Sweetheart, let’s move your inheritance into our shared account,” her husband said, not realizing she knew about his plans for divorce.

Anastasia carefully arranged the freshly baked buns, standing in her usual spot behind the counter. The warm, comforting aroma of bread and pastries filled the small bakery. She loved working in this cozy little shop nestled within a residential area of Yekaterinburg. But for Anastasia, this place was more than just a business—it was a treasured legacy from her parents.
The soft jingle of the bell above the door signaled a visitor. An elderly woman stepped inside, her familiar presence bringing a sense of comfort.
“Good morning, Anna Petrovna!” Anastasia greeted warmly. “The usual? A loaf of Borodinsky bread and a pack of cottage cheese?”
The old woman sighed with a smile. “Oh, Nastenka, you always remember. That’s why I adore this shop—it feels like home.”
Anastasia took pride in knowing her customers by name. To the locals, this wasn’t just a grocery store; it was a gathering place, a corner of warmth where people shared news and stories over the scent of fresh bread.
As the morning rush settled, Anastasia sat down briefly, lost in thought. Today marked the anniversary of her parents’ passing. Three years ago, a tragic car accident had taken them away, leaving her with the shop they had built with love. She could still hear her father’s patient voice teaching her bookkeeping and her mother’s hands guiding her on how to stock the shelves just right. They had unknowingly been preparing her for this moment.
The sudden ringing of her phone pulled her from her thoughts. The screen displayed her husband’s name.
“Hello, Vitya,” she answered.
“Nastya, what time will you be free today?” Victor’s voice carried an unusual excitement.
“Same as always, around seven. Why?”
“Perfect! I have a surprise for you. Let’s meet at our favorite restaurant at eight.”
Anastasia smiled. Even after three years of marriage, Victor still managed to surprise her.
“Alright, I’m looking forward to it.”
She returned to work, but her mind kept drifting to the evening ahead. What could Victor have planned? Perhaps he had finally found a job? He had been unemployed for months, pouring his energy into a startup idea. Anastasia had supported him, but the financial strain was beginning to weigh on her.
That evening, she spotted Victor sitting at a quiet corner table, idly twirling a glass in his hands.
“Hello, dear,” she greeted, kissing his cheek. “What’s the big surprise?”
Victor’s grin widened. “Nastya, I finally found an investor for my startup!”
Anastasia clapped her hands, genuinely happy. “That’s wonderful, Vitya! Congratulations!”
“Yes,” he nodded, then hesitated. “But… there’s a small issue. To show my commitment to the project, I need to invest too. We need an initial sum to launch. I was thinking…”
Anastasia’s heart sank. She could already guess where this was going.
“Maybe we should sell your shop?” Victor said, his tone eager. “We could use the money to invest in my business, and in a year or two, we’ll be millionaires!”
A chill ran through Anastasia. Sell the shop? The only thing left of her parents? Their legacy and her sole source of income?
“Vitya, are you serious? You know what this place means to me,” she said softly, holding back a storm of emotions.
“Come on, Nastya!” he waved dismissively. “It’s just a shop. But this—this is an opportunity for us to be rich!”
She shook her head firmly. “No, Vitya. This store isn’t just a business—it’s my history, my stability. Are you really asking me to give that up for an uncertain venture?”
Victor’s expression darkened. “Fine. Let’s just discuss it at home, okay? Look at the business plan first. You’ll see how much potential we have!”
Reluctantly, Anastasia nodded, but deep inside, she already knew her answer.
The following weeks were exhausting. Victor constantly talked about his project, pushing her to sell the shop. He showed her charts, projections, and grand promises of wealth.
“Nastya, don’t you see? This small shop is outdated! My business is the future. Imagine, we’ll have a whole network of stores across Russia!”
But the more he insisted, the more uneasy Anastasia felt. Something wasn’t right. His behavior had changed—he was secretive, short-tempered, always whispering into his phone behind closed doors.
One evening, passing by his office, she overheard a hushed conversation.
“Don’t worry, Kolyan,” Victor chuckled. “She’ll agree soon. Then we’ll sell the shop, and after that, a quick divorce. The money will be ours.”
Anastasia’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled as she stepped back, her mind reeling. How could he? How could he betray her like this?
For the next few days, she went about her routine in a daze. She smiled at customers, arranged the shelves, but inside, a storm raged. Then, anger took over. She would not let him take everything from her. She needed a plan.
Victor remained oblivious, still scheming, still dreaming of a future he wouldn’t have.
One evening, Anastasia casually said, “You know, Vitya, maybe you’re right about the shop.”
His face lit up. “So, you’ll sell it?”
“Not exactly. I was thinking, maybe we should register the shop in both our names? If we’re going to build a future together, we should both be involved.”
Victor hesitated, then nodded enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea! I knew you’d come around. Let’s start the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Of course, dear,” she smiled, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat.
The next morning, Anastasia visited a lawyer—not to transfer ownership, but to protect her store. With expert guidance, she ensured that the business remained solely hers, safeguarding it against any claims in case of a divorce. She also began quietly moving funds into a private account, preparing for the inevitable fallout.
That evening, Victor broached another subject. “Nastya, we should open a joint account for the business.”
Feigning hesitation, she replied, “That sounds reasonable. But let’s manage our contributions separately. It’s just a precaution, right?”
Victor frowned but agreed, not wanting to raise suspicions.
Two weeks later, he arrived home beaming, waving documents in the air. “Nastya, I’ve prepared the transfer papers! Once you sign, we can start a new life together!”
She took the papers, flipping through them slowly. Then, she looked up, her voice steady. “Victor, I know everything.”
His face paled. “What are you talking about?”
“Your conversation with Nikolai. How you planned to take my shop and leave me.”
Victor’s mouth opened and closed. “Nastya, that was just—just talk! You misunderstood—”
“Enough,” she cut him off. “I’ve already seen a lawyer. Here are the divorce papers. The shop stays mine. You can take what we earned together, but you get nothing from my parents’ legacy.”
Victor sat in stunned silence before letting out a defeated sigh. “I underestimated you.”
“That was your biggest mistake,” she replied, holding the door open.
As he walked out, Anastasia felt an unexpected relief. The deception was over. And she? She was stronger than ever. The little shop she fought to protect would not only survive—it would thrive.