Premarital property doesn’t get divided, so you and your mommy can stop drooling over my apartment, Valya laughed in her husband’s face.
The front door slammed so hard that a framed photo fell off the hallway wall. The glass shattered on the floor, scattering into tiny splinters.
“Have you completely lost it?” Sergey jumped up from the couch, where he’d been mindlessly clicking the TV remote for the last half hour.
Valya stood in the hallway, kicking off her shoes. On her face was the expression of someone who has already made a final decision. She didn’t even glance at the broken photo—their wedding picture from five years ago.
“The realtor called me. The buyer agreed to my price,” Valya walked past her husband without even looking at him. “I’m signing the papers tomorrow.”
“What buyer, for hell’s sake?” Sergey grabbed her by the elbow. “What are you even talking about?”
“The apartment. My apartment,” she stressed the word my, pulling her arm free. “The one my parents gave me before our wedding.”
Sergey froze in the middle of the living room, the one they had furnished together, choosing every little detail. Five years of their life. Five years in this two-room place on the fifteenth floor with a view of the river.
“And where are you going to go?” his voice trembled.
“Not me. You. You and your mommy,” Valya finally looked him in the eyes. “I rented you a cozy one-bedroom. I paid for the first month, after that you’re on your own. And the best part—the windows look right out onto the dumpsters. You’ll have plenty to chat about out there…”
Four hours earlier, Valentina had been sitting in her boss’s office. Vladimir Petrovich, a heavyset man pushing sixty, had been explaining for the last half hour why he couldn’t give her a raise.
“You see, Valyusha, there’s a crisis. Everyone’s tightening their belts,” he spread his hands, and the gold bracelet of his watch flashed in the morning sun.
Valya looked at his new Italian shoes, at the photo of a yacht in Turkey on the wall, and something flipped over inside her. For three years she had been carrying half the department on her shoulders, coming in earlier than everyone and leaving last. And all for what?
“Vladimir Petrovich, I have a mortgage,” she lied, even though the apartment was fully hers, no encumbrances. “I need to understand my prospects.”
“Prospects, prospects…” he leaned back in his chair. “Maybe you just need to get properly married? So your husband provides for you. Although… you are married, aren’t you?”
Valya clenched her teeth. Five years ago she had married Sergey, thinking of him as a promising programmer with ambition. Now he scraped by on odd freelance jobs and spent most of his time ‘finding himself’ on the couch. She had no intention of sharing that with her boss.
“Fine, thank you for your honesty,” Valya stood up. “In that case, I have a request.”
“What request?” Vladimir Petrovich leaned forward.
“A resignation letter. Of my own accord.”
When she walked out of the office, her phone was blowing up with calls. Vladimir Petrovich, her colleagues, and finally her mother.
“Valyush, are you all right?” her mother’s worried voice sounded in the receiver.
“Yes, Mom. I’m great,” Valya walked down the street, breathing in the air of freedom. “I quit.”
There was a pause.
“And what next?” her mother asked carefully.
“Next?” Valya stopped in front of a jewelry store window. “Next I’m selling the apartment and leaving.”
“And Sergey?”
“What about Sergey?” Valya smirked. “He’s a big boy. He’ll manage. With his mommy…”
Sergey was sitting in the kitchen when Valya came home after talking to the realtor. His mother, Irina Vladimirovna, was fussing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.
“Oh, look who decided to show up,” Irina Vladimirovna gave her daughter-in-law a critical once-over. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it back even by dinner.”
“Hello, Irina Vladimirovna,” Valya put her keys down on the small table. “What brings you here? I thought you weren’t coming until the weekend?”
“Can’t I come check on my son?” the woman pursed her lips. “He’s lost weight. Obviously he’s not being fed properly.”
Sergey gave an embarrassed smile.
“Mom was worried.”
“Of course I was worried!” Irina Vladimirovna turned back to the stove. “When a wife disappears all day long and doesn’t take care of her husband, how can a mother not worry?”
Valya went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. Five years. Five years of the same thing. Every week. Every month. An endless competition over who could take better care of little Seriozhenka.
“You know I work,” Valya took a sip. “Or rather, worked. I quit today.”
Sergey choked on his tea.
“You what?!”
“I quit,” she repeated. “And I decided something else too.”
Irina Vladimirovna put down the ladle.
“And what would that be?”
“I’m selling the apartment.”
