“Did you come to scold me, mother-in-law? Don’t bother. Your son is a traitor and a liar, and this apartment is my lawful property. Only mine.”
“Are you mocking me or what?” Sasha’s voice rang like a taut string. “I came home and you didn’t even cook anything? Nothing, Katya!”
Katya stood by the window, watching how the drizzle blurred the lights of the evening courtyard. Her fingers still smelled of antiseptic and adhesive bandages — during her shift at the clinic she barely had a moment to sit down.
“Sasha, I told you in the morning — I was on duty until eight. I just walked in. There’s pasta in the fridge, and some leftover cutlets from yesterday. Heat them up.”
“Pasta…” he mimicked her with a smirk. “Pasta, like I’m some college student in a dorm.”
He threw his jacket onto a chair, pulled a beer bottle from a bag, and opened it with his hand, hissing through his teeth. Katya flinched — not at the sound, but at the roughness of the gesture. Once, she had found it manly. Now — just a sign of a man who didn’t care.
“Sasha, I’m tired. Really tired. Three people came in today with injuries, and one girl fainted right at the reception. My legs are buzzing, my hands are shaking. Let’s just be quiet, okay?”
“Be quiet?” He laughed shortly, angrily. “You’re quiet all the time. It’s boring to even listen to you because you have nothing to say. Just complaints.”
Katya turned, leaning her hand on the windowsill.
“And you, apparently, are only interested in being praised. For the house to sparkle, the food to look like it’s from a restaurant, and your wife to smile endlessly.”
“Is that too much to ask?” he snapped. “I bust my ass so you can sit here in warmth, by the way.”
“In what warmth?” she let out a little laugh. “This is my father’s apartment, in case you forgot.”
“There it is again!” he exploded, slamming his fist on the table. “Every time you have nothing to answer, you flash that card. ‘My father’s apartment!’ You should be grateful I even moved in. Anyone else would’ve told you off a long time ago!”
She looked at him silently. Once, she had loved that fire in him — she thought it meant he was strong, determined, destined to succeed. Now she saw only an irritable man who needed everyone around him to revolve around his needs.
Her phone vibrated on the windowsill — a message from her friend:
“Where are you? Everything okay?”
She didn’t reply.
Meanwhile, Sasha was already banging around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, tossing dishes.
“Where’s the normal salt? Everything’s mixed up!” he grumbled. “You always have a mess. Even the spices are crooked!”
Katya closed her eyes and counted to ten.
“Sasha, please don’t start. I really can’t argue right now.”
“So I’m supposed to just put up with this?” he stepped close, smelling of beer and irritation. “You’ve been promising for half a year that things would get better. That you’d stop staying late. That you’d start paying attention to the house at least a little. Where is all that?”
She looked straight into his eyes.
“And you’ve been promising for half a year to stop drinking on weekdays. Where is that?”
It was as if she had slapped him. He recoiled, snorted, opened another bottle, and headed to the TV.
“I’m not a drunk, if that’s what you’re implying,” he muttered. “I just relax after work.”
Katya wanted to respond but didn’t.
When the fridge door slammed and the smell of stale beer mixed with cigarette smoke filled the room, she quietly stepped out onto the balcony. Below, cars hummed, someone hauled bags from the market, somewhere a child cried. Just another ordinary October evening in the Moscow suburbs — grey, damp, sticky. And in that evening she suddenly understood with crystal clarity: she could not go on living like this.
The next morning began with silence.
Sasha left without saying goodbye. On the table sat a dirty plate and a crumpled napkin with crumbs. Katya picked up her phone and wrote him a short message:
“I’m working a 24-hour shift. Don’t wait for dinner.”
No reply.
At the clinic, the day dragged on endlessly. People coughed, someone argued over a medical note, someone quarreled with the security guard. But inside Katya something strange and calm was stirring. As if everything was already decided, she just hadn’t spoken it aloud.
After lunch, Natasha, her coworker, called:
“Katya, I don’t want to pry, but are you sure everything’s okay? You look like someone who hasn’t slept for three nights.”
“It’s fine,” she answered wearily. “I’m just thinking about some things.”
“About Sasha?” Natasha asked immediately.
Katya stayed silent.
“I know you,” Natasha continued. “If you’re silent, it means it’s boiling over. Maybe come over this evening? We can talk, you’ll unwind.”
“I can’t. I think I’ll stay home today. Need to think everything through.”
When she returned home, it was already dark outside. On the mat by the door lay someone else’s umbrella. Black with a blue stripe. Katya frowned. The lights in the apartment were on.
She opened the door — and froze.
A young woman was sitting on the couch — a blonde with nails longer than her fingers. Sasha stood beside her, wearing the shirt Katya had given him last birthday.
“Oh, there you are,” he said, as if nothing unusual were happening. “We’re looking at some things.”
“What things?” Katya’s voice was quiet, but something dangerous stirred in it.
“My things. I decided to stay at Alina’s for a while,” he nodded toward the girl. “But I need some documents, and anyway…”
Katya walked around them and stood in the center of the room.
“You brought her here? Into my home?”
Alina huffed, looking at Katya as if she were a boring neighbor.
