“I’m filing for divorce, Edik.”
Eva said it quietly, almost under her breath, but the words hung in the air, thick with the smell of yesterday’s cognac and fried potatoes, with deafening clarity. She was standing in the middle of their kitchen, perfectly cleaned, where every little pot knew its place, and she was looking at her husband.
Edik, sprawled in an armchair with the morning paper, slowly lowered it. His face, usually good-natured and a little puffy, stretched in astonishment. He blinked once, then again, and then his lips twitched into a smirk.
“What’s with you, woman? In a mood this morning? Headache? I told you, don’t mix white and red at Petrovich’s anniversary.”
He talked down to her like to a dim-witted child. That manner, which she had once taken for care, now caused only a dull irritation that rose from somewhere deep in her soul.
“I didn’t drink yesterday, Edik. I’ve made up my mind. Completely sober. I. Am. Filing. For. Divorce.” She pronounced each word separately, hammering them in like nails into the wall of his incomprehension.
The smirk slid off his face, replaced by an expression of disgusted confusion. He put the paper aside, got up, went over to the bar and poured a hefty splash of amber liquid into a heavy glass. Cognac. His eternal companion.
“Are you out of your mind?” He took a big gulp without taking his eyes off her. “And who’s going to do the cooking?”
That question, tossed out with a light sneer, was the last straw. Not “How are we going to live?”, not “What happened?”, not “What about Slavik?”. But “Who’s going to do the cooking?”. Her whole life, fifteen years of marriage, her care, her sleepless nights by their son’s crib, her ironed shirts and three hot meals a day — all of it boiled down to one single function. Cook. A free add-on to the apartment, the car, and the stable job.
“You’ll hire a housekeeper,” Eva’s voice took on a metallic hardness. “Now you’ll have so much money freed up. No need to spend it on my heels and makeup.”
Edik burst out laughing. Loud, juicy laughter, throwing his head back. “Oh, I can’t! ‘Freed up’! You spent peanuts! Eva, stop this circus. What’s wrong now? Want a new car? We agreed, by spring. Or a fur coat? Winter’s still far off.”
He walked up to her, leisurely, sure of his irresistible charm and power over her. He tried to hug her, but she recoiled as if from fire. His face instantly turned mean.
“Oh, that’s how it is! Showing character now? Listened to your divorced girlfriends too much? Decided you’re some high-flying bird? Who do you think wants you at forty-two? With baggage!” He jerked his chin toward their son’s room. “Get a grip, you fool! Go make breakfast, and we’ll forget this conversation. I’ve got a splitting headache.”
Eva looked at him silently. In her brown eyes — those “cherry pools” he once praised — there was no longer love or fear. Only cold, ringing emptiness and a resolve hard as steel.
“Breakfast is on the stove. Oatmeal. I’ve already fed Slavik, he’s doing his homework. I’ll pack my things by evening. I’ll stay with Lida for now.”
Edik froze with the glass in his hand. It seemed he was starting to realize this wasn’t a morning mood swing. This was a mutiny. A mutiny on his perfectly tuned ship where he had been the unchallenged captain.
“What Lida? That… — he searched for a word, — …the one who changes men like gloves? Great company you’ve picked! What’s she going to teach you? Walking on your hands?”
“Lida taught me the main thing, Edik. To value myself. Something you never taught me in fifteen years.”
She turned and went into the bedroom. He heard the lock click. Edik stayed alone in the kitchen. He finished the cognac and poured another. An unfamiliar, sticky anxiety began to flood his self-confidence. Cooking? To hell with this “cooking”! How could she leave? Just like that? His Eva? Quiet, compliant, always looking at him with adoration. What the hell had happened?
What had happened was something that had been building up for years. Small humiliations she swallowed. His drunken antics that made her ashamed in front of their friends. His constant dissatisfaction with her appearance, her hobbies, her opinions. “Eva, what kind of dress is that, like some village schoolteacher’s,” “Again with your books, better do something useful,” “Your job is to keep quiet when men are talking.”
The final straw was her diploma. For three months she secretly took pastry courses. It was her escape, her little world that smelled of vanilla and chocolate, where everything worked out for her. She baked an incredible three-tier Esterházy cake for her mother-in-law Klavdia Mikhailovna’s birthday. The guests gasped, and her husband, having drunk too much, loudly announced, “Well, at least you’ve found some useful outlet for your energy. Instead of all those salons and fitness clubs. Learn to cook cabbage soup, woman, not pump your biceps.”
