The scent of lemon detergent filled the kitchen as I wiped down the counters. The dishwasher hummed quietly in the background, wrapping the home in a comforting calm. Just as I tossed the sponge into the sink, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door to find a tall, well-groomed man standing on the threshold, wearing a smile reminiscent of a toothpaste commercial. In one hand, he held a leather briefcase; in the other, a sleek smartphone.
“Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “I’m looking for Mr. Lambert. You must be the cleaner – Lilia, is that right? I’m his business partner, David. Nice to meet you.”
Before I could reply, he glanced at his watch and added, “Mrs. Lambert showed me your photo!”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Mrs. Lambert?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Yes! You and Grisha make a perfect couple,” he said with an ironic smile.
Mrs. Lambert? Then who was I? The cleaning lady? I decided to play along, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Please, come in,” I said, nodding lightly. “Have you known Mr. and Mrs. Lambert long?”
“For many years,” David answered as he sat on the sofa. “They’re so happy, so harmonious. It’s hard not to envy them.”
I forced a smile, my hands trembling. I grabbed a glass of water—an excuse to leave the room. Who exactly was this ‘Mrs. Lambert’?
When I returned, David was scrolling through his phone. At the sight of me, his face lit up.
“I have a photo of them. Want to see it?” he offered.
He handed me the phone, and what I saw chilled my blood. In the picture, my sister Alena was kissing my husband, Grigori.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” David smiled.
I struggled to keep my voice steady. “When was this photo taken?”
“About a year ago, at a company party. Grisha introduced her as his wife. I thought he was single until I saw them together on the street. He said, ‘Let me introduce my wife.'”
I clenched the glass tightly. Cleaning lady? Was this some kind of joke?
- David seemed to have many photos with them.
- He showed me another picture.
- Dizziness overtook me, and David noticed with concern.
“Lilia, are you okay?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” I replied with a forced smile. “Would you like some coffee while you wait for Mr. Lambert?”
He nodded, unaware that it wasn’t only the water boiling in that kitchen—so was I.
I served the coffee and sat beside him, my heart pounding. David stirred his drink, wearing a calm smile.
“David,” I began calmly, “take a look at the photo on the fireplace mantel.”
He stood, picked up the frame, furrowing his brow.
“Is this… you?” he asked, puzzled.
“Exactly,” I confirmed. “And next to me is my husband, Grigori Lambert.”
David was speechless.
“Wait… what’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m not the cleaning lady. I’m the real Mrs. Lambert.”
His face paled as he carefully put down the frame, as if it had burned him.
“I… I thought… Alena…”
“She introduced herself as Mrs. Lambert, right?” I finished his sentence. “Grigori and her. And you believed her.”
“Yes… forgive me. I swear I didn’t know!”
After a moment of silence, I watched him fidget.
“David, what brought you here today?”
He fell silent, then sighed.
“I wanted to convince Grigori to sell me his share of the company. But it’s complicated.”
“Why complicated?”
He swallowed deeply.
“The share isn’t registered under him, but under Mrs. Lambert—you. But your sister… she signed a refusal to sell. I thought it was you.”
“So Alena forged my signature?”
David appeared shaken.
“I didn’t know it was fake. But yes, she blocked the transaction.”
I gave a bitter smile.
“Now everything is clear.”
He lowered his gaze.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to involve you.”
“That’s not your fault,” I replied coldly. “Since you’re here, let’s finish the deal. How much are you offering for the share?”
His surprise was evident, yet he mentioned a staggering amount.
“Acceptable,” I said evenly. “Have your lawyers send the documents tomorrow.”
“Of course. Thank you… Mrs. Lambert.”
“No problem. Let’s keep everything official.”
The next evening, Grigori burst into the house, his face flushed with anger.
“What have you done?!”
I was seated on the couch, book in hand, without looking up.
“Good evening, Grisha. Rough day?”
“Don’t play dumb!” he growled, throwing his jacket on the armchair. “You sold my share! Do you realize what you’ve done?!”
I closed the book.
“I’m fully aware. I solved your little problem.”
“My problem?! It’s my company, my future!”
I stood.
“No, Grisha. It’s my share. And after what I discovered, I took control.”
He turned pale.
“What… what did you find out?”
“About Alena. Your ‘wife’. Or did you really think I’d never learn?”
He stood frozen.
“I… can explain everything…”
“No need. I already consulted a lawyer. And yes, I want a divorce.”
“Divorce?! Are you serious?!”
“Absolutely. And since you and Alena forged my signature, I will claim compensation. The deal is done. The money will be mine by the end of the week.”
He slumped into the armchair.
“You… destroyed my life…”
I crossed my arms.
“No, Grisha. You destroyed it yourself.”
- Two weeks later, I walked out of the law office with a signed divorce agreement.
- I felt a freedom I hadn’t experienced in years.
- I had secured not only my rightful share from the company sale but also compensation for forged documents.
- The threat alone dismantled their web of lies without a court battle.
- To my knowledge, Grigori lost both the business and his relationship with Alena.
For a long time, I reflected on their betrayal. The pain was sharp and bitter. Yet, eventually, an awareness blossomed—these lies awakened a strength within me I never realized I had.
Standing in the living room, I looked at the mantel where his photo once stood. Now, a vase of fresh flowers rested in its place. I smiled.
This was not an ending. It was a fresh start—and this time, on my terms.