As the last rays of sunset painted the sky in shades of crimson, Karina Kruglova stood at the sink, her palms pressed against the cool granite countertop. A drop of grease sat at the edge of her plate, reminiscent of a blind, pearly tear. In front of her, a mountain of dirty dishes loomed like a silent accusation. The day had slipped away once more without her noticing. Her hands instinctively reached for the sponge, a motion ingrained in her muscle memory after years of repetition. Wash, wipe, load, cook. This relentless cycle had bound her for eight long years.
Each item in the kitchen felt like a part of a prison cell, where she was both the inmate and the warden. The atmosphere thickened, and before she heard his voice, she knew it was about to come.
“Karina! Where’s my dinner?” complained Nikolai from the living room, his tone metallic and demanding.
Despite the years, she still flinched. Eight years of marriage had taught her many things: to suppress flashes of anger, to hide grievances deep within her soul, to remain silent. Yet, it had failed to teach her the most important lesson: how to avoid the icy jab in her heart whenever he spoke to her in that manner. She quickly dried her hands, leaving damp marks on the towel, and rushed to the stove, as if pursued by an unseen force.
“I’ll heat it up right away,” she whispered into the silence, pulling out the meat patties from the fridge, congealed in their own juices. They carried the scent of yesterday and despair.
Nikolai didn’t even glance up from his smartphone when she placed the plate in front of him. The blue glow illuminated his indifferent face. In the early years, he would at least raise his eyes, smile, and say “thank you, sunshine.” Now, she could hardly remember the sharpness of his former feelings or the ease she once breathed with. It was as if she had become just another piece of furniture—comfortable and functional, yet perpetually out of place.
“These patties are as dry as stone again,” he grumbled, poking at his food with little interest. “Do you even know how to cook, or am I wasting money on groceries?”
His words pierced her heart like heated needles. Karina clenched her fists tightly, nails digging into her palms, leaving red crescents. Arguing? Explaining? Futile. It would only ignite a conflict that would smolder deep into the night. Retreating back to the kitchen, she buried herself in the dishes, staring at the soapy foam as if peering into a murky crystal ball offering no future. In her darkest moments, a mad thought sometimes flickered in her mind: to flee. Just open the door and walk away. But where would she go? She had no money, no job, no profession, no friends that her husband hadn’t pushed away. She had dedicated herself to the household, the family, him, and in return, she was left with a spiritual void and a feeling of utter uselessness.
Saturday morning commenced with an order.
“Get ready; we’re going to my parents’ house,” Nikolai tossed, fastening the expensive shirt she had ironed the night before. “And let’s skip your usual delays. I don’t want Mom waiting.”
Karina hurriedly applied mascara, hoping to revive her dulled look, and slipped on a simple, gray dress—unnoticeable and stain-friendly, much like how she felt herself. Nikolai was already seated behind the wheel of their old Lada, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The drive was tense, filled with his incessant criticism of other drivers, honking, reckless overtaking. Karina stared silently out the window, gazing at the passing fields and groves, dreading the inevitable inquisition from her mother-in-law about why Nikolai had lost weight and why the house wasn’t immaculate.
The disastrous outcome occurred on the way back. Nikolai reached for his phone to check a message, becoming distracted for a split second. That moment was all it took. The car ahead slammed on its brakes. He instinctively jerked the steering wheel, sending their Lada spiraling off the road with a gut-wrenching screech of tires. The world dissolved into a cacophony of horror: a deafening crash, shattering glass, and her own stifled scream. When everything finally stilled, Karina sat frozen for several seconds, unable to move, disbelief washing over her.
“Damn it! Perfect!” Nikolai exclaimed, flinging open the crumpled door with a forceful shove.
Karina stumbled out on shaky legs, a strange, tickling weakness coursing through her. Their car had collided with a sleek, expensive SUV parked on the side of the road, leaving the front bumper and fender crumpled into a shapeless mass.
The owner emerged—a tall, athletic man in his forties, dressed in an immaculate suit that seemed tailored for this very occasion. While his face remained a calm mask, irritation swirled in his dark eyes.
“Are you all right?” he first asked, glancing at Karina’s pale face.
“Yes… I think so,” she whispered, still in shock.
“Is your car insured?” he turned to Nikolai, steel edging his voice.
Nikolai paled even more. Karina knew the truth—insurance had expired three months prior, and the money she had saved from their meager budget had been squandered by Nikolai on the latest gaming console and a vinyl collection.
“Look, can we discuss this amicably…” Nikolai began, his tone ingratiating, but the stranger halted him with a sharp gesture.