And his whole family laughed in unison. Eva stood there, forcibly smiling, and felt something break inside. Her mother-in-law, Klavdia Mikhailovna, patted her hand and cooed, “Don’t be offended by our Edichka, he means well. Men just need the house cozy and smelling of pies. That’s what ties them to home. My Yegor Petrovich” — she nodded at her husband, dozing in an armchair — “has praised my borscht all his life. That’s a woman’s wisdom, dear.”
That evening, clearing away sticky plates, Eva realized she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t be wise. Couldn’t tie a man to home with pies. She just wanted to be respected. As a person.
When she went back to the bedroom, an open suitcase was already lying on the bed. She methodically folded her things: a few dresses, jeans, sweaters. No evening gowns, no jewelry he’d given her. Only what was truly hers.
A demanding knock sounded at the door. “Eva, open up! What kind of theater is this?”
She didn’t answer. The knocking grew louder, turning into fists pounding. “I said open the door! You’re in my house, remember?”
Her hands were shaking, but she kept packing. Then she heard the phone ring in the hallway. Edik stepped away from the door. She caught snatches of his phrases: “Mom… Yeah, can you imagine… Completely lost her mind… Divorce… I don’t know! This morning she just snapped… What do I do? Of course come! Maybe you and Dad can knock some sense into her.”
Eva gave a bitter chuckle. Of course, the heavy artillery. Klavdia Mikhailovna and Yegor Petrovich. Now the psychological attack would begin.
An hour later they were there. Her mother-in-law burst into the apartment like a fury, not even taking off her mink coat. Her father-in-law, Yegor Petrovich, slipped in quietly behind, staring guiltily at the floor.
“Evotchka! Dear girl, what happened?” Klavdia Mikhailovna tried to put on a mask of universal grief, but her sharp little eyes darted around the room, sizing up the surroundings. “Edik called us, he’s so upset!”
Eva came out of the bedroom with a small bag in her hand. She’d left the suitcase — decided she’d pick it up later. “Hello, Klavdia Mikhailovna, hello, Yegor Petrovich. What happened is I’m leaving your son.”
Her mother-in-law threw up her hands theatrically. “How can you leave? Where? From a husband like this! He carries you in his arms! Look, he bought you a foreign car, takes you to resorts! Other women only dream of that! Ungrateful!”
“The car is registered to Eduard,” Eva replied calmly. “And the last time we went to a resort was three years ago, because Eduard prefers to spend his vacations fishing with his buddies.”
“Why are you counting money all the time!” shrieked Klavdia. “Family isn’t about money! Family is about work! About patience! You think it was easy for me with Yegor Petrovich? But I put up with it! Because a woman is the keeper of the hearth!”
“The hearth is out, Klavdia Mikhailovna,” Eva said wearily. “Only coals are left. And I don’t want to poke around in them anymore.”
She walked over to her son, who was peeking fearfully from his room. “Slavik, sweetheart, I’m going. I’ll call you tonight, okay? I love you very, very much, you know that.”
The boy nodded, his eyes full of tears. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he felt his world was collapsing.
“So you’re dragging the child into this too!” hissed her mother-in-law at her back. “You want to take his father away? Turn him into an orphan with living parents?”
Eva turned around. Her gaze was firm. “No one is taking his father away. But having to live next to a constantly drunk father and a miserable mother is the worst thing that can happen to a child.”
Edik, who had been silently watching the scene with a glass in his hand, exploded. “You… ungrateful bitch! I work my ass off for you and you make me out an alcoholic! I do everything for you… for the family…”
“For the family, Edik? What, buying yourself a new fishing rod for fifty thousand while I have to beg for winter boots? Or the fact that you’ve never been to a single parent-teacher meeting for Slavik because you always have ‘important meetings’?”
At that moment quiet Yegor Petrovich cleared his throat and unexpectedly spoke up. “Klav, Edik, maybe that’s enough? Let her go if she’s decided. You can’t force someone to love you.”
Klavdia turned to her husband as if he’d betrayed her. “What are you babbling about, old man? Whose side are you on? Lost your mind completely?”
