“Mom said that now that you’re rich, you can fix everything and go back,” her ex muttered.
Lilia signed the last document and leaned back in her chair. Exhaustion filled every cell of her body—so strong that she didn’t even have tears left. Just emptiness. The notary gathered the papers, said something about deadlines, but the woman barely listened. It was over.
Sergey sat next to her, scrolling through his phone, looking as if he had come to pay utility bills and not to dissolve a marriage. When the notary announced that the procedure was complete, her ex-husband stood up quickly, nodded to Lilia, and headed for the exit.
“It’ll be easier for both of them,” Sergey threw over his shoulder without even looking back.
The door closed. Lilia remained sitting in the empty office. Five years of marriage ended in twenty minutes.
No farewell words, no explanations. Just a stamp in her passport and the feeling that everything had been for nothing.
After the divorce, Lilia returned to a small one-room apartment on the outskirts of the city. They had bought that apartment four years earlier on a mortgage, back when they still believed they would build a family.
Now Sergey had refused his share, claiming he had no money, and Lilia was left alone with the loan. Eight years of payments. Every month, a third of her salary went to the bank.
She worked in a small trading company—kept records, checked invoices, prepared reports. The job was monotonous but stable. Her salary allowed her to pay the loan, cover utilities, and buy groceries. Anything beyond that was out of reach.
Lilia learned to save.
She bought clothes on sale, cooked simple meals, gave up taxis and entertainment. In the evenings, she sat at her kitchen table, double-checking figures in reports and trying not to think about how everything had changed. She barely turned on the TV—silence felt more honest than the intrusive chatter of shows.
Her parents called every week. Her mother asked how she was doing, whether she needed help. Her father offered to lend money. Lilia refused. She didn’t want to be a burden. She didn’t want pity. She wanted to prove to herself and everyone else that she could manage on her own.
“Sweetheart, don’t hesitate if you need anything,” her mother said. “We’ll help.”
“Thank you, Mom. I’ll be fine,” Lilia replied, and changed the subject.
Sometimes she heard news about her ex-husband. A mutual acquaintance said Sergey had moved in with another woman—a young salesgirl from the neighboring store.
A colleague mentioned seeing them together in a café. Lilia listened and nodded, but nothing changed inside her. No pain, no resentment. Just emptiness.
Worse were the words of Valentina Petrovna, her former mother-in-law. She didn’t hesitate to tell anyone willing to listen that Lilia would be lost without them. That her job was lousy, she had no money, and no one would ever want to marry her again.
“You’ll see, in a year she’ll crawl back,” Valentina Petrovna told her neighbors at the store. “Where else can she go without us?”
Lilia heard about these conversations from a friend but stayed quiet. There was no point arguing. Better to prove it with actions.
Three years passed. During that time, Lilia got back on her feet. She paid her loan diligently, never missing a payment. She received a small promotion at work—now she handled accounting not for one company but also for two branches.
Her salary didn’t increase much, but it became easier to breathe. She could even start setting aside a little money for apartment repairs.
Lilia learned to live alone. She got used to the silence, to the fact that no one criticized her, reproached her, or demanded explanations. She could read books until morning, cook whatever she wanted, plan weekends however she pleased.
Freedom turned out to be surprisingly pleasant.
She didn’t expect miracles. She simply worked, saved, and made plans. She hoped to pay off the loan early in a couple of years, then renovate the apartment, maybe buy a car. Modest dreams, but realistic ones.
Everything changed in autumn. One October evening, when rain drizzled outside and wind tore the last leaves from the trees, the postman delivered a registered letter. Lilia signed, took the envelope, and opened it right in the hallway.
The letter was from a notary. Aunt Zinaida Sergeevna, her mother’s sister, had passed away. She lived alone in a nearby town, had no children. Lilia had visited her several times, helped around the house, brought groceries.
Zinaida Sergeevna had been quiet and strict, but always welcomed her niece warmly. She offered homemade jam, asked about her life, gave advice.
Now her aunt had left Lilia a house and a bank account.
Lilia read the letter several times. Her heart beat fast, her hands slightly trembled. An inheritance. She had never imagined she would face something like this.
