Elena woke first, as always. Maxim was asleep beside her, his arms stretched out over the blanket. Sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, illuminating the familiar contours of the room. Three years ago she had brought her husband into her home. Now, she sometimes felt like she was the guest.
Getting up, Elena went to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee maker and took out her favorite mug. Outside, the avenue was noisy with people hurrying to work. She, too, was about to spend the day at the office, where every hour translated into money.
“Lena, you didn’t forget my mom’s request, did you?” came a voice from the bedroom.
Elena froze at the refrigerator. Yesterday, Zinaida Petrovna had called and asked for twenty thousand rubles for treatment. This was the third time in half a year. The previous loans still hadn’t been repaid.
“What request?” she answered with feigned innocence, returning to the bedroom with her coffee.
Maxim stretched and yawned.
“You promised to think about it. Mom really needs money for treatment.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Elena sat on the edge of the bed. “Maxim, your family has borrowed a hundred thousand rubles in a year. And they haven’t paid back a single kopeck.”
“But we’re family!” he said, propping himself up on an elbow. “You make a lot more than I do.”
Those words stung in her ears. Elena set her cup on the nightstand.
“I’m the one earning the money,” she replied calmly. “But we spend it together. And mostly—on your family.”
“Here we go again,” he fell back against the pillows. “I’m not forcing you. You agreed yourself to combine our finances. And I haven’t transferred a single ruble without your consent.”
Combine… a pretty word. Only there had been nothing to combine—Maxim’s income barely covered his own expenses. Yet he felt no qualms about spending from her account.
“Fine,” Elena stood. “This time your mother will borrow the money officially. We’ll draw up a promissory note.”
“Are you serious?” her husband frowned. “Make my own mother sign a paper?”
“Absolutely. Otherwise—not a ruble.”
Maxim fell silent, his face darkening. Elena noticed but didn’t back down. She had given in far too often.
At the office, the day dragged: negotiations, calls, reports. By lunchtime, her fatigue had less to do with work than with the anxiety of the next financial fight at home.
By three o’clock, Elena was getting ready for a client meeting. On her way out, she decided to stop by the café next door for a proper cappuccino in peace.
The café was half empty. Sitting in a corner behind a large plant that hid her, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through the news. Then she saw a familiar figure in the distance.
Maxim was sitting at a table with a woman.
Elena froze. Her husband was supposed to be at work—at least that’s what he’d said that morning. And the stranger—an elegant blonde of about thirty—was someone she had never seen before.
Her heart began to pound. Elena tucked herself behind the chair back. From here she had a clear view of their table, and they couldn’t see her.
“Everything’s going according to plan,” Maxim was saying to his companion with a smile. “There’s just one final step.”
“And she suspects nothing?” the woman leaned toward him.
“Lena? She’s too busy with work. The main thing is not to spook her.”
Elena tensed. What were they talking about? Why was he discussing her with this stranger?
“Are the papers ready?” the blonde pressed.
“Almost. I just need her to sign a couple of documents. I’ll say it’s for taxes or something. She won’t read them; she trusts me.”
A wave of dizziness washed over Elena. What papers? What did those words mean?
“And after that?” the blonde sipped her drink.
“Then it’s simple. A no-contest divorce. The apartment will be entirely mine. Plus the savings. In total—at least seven million.”
“Not bad for three years of marriage,” the blonde laughed.
“Three years of patience,” Maxim corrected her. “Do you know how hard it is to play the loving husband? But the result is worth it.”
Elena gripped the edge of her chair. The world spun. All those words about love, the plans for the future, family life—lies?
“And where’s the love in that?” the woman asked sarcastically.
“Love of money—that’s what bound us,” Maxim put an arm around her shoulders.
Elena closed her eyes. She ached to stand up, walk over, and pour everything out—but her legs wouldn’t obey. Fragments of memories flickered through her mind.
How Maxim had persuaded her to combine their accounts. How he’d painted a picture of family life. He lied, and she believed.
“When does the show end?” the blonde asked, leaning back.
“Soon. She’ll sign the papers this week; after that it’s just a formality.”
Maxim checked his watch.
“I have to go. My dear wife will be home soon. Time to play the perfect husband.”