But Eva wasn’t listening anymore. She looked at her father-in-law with a flicker of gratitude, kissed her son on the crown of his head and, without looking back, walked out the door.
The click of the lock in the entryway sounded like a gunshot. The end of one life and the beginning of another. Unknown, frightening, but her own.
Lida lived in a small but cozy one-room apartment on the edge of town. She opened the door in an old bathrobe, with a towel on her head and under-eye patches in place. “Well, finally! You’re here, runaway! I’ve already eaten half the fridge from nerves. Come in, talk.”
She hugged Eva, and for the first time that day, Eva let herself cry. She cried for a long time, sobbing into her friend’s shoulder, while Lida silently stroked her back, letting all the pain and resentment that had been building for years pour out.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough crying,” Lida finally said, gently pushing Eva back and peering into her face. “Your mascara’s running, you look like a panda after a week-long binge. Come on, tea. With cake. I bought your favorite Napoleon.”
Over tea, Eva told her everything. About the “cooking,” about the mother-in-law’s arrival, about Slavik’s frightened eyes.
“Mm-hmm, real-life Addams family,” Lida drawled, cutting herself a second slice of cake. “Klavdia is unique, honestly. Manipulator level eighty. She’s been kissing her precious Edichka’s butt all his life, no wonder he grew up an infantile egoist who thinks women exist solely to cater to his needs.”
“What do I do now, Lida? I don’t have a job, no real savings… Everything went onto the joint card, and he controlled it.”
“Okay, no panic!” Lida banged her fist on the table so hard the cups jumped. “First, tomorrow we go to a lawyer. I know a woman, Anna Viktorovna, a beast in the best sense. She cleaned my ex out so well he’s still hiccuping. You need to file for divorce and child support. And for division of property. You bought the dacha during the marriage, right?”
Eva nodded. “Yes, five years ago. We sold my one-room apartment from my grandmother and added that money to buy the dacha.”
“There you go!” Lida brightened. “Then half the dacha is yours by law. Doesn’t matter whose name is on it. Article 34 of the Family Code of the Russian Federation, babe! Property acquired by spouses during marriage is their joint property. Memorize it like the Lord’s Prayer.”
Lida rattled off articles of the code and legal terms with ease. She’d survived a rough divorce herself and now knew enough to consult others.
“Second,” she went on, “work. What do you do best?”
“Well…” Eva hesitated. “I have a degree in economics, but I haven’t worked for fifteen years…”
“What else?” Lida narrowed her eyes.
“Well… I like cooking. Baking cakes.”
“Bingo!” her friend exclaimed. “Your cakes are masterpieces! Remember the honey cake you made for my birthday? My colleagues drooled over it for a week!”
“Who needs that, Lida? There’s a bakery on every corner now.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong! Homemade baking is trendy now. Natural ingredients, made with love. We’ll make you a page on social media, give it a nice name… ‘Eva’s Sweets’ or ‘Sweet Paradise by Eva’. Take pretty pictures. Speaking of photos. You know the main secret of food photography?”
Eva shook her head.
“Daylight!” Lida said importantly. “Never photograph food in artificial light. The best is by the window on a cloudy day. Soft, diffused light, no harsh shadows. And the angle matters. Some dishes are better shot from above, that’s called a flat lay, and cakes — at a 45-degree angle so you see both the slice and the top.”
Eva listened, and for the first time in a long while, a spark of hope flickered in her soul. The idea seemed crazy, but… why not?
That evening, as promised, she called her son. Edik answered.
“Oh, look who it is, mother of the year,” he hissed. “Had your fun?”
“Put Slavik on, please.”
“What am I supposed to tell him? That his mother traded her family for nights out with a girlfriend? He’s crying, won’t eat! Mom made him dinner, he didn’t touch it! Look what you’ve done to the child!”
In the background, she heard Klavdia’s voice: “Tell her not to call here anymore, stop traumatizing the boy!”
“Edik, don’t you dare manipulate our son!” Eva shouted into the phone. “I have the right to talk to him! Put him on now or I’ll come over with the police!”
Silence on the other end. Then a sniffling little voice: “Mom? Where are you?”
“My sunshine, I’m at Aunt Lida’s. I’m going to take you with me soon, I promise. How are you?”
“Dad said you left us…”
“I will never leave you, do you hear me? Never! I just can’t live with Dad anymore. But I love you more than life. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
After that call, Eva sat for a long time staring into the dark window. She realized the real battle was only beginning. And the main battlefield would be her son’s heart.