The next day she took a day off and went to the notary.
The notary explained that in order to receive the inheritance, she needed to collect a package of documents, pay the state fee, and wait six months. Lilia nodded, wrote things down, asked questions. The process was long and bureaucratic, but doable.
Six months later, Lilia officially became the owner of the house and the bank account. The house was located in a small village two hundred kilometers from the city. Old, but sturdy, with a small plot of land.
She went there on a weekend, walked through the rooms, stepped out into the garden. Everything was well-kept — her aunt, it seemed, had taken care of the house until the very end.
Inside were Zinaida Sergeevna’s belongings: old furniture, books, photographs, dishes. Lilia spent the whole day sorting through closets. She found family albums, letters, documents.
In one album there was a photograph of a young aunt in a white dress next to a man in a suit. On the back was written: “Our wedding. 1979.”
Lilia hadn’t known that her aunt had been married. Her mother never mentioned it. She only said that her sister had lived a hard life, but never complained and never asked for help.
Selling the house felt sad, but there was no point keeping it. Too far from work, too much to maintain. Lilia found buyers through a listing — a family with two children.
They were happy, negotiated only a little, and paid immediately. Lilia took only the photographs, a few books, and an old jewelry box.
The money from the sale of the house plus the bank account left to her made up a solid sum. Lilia sat in the bank looking at the printout, unable to believe her eyes. She had never had such money in her life.
Her first step was to pay off the mortgage on her apartment. Completely. Ahead of schedule. When the bank employee handed her the certificate confirming zero debt, she walked outside and stood there motionless for a few minutes. Eight years of payments were over. No more giving away a third of her salary every month. Freedom.
Then Lilia started looking for a new apartment. The one-room place was cramped; she wanted space, light, a decent neighborhood. She viewed dozens of options before finding the right one: a two-room apartment in a new building, with a spacious kitchen, a large living room, and a bright bedroom. The windows overlooked a park, shops and public transit stops were nearby.
Lilia sold her old apartment and bought the new one without a loan. She moved in a month later. Furnished it to her taste: a comfortable sofa, a big work desk, bookshelves, flowers on the windowsills. Every day she came home and delighted in the space and quiet.
But some money was still left. Lilia thought long about what to do with it. Simply saving it felt unwise — inflation would eat it up. Investing in someone else’s business was risky.
Then an idea came to her. Start her own business. Accounting services for small entrepreneurs.
She had plenty of experience, and connections too. Many acquaintances and friends often asked her to help with taxes, reports, documents. Before, Lilia did it for free in her spare time. Now she could turn that help into a full-fledged business.
She registered as a sole proprietor, rented a small office near her home, bought a computer and a printer, ordered business cards. Her first clients came quickly — word of mouth worked.
Lilia handled accounting for small shops, workshops, freelancers, taxi drivers. There was a lot of work, but she enjoyed it. Her income turned out to be higher than at her previous job.
Six months later she had to hire an assistant — a young woman named Oksana, who had recently graduated from an economics department. She turned out to be capable, quickly understood the paperwork, helped with the reports.
Life settled into place. A spacious apartment, her own business, stable income. Lilia woke up in the mornings, brewed coffee in her bright kitchen, looked out the window at the autumn trees, and smiled. No one criticized her, demanded anything, or imposed their opinion. She could live the way she wanted.
One evening, when Lilia was working in the office on a quarterly report for a client, the doorbell rang. She opened it without looking through the peephole. Sergey stood on the doorstep.
Her ex-husband looked tired. His jacket was wrinkled, his jeans worn, stubble on his face. He held a grocery bag in his hands.
“Hi,” Sergey said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
“Hello,” Lilia replied, not moving.
“Can I come in? I need to talk.”
“About what?”
Her ex hesitated, lowered his gaze.
“Well… about what happened. About us. Can we?”
Lilia silently stepped aside. Sergey walked in, looked around.
“Wow. You have an office? Nice.”
“Thank you. What did you want?”
He walked into the office, sat in the visitor’s chair. Lilia remained standing, arms crossed.
