After the divorce, they divided the apartment — the husband left for a new love, but came back for the dacha and the car, and his ex-wife’s reply surprised him.
Irina stood by the window, watching autumn leaves slowly swirl through the air. The apartment felt more spacious without Dmitry—without his things, his presence, his constant dissatisfaction. Six months ago, he had packed his bags and left for his secretary, Valentina.
“This apartment will be enough for you,” he had said magnanimously back then. “I don’t need anything else from you.”
How noble! At the time, Irina had almost believed he felt guilty for cheating. Now she understood: he had simply been in a hurry to get to his new flame.
A knock at the door made her flinch. Could it be the neighbor borrowing salt again? But through the peephole she saw a familiar figure in an expensive coat.
“Dima?” she asked in disbelief as she opened the door.
“Hi, Ira. Can I come in? We need to talk.”
He looked worn out. The expensive coat hung on him like a sack, and dark circles lay under his eyes. Where was the glow of a happy man who’d found true love?
“What is there to talk about? The divorce is finalized, the papers are signed.”
“Things have changed,” Dmitry said as he walked into the living room without waiting to be invited. “I need my share of the dacha and the car.”
Irina felt a chill run down her spine. The dacha? The car? He had given all that up himself!
“Have you lost your mind? You said—”
“I said I didn’t need the apartment. I didn’t say anything about the dacha.”
“Dima, are you serious?” Irina’s voice trembled with indignation. “You left me, went to another woman, generously ‘let’ me keep the apartment, and now you’re back for everything else?”
“Don’t be dramatic. Valya and I have run into some financial difficulties…”
There it was! So paradise with the secretary wasn’t as sweet as he’d thought? Irina clenched her fists, feeling anger flare in her chest.
“What kind of difficulties?” she asked coldly.
“That’s none of your business. The point is, the dacha and the car were bought during the marriage, which means they’re marital property.”
Dmitry spoke in a businesslike tone, as if discussing a deal with a client. Was this really the man she had once loved? The man she had cried over at night?
“Do you realize I spent the last six months fixing up that dacha? Alone! I dug up the whole garden, planted flowers, repaired the veranda!”
“That was your initiative. I didn’t ask you to.”
“And I learned to drive the car! Do you think that was easy at forty?”
“Good for you, but it doesn’t change the substance.”
Irina stared at her ex-husband and didn’t recognize him. This cold calculation, this audacity—had he always been like this?
“Dima, you do understand you’re acting vilely, right?”
“I’m acting according to the law,” he said, pulling out his phone and casually scrolling through something. “By the way, if you want to be stubborn, I’ll have to take it to court. I don’t think you want extra expenses for lawyers, do you?”
Threats? Now threats too. Irina felt her cheeks burn with outrage.
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“I’m offering to settle this amicably. You sell the dacha—you get half. The car is more complicated, but we can agree on compensation.”
“And if I refuse?”
Dmitry shrugged.
“Then the court will decide for us. But the process could drag on for years. Do you need that?”
Irina sank into an armchair, her legs suddenly weak. That helplessness again, that feeling that someone else was controlling her life. All her childhood her mother had decided everything for her, then Dmitry had spent twenty years telling her what to do. And now—just when she had finally started breathing freely…
“Why now?” she asked quietly.
“Valya wants to open her own beauty salon. She needs money for the initial deposit.”
So it really was about money. And about the new woman, who apparently wasn’t as selfless as he’d imagined.
“I see. And how’s work going? Have you considered just… earning the money?”
“Ira, don’t be sarcastic. At my age it’s not easy to find a good position.”
“But taking a dacha and a car from your ex-wife is easy, right?”
Dmitry stood up and headed for the door.
“I’ve given you time to think. A week—and I expect your answer. I hope you’ll be sensible.”
“And if not?” Irina blurted out.
“Then we’ll see each other in court.”
The door slammed shut. Irina was left alone in the silence, which now felt not soothing, but crushing. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding wildly.
Did he really think she would give everything back again? That she would obediently nod and agree, like before?