The next day Lida dragged her to the lawyer. Anna Viktorovna turned out to be a woman in her fifties, with short hair, a strict pant suit, and sharp gray eyes. She listened to Eva’s story without interrupting, only occasionally jotting notes in her notebook.
“The situation is clear,” she said when Eva finished. “A classic case. Husband – domestic tyrant with narcissistic tendencies, mother-in-law – chief accomplice. Your task now is to be strong and not fall for provocations.”
“He won’t let me have my son,” Eva said in despair.
“By law, when a marriage is dissolved, the child’s place of residence is determined by the parents’ agreement. If there’s no agreement — by the court,” Anna recited. “The court acts in the child’s interests. They consider the child’s bond with each parent, siblings, age, the parents’ moral and personal qualities, their relationship with the child, their ability to provide conditions for the child’s upbringing and development. Does your husband drink?”
“Well… cognac every evening. On weekends he can drink more. But he doesn’t go on binges.”
“Any witnesses? Friends, neighbors?”
“Not neighbors, we live in a private house. His friends… they’re all his friends.”
“I see. Then we’ll keep that card in reserve. The main thing now is financial independence and housing. And to keep in very regular touch with your son, so he doesn’t feel abandoned. Save records of all his calls and messages. If your husband prevents contact, file a complaint with the local precinct. It’ll all go into the court case.”
Leaving the law office, Eva felt drained but inspired. She had a plan now. Clear and concrete.
That same day, Lida helped her set up an Instagram page: “Eva’s Cakes. Cakes with Soul to Order.” Eva baked her signature honey cake, Lida took several beautiful photos by the window, just as she’d explained. First post, first cake. It seemed like a drop in the ocean.
But the very next day Lida’s coworker called and ordered a cake for her daughter’s birthday. Then another one. Word of mouth kicked in. Eva baked day and night in Lida’s tiny kitchen. She got so tired she collapsed without strength, but it was a pleasant kind of exhaustion. For the first time in her life, she felt not like a servant, but like a creator. She was earning her own money, small for now, but hers.
Edik, meanwhile, didn’t let up. He called her every day. At first — with threats.
“I’ll leave you penniless! You won’t get a kopeck! You’ll never see your son again!”
Then, when he realized threats didn’t work, he shifted to pity.
“Eva, come back. The house is empty without you. I can’t eat this disgusting delivery food. Slavik misses you. I get it now, I’ll change. No more cognac, I swear.”
Eva listened in silence and hung up. She didn’t believe him. Not a word.
Klavdia had her own game. She turned her grandson against his mother.
“Your mom’s got a new life now, Slavochka. She’s not thinking about you. But we love you, we’re your family. Want a new tablet? Of course we’ll buy it!”
She tried to buy his love, not understanding that a child’s heart can’t be fooled by expensive toys. Slavik accepted the gifts but in phone calls with his mother more and more often complained:
“Mom, come get me. Grandma keeps saying bad things about you. And Dad drank again yesterday… He promised he wouldn’t…”
One day Eva went to meet him after school. She hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks. When Slavik ran out the doors, he froze, then sprinted toward her.
“Mom!”
She hugged him — her now taller, school-and-dust-smelling boy — and knew she would never give him up.
They went to a café, ate ice cream, and Slavik chattered non-stop. He talked about school, his friends, how he and Dad tried to cook dumplings and flooded the stove.
“Dad said it’s women’s work and he doesn’t know how,” Slavik giggled.
“You know, Slavik,” Eva said, looking him in the eyes, “there’s no such thing as ‘men’s’ and ‘women’s’ work. There’s just work that needs doing. Cooking, cleaning up after yourself, earning money — men and women can do all of it. The important thing is that in a family people help each other and respect each other.”
At that moment Edik walked into the café. Apparently he’d tracked them. His face was twisted with rage.
“So here you are! Kidnapping my child! Come on, we’re going home!” He grabbed Slavik by the arm.
“You’re hurting me, Dad!” the boy cried.
“Let him go!” Eva jumped up. “You have no right! I’m his mother!”
“You’re nobody!” Edik snarled. “You abandoned him! Come on, I said!”
He dragged the boy toward the exit. People in the café began turning around. Without thinking, Eva grabbed the water glass from the table and threw it in her husband’s face.
