At half past six one morning, Anya Karpenko was jolted awake by the harsh slam of the front door. As was his habit, Igor left for work without a word of farewell. She turned away, burying her face into her pillow, attempting to drift back to sleep. Yet, her mind refused to find peace—it was once again consumed by calculations: how much more she needed to save before escaping the confines of their rented apartment and beginning a life of her own.
Over three years of marriage, Anya had grown accustomed to Igor’s silence, his constant distraction with his phone during meals, and the fact that he never inquired, “How was your day?” She had become so used to these behaviors that they no longer registered. Employed as an accountant at a construction company, Anya meticulously saved every penny, nurturing dreams of owning her own home. The two-room apartment they rented no longer felt like a sanctuary — thin walls, a meddlesome landlady, and exorbitant rent overshadowed the space.
“That’s it, we’ll move soon,” she declared to Igor, scrolling through apartment listings on her phone. “Six more months and we’ll have the down payment.”
Igor simply nodded without looking up, muttering something barely audible. Though his job as a logistics company driver afforded him reasonable earnings, he grudgingly contributed to their shared goals. Most of his income vanished on cigarettes, beers with friends, and fuel for his cherished car.
Rather than complain, Anya had long since stopped sharing her feelings with him, recognizing his indifference. Instead, she concentrated on saving, planning, and exploring options. Weekends were spent viewing apartments, taking photographs, and comparing prices—always alone, as Igor refused to accompany her.
“You’ll make better decisions,” he’d dismissively say. “Whatever you pick, we’ll accept it.”
That February day unfolded like any other. Anya worked at her desk, reconciling last month’s accounts when Igor’s phone began ringing—forgotten at home, it lay on the kitchen counter beside an unfinished sandwich. Though tempted to ignore the calls, they persisted. The name “Max” lit up the screen.
She recognized Max as Igor’s school friend, now engaged in sales. Tall and slim, Max carried a perpetually mocking expression. Though Anya had encountered him just a few times over the years, she recalled his peculiar humor shared only with Igor.
“Hi, this is Anya,” she answered upon hearing his voice. “Igor left his phone at home. Is it urgent?”
“Hey, Anya! Nothing serious, just wanted to check on the apartment plans. You said you were buying one,” Max responded.
“Yes, hoping for summer,” Anya replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Igor sounded really pleased, like he’d won something.”
Max’s tone stirred suspicion, but Anya refrained from pressing further. After exchanging farewells, she returned to her work. That evening, when Igor came home, she handed back his phone.
“Max called, asked about the apartment,” she mentioned casually.
Igor glanced over the phone, his expression tightening but offered no response.
“Will you have dinner?” Anya inquired.
“Not hungry,” he grumbled, retreating to his room.
After three years, Anya had learned to expect such moods.
However, a week later, events shifted dramatically.
When Igor once again left his phone behind, Anya chose to ignore the calls. She muted it and went about her day. Later, upon his return, when he asked about missed calls, she lied—denying any had come. Igor frowned, took the phone, and whispered into the bathroom. Upon emerging, his face had darkened.
“I’ll be late tomorrow,” he muttered. “Important cargo, might work late.”
Anya nodded, now detached.
The next morning, Igor departed but returned within thirty minutes, having forgotten documents. While Anya showered, she heard him rummaging hurriedly before leaving again. Exiting the bathroom, she spotted his phone on the floor—likely fallen from his pocket during the scramble. She intended only to pick it up and move it aside, but the unlocked screen caught her eye. Several unread messages from Max glowed brightly.
Despite intentions not to peek, curiosity prevailed. The initial message revealed troubling content:
“Are you certain she suspects nothing? Her reaction yesterday seemed off…”
Anya’s heartbeat quickened. Her fingers scrolled through the conversation.Read more revealed a covert plan:
- Igor confirmed their progress, noting Anya was close to affording a down payment.
- He planned to divorce soon after the apartment’s purchase to claim his half legally.