All week Irina swung between despair and rage. At times she wanted to give up—why fight? Other times she pictured handing over her beloved dacha, where every garden bed had been watered with her sweat, and the anger came crashing down again.
On Thursday she couldn’t take it anymore and made an appointment with a lawyer. An elderly woman with sharp, perceptive eyes listened carefully to her story.
“Formally, he’s right,” Anna Vasilyevna said. “The property really is marital. But there are nuances.”
“What kind?”
“Did you invest personal funds into the dacha after he left? Make improvements? Do you have receipts, witnesses?”
Irina nodded. Yes, of course! A new stove, roof repairs, seedlings, fertilizer—all of that was after the divorce.
“Then we have arguments. And if he voluntarily renounced his claims, that can be interpreted a certain way.”
“So we can fight?”
“We can, and we should. Don’t let anyone manipulate you.”
Irina went home feeling uplifted. For the first time in many years, she felt there was someone who could stand up for her—if only herself.
On Saturday, Dmitry arrived exactly at the appointed time. He looked even worse—unshaven, with dull eyes.
“So, have you thought about it?” he asked without greeting.
“I have,” Irina straightened her back. “I’m not giving up the dacha or the car.”
“What?” He was taken aback. “Ira, you’re a sensible woman…”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m not giving them up. The dacha is my home—my work, my investments over the last few months. And I learned to drive the car with enormous effort.”
“But according to the law—”
“According to the law, you have the right to compensation. I’m ready to pay you for your share in installments. Or you can buy out my share at market value…”
Dmitry clearly hadn’t expected this turn of events. He stood in stunned silence for a few seconds.
“Where are you going to get the money to buy me out?”
“That’s my problem. And if you don’t like my offers—then you’re welcome to take me to court.”
“Ira, don’t be stupid. It’ll be worse for you.”
“It can’t get any worse for me,” she surprised herself with her own firmness. “It was worse six months ago, when you betrayed our family.”
Something like fear flickered in his eyes. Had he really been counting on her obedience?
“Listen… maybe we can come to an agreement like civilized people?” Dmitry’s voice took on a pleading note. “Valya is really counting on that salon…”
“And I was really counting on a faithful husband,” Irina cut in. “Not every dream is meant to come true.”
“You know I’m having problems with work right now…”
“Dima, listen to yourself! You left your wife for a young mistress, magnanimously gave up all the property, and now you’re back, tail between your legs, for money—because your new sweetheart turned out to be greedy?”
He winced as if in pain. Looks like she’d hit the mark.
“That’s not true…”
“No, it’s exactly true! And you know what? I’m even grateful to you. You showed me what a fool I’d been all these years. Always giving in, always sacrificing, always thinking about your comfort more than my own.”
Irina got up and walked over to the window. Outside, the leaves were still falling, but now it didn’t look sad—it looked cleansing.
“My terms stand. Compensation in installments over two years, or you buy out my share. The third option is court—but I’m warning you: I’m ready to fight to the end.”
“How much in installments?” Dmitry’s voice sounded defeated.
“The appraised value of your share of the dacha is seven hundred thousand. Thirty thousand a month for two years. I’m keeping the car—it’s more useful to me than it is to you.”
“That’s robbery!”
“That’s fairness. You’re getting money for property you gave up yourself, and I’m keeping what I poured my heart into.”
Dmitry was silent for a long time, nervously fidgeting with his phone. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh.
“Fine. But we’ll do it properly—on paper.”
“Of course. Through a lawyer.”
After he left, Irina stood for a long time in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. She looked the same, but something had changed in her eyes. There was a firmness there that hadn’t existed before.
For the first time in her life, she had stood her ground. For the first time, she had said “no” to a man who was used to hearing only “yes” from her. And the world didn’t collapse—on the contrary, it became fairer.
Six months later, after receiving the first transfer from Dmitry, Irina learned from mutual acquaintances that his romance with the secretary was over. Valentina had found a more promising sponsor for her business.
And Irina? She drove to the dacha in her own car, cared for the garden, and for the first time in many years, felt truly free.
