The day Svetlana had dreamed about for many years had finally come. But instead of the expected relief, she felt her hands nervously trembling.
Fifty-eight years old—is that not too old for a new life? That thought haunted her all morning.
She scrutinized herself in the hallway mirror. A strict suit, minimal makeup, hair tied in a bun.
“Mom, are you ready? The taxi is already downstairs,” Maria peeked into the room, fastening her purse as she walked.
“Almost. Do you think this suit is okay? Maybe I should wear something simpler?”
Maria sighed.
“Mom, you’re going to the notary, not to your execution. You look great. Stop being nervous!”
“Easy for you to say. Your father is convinced he’s leaving today with our apartment and half of everything we’ve earned,” Svetlana nervously adjusted her collar. “Remember what he said at the family dinner a month ago? ‘I spent thirty years with you, so I have the right to compensation.’”
Maria rolled her eyes.
“Dad always thought money was the most important thing in life. That’s why you’re divorcing, isn’t it?”
Svetlana remained silent. How could she explain to her daughter that thirty years of life with a man who married her because of her parents’ apartment in the city center had drained her soul? How to describe all those years when every penny saved for a vacation went into his ‘promising investments’?
The notary’s office greeted them with the chill of air conditioning and muted voices. Alexander was already there—impeccably dressed, freshly groomed, wearing the confident smile of someone who came to claim what was rightfully his.
“Ah, here’s my almost-former family!” he theatrically spread his arms. “Svetlana, you look wonderful. Divorce definitely suits you.”
“Let’s skip the introductions, Sasha,” Svetlana tried to keep her tone even. “The notary is waiting.”
“As you wish, dear. As you wish.”
The notary’s office was exactly as Svetlana had imagined: austere, with heavy curtains and the smell of paper. A middle-aged woman with an attentive gaze invited them to sit.
“So, gentlemen, all documents are prepared according to your prior agreement. Let’s begin the procedure.”
Alexander leaned back smugly in his chair. Maria subtly squeezed her mother’s hand under the table. Svetlana took a deep breath. It was all about to be over.
And at that moment, the notary’s phone rang.
“Excuse me,” she said, glancing at the screen. “This is your law firm, Mr. Sokolov. I’ll take it.”
The call lasted less than a minute, but the notary’s face visibly changed.
“I just received new information that significantly changes the situation,” she said. “The apartment at 47 Leninsky doesn’t enter the property division because it has belonged to Svetlana and her children for a whole year already under a deed of gift. All the documents are in order, everything is official.”
Alexander’s face changed before their eyes—the smug smile slowly turning into a confused grimace.
“What deed of gift?” he jumped up. “What nonsense is this? That’s our main apartment!”
The notary, maintaining composure, pulled out a copy of the document.
“The donor is Igor Petrovich Korshunov, Svetlana Igorevna’s father. Registration date—April 15 last year.”
“Dad,” Maria exhaled, eyes wide open, “so that’s why grandpa asked us to visit him back then and say nothing!”
Svetlana sat motionless. A year ago, her father had called her, said he’d made a decision. “I see it all, Svetochka. That scoundrel never appreciated you. And the apartment is mine—I earned it, so I decide who gets it.” She tried to dissuade the old man—not wanting a scandal, afraid of her husband’s reaction. But her father insisted. “To the children and grandchildren, not to crooks.”
“That’s forgery!” Alexander jumped up, looming over the table. “You bribed your insane father! Sveta, do you realize this is fraud?”
“Please sit down,” the notary said firmly. “The documents are in order. If you don’t believe it, you can go to court, but this paper is valid now and nothing can be done.”
“And what now?” Alexander’s voice trembled with anger. “What’s left to divide? A dilapidated summer house? A ten-year-old car?”
The notary methodically listed the remaining joint property. With every item, Alexander’s face darkened.
“You did this on purpose,” he turned to Svetlana. “For thirty years I dragged this family! I worked like a dog!”
“You dragged?” Suddenly Svetlana felt something inside snap, like a string stretched to its limit breaking. “And who paid the loans after your ‘brilliant’ business ideas? Who stayed with the child while you disappeared with your ‘partners’?”