“My name is Yegor Seleznev. At first glance, repairs will cost at least three hundred thousand. Can you compensate for the damage?”
Three hundred thousand. To them, it was more than just a sum; it was a sentence—an anchor hurled onto her chest.
“We… we don’t have that kind of money,” Karina managed to utter, her own voice sounding foreign to her, filled with shame.
Yegor scrutinized both of them, his intent gaze lingering momentarily on Karina. On her dulled eyes, her shoulders tensed from stress, her hands balled into helpless fists. Something in his stare made her instinctively straighten her back and lift her chin. It was an unfamiliar, nearly forgotten feeling—a desire to face the blow with dignity.
“Then I have an alternative,” Yegor spoke slowly, weighing each word. “I need a housekeeper. Someone to maintain order in the house, cook, manage daily life. You could work for me, and your labor would count towards settling the debt.”
“Her?!” Nikolai scoffed, his mocking tone stinging her like boiling water. “She can’t do anything! Other than clean!”
Those words hit her like a slap, resonating within her with an acute, penetrating pain. Eight years of being a shadow, the gray cardinal of their mundane life, the one holding together their fragile coexistence, and he dared to say she could do nothing?
“I agree,” her voice suddenly came out strong and clear, as if someone else were speaking. She looked directly into Yegor’s eyes, refusing to back down.
He nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into what resembled respect.
“Great. Tomorrow at 10 AM, I’ll be expecting you,” he said, taking a crisp white business card from his jacket and handing it to Karina while bypassing Nikolai. “The address is on it.”
Chaos erupted at home. Nikolai shouted, pounded his fists on the table, lamenting the disgrace, claiming he wouldn’t allow his wife to serve another man, that she was trampling his masculinity with her own hands. Karina listened, standing by the window, staring at the dark street. Inside, she felt everything freeze and turn to stone. Then, when he finally ran out of steam, she quietly but firmly asked, “If you had three hundred thousand to give him, I’d stay home. Deal?”
Nikolai’s mouth dropped shut like a fish out of water. There was, of course, no money. Only malice and helplessness glinted in his eyes.
The next morning, as she donned her only decent dress, Karina felt like a soldier headed for their first battle. Yegor’s house turned out to be a modern mansion of glass and concrete, concealed behind a tall fence in a prestigious neighborhood. She stood before the monumental gates for a long time, gathering her courage, her heart pounding in her throat.
Yegor greeted her himself, smiling warmly as if yesterday’s incident were a mere trifle.
“Come in, I’ll give you a tour.”
The house was spacious, airy, filled with light, yet astonishingly… devoid of life. She learned Yegor lived alone—divorced two years ago, with no children. He owned a successful construction company and spent the majority of his life working.
“I need someone to bring order and maintain it,” he explained, leading her through the bright rooms. “Cook, oversee supplies, perhaps occasionally assist with sorting mail and documents. I’m not a tyrant. I value honesty and responsibility.”
The early days felt like walking through a minefield. Karina adjusted to the new appliances, familiarized herself with the contents of the cupboards, and tried to guess Yegor’s tastes. But gradually, to her surprise, she started to feel a strange, deep-seated satisfaction from her work. Yegor thanked her for each meal, leaving clean plates. He noticed when she organized the books in the library alphabetically and genuinely praised her efforts. He asked if she was tired or if it was too much for her. These simple gestures of attention were like a breath of fresh air after years of drought.
One evening, he found her in his office. Armed with folders and sticky notes, she attempted to impose order on the chaotic pile of papers strewn across his massive oak desk.
“What are you doing here?” he inquired, pausing at the threshold in surprise.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she flushed, dropping a stack of bills. “I just… saw this chaos and couldn’t resist. You have contracts from last year mixed with current invoices and personal letters; it’s impossible to work like this!”
Yegor perched on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, watching with unmasked interest as her fingers deftly sorted the paperwork into colorful folders.
“Do you have an education in this field?”
“Incomplete economics degree,” Karina admitted, gazing down. “I got married in my third year, and Nikolai… my husband insisted that I drop out. He said a wife didn’t need an education.”
“Why?” Yegor’s voice carried genuine, almost childlike bewilderment.
Karina shrugged her delicate shoulders.
“He used to say that a woman’s place was at home. That my brain was not for such high matters.”
Yegor’s demeanor darkened, but he held back his retort. Instead, he handed her a thick folder bearing the logo of his company.
“I’m preparing for a crucial tender that depends on much. Could you take a look at the financial projections? Check for any arithmetic or logical errors?”