“Listen, Lilia, I know we haven’t seen each other in three years,” Sergey began. “And I know we didn’t part on the best terms. But I wanted to talk.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve thought a lot. About us. About what happened. And I realized maybe we rushed. With the divorce.”
Lilia raised an eyebrow.
“Rushed? You were the one who said it would be easier for both of us.”
“Well yeah, I said that. But now I think differently. Maybe we should try again?”
She studied him in silence. Sergey avoided her gaze, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket.
“Sergey, you disappeared for three years. You lived with another woman. And now suddenly you decided we should try again. Why?…”
Her ex-husband shrugged.
“It didn’t work out with Olya. We broke up. And I thought… maybe it’s a sign? That I should come back to you?”
“A sign?”
“Well, yeah. We were close once. We have a shared past.”
Lilia closed her eyes, silently counting to ten.
“Sergey, tell me honestly: did you come because you missed me, or because you found out I have money now?”
Her ex flinched as if struck.
“No! I mean… Mom said that since you’re rich now, maybe everything can be put back the way it was,” Sergey muttered, still staring at the floor.
Silence hung in the office. Lilia stood there, processing his words. So it wasn’t about feelings. Not about wanting to fix mistakes. It was just that Valentina Petrovna had found out about the money and decided her former daughter-in-law would be suitable again.
“I see,” Lilia said slowly. “Your mother decided that since I now have an apartment and a business, it’s time to come back?”
Sergey twitched his shoulder.
“Well… she just noticed you’ve done well. And thought maybe we should try again. We were close.”
“We were. Three years ago. Before you said it would be easier for both of us apart.”
“Lilia, don’t be like that. I was young, stupid. I didn’t understand what I was losing.”
Lilia walked to the desk, sat down, folded her hands on the tabletop.
“Sergey, let’s be honest. If I didn’t have this apartment, this office, this money — would you have come?”
Her ex hesitated, fiddling with the grocery bag in his hands.
“Probably not. But the point is, now we have a chance to fix everything!”
“Fix what? You left. You lived with another woman. And now that I have money, suddenly you remembered me?”
“That’s not true!” Sergey finally lifted his eyes. “I really did think about you. I just didn’t know how to approach you.”
“For three years?”
Her ex-husband had no answer.
Lilia stood up and walked to the window. Twilight thickened outside, streetlights flickered on. The city went on with its life, indifferent to anyone’s drama.
“Leave, Sergey,” she said quietly, without turning.
“Lilia, wait! Let’s at least talk!”
“There is nothing to talk about. You didn’t come because you missed me. You came because your mother decided I’m acceptable again. I don’t want that kind of relationship.”
“You’ll regret this!” Sergey shouted, jumping up.
“Unlikely,” Lilia replied calmly, still looking out the window.
He stood there for a moment, then turned and slammed the door behind him. Lilia sighed, returned to her desk, and continued working on the report.
Her new life brought her peace. A bright apartment with large windows, flowers on the windowsill, books on the shelves. Everything was hers, earned honestly. Lilia woke up in the mornings without an alarm, brewed coffee, looked at the park outside her window, and relished the quiet.
The business was growing. More clients, which meant she needed to expand the office. Oksana did an excellent job, but one assistant was no longer enough. Lilia hired another employee — a young man named Denis who had just completed accounting courses. Young, energetic, quick to learn.
One evening, while Lilia was at home with a book, a message from Sergey arrived. She stared at the screen for a long time before finally opening it.
Hi. How are you? I’ve been wanting to talk.
Lilia set down the book, thinking. She didn’t want to respond, but ignoring it felt odd. She typed a short reply:
Hello. I’m fine. What did you want to talk about?
The reply came a minute later:
Can we meet? Something important to discuss.
Sergey, we’ve already talked. There’s nothing left to discuss.
Please. It’s really important. Not just for me — for you too.
Lilia frowned. What could possibly be important now? She wrote:
What exactly?
But Sergey didn’t answer.