Silence fell. The kind of ringing silence in which you could hear the drip of water from a tap that hadn’t been fully turned off.
“But… how?” Sergey looked helplessly from his mother to his wife. “This is our home. We’ve lived here for five years.”
“Yes, you’ve lived,” Valya leaned against the countertop. “In my apartment. Which I got before the marriage. And which I have every right to sell.”
Irina Vladimirovna turned pale.
“Sergey, she can’t! This is your little family nest!”
“Oh, I can,” Valya smiled. “Premarital property isn’t divided in a divorce. And Sergey and I will be getting divorced soon.”
“What?!” mother and son shouted in unison.
“I’ve made up my mind,” Valya set her glass down on the table. “Tomorrow I’m signing the sale papers.”
She walked out of the kitchen, leaving them frozen in shock. In the bedroom, Valya took out a suitcase and began methodically folding her things into it. Strangely, she didn’t feel any pain or regret. Just fatigue and… relief?
The door flew open, and Sergey appeared on the threshold.
“Have you lost your mind?” he looked completely at sea. “How can you just throw everything away like that?”
“Just throw everything away?” Valya lifted her gaze from the suitcase. “I’ve been carrying both of us for five years. Five years listening to your mother explain what a terrible wife I am. Five years waiting for you to finally grow up and start taking responsibility.”
“I was trying to find myself!” he exclaimed. “You know how important it is to find something you truly love!”
“I know,” Valya nodded. “But that shouldn’t last forever. Especially when your wife is working two jobs.”
Sergey sat down on the edge of the bed.
“But why now? What happened?”
Valya zipped up the suitcase.
“Today my boss explained to me that a woman doesn’t need a career if she has a husband. And I realized I didn’t want to be his employee anymore. Or your wife.”
In the doorway appeared Irina Vladimirovna.
“Seriozhenka, don’t humiliate yourself! If she’s decided to leave—good riddance!” She turned her eyes to Valya. “But you won’t be selling the apartment. My son has a right to it!”
Valya laughed, tilting her head back.
“Premarital property isn’t divided, so you and your mommy can roll your lip back in about my apartment,” she said, looking her husband in the face. “I can rent you a one-bedroom. You can live together, since you make such a great team. Although your mother already has a place… doesn’t she?”
Sergey jumped to his feet.
“Valya, wait! Let’s talk! I’ll change, I promise!”
“Too late,” she picked up the suitcase. “Five years too late…”
Valya sat in a café across from the business center where she had worked just yesterday. In front of her sat her school friend Marina.
“And what now?” Marina stirred her coffee. “Are you really going to drop everything?”
“Not drop. Start from a clean slate,” Valya looked out the window. “You know, when I told Sergey I was selling the apartment, the first thing he did was call his mom. He didn’t try to stop me, didn’t offer a solution—he called Mommy.”
Marina shook her head.
“I never understood what you saw in him.”
“Potential,” Valya laughed bitterly. “I thought he’d amount to something.”
“And what came of it? A thirty-two-year-old man who calls his mother when his wife wants a divorce,” Marina sipped her coffee. “And where are you going now?”
“To Petersburg,” Valya smiled. “Remember Katya Sokolova? She opened her own design studio there. She wants me to join her.”
“You’re going?” Marina was surprised. “But what about…”
“What about what?” Valya interrupted. “What’s keeping me here? A job where they tell me a woman should stay home? A husband who couldn’t ‘find himself’ in five years? A mother-in-law who thinks I should blow the dust off her precious boy?”
Marina was silent for a moment and then asked cautiously:
“Aren’t you scared? A new city, a new job…”
“I am,” Valya admitted. “But you know what’s scarier? Waking up in ten years and realizing nothing has changed. That I’m still dragging along a man-child and enduring a mother-in-law who thinks I’m unworthy of her son.”
At that moment Valya’s phone rang. Sergey’s name lit up on the screen.
“Not going to answer?” Marina asked.
Valya shook her head.
“No. Let him get used to it.”
The phone went silent, but immediately rang again. This time it was Irina Vladimirovna.
“Even the mother-in-law joined in,” Valya smirked, rejecting the call. “She probably wants to explain how ungrateful I am.”
“Do you think they might challenge the sale?” Marina leaned closer. “You’re still married…”
“They can’t,” Valya replied confidently. “I consulted a lawyer a month ago. The apartment was mine before the marriage, the documents are clean.”
