The realtor glanced over the papers again, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you absolutely certain? A gift deed like this is serious. Reversing it later will be near impossible.”
Yana nodded steadily as she put her signature on the documents. Her hand was unwavering — her decision was final.
Sunlight poured through the windows of the notary’s office on that calm May morning. The gentle hum of the air conditioner blended with the rich aroma of coffee drifting in from the reception. A seemingly ordinary day, yet one where life-altering choices were being made.
“My mother knows exactly what to do,” Yana said quietly, slipping a copy of the paperwork into her bag. “Just in case things go south.”
It had been a year since then. Before Dima’s late nights at work became the norm. Before the faint scent of another woman’s perfume started clinging to his shirts. Before the suspicious calls during odd hours.
Yana wasn’t foolish. Raised in a family of legal professionals, she’d been taught from childhood to always think several moves ahead. The apartment had been purchased with her own inheritance — money left by her grandmother. Dima was just starting out in his career and still paying off a car loan.
“Sweetheart, you should transfer the apartment into my name,” her mother had urged her firmly. “Not because you’re planning a divorce — just to be safe. You never know what life might throw at you.”
Yana agreed quietly, without argument or explanation. She legally gifted the apartment to her mother. The paperwork was flawless. But in truth, it was a safety net — an exit strategy.
Her phone chimed with a message from Dima: “Working late tonight. Important meeting.”
Yana smiled faintly, bitterly. Important meetings — just like the last week. And the week before. She opened the photo sent by the private investigator: Dima with a blonde woman, entering a restaurant arm in arm, their faces lit with smiles.
“Would you like some coffee?” the assistant offered.
“No, thank you,” Yana replied, rising. “Is everything ready?”
“In about an hour, we’ll have all the documents.”
She stepped outside. Despite it being May, the air was still cool but fragrant with blooming lilacs. She and Dima had met six years ago in this very month. Back then, he seemed dependable and devoted. She had trusted him.
Her phone buzzed again: “Sorry, I’ll be very late tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Alright,” she responded. “I’ll be late too. Some things to handle.”
The café was quiet, basking in the lull after lunch. Yana settled by the window and pulled out a folder containing the evidence. Their usual spot — warm and familiar, with pastries that reminded her of childhood.
“Did you bring everything?” her mother asked, settling down and shedding her jacket.
Elena Sergeevna, fifty-five but looking far younger, was a respected family law attorney. She had guided countless clients through divorces, fully aware of every trap and nuance.
Yana spread out the papers. “He drained nearly all the money from our joint account yesterday.”
Her mother nodded knowingly. “Getting ready, huh? And this?”
“These are from the detective. Three months of activity — dinners, hotels, jewelry stores.”
“Jewelry?” Elena Sergeevna raised an eyebrow. “Has he bought you anything recently?”
Yana forced a bitter smile. “No. But his new girlfriend wears a Cartier bracelet — the exact one I spotted on his bank statement.”
Their lavender tea arrived, and Yana stirred it absentmindedly with two teaspoons of sugar.
“Here’s the plan,” her mother said, pulling out a planner. “The apartment has been in my name for a year now — legally sound, no shared debts. The car is his — let him keep it. The finances, though, need work.”
“Mom, I don’t want the money.”
“You do,” Elena said firmly. “It’s not just about cash — it’s your time, your effort. You worked hard, saved carefully. And he…”
“I overheard him on the phone yesterday,” Yana confessed, clenching her cup. “Talking to a lawyer about splitting assets — including the apartment.”
“Let him chatter,” her mother smiled. “Does he know the apartment is legally gifted?”
“No. He thinks he can claim half — maybe even more.”
“Are you certain about this divorce?”
Yana watched a young couple holding hands outside the window, a painful reminder of what she and Dima once shared.
“Remember when you taught me to drive?” she asked, changing the subject. “You said, don’t just focus ahead — keep an eye on the mirrors too. That’s where danger can hide.”
“I do,” Elena replied, placing a reassuring hand over Yana’s.
“And what do you see in those mirrors now?”
“Deceit. Lies. A double life,” Yana said, pulling out her phone to show the photos. “Here — a week ago at ‘Sky’ restaurant. Then three days ago at the cinema. And this one…”
“That’s enough,” her mother interrupted gently. “I understand.”
“Tonight, he’ll come home late again,” Yana said. “I’ve prepared everything.”
“The paperwork?”
“In the safe at your office. I’ve packed essentials — the rest I’ll get later.”
Another message from Dima: “Want me to buy dinner?”
“No, thanks,” she replied. “We need to talk seriously.”
Back at home by seven, the apartment smelled fresh — she’d opened windows, changed curtains, rearranged flowers. This was the last cleaning she’d do here.
Their wedding photo lay on the table. She wore a simple white dress; he wore a gray suit. The ceremony was small — family only. “The wedding isn’t what matters,” Dima had said once. “It’s the life after.”
Yana traced the glass frame with her finger. Six years. Six years of believing in a life that was never truly hers.
Her phone pinged again: the detective sent another photo — Dima kissing the blonde on the street, shamelessly, wearing the shirt Yana had gifted him for his birthday.
“Thanks,” she messaged back. “No more photos needed.”
The front door rattled. Earlier than usual. Yana set the photo aside and sat in her armchair.
“Hey, I’m home!” Dima called cheerfully, smelling of wine and another woman’s perfume. “Got a surprise!”