They stood. Maxim said something else to his companion, but Elena wasn’t listening anymore. There was a ringing in her ears, and black spots danced before her eyes.
They left. Elena watched them go, then dropped her head into her hands. Three years of life together… three years he considered “work.”
The waitress brought the bill. Elena paid mechanically and stepped out into the air. People bustled past, some laughing, others on their phones. An ordinary day in an ordinary city. And her world had just collapsed.
The next few days passed in a fog. Elena worked on autopilot, smiled at colleagues, answered questions. At home she played the loving wife, cooked dinner, asked Maxim about his day.
Every word from her husband now rang false. Every smile looked like a mask. Elena saw a stranger pretending to be her husband.
A plan took shape in her mind: clear, precise, merciless.
By the end of the week, everything was ready.
The savings were transferred to a personal account inaccessible to Maxim. The apartment documents were with her mother. Everything was in place.
One Saturday morning, Elena was drinking tea at the kitchen table while a light rain drizzled outside. Maxim had gone “to see friends,” as he said.
By noon the key turned in the lock. The door flew open with a bang.
“Where’s the money?!” Maxim shouted as he came in, his face twisted with rage. “All the money’s gone from the account!”
Elena calmly looked up.
“What’s wrong? You were planning to take my apartment and my money?” she asked evenly. “Too bad I turned out to be smarter than you, isn’t it, Maxim?”
Maxim froze—first surprised, then frightened.
“What are you talking about?” he muttered.
“About your plans. About those documents you wanted me to sign. About the divorce you were preparing so you could take half my things.” Elena took a sip of tea. “Don’t forget your sweet blonde.”
Maxim went pale.
“You… you were following me?”
“By chance. And I heard everything: ‘three years of work’ and ‘poor Lena.’”
“Elena, I can explain…”
“Explain?” She set down her cup. “Explain what? You married me for my money. For three years you played the loving husband. You were going to take half of my apartment and my savings and then run off with your mistress.”
“That’s not true!” Maxim stepped closer. “I always loved you… I still love you!”
“Stop it,” Elena laughed. “At the café you said something else: ‘Love of money is what bound us.’ Remember?”
Maxim collapsed into the chair opposite her.
“Lena, give me a chance to fix this. That woman… she means nothing. And the money doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll start from scratch.”
“Start from scratch?” Elena stood. “I have a better idea: we’re ending this. For good.”
“What do you mean?”
“A divorce. And you’re leaving today.”
“But the apartment… the savings… I’m entitled to half!”
“Half of what?” she walked to the window. “The apartment was mine before the marriage and is registered only in my name. As for the savings… they’re gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?!”
“I transferred them to another account. Only I have access to it. And in court it will be easy to prove you didn’t contribute a single ruble.”
Maxim sprang to his feet.
“You have no right! That’s our money!”
“Our money?” Elena turned to him. “That’s interesting. You earned peanuts. I supported your family. Where are your savings, then?”
“Elena, stop! We’re family!”
“Family?” Her voice turned icy. “Family doesn’t try to destroy each other financially. Family doesn’t call years of marriage ‘work.’”
Maxim paced the kitchen.
“Fine, I admit I was thinking the wrong way. But I’ve changed my mind! I really do love you!”
“Of course you do—especially now that you know you won’t get the apartment or the savings.”
“Elena, I’m begging you…”
“Pack your things,” she cut him off. “You have to leave today.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your blonde. Or to your mother. I don’t care.”
Maxim tried to object, but Elena headed to the bedroom. An hour later he was leaving the apartment with two suitcases.
The divorce went through surprisingly quickly. Maxim tried to claim rights to the property, but all the paperwork was in order: the apartment was her separate property, and so were the savings. They had almost no joint assets.
Zinaida Petrovna called every day demanding explanations. Elena answered politely:
“Your son deceived me. Ask his new girlfriend for money.”
A month later, everything was finalized. Elena sat in a travel agency, flipping through brochures.
“Italy? Spain?” the agent suggested.
“Bora Bora,” Elena said, pointing to a photo of a lagoon. “Three weeks, the most expensive room.”
For the first time in many years, she was spending money only on herself. And the feeling was, surprisingly, wonderful.