Two days later, he came to the office. Lilia and Oksana were working on a client’s tax declaration when the door opened and Sergey appeared on the threshold. He looked like someone uncomfortable with his own audacity. His shirt was wrinkled, jeans worn, eyes darting.
“Hi,” Sergey said, shifting awkwardly.
“Hello,” Lilia replied without getting up. “What do you want?”
Oksana shot a quick glance at her boss, then at the visitor, and politely left the office.
Sergey stepped inside, closed the door.
“Lilia, I know I didn’t behave well last time,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “But I really want to talk. Seriously.”
“Go on.”
“I thought about us. About what we had. And I realized we could try again. We had history. We were close.”
Lilia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.
“Sergey, you already said all of this last time. Then you told me your mom decided I’m suitable again. What changed?”
Her ex-husband reddened.
“Well… I didn’t say it right then. It’s not about the money.”
“What is it about then?”
“It’s that I realized my mistake. I shouldn’t have left. We could still be together.”
Lilia tilted her head slightly, as if she could not believe he said this with a straight face.
“So,” Lilia clarified slowly, “you think you can come back just because I now have an apartment and a business?”
Sergey tried to object, but stumbled. His eyes darted around the office—over the new furniture, the computer, the stacks of documents. Everything made it obvious: he hadn’t come for love. He had come for convenience. For stability. For a ready-made, well-built life.
“No, you misunderstood!” he finally blurted out. “It’s just that my mom noticed you became successful. And she said maybe we should try again. After all, we were husband and wife!”
“We were. Three years ago. Before you said it would be easier for both of us apart.”
“Lilia, please! I was stupid! But now I want to fix everything!”
“Fix?” Lilia stood up from the desk. “Or just move into what’s already built?”
“That’s not fair!”
“Not fair?” she let out a short laugh. “Do you know what’s unfair? When someone shows up three years after a divorce because he found out his ex-wife has money.”
Sergey flinched, mumbling something incoherent. He tried to defend himself, but his words tangled, making it all look worse.
Lilia walked to the door and opened it.
“Leave, Sergey. And don’t come back.”
“Lilia, wait! I really want to be with you!”
“No. You want to be with my money. And I don’t need that kind of relationship.”
Her ex-husband stood frozen in the middle of the office, lost for words. Then slowly moved toward the exit.
“You’ll regret this,” he muttered quietly at the doorway.
Lilia smirked, stepped closer, and said calmly:
“I never go back to anything. Not even mistakes.”
Then she closed the door, leaving the past behind it forever.
A week later, the phone rang. It was Valentina Petrovna. Lilia stared at the screen for a long moment before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Lilia,” her former mother-in-law’s voice was tense but polite. “How are you?”
“Good evening, Valentina Petrovna. I’m well. And you?”
“I’m fine too. Listen, I wanted to talk. Sergey said you two met.”
“Yes, we did.”
“Lilia, I know there was a lot of misunderstanding between you. But time has passed. Maybe it’s worth forgetting old offenses? Trying again?”
Lilia closed her eyes, counting to ten.
“Valentina Petrovna, Sergey and I divorced three years ago. By mutual agreement. We no longer have anything in common.”
“What do you mean nothing? You were a family!”
“We were. Not anymore.”
“Lilia, don’t be so harsh,” irritation crept into her voice. “Sergey is a good man. He was just young then. He’s different now.”
“Perhaps. But that’s no longer my concern.”
“Lilia!” the older woman suddenly raised her voice. “I know you have money now. But that’s no reason to stick your nose in the air! Don’t forget where you came from!”
Lilia smiled faintly.
“I came from a good family, where I was loved. And I earned my money myself. Through my own work. And I will decide how to use it.”
“Selfish! That’s what you are! You don’t want to share!”
“Share with whom? Someone who left three years ago and only returned when he heard about the inheritance?”
Silence.
“Well… maybe Sergey didn’t put it well,” the woman finally muttered. “But he really wants to be with you!”
“No. He wants to be with my money. Goodbye, Valentina Petrovna.”
Lilia ended the call and blocked the number.
Six months passed. Lilia continued building her business. She opened a second office in a nearby district and hired two more employees. Her client base grew, and so did her income.