Edik was stunned for a second. It was enough time for Slavik to yank his arm free and run to his mother.
“I’m staying with Mom!” he said loudly and firmly, so the whole café heard. “You’re mean!”
Edik stood in the middle of the room, wet and humiliated. He looked at his wife and son, clinging to each other. The hatred in his eyes scared Eva.
“You’ll regret this,” he hissed through clenched teeth and slammed the door on his way out.
That incident became a turning point. Anna insisted they file a report with the child welfare authorities and record the case. Realizing things were getting serious, Edik quieted down for a while.
Eva rented a small apartment near her son’s school. Lida lent her money for the deposit and first month’s rent. They furnished it from all over: Lida gave her old couch, one of Eva’s customers a kitchen table. But it was their fortress.
Her cake business was slowly gaining momentum. She created her own signature cake and called it “Rebirth” — a light sponge with lavender cream and berry confit. It became a hit. There were so many orders she barely managed.
One evening, while she and Slavik were making dumplings in their tiny kitchen and flour flew everywhere, the phone rang. It was Yegor. He had never called her before.
“Hello, Evotchka. Sorry to bother you…” His voice sounded guilty.
“Hello, Yegor Petrovich. Did something happen?”
“I… well… I wanted to say… Forgive them, those fools. Both Klava and Edik. They don’t mean harm… They just don’t know any better.”
“I don’t hold a grudge,” Eva said honestly. “I just want to live my own life.”
“I know,” he sighed. “And you’re right. I’m calling you about something else. Edik is planning to sell the dacha. Fast, before the divorce is finalized, so he doesn’t have to share with you. He wants his buddy to draw up a fake sale contract, backdated. You… you should know.”
Eva froze with a dumpling in her hand. “Thank you, Yegor Petrovich. Thank you very much.”
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he muttered. “I… I always knew you were a good one. Just kept quiet. Old fool that I am.”
As soon as she hung up, Eva called Anna.
“Excellent!” the lawyer exclaimed. “That’s a gift from fate! A deal like that, made without your notarized consent, is null and void! We’ll get the dacha seized as a provisional measure in the lawsuit. Your dear husband just walked into his own trap. This is bordering on fraud.”
The hearing on division of property and determination of the child’s residence was scheduled for a month later. All that time Edik and his mother didn’t stop trying to get everything back “the way it was.” Klavdia tried to bribe neighbors to testify against Eva. Edik waited for her by the building entrance, now with a wilted bouquet of roses, now with drunken threats.
But Eva wasn’t afraid anymore. Her son was with her. Lida stood by her side. Iron-willed Anna was in her corner. And most importantly, she had herself. The new Eva, who had learned not only to bake cakes but to build her own life.
On the day of the hearing she put on her best dress — simple but elegant, blue. She felt calm and confident. In the hallway she ran into Edik. He wore an expensive suit, smelled of cologne, and had his usual smirk.
“So, cook, happy now? Think you’ll get anything out of this? My lawyer will eat you alive.”
Eva looked him straight in the eye. “You know, Edik, I’m actually grateful to you. If it weren’t for your ‘who’s going to do the cooking?’, I might never have found out what I’m really capable of.”
She smiled and walked into the courtroom, leaving him standing there with a puzzled, stunned expression. He still didn’t understand that he hadn’t lost when she filed for divorce — he’d lost much earlier, when he stopped seeing a woman, a person, in her.
The hearing was long and exhausting. Edik’s lawyer slung mud at her, Klavdia gave false testimony. But Anna had solid evidence: the attempted fraud with the dacha, teachers’ statements that the father showed no interest in Slavik’s life, and the police report about the café incident.
The verdict was announced late in the evening. The child’s residence was to be with the mother. Edik was ordered to pay child support. The jointly acquired property—the dacha—was to be divided equally.
When Eva walked out of the courthouse, it was already dark. A fine, cold rain was falling. Slavik walked beside her, holding her hand. He was her greatest treasure, her main victory.
They were almost at the bus stop when a familiar voice called from behind.
“Eva!”
She turned. Edik stood under a streetlamp. No usual swagger, no smirk. Just a tired, crumpled middle-aged man.