Karina took the folder, and her eyes lit up with a long-forgotten spark. She hadn’t touched figures or neatly arranged columns of tables for eight long years. Now, feeling the rough paper beneath her fingers, she sensed something awakening within her—a vital part of herself.
For the next two weeks, she lived on two fronts: home and numbers. While soup simmered on the stove, she checked budgets. While meat roasted in the oven, she drew graphs. She found several critical errors in the contractor’s calculations, proposed alternative, more advantageous financial schemes, and compiled impeccable comparative tables. Yegor was impressed.
“Karina, you are a hidden treasure,” he said one evening as they reviewed the final presentation together. “You have the analytical mind that many of my financers lack. How could you have buried such a talent?”
“Because I was told this wasn’t my soil,” she replied quietly.
“What does your soil say?” he suddenly asked, and his question hung in the air like a challenge.
Karina fell silent. No one had ever asked her what she wanted, what she loved, what dreams she held dear.
“I… I forgot,” she admitted bitterly. “I think I forgot who I am when I was left alone with myself.”
Yegor gently placed his hand on her shoulder—this was not a patronizing gesture but rather one of friendship and support. His touch sent warm shivers down her spine.
“Then perhaps it’s time to remember?”
They won the tender. Brilliantly. Yegor secured a contract that elevated his company to an entirely new level. He insisted that Karina share in this success.
“It’s our victory,” he declared, pouring sparkling champagne into two crystal glasses. “Without your meticulousness and mind, we would have missed the mark. You didn’t just help; you made a breakthrough.”
Karina smiled, and it was a light, genuine smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so… significant. Here, in this house, with this man, she was not Karina Kruglova, the unhappy wife, but simply Karina. Smart, useful, valued.
Meanwhile, at home, the atmosphere thickened into darkness. Nikolai grew increasingly morose, irritable, and sarcastic. He blamed her for forgetting about family, for becoming arrogant and self-important, for spending too much time with “that rich guy.”
“You think I don’t notice?” he spat one day, blocking her path in the hallway. “You’re out there with him for hours, coming home with a foolish grin! What, do you already have an affair?”
“I’m working, Nikolai,” she replied tiredly, like a broken record. “I’m settling your debt. Remember, you crashed his car?”
“Debt!” he laughed maliciously. “You could’ve settled it ages ago! You’re just dragging it out because you enjoy serving that man! Or maybe you want more than just being a servant?”
This time, his words didn’t wound her; they merely filled the final, pivotal cup of her patience. She looked at him—this stranger who had become bitter—and realized: enough was enough.
“You know, Nikolai,” she said slowly, infusing each word with the weight of years. “Yes. I like it there. I like being spoken to, not yelled at. I like being thanked for dinner. I like when my opinion matters. And guess what? I’m filing for divorce.”
The silence that enveloped the room was deafening. Nikolai stared at her as if she had suddenly spoken in ancient Sumerian.
“What? You… you’re out of your mind?”
“No. I’m just tired. Tired of being a shadow. Tired of being treated like an object. For eight years, I endured it. I thought it had to be that way, that I was worth nothing. But now I realize—I am worth so much. And I choose myself.”
She turned and walked into the bedroom, clicking the lock behind her. Her hands trembled, her temples pounded, but through the chaos of physical sensations surfaced a new, intoxicating feeling—freedom.
The following day, she told Yegor about her decision. He listened without interrupting, his expression serious and focused.
“That requires immense courage,” he said when she finished. “And I admire you for it. You deserve to be happy, Karina.”
“Yegor, I want to ask you…” she paused, searching for the right words. “When the debt is cleared… won’t you hire me back? For a real job. I can help with documents, analytics, tenders. I’ll transfer back to university and finally earn my degree…”
Yegor smiled, warmth lighting up his eyes.
“Karina, the debt is cleared. The contract we secured thanks to you generated profits that far exceed the cost of that car’s repairs. You are free from any obligations. As for the work…” he paused dramatically, “I will not only hire you back. I’m begging you to join my team. Your place is not at the stove, but at the desk, next to me. And yes, I will fully cover your education. Think of it as an advance on my most promising employee.”
Tears flooded out, tears Karina had held back for so long. They were not tears of pain or humiliation, but tears of cleansing, of reclaiming herself, of gratitude to the man who saw her as a person.
The divorce occurred surprisingly swiftly—Nikolai, bewildered and ashamed, conceded to everything just to hasten the closure of this ‘humiliating matter.’ Karina rented a small but bright apartment, submitted her documents to resume her studies, and officially became the assistant to the CEO at Seleznev Group.
However, Nikolai was relentless. First came the phone calls filled with threats; then tearful messages begging for forgiveness, professing undying love and promises to change.