- His words expressed clear disdain for the marriage facade and Anya’s naivety.
Igor confided in Max about manipulating Anya’s trust and avoiding children to simplify splitting property.
Anya’s hands trembled as she set the phone down. Three years of shared dreams masked a deceitful agenda.
Slowly, she sank onto the sofa, collecting herself while awaiting Igor’s inevitable return to reclaim his phone. Resolution had to come, even if uncertain what path she’d choose.
Quickly snapping photos of the incriminating messages with her own phone, she replaced Igor’s device and settled into waiting.
Igor arrived twenty minutes later, irritable and distracted.
“Where’s my phone?” he demanded abruptly.
“It was on the floor,” Anya answered calmly.
After glancing at the screen, Igor relaxed briefly.
“I’m off. Will be back late,” he said.
“Okay,” she replied.
Once the door shut, Anya let tears flow—briefly. The sorrow soon dissolved into steely resolve. Betrayed but armed with proof, she vowed to reclaim control over her life.
She delved into research on family law, evidence for property rights, and legal procedures for protecting her savings. By midday, her knowledge surpassed what she’d gained throughout their marriage.
That evening, Igor returned late. Anya greeted him with a composed smile and a set table.
“How was your day?” she asked, pouring tea.
“Fine,” Igor grunted, eyes averted. “And yours?”
“Good. I spoke with the realtor today. He suggested registering the apartment under whoever earns more officially , to minimize taxes.”
Igor’s interest flickered.
“Whose name would work best?” he inquired.
“I’m undecided,” Anya admitted. “He said it should be whoever has the higher documented income.”
“Twenty-eight thousand,” Igor replied.
“Mine’s thirty-five,” she said confidently. “Better to put it under my name.”
Igor contemplated it.
“Does it really matter? We’re married; property’s joint.”
“Yes, but the lawyer insists it reduces government hassle,” Anya explained.
For days, Anya meticulously prepared, hinting at meetings with a lawyer and stressing the importance of formal procedures. Igor showed visible tension whenever documents were mentioned.
Then, one Saturday, Igor announced a countryside visit to assist his mother with the summer house. Anya nodded, seeing him off.
Shortly after, her older sister Lena arrived—direct and straightforward, never concealing her disdain for Igor.
“You look pale,” Lena remarked. “What happened?”
“Just tired,” Anya replied.
“Tired of that cold man of yours?” Lena pressed.
Usually defending Igor, Anya instead laid bare her pain: the messages, Igor’s scheme, her heartbreak.
Listening intently, Lena concluded, “A complete bastard. What now?”
“Still deciding,” Anya admitted.
Lena pushed, “Act swiftly. Do you have proof?”
“I photographed the messages.”
“And the money?”
“In my account, saved myself.”
“Perfect. Visit a lawyer tomorrow and move quickly. Buy the apartment before he suspects.”
“But about…” Anya began.
“Feel sorry for him? After exploiting you for years? No. Be smart, not kind.”
Taking Monday off, Anya consulted a lawyer who explained the delicate situation. With documented proof of funds and Igor’s intentions, she had a strong case—if handled cautiously.
The lawyer advised concealing her knowledge, drafting contracts stating the apartment was purchased solely with one spouse’s personal income, and ensuring all documentation was in order.
At home, Igor sensed suspicion. Tension rose.
“When will you buy the apartment?” he asked abruptly at dinner.
“In a month or two,” Anya replied.
“Maybe sooner? Prices are climbing.”
Recognizing the urgency as self-serving, Anya quietly agreed.
She toured a favored one-room apartment in a new building offering a convenient layout. The sellers offered a small discount for a quick sale.
At the weekend viewing, Igor surprisingly endorsed the purchase, declining larger options.
His haste was clear: the sooner the purchase, the sooner he could initiate divorce proceedings.
With legal assistance, Anya ensured the contract would register the apartment as her personal property. Igor’s signature was limited to spousal consent.