“Can we talk?” His voice was unusually quiet. “I get it now. I was wrong. Let’s start over? For Slavik’s sake…”
He looked at her with hope. He was sure she would, as always, forgive. Soften. Take pity. After all, she was a woman, a mother. She had to.
Eva looked at her son, who squeezed her hand tighter, then back at her ex-husband. She saw right through him: his fear of being alone, his refusal to change his way of life, his selfishness hidden behind fake remorse. She took a deep breath, filled her lungs with the cool evening air and, calmly, looking him straight in the eyes, said a single word:
“No.”
That one word, spoken quietly but with unshakable firmness, sliced through the drizzling evening silence. It hit Edik harder than a slap, harder than a glass of ice water in the face. He’d expected anything — tears, reproaches, conditions, a long exhausting rant about his sins. But not this short, final, irrevocable “no.”
He looked at her with hope. He was sure she would, as always, forgive. Soften. Take pity. After all, she was a woman, a mother. She had to.
Eva looked at her son, who squeezed her hand even tighter, then again at her ex-husband. She saw him through and through: his fear of loneliness, his unwillingness to change, his egoism wrapped in fake contrition. She took a deep breath, filled her lungs with the cool night air and repeated calmly:
“No, Edik. There will be no starting over. It’s over.”
He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. His mind just couldn’t process that his Eva — his quiet, compliant Eva, who had looked up at him for fifteen years — was now standing tall and unbending and refusing him. Him!
“What do you mean, ‘over’?” he muttered, bewildered. “Don’t you understand? I… I love you! And Slavik… he needs a father!”
“Slavik needs a father,” Eva agreed, “not a roommate who remembers he exists only on holidays. And I need not a boss, but a husband. A partner. A friend. You weren’t that, and you never will be. Goodbye.”
She turned and walked toward the bus stop, holding her son’s hand, not looking back. She could feel his gaze on her back — heavy, full of confusion and rising anger. He was sure she’d come back. That this was just another scene, a way to raise her price. He was wrong. This time, fatally wrong.
The first months of their new life were like a long marathon. Eva rushed between cakes that were becoming more and more popular, the house, and her son. The kitchen in the rented apartment turned into a mini pastry factory. During the day she fussed with sponges and creams, and evenings belonged entirely to Slavik. They did homework together, read books, watched old Soviet comedies, and talked — a lot.
During one of those conversations, Eva realized how deep a wound the boy had from the divorce — and even more, from their life before it.
“Mom, why did Dad never ask how I was doing at school?” Slavik asked one day, putting aside his history textbook. “He only asked about my grades. If it was top marks, he nodded. If it was anything else, he said I was lazy.”
Eva put down her knitting and sat next to him on the couch. “You see, sweetheart, people are different. Some think love is just making sure the child is fed, clothed, and gets good grades. They don’t know how… or don’t think they need… to talk about feelings, to be interested in what you have inside. Your dad is like that. He loves you in his own way, he just doesn’t know how to show it properly.”
“What about Grandma?” Slavik wouldn’t let it go. “She says you’re bad because you broke the family. Is that true?”
Eva hugged him tight. The question made her heart clench. “A family isn’t just a mom, a dad, and a child living under one roof. A family is a place that’s warm, where you’re understood and respected. Where there’s no yelling and constant fighting. Our house stopped being that place. I left so we could build a new home, you and I. Small, but warm and honest. Do you understand? You can only ‘break’ something that was already cracking. Our family cracked a long time ago — we just pretended everything was fine.”
The conversation was hard but necessary. Eva realized she had to be not just a mother, but also a kind of therapist for her son. She started reading books on child psychology, searching for the right words to help Slavik through this rough period.
Lida, as always, was there. She would burst into their place in the evenings like a whirlwind, with bags of groceries and the latest news.
“All right, bakers! Humanitarian aid delivery!” she’d shout from the door. “I brought you some borscht, because I know you — living on sponge cake alone. Eva, you look exhausted. That won’t do, you need rest.”
“When, Lida?” Eva smiled tiredly. “I’ve got three cakes for tomorrow. One of them’s a two-tier wedding cake.”
“Right, then! Delegation of responsibilities!” her friend commanded. “I’m doing homework with Slavik, and you — march to the bath! With foam, salts, the whole package. Half an hour. And I don’t want to see you until then!”
