Zoya stood by the window of her apartment, watching the bustle of the street below. In her hands she held a cup of hot tea, a faint wisp of steam curling up from it. The past few months had been especially hard—her relationship with Andrei was coming apart at the seams, and she was withdrawing more and more into herself.
“Zoya, we need to talk,” her husband’s voice sounded behind her.
She turned around. Andrei was standing in the doorway, his face a mix of determination and awkwardness.
“About what?” she asked, though she had a feeling the conversation wouldn’t be pleasant.
“You see, Yana…” he began, stumbling over the words.
“What about Yana?” Zoya set the cup down on the windowsill.
“She’s moving in with us for a while. She’s having housing problems.”
Zoya felt a surge of indignation rise inside her. Yana—Andrei’s friend from university—had been showing up in their lives far too often lately.
“You mean you made this decision WITHOUT ME?” Zoya’s voice turned harder.
“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only for a little while.” Andrei tried to sound calm, but irritation slipped into his tone.
“No!” Zoya cut him off. “This is MY apartment—it came to me from my grandmother. And I won’t allow—”
“Stop it! I’m your husband, and I have the right to invite friends!”
“Friends?” Zoya gave a bitter little laugh. “Do you think I’m blind? You think I don’t see the way she looks at you?”
Andrei flushed, but said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any words.
“When is she coming?” Zoya asked wearily.
“Tomorrow morning.”
Zoya felt something crack inside her. Years of shared life—trust, respect—everything was collapsing right before her eyes.
The next morning Zoya woke to the sound of keys in the lock. She stepped into the hallway and saw Andrei helping Yana carry in suitcases.
“Hi, Zoya!” Yana cried cheerfully, as if they were best friends. “Thanks for taking me in!”
Yana was a beautiful thirty-year-old woman with long red hair and green eyes. She worked as a manager at a travel agency and always looked flawless.
“I didn’t agree to this,” Zoya replied coldly.
“Zoya!” Andrei snapped at her. “Don’t start!”
“I’ll put my things in the guest room,” Yana said quickly, sensing the tension.
When Yana left, Andrei turned to his wife.
“You could at least be polite!”
“Polite?” Zoya felt anger rising. “You brought another woman into MY home without my permission, and I’m supposed to be polite?”
“It’s my home too!”
“No!” Zoya shouted. “This is my grandmother’s apartment! You’re here only because I loved you… loved.”
Andrei went pale.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Exactly what I said. I’m tired of your disrespect, your ‘friends,’ and the fact that my opinion means NOTHING to you!”
At that moment Yana came back.
“Maybe I should leave…”
“No, stay!” Andrei said sharply. “This is my home, and I have the right to have guests!”
Zoya looked at him with contempt.
“Your home? Seriously? Name one thing in here that you bought!”
Andrei fell silent. In five years of marriage he really hadn’t contributed a penny to furnishing the apartment, preferring to spend money on his hobbies.
The following days turned into a living hell. Yana acted like the mistress of the house—rearranging things, making Andrei breakfast, laughing at his jokes. Zoya felt like an outsider in her own home.
One evening, coming back from work, Zoya found Yana and Andrei in the kitchen. They were drinking wine and chatting animatedly. When they saw Zoya, the conversation stopped.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Zoya said, taking a yogurt from the fridge.
“We were discussing plans for the weekend,” Yana explained. “Andrei suggested going out of town.”
“The three of us?” Zoya asked.
“Well… I thought you wouldn’t want to,” Andrei mumbled.
“Of course I won’t,” Zoya turned to him. “Go the two of you. Have fun!”
“Zoya, don’t—”
“And how should I act?” she flared. “Stay quiet? Pretend everything’s fine? Pretend I don’t see you flirting right in front of me?”
“No one is flirting!” Yana protested. “We’re just friends!”
“Friends?” Zoya burst out laughing. “Friends don’t look at each other like that! Friends don’t spend all their free time together!”
“You’re paranoid!” Andrei shouted.
“I’m paranoid? Fine. Then let your ‘friend’ explain why she’s really here!”
Yana blushed.
“I really do have housing problems…”
“Lies!” Zoya pulled out her phone. “I checked. You have an apartment two blocks from here! So why are you here?”
Silence fell. Andrei looked at Yana, bewildered.
“Is that true?”
Yana lowered her eyes.
“Yes, but… I wanted to be closer to you. We… we love each other!”
Zoya felt her chest tighten.
“So that’s it. Now everything makes sense.”
“Zoya, I can explain…” Andrei started.
“Don’t!” she yelled. “I understand perfectly! You’re both traitors! But you know what? This is MY home—and you’re BOTH leaving!”
“You can’t throw us out!” Andrei protested. “I’m your husband! I have rights to this apartment!”
“Rights?” Zoya took a folder of documents from the closet. “Here’s the ownership certificate. The apartment is in MY name. Here’s the prenup you signed. Remember? You insisted—you said you weren’t claiming my property!”
Andrei went even paler. He really had forgotten about that document, signed five years earlier in a burst of love and a desire to prove his feelings were unselfish.
“But… but I’m your husband!”
“Not anymore!” Zoya snapped. “Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce. And right now—OUT of my home! Both of you!”
“You won’t dare!” Yana stood up, fists clenched. “Andrei, tell her! We have the right to live here!”
“Right?” Zoya laughed. “Based on what? That you sleep together behind my back?”
“We don’t—” Andrei began.