“He won’t change,” her friend Svetlana remarked, who re-entered her life as soon as she became free. “He just realized he lost a convenient and free domestic helper. People like that don’t change; they only pretend.”
Karina knew Svetlana was right. But Nikolai grew increasingly intrusive. One day, he stormed into her office, rudely shoving the secretary aside, creating a scene right in the open space.
“Who do you think you are now?!” his voice, hoarse with rage, grated on her ears. “You ditched me for this nouveau riche?” He viciously pointed towards Yegor’s office. “You sold yourself for his money, whore?!”
Yegor stepped out of his office. His face was a mask of ice, and his gaze could have stopped a clock.
“You will leave this premises immediately. Before I call the police,” he ordered.
“And who are you to throw me out?! I am her legal husband!” Nikolai lunged forward, but the imposing guard stationed on the floor had already taken him in a firm grasp.
“Nikolai, leave,” Karina said softly, her voice quiet yet resonating with an unexpected steel. “It’s over. Forever.”
They escorted him out, but she understood—this wasn’t the end. Nikolai’s pride wouldn’t allow him to retreat so easily.
A week later, he filed a lawsuit demanding half of all property acquired during their marriage. He claimed half of her earnings during her time working for Yegor, asserting that their employment began before the divorce.
“That’s pure absurdity and revenge,” Yegor’s corporate lawyer stated. “But he has the right to file a suit. The process could be dirty and prolonged.”
Karina felt drained, yet she refused to back down. She hired her own attorney, gathered heaps of documents proving that initially, she worked solely to settle the debt incurred from the accident, and her formal employment had started only after their official divorce.
During this time, Yegor stayed beside her—not as a boss, not as a benefactor. As a friend. As a support. He encouraged her, advised her, believed in her. And Karina began to realize that the quiet, warm feeling she had towards him had long surpassed the borders of simple affection or gratitude.
“Karina,” he said one late evening while they were working late on yet another report. “I don’t want to complicate things. I know you just came out of a tough relationship and need time to recover. But I can’t stay silent. You are an incredible woman. Strong, intelligent, beautiful, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. And I… I am infinitely grateful to fate for that silly accident that brought you into my life.”
Karina looked at him—this man who saw a person beneath the bruised, lost housewife facade. The one who helped her unearth her true self buried beneath the layers of others’ expectations and reproaches.
“Yegor, I’m grateful too,” she quietly replied, her cheeks flushed. “You not only gave me a job. You brought me back to myself. And I… I feel something deeper too.”
He took her hand in his, his palm warm and reassuring. This time, the shivers that ran down her skin came not from fear but from the anticipation of a new, joyful chapter in her life.
The court case concluded entirely in her favor. Nikolai’s claim was deemed groundless, with the judge issuing him a formal warning prohibiting him from any form of harassment. Finally, Karina could breathe to her heart’s content. She was truly free.
Six months passed. Karina received her long-awaited degree in economics with honors. She became not just an assistant but a partner to Yegor, heading a new, promising direction in his company. She had her own projects, her own team, an office marked “Karina Kruglova, Head of Financial Planning.”
And in her life, Yegor appeared—not as a boss, not as a savior, but as a beloved, loving man. They took their time, allowing their relationship to develop naturally, getting to know each other anew, without rush or pressure.
“You know what’s most paradoxical?” she once said as they strolled along the evening embankment, the city lights reflecting in the dark water. “I always thought I needed a knight in shining armor to rescue me from the tower. It turns out I can be both the knight and the architect, the builder of my own life. You just… gave me the tools and showed me I could do it.”
Yegor smiled, his grip on her fingers tightening.
“You were always the architect, Karina. You just temporarily forgot your blueprints.”
She looked at him and thought about the breathtaking metamorphosis she had undergone. A year ago, she had been a shadow at the sink, and now she was the sun in her own universe. She had a job that filled her with joy, a man who valued and loved her, and most importantly, she was learning to love herself again, with pride and tenderness.
Sometimes, to build a new life, the old one must shatter. Sometimes, you need to lose everything to find what’s most important—yourself.
Nikolai occasionally still reminded her of himself—with an anonymous call, an unexpected encounter at the supermarket, where he looked older and more miserable. But Karina no longer felt fear, anger, or even pity. She simply walked past, head held high, knowing that the authorship of her destiny now belonged solely to her.
And ahead, just around the corner, awaited a new, radiant chapter—filled with light, discovery, faith in herself, and a great, genuine love. This time, Karina penned it herself, carving each letter of her happy fate with a firm and confident hand.