“I didn’t even want to come,” she said to Sasha, pouting. “You insisted.”
Katya turned to her:
“Then leave. Now.”
“Hey, take it easy!” Sasha stepped in. “This is my home too! I lived here, in case you forgot!”
“No, Sasha,” Katya said evenly. “This is my home. My apartment, bought long before you showed up. And now you are nobody here.”
“Are you completely out of your mind?” he raised his voice. “You think you can just throw me out?…”
She stepped right up to him, looking straight into his eyes.
“Already done. You have three minutes to gather your things. After that, I’m calling the police.”
He snorted, staring at her as if checking whether she would flinch. But Katya stood like stone.
“Fine,” he muttered through his teeth. “I’ll pack. But you’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “But definitely not more than I’ve regretted everything up to now.”
Alina stood by the door, clearly unsure what to do. Eventually Sasha grabbed a couple of bags, grumbled something under his breath, and rushed out after her. Katya closed the door. Turned the lock. Then the chain.
Only then did she allow herself to fall to the floor and exhale.
After that, everything happened quickly.
The next day she called a locksmith, changed the locks, gathered the rest of Sasha’s things into garbage bags, and set them out by the building entrance. Then she called her mother.
“Mom,” she said into the phone. “That’s it. It’s over.”
Her mother was silent for a moment.
“I knew it would come to this,” she said finally. “And I’m proud of you. Just don’t let him come back. Not under any circumstances.”
By evening she and her mother, Valentina Pavlovna, were sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and making a to-do list: lawyer, registry office application, closing the joint account. Katya listened, nodded, but in her mind one word kept ringing: freedom.
But Sasha didn’t give up. Two days later he called.
“Katya, I understand everything now,” he said into the phone. “I was an idiot. Forgive me. We can start over, right? I swear it was just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding is when you mix up salt and sugar,” she replied calmly. “What you did was a choice.”
“I just got confused! I’m miserable without you!”
“Sasha, enough. Don’t call me again.”
She hung up.
But that evening he was standing by the entrance.
“Katya, I won’t leave until you hear me out!”
“Then I’ll call the police.”
He stepped closer, trying to grab her hand.
“Listen, I love you!”
“No, Sasha,” she said, pulling away. “You only love yourself.”
He stayed there in the drizzle while she walked away without looking back.
A week later, someone rang the doorbell. On the doorstep stood a woman of about sixty, with a sharp, dry face and a haughty gaze.
“Good evening,” she said without even attempting a smile. “I’m Sasha’s mother. We need to talk.”
Katya nodded.
“Come in.”
The woman inspected the apartment with the air of an auditor.
“It’s small here,” she said. “My son has always been used to order, to comfort. And you drove him to a nervous breakdown.”
“Is that so?” Katya asked calmly.
“Of course!” the woman went on. “He worked, and all you did was complain. And a woman should know how to forgive. You’re ruining a family for nothing.”
Katya let out a soft laugh.
“A family isn’t ruined by the one who leaves, but by the one who lies. Your son made his choice. And believe me, it will be easier for him without my forgiveness than with it.”
“Oh, so you’re being insolent now!” the mother-in-law paled with indignation. “We’ll see who beats whom! This apartment isn’t yours — you just live here!”
“Want me to show you the documents?” Katya offered calmly. “If you like, I’ll give you a copy of the marriage contract. Everything is official.”
“You shameless…” the woman began, but Katya was already opening the door.
“Goodbye, Vera Ivanovna. The door is that way.”
The woman stepped out, loudly sniffling. Katya closed the door and, for the first time in a long while, laughed. Quietly, but genuinely.
The divorce was finalized a month later.
Sasha didn’t show up at the hearing. His lawyer tried mentioning “renovations done with joint funds,” but Katya’s attorney — an older, reserved man — laid out the documents point by point, and the case was closed in her favor.
After court, she stepped outside. The air was cold, autumnal, smelling of wet leaves and something fresh. Katya stood there, looking up at the gray sky, and felt — for the first time in many years — not pain, not fear, but lightness.
In November she rearranged the apartment.
Moved the sofa, bought new bedding, placed a ficus on the windowsill — green, springy, alive.
Sometimes Natasha called:
“Well? Got used to being alone yet?”
“Not alone,” Katya would answer. “With myself. And for the first time — not bored.”
And one day, returning from the store, she happened to see Sasha. He was standing at a bus stop, holding a shopping bag, talking on the phone — loudly, irritably. Next to him stood that same Alina, arms crossed, smirking. They were arguing. Sasha shouted something sharp, Alina threw the bag onto the ground and walked away.
Katya passed by. He didn’t notice her. And that was good. Because inside there was no anger, no pain. Just calm. It was over.
At home she brewed tea, took a new mug from the cupboard — a blue one with the words “Live as you want.”
She sat by the window. Outside, drizzle fell; the neighbors’ windows glowed; someone argued, someone laughed.
She sipped her tea, listening to the soft rustle of rain on the windowsill, and thought:
Now — this is silence. Not empty. Real. Alive.
Katya smiled.
She no longer had anything to prove to anyone.
She simply lived — in her own home, in her own life, by her own rules.
And it wasn’t a victory.
It was a return.
