Anna knew she had to sneak in quietly. She pushed the apartment door open gently, sliding her keys into her bag without a sound. The hallway was dimly lit, and a warm, spicy aroma lingered in the air—it seemed Sergey had once again eaten late, probably his favorite pilaf from the restaurant. His shoes were scattered on the floor, one leaning against the wall, as if he had kicked them off in anger. Mechanically, Anna pushed them back into place, then kicked off her own boots and unbuttoned her coat.
In the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes awaited. Anna sighed. She knew it should have been Sergey’s turn to clean up, but she also knew that if she didn’t say anything, the same scene would greet her tomorrow. The kettle clicked on, but as her hand reached for a cup, she stopped herself. “No, today there’s no time for the usual little rituals,” she told herself firmly.
In the bedroom, Sergey lay soundly asleep, sprawled across the bed. His phone flashed softly beside him—probably another ordinary message from his mother, asking him to buy bread or wondering why he hadn’t called. Anna watched his peaceful, contented expression and felt a tightening in her chest. It was strange, she thought, that he lay there peacefully while her mind raced with the truth she’d discovered just a few days ago.
It happened that afternoon. Anna had been heading home from work when she ran into a neighbor in the elevator—an elderly woman in a dark coat with shiny buttons.
“You’re Sergey’s wife, aren’t you?” she asked with a smile.
“Yes, and you are…?”
“Valentina Petrovna, from the 24th floor. I’ve lived here for a long time. It’s strange we haven’t met before.”
A few seconds of silence passed, but the woman continued to smile.
“It’s nice that you moved in. This apartment has been vacant for so long. Sergey’s mother bought it back in the ’90s…”
Anna froze.
“The apartment is in his mother’s name?” she asked slowly.
“Of course. She bought it, and Sergey lived here with his previous partner. Now, you’re here.”
The elevator doors opened, and Anna nearly forgot to get out. The woman kept talking, but her words no longer reached Anna. Only one thought buzzed in her mind:
She wasn’t paying rent. She had been paying Sergey. For two years.
At home, she didn’t go straight to bed. She opened her laptop and went to the tax authority’s website. She entered the address, Sergey’s mother’s name. And there it was: Olga Vjacseszlavovna Smirnova was listed as the owner.
Anna stared at the screen for a long time.
Now, it all made sense.
But it would have been foolish to create a scene. Instead, she looked around. Everything she loved in this apartment—the bookshelves, the blanket she bought on sale, the warm lighting—had been bought with her money.
The next morning, Anna woke up earlier than usual. Sergey, as always, was deeply asleep. Anna tidied up the remains from the previous night in the kitchen, then called the property management office.
“Good morning, I’d like to inquire about the property ownership details.”
The agent responded kindly.
“The apartment is under the name of Olga Vjacseszlavovna Smirnova. Utility bills are paid regularly.”
Anna thanked her, hung up, and sat still for a while. She had been walking on thin ice, but now she knew: everything Valentina had said was true.
Not long after, she searched through Sergey’s drawer, where he kept his documents. She found a folder—bank statements. Among the payments was one labeled “Utility Bill” with the sender listed as Olga Vjacseszlavovna.
There was no longer any doubt.
When Sergey finally appeared, yawning and disheveled, she simply said:
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replied softly, sitting across from him.
“I was thinking…” he started, twirling a spoon in his hand, “what if we bought our own place? We pay eighty thousand every month to someone we don’t even know…”
Sergey froze for a moment, then shrugged.
“It’s not that simple, with the loan and paperwork…”
“But at least it would be ours. Or we could ask the owner if she wants to sell. You know her…”
Sergey turned away, hiding behind his phone.
“I just thought…” Anna continued calmly, “it would be better to start fresh.”
He didn’t respond.
But Anna knew, the time had come.
A week later, Sergey was invited to dinner. They rarely went to fancy restaurants, but he gladly accepted the invitation.
“What are we toasting to?” he asked cheerfully.
“To family,” Anna answered with a smile.
Then she asked:
“Do you remember who we’ve been paying for the past two years?”
Sergey tried to change the subject, but Anna didn’t let him.
“Is the bill in your name? Or… your mother’s?”
He finally admitted it.
Anna placed the final envelope in front of him.
“This is the last penny I’ll ever give you.”
And she stood up.
In the following days, Anna quietly packed. She no longer wanted a fight. Just a fresh start.
On Friday, when Sergey came home, his suitcase was waiting by the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Why?”
Anna answered quietly:
“For two years, I thought I was paying rent to you. I’ve had enough of the lies.”
Sergey tried to make excuses, but it was too late.
Anna walked out the door.
Not long after, she sat in a small studio apartment. It wasn’t fancy, but it was hers.
Her phone buzzed.
“Son, where is your wife?” Olga wrote.
Anna only smiled.
It was no longer her problem.