— “Touch my documents one more time and you’ll be out of here with your things,” Polina warned, looking her husband straight in the eye.
Polina met Igor in a café near her home, where she stopped in for coffee after work. He was sitting at the next table, smiling, and he spoke first. They chatted for about two hours and exchanged numbers. Polina was thirty-eight, with a divorce and the bitter experience of her first marriage behind her. Igor was forty-two, also divorced, with two children from his first marriage.
They dated for six months before Igor moved in with Polina. He had nothing of his own—a rented dorm room, an old car he sold before moving, and alimony obligations for his two children.
Polina owned a two-room apartment in the city center, bought with the money from selling a one-room flat she had inherited from her grandmother, and she also had a decent car. She worked as a lead specialist at a large company and earned good money.
Before Igor moved in, Polina set boundaries right away:
“I don’t want anything to do with your children. Do you understand? They’re yours, not mine. I won’t meet them, talk to them, or take part in raising them. If that doesn’t work for you, it’s better you say so now.”
Igor nodded agreeably back then.
“Of course, Polinochka. I understand everything. It’s enough for me just to be with you. The kids live with my ex, I pay child support, and I see them separately on weekends. No problems.”
They lived together for three years. They registered the marriage a year after they started living together. Igor got a job as a manager at a construction firm; his income was average, but Polina didn’t demand big contributions from him. They split utilities in half, and groceries too. They lived calmly, without scandals.
Polina suspected nothing bad until that evening when Igor suddenly started a strange conversation.
They were sitting in the kitchen having dinner. Igor stirred his tea with a spoon and, as if casually, said:
“Listen, what if we register my kids here? Just in case.”
Polina froze with her fork in her hand.
“Why?”
“Well, why not?” Igor shrugged. “So they have an official registered address. You never know what can happen in life. It’s just a formality, really.”
“No,” Polina replied shortly and went back to eating.
“Why not? What, are you being stingy?”
“Igor, this is my apartment. I bought it with my own money. Your children have nothing to do with it. The conversation is over.”
Igor frowned but didn’t argue. He took a sip of tea and went into the other room. Polina felt a slight тревожность—an uneasy тревога—but decided it was just a stupid idea that had popped into her husband’s head.
A week later, Valentina Petrovna, Igor’s mother, came over. She sat down at the table, drank some tea, and suddenly went on the offensive:
“Polina, tell me, why are you so cruel to Igor’s grandchildren? They’re children—they need a family!”
Polina was taken aback.
“Valentina Petrovna, what are you talking about?”
“You don’t even allow them to be brought here! Igor told me. The children want to see where their father lives, and you forbid it!”
“I don’t forbid anything,” Polina replied calmly. “We agreed even before the marriage that those children would be outside my life. Igor agreed. They’re strangers to me.”
“Strangers?!” her mother-in-law snapped. “You’re married to their father!”
“That doesn’t make them my children.” Polina stood up from the table. “Valentina Petrovna, let’s not discuss this. Igor and I had clear agreements. He accepted them.”
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together and didn’t bring it up again during that visit, but the displeasure hung in the air. After she left, Igor said:
“Mom is just worried about the grandkids. Don’t pay attention.”
“I’m not paying attention. But if she tries to tell me what to do again, then she’d better not come here,” Polina answered sharply.
Two more weeks passed. Polina came home about two hours earlier than usual—a meeting had been canceled, and she decided not to linger at the office. She opened the door with her key, walked into the apartment, and heard a rustling sound from the living room.
Igor was sitting at her desk, with a folder of documents spread out in front of him. He was holding the apartment purchase-and-sale agreement in his hands and studying it carefully.
“What are you doing?” Polina asked sharply.
Igor flinched and turned around.
“Oh, you’re home already? I was just… looking out of curiosity.”
“Curiosity about what?”
“Well, I wanted to look at the documents for the apartment. It’s interesting, you know.” He put the papers back into the folder and tried to smile. “It’s nothing.”
Polina walked up to the desk and took the folder.
“Igor, these are my personal documents. You have no right to touch them. Understand?”
“Oh, come on, don’t freak out. I didn’t steal anything,” he said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.
Polina put the folder in the desk drawer and locked it with a key. An unpleasant aftertaste lingered, but she decided not to blow up the conflict. Maybe it really was just curiosity.
But ten days later, the story repeated itself. Polina came home at lunchtime—she’d taken time off work for personal errands. She walked into the room and again caught Igor at her desk. The drawer was open—obviously he had found a key or forced the lock. The documents for the car and the apartment were lying in front of him.
“Igor!” Polina’s voice came out harsher than she meant it to. “What the hell are you doing?”
He looked up, and something wary flickered in his eyes.
“Polin, relax. I was just…”
“Just what? I told you—stay out of my documents!”
“Fine, I looked, okay! Stop yelling!”
“Explain to me why you need my documents.” Polina stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest. “Why are you taking pictures of them?”
“I’m not taking pictures of anything!”
“Keep lying. I can see your phone right there. What are you planning?”
Igor stood up and pushed the chair back.
“I’m not planning anything! You’re getting paranoid over nothing! What, I can’t look at documents in my own home?…”
“This is my home,” Polina corrected coldly. “My apartment. My documents. And yes—you can’t. I’m telling you for the last time: don’t touch them.”
Igor waved a hand irritably and went into the bedroom, slamming the door. Polina gathered the papers and put them in the safe in the wardrobe. Now no one could get in without the code.
But suspicion had already lodged firmly in her mind. Igor was clearly planning something. The question was—what exactly?