Lida was her guardian angel. She not only helped around the house but became chief PR manager for “Eva’s Cakes.” She handed out Eva’s business cards to everyone, praised her cakes at work, and even convinced the owner of a small café nearby to take Eva’s desserts on consignment.
That was a huge stroke of luck. Now Eva had a steady, if modest, income. She was able to hire an assistant — a quiet, diligent culinary school student named Katya. With four hands in the kitchen, Eva could finally breathe a little.
She even allowed herself a little luxury — she enrolled in sugar flower classes. She wanted to grow, to develop, not to stand still. She sculpted roses from fondant that looked indistinguishable from real ones and felt like a true sculptor, an artist. It was her personal therapy.
Edik and Klavdia, of course, weren’t going to give up. After losing in court, they moved to guerrilla tactics. Edik paid child support, but did it with such a face it was like he was tearing off his own flesh. He transferred exactly the court-ordered amount, not a kopeck more, and always on the very last day.
The dacha was a headache too. The court had ruled to divide it, but Edik sabotaged every attempt to sell. He skipped showings, gave prospective buyers such absurd conditions that they ran away in horror. He wanted to wear Eva down, force her to sell her share for pennies.
“It’s okay,” Anna said during yet another consultation. “By law, we can have the court determine how the property is to be used. Or have it sold at auction. But that takes time. Let’s try a different strategy.”
The “trick” was to file a lawsuit demanding that Edik reimburse her for half the costs of maintaining the dacha for all the time he’d blocked its sale. Electric bills, taxes, security — all of it kept piling up, and by law Eva was responsible for half. But since she couldn’t use her property because of him, she didn’t have to pay. Moreover, she could demand compensation for being unable to use her share.
“You know what’s beautiful about the law?” Anna said with a spark in her eyes. “It’s like chess. You have to think your opponent’s moves ahead. Your ex thinks he’s the clever one. We’ll show him stubbornness and greed are terrible advisors.”
But their main target was still Slavik. Klavdia called her grandson almost every day, telling him how much they missed him and how badly his father was suffering.
“Your dad’s all alone, Slava. He’s lost weight, he’s so upset. And your mother… she’s all about work now, her cakes. New friends, new life. She doesn’t have time for you.”
It was a refined, poisonous lie. Edik phoned his son, promising him the latest computer if he’d tell the child services people he wanted to live with his father.
Slavik was torn. He loved both Mom and Dad. He felt sorry for his father, he believed Grandma’s stories. One day he came back from a visit completely crushed.
“Mom, let’s go back to Dad,” he said that evening. “Grandma says he’ll change. He won’t drink anymore.”
Eva realized it was time for drastic action. The next day she went to see her ex without telling her son.
She found him with two friends and an open bottle of cognac. The table was piled with dirty dishes, and cigar smoke hung in the air.
“Well, look who it is!” Edik drawled when he saw her on the threshold. “Came back for my cooking? Guys, check this out!”
His buddies snickered.
“I came to talk, Edik. Alone.”
He waved a hand and the guys, grabbing the bottle, shuffled off to the kitchen.
“I know you and your mother are working on Slavik,” Eva said without preamble. “I know you’re promising him the moon if he goes against me. Stop it.”
“Or what?” he smirked. “Going to run crying somewhere?”
“No. I’ll just show him this.”
She pulled out her phone and hit play. It was footage from the security camera in the café where Edik had tried to drag their son away. Anna had had the foresight to request it. The video clearly showed him grabbing the crying boy by the arm, shoving Eva, his face twisted with rage.
The smirk vanished from his face.
“Where did you get that?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ll show it to Slavik. And ask him if he wants to live with a father like that. If he wants me to go back to someone who treats us this way. You know what he’ll answer? He’s a smart boy, Edik. He’ll understand everything. And then the child services people will see it. And you’ll get to see your son only under their supervision, for two hours on Saturdays. Is that what you want?”
He stared at the screen where his drunken, angry self abused his family.
“Leave my son alone,” Eva said clearly. “Let him live in peace. Or I’ll destroy you. Not as an ex-husband, but as a father. I have the strength and the proof.”
She turned and left, leaving him alone in the smoky room with his best friend — cognac.
The visit worked. The calls from Edik and his mother stopped. They finally realized Eva was no longer the downtrodden housewife they could blackmail and intimidate. In front of them now stood a strong, confident woman who would fight for her child to the end.