“Why this wording?” Igor questioned.
“The lawyer recommends it for tax safety,” Anya explained.
Igor signed and remained silent.
The following week passed in quiet tension. Occasionally Igor seemed suspicious, other times indifferent.
On Thursday, Max called to congratulate Anya on the impending purchase, his voice tinged with sarcasm. Anxiety gnawed at Anya through the restless night.
Friday brought the closing at the Multifunctional Center. Anya’s hands trembled as she signed documents; Igor smiled, embracing her briefly.
“Now we have our own home,” he said.
“Yes, our own,” Anya echoed, voice steady.
They returned home quietly. Anya wondered when Igor would file for divorce—soon, she presumed.
That Monday morning, Igor broke the silence.
“Anya, we need to talk about us,” he began.
He spoke of drifting apart, separate goals, and feeling constrained. Despite the pain, Anya was mentally prepared for this.
“I think separation is best,” he concluded. “Peacefully, without conflict. I’ll file today. We’ll split the apartment equally. Any objections?”
“None,” Anya said calmly.
Igor appeared surprised at her lack of resistance.
“Seriously?” he pressed.
“Yes. If you want this, let’s proceed,” she responded.
Once he left, Anya contacted her lawyer.
“He’s started the process,” she reported. “Filing today.”
“Good. Are you prepared for the next step?” the lawyer asked.
“I am,” Anya confirmed.
A month later, the court convened to divide the property. Igor arrived with counsel, assured and confident. Anya appeared composed, armed with extensive documentation.
Igor’s attorney insisted the apartment was joint property. Anya rejected this, presenting clear evidence of sole ownership through personal income and savings. Furthermore, she revealed Igor’s premeditated plans to exploit the divorce for financial gain, substantiated by the incriminating messages.
The courtroom watched as Igor’s confident facade crumbled. His lawyer challenged the authenticity of the messages, but Anya insisted on examining Igor’s phone to verify them.
After a lengthy hearing, the court ruled the apartment belonged exclusively to Anya. The proof was compelling, and Igor’s deceptive intentions were undeniable.
Leaving the courtroom, Igor confronted Anya.
“You knew all along?” he asked.
“From the beginning,” she replied.
“And you never said a word?”
“What would that have changed? You had your plans.”
Igor shook his head in disbelief.
“I thought you were too simple for such schemes.”
“Then you didn’t know me,” Anya answered firmly.
They stood on the courthouse steps as former spouses—Igor’s eyes clouded with anger and confusion, Anya’s with quiet resolve.
“So be it,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He left, and Anya immediately called her sister.
“It’s over. The apartment is mine,” she shared.
“Well done,” Lena congratulated. “How do you feel?”
Reflecting, Anya responded, “Free. For the first time in years, truly free.”
That evening, she sat in her apartment—now authentically hers—drinking tea. The court decision and divorce papers lay on the table. Tomorrow, normal life would resume with new plans and renewed hope.
Looking out at the city’s pulse—the glowing streetlights, passing cars, and walking pedestrians—Anya’s thoughts returned briefly to Igor. Was he now lamenting in a bar or plotting another deceit?
She shrugged, indifferent. Those concerns no longer belonged to her.
Opening a notebook, she penned the first entries of a fresh chapter:
- Change the locks.
- Find a reliable realtor.
- Prepare the apartment for sale.
Because Anya Karpenko had finally accepted a profound truth: life is too precious to accept less than deserved. She had saved for a modest one-bedroom apartment for three years. Now, she intended to save for a spacious three-bedroom in a desirable neighborhood, overlooking a park.
She closed the notebook, extinguished the light, and smiled quietly. Tomorrow would mark a new beginning—one crafted solely by her desires.
In conclusion, Anya’s story reveals the resilience required to face betrayal, the courage to seek justice, and the determination to forge a new path. Her journey underscores the importance of self-reliance and informed decisions when safeguarding one’s future amidst challenging relationships.