The answer came late on Friday night. Polina went to bed around eleven, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She tossed and turned, thinking about work and about her husband’s strange behavior. Igor lay beside her, breathing evenly—apparently asleep.
Around two in the morning Polina heard him carefully get out of bed. She closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. Igor left the bedroom, quietly pulling the door to behind him. Polina waited a minute, then rose silently and crept to the door.
The light in the living room was on. She peeked through the crack and saw Igor by the wardrobe. He was standing in front of the open safe—apparently he’d watched her enter the code—and he was holding a folder of documents. He had set his phone on the shelf with the flash on and was methodically photographing every page.
Polina threw the door open and walked into the room. Igor turned around, and his face made it clear—he’d been caught.
“Touch my documents again and you’ll be out of here with your things,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Igor flinched, but instead of apologizing he tensed up and raised his voice.
“Why are you yelling?! I told you—I’m just looking!”
“At two in the morning? Sneaking around? Taking photos?” Polina stepped toward him. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Listen, enough with these scenes!” Igor set the folder on the table and straightened up. “I wanted to get the kids registered here, that’s all—so I was looking for information!”
“Without my permission? Behind my back?”
“And would you have allowed it?!” he barked. “Of course not! Because you’re selfish! Kids are family! They have the right to live here!”
“Your kids are your family,” Polina replied coldly. “Not mine. I never agreed to that. You knew the conditions perfectly well.”
“Conditions, conditions!” Igor flailed his hands. “For three years I’ve put up with your heartlessness! You don’t even want to know them!”
“That’s right. I don’t. And I won’t. I’m not obligated to love someone else’s children and provide them with housing.”
“So you’re refusing?”
“Yes. Final and absolute.”
Igor froze, and anger mixed with desperation appeared on his face.
“Then what use are you at all?! If you can’t give us anything, what do I even need you for?!”
The words hung in the air. Polina felt everything inside her tighten into a cold knot. She looked at her husband—and suddenly understood.
“Say that again,” she asked quietly.
“Say what again?”
“What you just said. ‘What use are you.’”
Igor swallowed, realizing he’d let something slip.
“That’s not what I meant…”
“No, it’s exactly what you meant.” Polina nodded. “You married me for the apartment. For the assets. That’s why you were digging through the documents. That’s why you wanted to register the kids here—so you could squeeze everything out of me later.”
“Don’t talk nonsense!”
“It’s not nonsense. It’s the truth,” her voice turned icy. “For three years you pretended you loved me. You agreed to my terms, smiled, played the role of a loving husband—while planning how to take the apartment.”
“Polina…”
“Shut up,” she raised her hand. “Don’t you dare say another word. Pack your things. Right now.”
“You can’t throw me out! I’m your husband!”
“I can. And I will. This is my apartment, and I decide who lives in it.”
Igor tried to step closer, but Polina backed away.
“Don’t come near me. Go pack. You have ten minutes.”
“You’ve lost your mind! It’s two in the morning! Where am I supposed to go?!”
“I don’t care. To your mother’s, to a hotel, to the street. That’s your problem. Pack.”
Igor understood the discussion was over. He went into the bedroom, slamming doors, and started throwing things into a bag. Polina stood in the living room with her phone in her hand. If he tried to use force, she would call the police.
Fifteen minutes later Igor came out with two bags, red with rage.
“You’ll regret this!”
“No, I won’t,” Polina said, opening the door. “Get out.”
“I’ll file for a division of property! You owe me!”
“The apartment was bought before the marriage. The car too. I don’t owe you anything. Get out.”
She practically shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door, turning the key in the lock. Igor banged on the door for another couple of minutes, yelling something, but then it went quiet and he left.
Polina leaned her back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor. Her hands were shaking. She hugged her knees and sat like that until it began to get light.
In the morning she called a lawyer and booked a consultation. On Monday she filed for divorce. There was nothing to divide—the apartment was in her name, the car too, and they hadn’t made any joint purchases. Igor tried to file a counterclaim demanding compensation for three years of marriage, but the court denied him.
Two months later the divorce was finalized. Polina’s second marriage ended as sadly as the first. Lies again, calculation again, being used again.
She sat in the kitchen of her apartment, drank coffee, and stared out the window. It felt bitter, but not as painful as after the first divorce. Polina understood she had recognized the danger in time. If she hadn’t caught Igor, he would have continued his game. He would have registered the children, then started demanding a share of the apartment—manipulating, pressuring her.
She protected herself. The apartment stayed with her. The car too. Her savings untouched. Polina made the right choice, even if it was painful.
Igor tried to call several times, sent messages, begged her to come back. He said she had misunderstood everything, that he loved her. Polina read the messages and deleted them without replying. She no longer believed a single word he said.
Valentina Petrovna called too, screaming into the phone that Polina had ruined her son’s life. Polina listened calmly and blocked the number.
Half a year passed. Polina signed up for Spanish classes—she’d wanted to learn the language for a long time. She started going to the pool in the evenings. She met up with friends, went out of town on weekends. She lived her life—calmly and steadily.
One day a friend asked:
“So, are you going to get married again?”
Polina thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“No. Enough. I can be happy on my own.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely. I don’t need a man who’s going to use me. I’m independent, I have everything I need. Why would I need those games?”
Her friend looked at her with respect.
“You know, I envy you. You really do have a backbone.”
Polina smiled. Yes—she had a backbone. And an apartment. And a car. And freedom from manipulators who saw her only as a source of profit.
She started a new life. There was no longer any place in it for liars and self-serving people. Only herself—her goals, her plans, her happiness.
And that was enough.
