
“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll be late too. I need to settle a few things.”
The café was quiet—a post-lunch lull. Yana chose a table by the window and pulled out a folder with documents. It was her and her mother’s favorite place—cozy, with pastries like in childhood.
“Got everything?” her mother asked as she sat opposite, removing her light jacket. “Let’s take a look.”
Elena Sergeyevna, who at fifty-five looked only forty, was a renowned family law attorney. She had seen hundreds of divorces and knew all the pitfalls.
“Here’s a bank statement,” Yana spread out the papers. “He withdrew almost all the money from our joint account. Yesterday.”
“He’s getting ready,” her mother nodded. “And this?”
“The detective sent this. The last three months—restaurants, hotels, a jewelry store…”
“Jewelry?” Elena Sergeyevna raised an eyebrow. “Hasn’t he given you anything recently?”
“No,” Yana smiled sadly. “But his new girlfriend wears a Cartier bracelet—the very one I saw on the card statement.”
A waitress brought their favorite lavender tea. Yana mechanically stirred in sugar—two teaspoons, as always.
“Alright, so,” her mother pulled out her planner. “The apartment has been registered in my name for a year. Clean, legal. No joint loans. His car—let him keep it. But as for the accounts, we’ll have to work on those.”
“Mom, I don’t need money.”
“You do,” Elena Sergeyevna looked sternly at her daughter. “It’s not just money—it’s your years. You’ve worked, saved. And he…”
“I know,” Yana said, clutching her cup. “He spoke with a lawyer yesterday. I overheard the conversation. About dividing assets, about the apartment…”
“Let him talk,” her mother smiled. “He doesn’t know about the deed of gift, does he?”
“No. He thinks he can claim half, or at least a share.”
“Are you sure? About the divorce?”
Yana gazed out the window. A young couple strolled down the street—so young, holding hands. Like they once were with Dima.
“Do you remember when you taught me to drive?” she suddenly changed the subject. “You said: look not only ahead, but also in the mirrors. Danger could be there.”
“I remember,” Elena Sergeyevna covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “And what do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Betrayal. A double life,” Yana said as she pulled out her phone and opened the gallery. “Look. This is from a week ago—at the restaurant ‘Nebo.’ And this is from three days ago—at the cinema. And this one…”
“That’s enough,” her mother gently took the phone away. “I understand. When?”
“Today. He’ll come home late, after meeting her. I have prepared everything.”
“Documents?”
“In the safe at your office. I’ve packed my essentials. I’ll collect the rest later.”
The phone rang—the message from Dima: “Want to buy something for dinner?”
“No need,” Yana typed. “We have a serious conversation.”
Yana returned home by seven. The apartment smelled of freshness—she had opened the windows in the morning, changed the curtains, rearranged the vases. The final cleaning in this house.
On the table—their wedding photo. Back then, she had worn a simple white dress, he— a gray suit. No lavish ceremony, just close ones. “The wedding isn’t the main thing, but the life afterwards,” Dima had said. How beautifully he spoke.
Yana picked up the photograph, running her finger along the glass. Six years. Six years she believed that everything between them was real.
The phone rang—the detective’s message: “They are leaving the restaurant. Sending the photo.”
In the snapshot, Dima was kissing a blonde. Right on the street, without hiding. In that same shirt Yana had given him for his birthday the day before.
“Thanks,” she wrote. “No more needed.”
Keys jingled in the hall—earlier than usual. Yana placed the photo back on the table and sat in an armchair.
“Darling, I’m home!” Dima sounded unusually cheerful. He smelled of wine and someone else’s perfume. “And I’ve got a surprise!”
“Oh, really?” she watched as her husband pulled a bottle of champagne out of a bag. He wavered slightly.
“Yes! Imagine, I got promoted! Now I’m the Development Director. My salary is doubled, and…”
“And more time for meetings?” Yana asked quietly.
“What?” he froze with the bottle in hand.
“Meetings. At the restaurant ‘Nebo.’ At the cinema. At the ‘Riviera’ hotel…”
Dima slowly lowered the bottle. The smile faded from his face.
“Have you been watching me?”
“Not me. The detective,” Yana said, pulling out her phone. “Want to see the photos? Very clear. Especially the one of you kissing her outside the restaurant. And in the car. And…”
“Wait,” he raised his hands. “Let’s talk. It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think, Dima?” she stood up. “That my husband is sleeping with another woman? That he gives her bracelets worth three hundred thousand? That he withdraws money from our joint account?”
“How did you…?”
“Never mind,” Yana moved toward the window. “The important thing is this: I know everything. And I’ve known for a long time.”
“Sweetheart,” he stepped toward her. “It’s a mistake. I’ll explain everything. Lena is just a colleague…”
“Lena?” Yana smirked. “So it’s Lena. And I thought it was Sveta. In your phone, she’s saved as Sveta.”
“Yana…”
“Don’t touch me,” she pulled away. “And you don’t have to explain. I have already decided everything.”
“And what have you decided?”
Yana looked out the window. A couple strolled down the street—so young, holding hands. Like they once were with Dima. “I have decided on divorce.”