“Mom…” Maria tried to calm her mother, but it was too late.
“No, Masha, enough!” Svetlana stood up, looking Alexander straight in the eyes. “For thirty years I listened to how I didn’t earn enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t smart enough. For thirty years I was afraid to lose the house and leave you without children. But you know what? This house was never yours. My father saw right through you from the start.”
“Masha, say something!” Alexander turned to his daughter. “You can’t approve this robbery! It’s your inheritance too!”
Maria looked at her father with sadness and pity.
“Dad, grandpa did everything right. I know about your ‘helper’ Veronika. And about the money you withdrew from mom’s card. We all knew.”
Alexander faltered as if the air was cut off from him. His gaze darted between his wife, daughter, and the notary, looking for support and finding none.
“If all the formalities are settled,” Svetlana said quietly, turning to the notary, “let’s continue the procedure.”
The notary nodded and slid the documents forward.
Alexander slumped in his chair, hunched over as if he aged ten years in the last five minutes.
“You can’t do this to me,” he said almost in a whisper. “I’m your husband. I’m your father.”
“You were,” Svetlana replied shortly, taking the pen.
The rest of the procedure passed in oppressive silence. Alexander signed the documents mechanically, with every page seemingly losing a part of his confidence. Svetlana, on the contrary, felt a strange lightness, as if with every signature an invisible burden lifted from her shoulders.
When it was all over, the notary gathered the papers.
“Congratulations, the divorce procedure is complete. You will receive the certificate of divorce within ten business days.”
Alexander abruptly stood, nearly knocking over his chair.
“This isn’t the end,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I will challenge the deed of gift. Your father wasn’t in his right mind when he signed it!”
“Dad!” Maria protested. “Grandpa is perfectly healthy and sane! He plays chess with his friends every week.”
“Don’t defend her!” Alexander raised his voice, addressing his daughter. “Your mother was always cunning. A quiet accountant with a calculator! But in reality, she planned it all!”
Svetlana slowly gathered her bag, feeling something new and unfamiliar growing inside her. Not anger, not resentment—something like liberation.
“Sasha,” she looked him straight in the eyes for the first time in years, without fear, “do you know what’s the saddest thing? I really loved you. For a long time, painfully, despite everything. And if you had once asked me about my feelings, not about the state of the bank account, maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“Spare me the melodrama,” he snorted, but something flickered in his eyes.
“I already did,” she turned toward the door.
When they left the building, Alexander quickly headed to his car.
“Don’t you want to stop by a café?” Maria asked, looking at her mother worriedly. “You look tired.”
“No. You know what I want? To go home. To our apartment.”
In the car on the way home, Maria finally dared to ask:
“Mom, why did you never tell me about the deed of gift?”
Svetlana looked out the window at the passing city.
“I didn’t know it had already been processed. Dad said he’d take care of everything, but I thought it was just talk. He wanted to protect me… from what happened today.”
“But you could have told me…”
“And what would have changed?” Svetlana turned to her daughter. “You would have carried that secret, hidden it from your father. I didn’t want to put you in such a position.”
The car stopped at a familiar building.
They went up to the third floor, and Svetlana unlocked the door to the apartment where she had lived most of her life. Maria grew up there; her best and worst days had passed there. But now the apartment felt different—without Alexander’s things, without his loud voice and his habit of controlling everything.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Maria looked around the spacious living room. “As if the apartment sighed with relief.”
Svetlana suddenly laughed.
“You sound just like my father! He always said houses have souls.”
They went to the kitchen, and Svetlana automatically turned on the kettle.
“You know, I really thought he married me for this apartment,” she said thoughtfully, taking out cups. “We met when Dad had just gotten the deed. A three-room in the center—it was incredible then.”
“And how was it really?”
“I don’t know, Masha. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe at first he really loved me, and then… people change.”
The kettle clicked, and in the ensuing silence, Maria’s phone rang.
“That’s Dad,” she said, looking at the screen uncertainly.
Svetlana nodded.
“Answer. He is still your father.”