The phone rang a third time. Now Valya’s mother was calling.
“This one I’ll answer,” Valya said, holding the phone to her ear. “Yes, Mom?”
“Valyusha, what’s going on?” her mother’s worried voice asked. “Sergey’s mother just called me, screaming that you’re throwing them out onto the street!”
“I’m not throwing them out, Mom,” Valya sighed. “I rented them a place. Paid for the first month. After that they can manage on their own. My mother-in-law lives somewhere—let them move there if they’ve made such a mess…”
“But sweetheart, maybe you two should talk? Life is complicated…”
“Mom, we’ve been ‘talking’ for five years,” Valya felt a lump rise in her throat. “Every single day I came home and said, ‘Sergey, maybe you should find a job?’ And he replied, ‘I’m searching for myself, it’s important.’ And so it went for five years.”
There was silence on the line.
“I understand you,” her mother finally said. “I just… are you sure?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m sure.”
When the call ended, Marina looked at her friend.
“So when are you leaving?”
“In a week,” Valya finished her coffee. “As soon as I close the sale.”
“You know,” Marina smiled, “I almost envy you. Not everyone finds the strength to change everything.”
“I’m just tired,” Valya shrugged. “Tired of being a nanny to a grown man.”
That evening Valya returned to the rental apartment where she was temporarily staying. Her phone showed twenty-seven missed calls from Sergey and thirteen from her mother-in-law. She turned the sound off and sat by the window with a glass of wine.
Strangely, she felt more drained than sad. Five years of her life were ending not with a loud scandal, but with a quiet realization: things couldn’t go on like this.
A knock at the door made her flinch. On the doorstep stood Sergey—disheveled, eyes red.
“How did you find me?” Valya didn’t hurry to let him in.
“Marina told me,” he shifted from foot to foot. “Can I come in?…”
Valya hesitated, then stepped aside.
“Five minutes.”
Sergey walked into the room and stopped in the middle of it, not knowing what to do with himself.
“Valya, I understand everything now. I was selfish. I’ll find a job, I promise!”
“Sergey,” Valya sighed tiredly, “this isn’t about the job. Or… not only about that.”
“Then what is it about?” he stepped closer. “Tell me, I’ll fix everything!”
“It’s about the fact that you’re not a man, Sergey, but a big child,” Valya looked him straight in the eyes. “A child who just moved from one mommy to another. But I don’t want to be your mother. I wanted to be your wife.”
“I’ll change!” he grabbed her hands. “Give me a chance!”
“It’s too late.” She gently pulled her hands away. “I signed the contract with Katya. In a week, I’ll be in Petersburg.”
“In Petersburg?” Sergey turned pale. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’m starting a new life.”
Sergey sank onto a chair.
“And what about me?”
“And what about you?” Valya shrugged. “You’re an adult. You’ll manage.”
“Without you?” His surprise was genuine.
“Without me,” Valya nodded. “You’ll manage somehow.”
Sergey was silent for a moment, then raised his eyes to her.
“What if I go with you?”
Valya wasn’t expecting that.
“What?”
“To Petersburg. What if I come with you?” There was hope in his eyes. “I’ll find a job there, I swear!”
Valya shook her head.
“No, Sergey. I’m going alone.”
“But why?” he jumped up. “I said I understand!”
“Because I don’t believe your promises anymore,” she replied simply. “You’ve been promising for five years. And nothing has changed.”
“But I really—”
“No,” Valya lifted her hand, stopping him. “You know when I realized everything was over? When you called your mother to complain about me. Not to solve the problem, not to look for a compromise—just to call your mom, like you always did.”
Sergey lowered his head.
“I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Exactly,” Valya sighed. “You never know what to do. So someone else decides for you—your mom, or your wife, or anyone but you.”
They stood silently, looking at one another across a widening gap.
“I really did love you,” Sergey finally said.
“I know,” Valya smiled sadly. “But it’s not enough.”
When the door closed behind him, Valya returned to the window. The city stretched out before her—bright, noisy, full of opportunities. Somewhere out there, in the stream of cars, her future awaited. Without Sergey. Without her mother-in-law’s constant complaints. Without having to carry someone else’s failures on her shoulders.
Her phone vibrated—a message from Katya:
“Waiting for you in a week. Found an apartment, just like you wanted. Petersburg will welcome you with open arms!”