“Yeah?” she said quietly, watching as he pulled a champagne bottle from a bag, swaying slightly.
“I got promoted! Director of Development now — salary doubled and…”
“More time for your ‘meetings’?” Yana cut in softly.
He froze, bottle in hand.
“The meetings — at ‘Sky’ restaurant, the cinema, ‘Riviera’ hotel…”
Dima lowered the bottle. His smile vanished.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Not me — a detective,” Yana said, showing her phone. “Want to see the pictures? Like the one where you’re kissing her outside the restaurant? Or the car one?”
“Wait — let’s talk. This isn’t what you think.”
“And what do I think?” Yana stood up. “That my husband cheats on me? Buys another woman expensive gifts? Drains our joint account?”
“How do you…”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, moving to the window. “What matters is that I know. And have known for a while.”
“Sweetheart,” he moved toward her. “It’s a mistake. Lena is just a colleague…”
“Lena?” she scoffed. “I thought it was Sveta — that’s what she’s saved as in your phone.”
“Yana…”
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “And don’t explain. I’ve made up my mind.”
“What decision?”
“Divorce.”
“Divorce?” Dima laughed nervously. “Over a few meetings? Are you serious?”
“Few meetings?” Yana opened her gallery. “Here — March 15, restaurant. March 20, theater. 25th, another restaurant. April — four hotel meetings. May — eight already.”
“You kept track?”
“The detective did — dates, times, places, photos. Lots of them.”
Dima slumped onto the couch, tie askew, dark circles beneath his eyes. No longer the confident man in the photos.
“So what now?” he asked, wiping his face. “Are you going to blackmail me?”
“Why?” Yana shrugged. “I just want a divorce. You started this — why else take money out of the account?”
He winced. “How do you…”
“The bank records. Yesterday you withdrew nearly everything — four million. Preparing to split assets?”
“So what?” he snapped, suddenly aggressive. “It’s our money! The apartment is ours — by law, I’m entitled to half!”
“The apartment?” Yana smiled coolly. “Sweetheart, it’s not mine. It belongs to my mother. Feel free to file for divorce.”
She handed him the land registry papers. His hands shook as he read.
“When… how?”
“A year ago. Legally gifted. Mom’s a lawyer — everything done properly.”
“You planned this?” he paled. “Prepared?”
“Protected myself,” Yana said, retrieving her packed bag from the closet. “Mom taught me to always think ahead. Especially when your husband starts coming home late.”
“Bitch,” he spat.
“Keep your insults,” she said, putting on her coat. “I’ll get the rest of my things later. Leave the keys with Mom — it’s her apartment. You can stay here until the divorce. She’s fine with that.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. Just game over. You lost.”
“Wait!” he jumped up, blocking the door. “Let’s talk. This can be fixed!”
“Fix what?” she asked calmly. “Your hotel stays? The three hundred thousand bracelet? Your lies about working late?”
“I’ll explain! Lena and I are finished, I swear!”
“Really?” She pulled up a photo. “This was taken an hour ago. A very passionate kiss for ‘we’re done.’”
He clutched his head. “Yana, listen — I’m confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start over.”
“Start over?” She smiled sadly. “You know what’s ironic? I truly loved you. I believed you. When Mom suggested changing the apartment ownership, I resisted. Said, ‘We’re family.’”
She picked up their wedding photo. “Remember that day? You promised forever. That you’d never betray me.”
“I love you!”
“No, Dima. You only love yourself. Now that you know you’ll lose the apartment, you’re scrambling to save face.”
“That’s not true!” he said, pale. “I really love you!”
“Then why drain the account?” she said, setting the photo down. “Why meet lawyers about splitting assets? Why look for another place to live?”
“How do you…”
“The realtor you spoke to Monday? He’s an old client of mine. He called me. You were searching for a two-bedroom downtown apartment. For you and Lena, right?”
Dima said nothing. The ticking clock echoed — a wedding gift from his parents.
“I thought it through,” he muttered at last. “I was going to be honest. Split everything fairly.”
“And take half the apartment,” Yana finished. “But you miscalculated. The apartment is Mom’s. As for the money… take it. Consider it compensation for six lost years.”
She headed for the door. Dima grabbed her hand.
“Don’t go! I’ll fix this!”
“Too late,” she said gently pulling away. “The divorce papers will be ready tomorrow. Sign them — you’re free. Live with Lena, buy her whatever you want. But with your money, not ours.”
“I’ll take you to court!” he shouted after her. “I’ll prove the gift deed is fake!”
“Try it,” Yana turned back. “Mom’s been itching to get back in court — she misses the challenge.”
The door closed behind her. Her hands trembled but she held herself together. Her mother waited in the car.
“How did it go?”
“Exactly as you said,” Yana fastened her seatbelt. “He denied, begged, then threatened court when he learned about the apartment.”
“Typical,” Elena Sergeevna started the engine. “Going home?”
“No. To you. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The car rolled forward. Outside, the city passed by. Somewhere, Lena was waiting for Dima — dreaming of the life, the gifts.
“You did well,” her mother said at the stoplight. “Many stay too long, afraid to leave.”
“I realized just in time — better to be alone than with a traitor.”
“And ahead lies your whole life,” Elena smiled. “Without lies, without pain. You’ll be alright.”
Yana nodded as her phone chimed — another message from Dima. She silenced it without looking. Tomorrow was a fresh start. A new chapter.