“STOP LYING!” Zoya screamed so loudly the glass trembled. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I don’t notice your looks, your touches, your whispers?”
She stepped right up to Yana.
“And you… you thought you could come into MY home and take MY life? You thought I’d just swallow it in silence?”
“I… I love him!” Yana blurted out.
“Love him?” Zoya smirked. “You don’t love him—you love what you thought he could give you: an apartment downtown, a comfortable life. Only here’s the problem—he has NONE of it. It’s all MINE!”
“Zoya, let’s talk calmly…” Andrei tried to intervene.
“Calmly?” Zoya turned on him. “For five years I put up with your rudeness, your laziness, your disrespect! For five years I listened to you criticize my job, my style, my hobbies! For five years I paid for everything—food, utilities, your clothes! And what did I get in return? BETRAYAL!”
“I… I was wrong…” Andrei muttered.
“Wrong?” Zoya grabbed his shirt. “You were vile. A pathetic, cowardly vile man! And you know what? I HATE you. I hate that I wasted my best years on you!”
She shoved him away and turned back to Yana.
“And you thought you were so clever? Decided to steal someone else’s husband? Fine—take him! Just know this: with him you’ll get debts, unemployment, and zero ambition. Because Andrei is empty—pretty wrapping with nothing inside!”
“How dare you!” Yana snapped.
“I dare!” Zoya shouted. “Because this is MY home! And you’re leaving RIGHT NOW!”
She grabbed her phone.
“You have ten minutes. If you don’t go, I’m calling security. And don’t think these are empty threats!”
Andrei and Yana exchanged a look. They had never seen Zoya like this—furious, resolute, strong. The familiar quiet woman who always compromised was gone. In her place stood a force of nature, ready to defend what was hers.
“Zoya, listen…” Andrei took a step toward her.
“Don’t come any closer!” she shouted. “Pack your things and get out!”
“But where will we go?” Yana whined.
“To your home! To the apartment you supposedly don’t have!” Zoya dialed a number. “Hello, security? This is Zoya from apartment 45. I have some uninvited guests who refuse to leave…”
“Okay, okay!” Andrei raised his hands. “We’re going!”
He rushed into the bedroom to grab his things. Yana froze, stunned.
“Go help your ‘beloved,’” Zoya threw at her. “And remember: you’re getting a man who betrayed his wife for a mistress. You think he’ll treat you differently?”
Yana went pale and silently followed Andrei.
Fifteen minutes later they stood in the hallway with their bags. Andrei looked lost and pitiful.
“Zoya, maybe we can still talk… when you calm down…”
“There’s nothing left to talk about. Expect a court summons. And leave the keys.”
Andrei reluctantly placed the keys on the little table.
“This is a mistake, Zoya. You’ll regret it…”
“The only thing I regret is wasting so much time on you. GET OUT!”
The door slammed behind them. Zoya leaned back against the wall and, for the first time in many days, felt relief. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it stung. But she had finally freed herself from a toxic relationship, from someone who didn’t value her.
A month later Zoya received the divorce certificate. Andrei didn’t contest her demands—the prenup left him no chance.
And six months after that she ran into Yana by chance in a store. Yana looked tired and irritable.
“How are things with Andrei?” Zoya couldn’t help asking.
Yana gave a crooked smirk.
“We broke up. Two months after your divorce.”
“Really?” Zoya put on a look of surprise.
“He turned out… not who he seemed to be. Without your apartment and money he became completely different—lazy, rude, demanding. He wanted me to support him, the way you did.”
“My condolences,” Zoya said dryly.
“You know…” Yana hesitated. “I want to apologize. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have interfered in your family.”
“Apology accepted,” Zoya nodded. “But you know what? You did me a favor. Because of you, I realized I deserve better.”
Yana dropped her gaze.
“Andrei lives with his mother now. Still hasn’t found a job. He’s just waiting for someone to appreciate him and offer him a high position.”
“Let him wait,” Zoya shrugged. “And I’m going. I have a date today.”
She turned and walked out, leaving Yana standing there with her mouth open.
Outside, Zoya took a deep breath of the frosty air. Life went on, and there was so much ahead of her. And Andrei… Andrei got what he deserved. A man who didn’t value what he had ended up with nothing.
His arrogance—his certainty that his wife would tolerate anything—backfired on him. He never expected quiet Zoya to be capable of such fury, such resolve. He never expected she would defend her dignity and her home.
And Yana, who thought she could easily take someone else’s place, learned a lesson: you can’t build happiness on someone else’s misery. Betrayal always comes back like a boomerang.
Zoya proved the most important thing to herself: she was a strong woman, able to stand up for herself. And no one would ever dare humiliate or betray her again.
A month later Andrei tried calling Zoya, begging to meet. But she blocked his number. The past stayed in the past—there was no going back.
The story spread among their mutual friends. People stopped inviting Andrei out—no one wanted to associate with a traitor. They avoided Yana too, knowing her role in breaking up the marriage.
And Zoya blossomed. She renovated the apartment, getting rid of everything that reminded her of the failed marriage. She signed up for Italian classes she’d dreamed about for years. And she met someone who truly valued and respected her.
One day, a year after the divorce, Zoya received a letter from Andrei. He wrote that he had realized his mistakes, that he regretted what happened, that he wanted to earn back her trust. Zoya read the letter and, without flinching, tossed it into the trash.
Some bridges are burned forever. And that’s the right way.