Life slowly fell into rhythm. One day, after dropping off another cake at the café, Eva got to talking with the owner, Viktor. He was a pleasant man in his mid-forties, a widower raising a teenage daughter alone. He more and more often kept her chatting, asking about new recipes, tossing around dessert ideas.
“Eva, why don’t you run workshops here on weekends?” he suggested one day. “For kids. They could shape fondant figures, decorate cookies. I think it would be popular.”
Eva was scared at first. She’d never worked with an audience. But Viktor was so convincing that she agreed to try.
The first workshop was a huge success. The kids were thrilled. They enthusiastically kneaded colorful fondant, making clumsy but charming little animals. Their parents watched with melting hearts, sipping coffee. To her surprise, Eva felt in her element. She liked sharing what she knew, seeing children’s eyes glowing with excitement.
After the workshop, Viktor invited her and Slavik to stay for dinner. They sat together in the now-quiet café, and for the first time in ages, Eva felt like simply a woman. Not a mother, not a pastry chef, not a warrior in a divorce battle — just a woman a man was paying attention to.
Viktor was the complete opposite of Edik. He spoke softly, listened attentively, asked about her, her feelings, her dreams. He watched with admiration as she spoke to Slavik and how they understood each other with half a glance.
“You have a wonderful son,” he said when Slavik ran off with his daughter Lena to talk about a new computer game. “You’re a very good mother.”
Those simple words brought tears to her eyes. In fifteen years of marriage, she had never once heard anything like that from Edik.
Her relationship with Viktor developed slowly and carefully. They were both burned by the past and both afraid of new pain. They met at the café, took walks in the park all together — with Slavik and Lena. The kids became friends surprisingly quickly.
One day, after they got caught in a sudden summer downpour, they dashed into Viktor’s apartment. He lived in a large, bright flat above the café. While the kids changed and drank hot tea, Viktor led Eva into the kitchen.
“I want to show you something,” he said mysteriously.
He opened the door to the next room. It was a spacious, bright room with a huge window.
“This used to be my office. But I thought… this could be a perfect pastry studio. Your studio.”
Eva looked around. She imagined shelves with baking tins, a big worktable, the planetary mixer she’d been dreaming about. It wasn’t just a room. It was a dream.
“I can’t…” she whispered.
“Why not?” He stepped closer and gently took her hands. “Eva, I see how passionate you are about your work. I see your talent. And I want to help you. Just help. No strings attached.”
In that moment she realized she was in love. With this calm, reliable, kind man who believed in her more than she believed in herself.
The dacha situation resolved unexpectedly. Cornered by lawsuits and the prospect of a forced sale, Edik finally agreed to buy out her share. It was a substantial amount, enough for a down payment on a mortgage.
But Eva chose a different path. She invested all the money into her business — renovating and equipping the studio in Viktor’s space. It was a risk, but she felt it was the right move.
The opening of “Eva’s Cakes” studio became a big event. All her friends came, customers, and even reporters from the local paper — invited by indefatigable Lida. There were lots of flowers, champagne, and of course a huge cake that Eva baked together with Slavik.
Yegor came too. He walked up to her when she was alone and handed her a small bundle.
“This is for you, daughter. I’m sorry it all turned out like this.”
Inside was an old silver cake server with monograms.
“It belonged to my mother,” he said shyly. “Klava wanted to pawn it… I bought it back. I think you need it more.”
Eva hugged the old man. In that moment she forgave everything — his silence, his weakness. He was a product of his time, his family, but deep down he had a good heart.
“How are you? How is Klavdia?” she asked.
“Oh, you know… we manage. Klava still can’t calm down, her blood pressure’s all over the place. Edik… drinks. They let him go from work. Say he’s gone off the rails completely. I feel sorry for the fool, but what can you do… He wrecked his life himself.”
On the day she and Slavik moved into Viktor’s apartment, she went through old boxes and found her economics degree. She turned it over in her hands and smiled. That diploma had never really come in handy. Life turned out to be the better university. It had taught her the main thing: it’s never too late to start over. And that a woman’s real strength isn’t in patience and submission, but in knowing when to say “no” and build her own happiness with her own hands.
She looked out the window. Down in the yard, Slavik and Lena were riding their bikes. Viktor was lighting the grill. The air smelled of smoke, grilled meat — and happiness. Her new, hard-won, real happiness
