Anastasia carefully arranged the fresh buns behind the counter, breathing in the comforting aroma of baked goods that filled the small neighborhood bakery. This shop wasn’t just her workplace—it was a cherished legacy passed down from her parents, rooted deep in the heart of Yekaterinburg’s residential district.
As the shop bell chimed, an elderly woman stepped inside.
“Good morning, Anna Petrovna!” Anastasia greeted warmly. “The usual? A loaf of Borodinsky bread and some cottage cheese?”
The woman smiled softly. “You always remember what I need, Nastenka. That’s why your little shop feels like home.”
Knowing her regular customers by name filled Anastasia with pride. This bakery was more than a place to buy bread—it was a community hub, where neighbors exchanged stories and shared moments.
After the morning rush, Anastasia sank into a chair, her thoughts drifting. Today marked the anniversary of her parents’ tragic death in a car accident three years ago—the day she inherited the shop. She remembered her father patiently teaching her bookkeeping, her mother showing her how to arrange the shelves. They had prepared her for this life.
Her reverie was broken by the phone ringing. Victor’s name lit up the screen.
“Hi, Vitya,” she answered.
“Nastya, when are you free today?” His voice was lighter than usual.
“Seven, like always. Why?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you! Meet me at our favorite restaurant at eight?”
She smiled, heart warmed by his thoughtful gesture despite their three years of marriage.
“Can’t wait.”
Back at work, her mind lingered on the evening ahead. Victor had been out of work for months, pouring energy into a startup plan. Anastasia supported him, but the strain on their finances gnawed at her.
At the restaurant, she spotted Victor at a secluded table, nervously playing with his glass.
“Kiss,” she said softly. “What’s the surprise?”
He beamed. “I’ve secured an investor for the startup!”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”
Victor nodded but quickly added, “There’s a catch—I need to invest as well. We need some seed money to launch. I was thinking…”
Her smile faltered. She already knew what was coming.
“Sell the shop?” she interrupted. “Put that money into your project and we’ll be rich in a couple of years?”
Cold dread settled over her. The shop was more than income—it was her parents’ memory.
“Victor, you can’t be serious! This store means everything to me.”
“It’s just a business, Nastya! This is our chance!” he argued.
She shook her head firmly. “No. This is my legacy. I have stability here. Your startup can’t replace that.”
Victor sighed, “At least look at the business plan. Then you’ll see the potential.”
Reluctantly, she agreed, but her heart was uneasy.
Weeks passed in tension. Victor kept pressing, showing charts and forecasts, painting a bright future. “The shop’s outdated. This is progress—a chain all over Russia.”
But the more he pushed, the more Anastasia’s doubts grew. Victor’s mood darkened. Secretive phone calls, withdrawn behavior—something was off.
One day she overheard him on the phone: “Kolyan, the fool will sign the papers soon. Then divorce, and the money’s ours.”
Her heart shattered. How could he betray her like this?
Locking herself in their bedroom, she struggled to think clearly. Anger mixed with heartbreak fueled a plan.
Victor remained blind to her changes, dreaming aloud about their “future empire.” Anastasia played along, buying time.
“Maybe we should register the shop under both our names?” she suggested. “To grow the business together.”
Victor brightened. “Perfect idea, darling!”
She smiled tightly, hiding her resolve.
The next day, Anastasia visited a lawyer—not to share control, but to safeguard her property should things fall apart.
That evening, Victor asked about the paperwork.
“Everything’s moving forward,” she said with feigned enthusiasm.
Victor beamed, unaware of her preparations.
The lawyer’s advice echoed in her mind: keep control, avoid signing anything without counsel, and gather proof the shop belonged to her inheritance.
Victor suggested a joint account. Anastasia agreed—but on her terms: separate control over each contribution.
He hesitated but accepted to avoid suspicion.
She meticulously ensured all contracts and documents were in her name. Victor’s confidence grew, but she stayed vigilant.
“Imagine the network we’ll build in a year,” he said.
She nodded, ready for the moment to confront him.
When Victor brought papers to transfer her inheritance to their joint account, she faced him calmly.
“I know about your plan to divorce me and take the business.”
His face drained of color.
“I overheard your call to Nikolai—you called me a fool and planned to sell the shop then split.”
Victor stammered, but she cut him off.
“I won’t let you steal what’s mine.”
She revealed documents: the store was hers entirely, before and after their marriage. He could keep their shared assets, but the shop was off-limits.
Victor sat defeated.
“Now you sign and leave,” she said firmly. “One week to move out.”
He signed, eyes filled with reluctant respect.
After he left, Anastasia felt empty yet free from deception.
She returned to the bakery, surrounded by the familiar smells and faces.
“Everything alright, Nastenka? You seem tired,” Anna Petrovna remarked.
“Just a new chapter,” Anastasia smiled.
She revitalized the shop—fresh stock, farm products, delivery services—strengthening bonds with the community.
Months later, she encountered Victor, worn and humble.
“Thank you for everything,” he said. “You taught me honesty matters.”
She wished him well and turned back to her future.
Anastasia embraced her path, knowing she protected not only a business but a home filled with memories, love, and hope. Life moved on—and so would she.