Maria stepped into the hallway, and Svetlana heard fragments of her conversation—at first tense one-word answers, then something more emotional. She didn’t listen on purpose—just poured tea and thought about the strange feeling of emptiness filling her. Not a painful emptiness, but as if space was freed for something new.
“He wants to take his things,” Maria returned to the kitchen with a confused look. “He says he’ll come tomorrow morning. And asked me to tell you he apologizes for the scene at the notary.”
“Apologizes?” Svetlana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s new.”
“He… seems upset. Really,” Maria sat down at the table. “He said he didn’t expect things to turn out like this.”
“And how did he expect?” Svetlana put a cup in front of her daughter. “That I’d cry and beg him to stay? Or that you and I would end up on the street?”
“Mom,” Maria gently touched her hand, “you didn’t expect the apartment to be re-registered either. Admit it was risky to start a divorce without being sure.”
Svetlana thought for a moment. Indeed, deciding to file for divorce had been difficult. After the last scandal, when she found another mistress and missing money from their joint account, something inside her finally broke. She no longer feared losing property—she was ready to start over just to escape the prolonged lies.
“You know, Masha, I was ready to lose the apartment,” she said quietly. “I just couldn’t live like that anymore. Waking up every morning wondering: will he be kind today or cause a scene? How much money will disappear this month? What lies will I hear today?”
Maria squeezed her mother’s hand tightly.
“I never understood why you tolerated so long. Even as a child, I saw how he treated you.”
“For you,” Svetlana shrugged. “That’s what seemed right to me. And then… then it becomes scary to change anything. It feels too late.”
“And now it’s not scary?”
Svetlana glanced around the kitchen, where so many family dramas had played out, where she swallowed tears while cooking dinner, where she listened to reproaches and tried to please.
“It’s scary,” she admitted honestly. “But different. Like standing on the edge of something huge and unknown. But for the first time in many years, it’s my choice, you understand?”
The doorbell rang, making them both startle.
“Dad?” Maria was surprised. “But he said tomorrow!”
Svetlana stood up, feeling tension tightening inside. She wasn’t ready to see Alexander again today. She needed time to realize her new reality.
But it wasn’t Alexander at the door. An elderly man with a cane and sly eyes smiled at her.
“Well, daughter, ready to receive guests?”
“Dad!” Svetlana rushed to hug her father. “What are you doing here?”
“Grandpa!” Maria exclaimed, running into the hallway.
Igor Petrovich hugged them both, then stepped back, looking carefully at his daughter.
“So, how did it go? Your ex called, shouting something about betrayal and fraud. I suppose the deed of gift worked?”
Svetlana laughed through unexpectedly falling tears.
“It worked. But you could have warned me!”
“And give you the chance to refuse out of nobility?” the old man squinted slyly. “No way. I’ve been watching that scoundrel use you for too long. Enough!”
They went to the kitchen, and Svetlana poured another cup of tea.
“I thought I’d start a new life all alone,” she said quietly, pouring tea. “But it turns out I have you. And I have a home.”
“You always had a family,” Igor Petrovich placed his wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “You just got too caught up in playing the martyr wife. Now you’ll just be Svetlana. How do you like that prospect?”
Svetlana thought, remembering her younger self—with dreams, ambitions, plans. Where had all that gone during the years of marriage? Dissolved into routine, fears, exhaustion from constant conflicts.
“I don’t even know who this ‘just Svetlana’ is,” she admitted. “I’ll have to get to know her again.”
“I’m sure she’s great,” Maria smiled. “And now she has plenty of time for herself.”
Outside, the sky was darkening. The first day of the new life was coming to an end. More difficulties lay ahead, talks with Alexander, perhaps even court battles. But something told Svetlana the hardest part was already behind. She had stepped into the unknown and hadn’t fallen. That meant she could take the next step too.
“To a new life,” Igor Petrovich raised his tea cup.
“To a new life,” echoed Svetlana and Maria.
And for the first time in many years, Svetlana felt not like a wife, not like a mother, not like a victim of circumstances—but just herself. Free. Imperfect. Real.