Valya smiled. For the first time in a long while, she felt… free.
Three months later, Katya set a cup of coffee in front of her.
“He called again,” she said.
Three months since Valya moved to Petersburg. Three months of a new life. Work at the design studio, a new apartment, new people.
“And what did you tell him?” Valya flipped through design drafts on her tablet.
“The same as always. That you’re busy and will call back when you can,” Katya sat down beside her. “Maybe you should talk to him? He calls every week.”
Valya set the tablet aside.
“You know what’s strange? He never used to call me. Even when he was late. Even when we fought. It was always me calling first.”
“And now?”
“And now he can’t accept that I’m living without him,” Valya shrugged. “That I’m happy without him.”
“And are you happy?” Katya looked at her closely.
Valya thought for a moment. These past three months hadn’t been easy. The new job demanded everything from her. The new city required adjustment. There were moments of loneliness, moments of doubt. But there was also something else—the realization that she was finally living her life.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I’m happy. In my own way.”
The phone rang again. Sergey.
“Will you answer?” Katya asked.
Valya looked at the screen, then decisively pressed “Decline.”
“No. Not today.”
“And when?”
“I don’t know,” Valya smiled. “Maybe never. Or maybe someday, when it really matters. But definitely not because he can’t cope without me.”
Katya nodded.
“You’ve changed.”
“For the better?”
“Absolutely,” Katya got up. “You’ve become… stronger. More confident.”
Valya looked out the window at the St. Petersburg sky, covered with clouds.
“I just finally decided that my life belongs to me. Not to my husband, not to my mother-in-law, not to my boss—me.”
Her phone vibrated again. A message from Sergey:
“I found a job. A real job. Not for you—for myself. I hope you’re proud of me.”
Valya smiled and set the phone aside, without replying. Maybe someday she would be ready to let him back into her life. But not as a lifeline for him. As an equal—if he ever became one.
For now… she had her own life. A life she built herself.
A year later, Valya stood on the embankment of the Neva. The wind tugged at her hair, the sunlight danced on the water. The city that had once been foreign had become home.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” came a familiar voice behind her.
Valya turned around. Sergey stood a few steps away.
But this was a different Sergey—fit, confident, grounded.
“You’ve changed,” she noted.
“So have you,” he smiled. “That… freedom suits you.”
They stood in silence, watching the river.
“Why did you come?” Valya finally asked.
“I wanted to see you,” he answered simply. “To make sure you’re doing well.”
“I’m doing great,” Valya nodded. “And you?”
“Pretty good too,” Sergey put his hands in his pockets. “Got a job at an IT company. Turns out I can do something after all.”
“And your mom?” Valya couldn’t resist asking.
“My mom…” Sergey chuckled. “She calls me once a week now instead of three times a day. I explained that I need space.”
“And she agreed?”
“Not right away,” he shrugged. “But she didn’t have a choice. Either that, or I stop picking up.”
They fell silent again. There was so much unspoken between them, yet for some reason it didn’t feel important anymore.
“You’re not asking why I really came,” Sergey said after a moment.
“And why is that?” Valya turned to him.
“I got a job offer. Here, in Petersburg,” he said, meeting her gaze. “A good one. And I’m planning to take it.”
Valya tensed.
“If you think that we…”
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m not expecting us to get back together. But I would like to… I don’t know… see you sometimes? As friends?”
Valya hesitated. A year ago, she would have said no instantly. But now… now she felt strong enough not to fear the past.
“Maybe,” she said at last. “With time.”
Sergey nodded.
“I understand. And… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For leaving,” he gave a sad smile. “If you hadn’t, I would never have grown up.”
Valya didn’t respond. She watched the water, the boats drifting by, the people hurrying about their day. The city that had become her new home.
“I should go,” she glanced at her watch. “I have a meeting with a client.”
“Of course,” Sergey stepped back. “Maybe we’ll see each other? Someday?”
“Maybe,” Valya nodded. “Someday.”
She walked away, feeling his gaze on her. But for the first time in a long while, that gaze held no desperation, no pleading. Only respect. Respect for her choice. Her path. Her life.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from Katya:
“We have a new big project! Ready to become art director?”
Valya smiled and typed her reply:
“More than ready.”
The wind from the Neva tugged at her hair, and ahead stretched a city full of opportunities.
Her city.
Her opportunities.
Her life.