“Divorce?” Dima laughed nervously. “Over a few meetings? Are you serious?”
“A few meetings?” Yana opened her phone gallery. “Look—March 15, restaurant. March 20, theater. March 25—restaurant again. In April—four hotel meetings. In May—already eight…”
“Did you count?”
“The detective did. A very detailed report—dates, times, locations. And photos. Lots of photos.”
Dima flopped onto the couch. His tie was askew, dark circles under his eyes. Not as happy as he had been in the photo with his lover.
“And now?” he asked, burying his face in his hands. “Are you going to blackmail me?”
“Why?” Yana shrugged. “Just a divorce. You want this, don’t you? Otherwise, why else would you withdraw money from our account?”
He flinched: “How did you…”
“Bank statement. Yesterday, almost all—four million withdrawn. Are you preparing for dividing the assets?”
“And what’s so special about that?” Dima suddenly became aggressive. “I have the right! It’s our joint money. And the apartment is ours. By law, I’m entitled to half!”
“Apartment?” Yana smiled calmly. “Honey, the apartment isn’t mine—it’s Mom’s. So go ahead and file for divorce,” Yana said calmly to Dima. “Here is the extract from Rosreestr. You can check.”
Dima grabbed the papers. His hands trembled as he read.
“How… when?”
“A year ago. A legal deed of gift. Mom is a lawyer—everything was properly arranged.”
“Did you… did you do it on purpose?” he paled. “Were you planning for this?”
“As insurance,” Yana moved to the closet and retrieved a packed bag. “Mom taught me—always think one step ahead. Especially when your husband starts staying late at work.”
“Fuck…” Dima hissed.
“Don’t stoop to insults,” she wrapped her coat around herself. “I’ll collect my things later. I’ll leave the keys with Mom—it’s her apartment. And you… can live here until the divorce. Mom agreed.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. It’s the end of the game, Dima. You lost.”
“Wait!” Dima jumped up, blocking her path to the door. “Let’s talk. This can all be fixed!”
“What can be fixed?” Yana calmly fastened her coat. “Your hotel trips? Or the three-hundred-thousand bracelet? Or the lies about staying late at work?”
“I’ll explain everything! It’s over with Lena, I swear!”
“Really?” she pulled out her phone. “And this photo was taken an hour ago. A very passionate kiss for ‘it’s over’.”
Dima clutched his head: “Damn… Yana, listen. I’m confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start over!”
“Start over?” she smiled sadly. “And do you know what’s the funniest part? I truly loved you. I believed in you. When Mom suggested transferring the apartment, I resisted. I said—why, we’re a family…”
She moved to the table and picked up their wedding photo. “Remember that day? You said that we’d always be together. That you’d never betray me…”
“I love you!”
“No, Dima. You only love yourself. And now, when you realize you’re going to be left without an apartment, you’re trying to salvage something.”
“That’s not true!” he paled. “I really do love you!”
“Then why did you withdraw all the money from our account?” Yana placed the photo back down. “Why did you consult a lawyer about asset division? Why did you look for another apartment?”
“How did you…”
“The realtor you met on Monday—my old client. He called and told me. You were looking for a two-bedroom in the center. For you and Lena, right?”
Dima fell silent. The ticking of the clock on the wall—a wedding gift from his parents—could be heard.
“I had planned everything,” he finally managed to say. “I intended to talk. To split up honestly. To divide the assets…”
“And take half of the apartment,” Yana finished. “But you miscalculated. The apartment is Mom’s. And as for the joint money… well, take it. Consider it payment for six years of lost life.”
She moved toward the door. Dima grabbed her hand: “Don’t go! I’ll fix everything!”
“Too late,” she gently freed her hand. “Divorce papers will be ready tomorrow. You sign—and you’re free. You can live with Lena, give her bracelets… but now with your own money, not our joint funds.”
“I’ll go to court!” he shouted after her. “I’ll prove that the deed of gift is fake!”
“Try it,” Yana turned back. “Mom will be pleased. She hasn’t been in court for ages—she’s been missing the process.”
The door closed. Yana slowly descended the stairs. Her hands trembled, but she held herself together. Mom was waiting in the car.
“How did it go?”
“Just as you predicted,” Yana buckled her seatbelt. “At first he denied, then pleaded to come back. When he realized about the apartment—he threatened to sue.”
“Typical scenario,” Elena Sergeyevna started the car. “Home?”
“No. To your place. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The car set off. Yana watched the city glide by through the window. Somewhere out there, in a rented apartment, Lena was waiting for Dima. Waiting for a glamorous life, expensive gifts…
“You know,” her mother said as they stopped at a traffic light, “you did well. Many suffer for years, too afraid to leave.”
“I just realized in time: it’s better to be alone than with a traitor.”
“And there’s a whole life ahead,” Elena Sergeyevna smiled. “Without lies, without humiliation. You will make it.”
Yana nodded. Her phone jingled in her bag—Dima. She silenced it without looking at the screen. Tomorrow would be a new day. And a new life.