Rain relentlessly lashed against the entrance awning while Alla sat on a suitcase, holding her six‐year‐old Misha tightly to her. The boy shivered from both cold and fear, his eyes glistening with tears.
— “Mom, is it true that Daddy doesn’t love us anymore?” he asked softly, gripping her sleeve.
Alla struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Two bags lay before her—everything her husband had allowed her to take when he was kicking her out of the apartment.
— “No, sweetheart, Daddy is just very angry,” she whispered, trying to calm both her son and herself.
— “Why was he yelling? Did I do something bad?”
— “No, my dear, you’re not to blame for anything. These are adult problems.”
Her phone had run out of battery, and she had forgotten the charger at home. And who would she even call? Her friends had long since drifted away over the years of marriage, and her parents lived in another city. Over these fifteen years, Viktor had methodically severed all her ties, and she had allowed him to do so.
— “Alla! What happened?” a familiar voice called out.
The woman lifted her head. Nina Petrovna, the neighbor from upstairs, was looking at them with concern.
— “Nothing special,” Alla answered automatically, trying to smile. “Just a little misunderstanding.”
— “In such a downpour with a child outside? This is no misunderstanding,” the retired woman declared firmly, picking up one of the bags. “Come with me. Let’s have some tea and sort this out.”
— “There’s no need to worry…”
— “Stop it. I worked thirty years in a school; I know when someone is in distress. The boy needs to get warm.”
In Nina Petrovna’s cozy kitchen, where the aromas of cinnamon and vanilla mingled in the air, Misha quickly perked up. The hostess poured tea and set a plate of cookies before him.
— “Now, tell me everything,” she said softly once Alla’s son had become engrossed in a cartoon in the next room.
Words flowed like a river.
— “Today I found some correspondence between Vitya and someone named Kristina. They’ve been together for half a year now. When I asked him, he didn’t even deny it. He said that he had long wanted to leave, that I had ‘let myself go,’ that he needed a young woman rather than a ‘dull housewife.’”
— “And that’s why he left you standing out in the rain?” Nina Petrovna exclaimed indignantly.
— “He declared that this was his apartment and gave me an hour to pack. Said he had the right to be happy…”
Alla burst into tears, remembering how Viktor had watched her packing with cold detachment, even forbidding her from taking expensive items which, according to him, “he had purchased.”
— “I was the perfect wife for fifteen years,” she whispered through her tears. “I quit my job in accounting, just as he wanted. All for the sake of home and family. And now I’m forty-two, and nobody needs me.”
— “Nonsense,” snapped Nina Petrovna. “You’re a beautiful woman, just cornered. And the apartment documents need to be checked. He’s clearly hiding something.”
— “Viktor always said that the apartment was his… But we got married fifteen years ago… I’ve never seen the documents,” Alla said, bewildered.
— “Tomorrow we’re going to the multifunctional center. We’ll find out who the owner really is. Now, go and get some rest.”
The night passed in turmoil. Alla woke from nightmares: images of Viktor tossing out photographs of them with Misha as if erasing the traces of their shared life. In the morning, Nina Petrovna’s door buzzer rang.
— “Alla, it’s your husband,” called the hostess. “He’s yelling for you to come down.”
Viktor stood by the entrance, nervously tapping his car keys.
— “You’re shaming me in front of the neighbors. Why did you even stop here? You should have left!” he barked instead of greeting. “Alright. I brought Misha’s allergy pills. And also…” he hesitated, “you need to sign some papers.”
— “What papers?” Alla asked quietly.
— “A voluntary waiver of any claims on the property. Kristina is moving in with me, and I want to avoid any problems. If you sign, I’ll give you enough money for a rental apartment for the meantime.”
Alla looked into his cold eyes, not recognizing the man she had lived with for fifteen years.
— “Viktor, this is our joint apartment. We bought it together.”
— “Do you have any proof?” he sneered. “You didn’t put in a single penny. Everything was bought with my money. The documents are in my name. Be grateful that I’m offering you help.”
— “And what about Misha? Did you think about your son?”
— “Don’t make this a drama. I’ll have him on weekends. Kristina and I plan to have a baby, but that doesn’t mean I’ll abandon Misha.”
— “Have a baby?”
— “Kristina is young, she’s twenty-seven. We want to build a real family. And you… Sorry, but it’s time to move on. Fifteen years isn’t a small time. Many can’t even last five.”
At that moment, Misha ran out from the entrance.
— “Daddy!” the boy exclaimed joyfully, rushing to his father.
Viktor awkwardly embraced his son, throwing irritated glances at Alla.
— “Hello, son,” he forced a smile. “How are you?”
— “Good! We’re staying with Nina Petrovna; she baked cookies! Daddy, are we going home?”
Viktor stepped back.
— “You see, son, adults sometimes… In any case, Mom will explain everything to you,” he said while glancing at his watch. “I have to go. Think about my offer, Alla. It’s beneficial for everyone.”
Once the car disappeared around the corner, Alla could no longer hold back her tears. Misha clung to her.
— “Mom, why are you crying? Did Daddy hurt you?”
She hugged him, wiping his tears away.
— “No, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. You’ll see.”
Alla made her way back to Nina Petrovna’s, while a new fire began to kindle within her—not despair, but resolve. For fifteen years she had lived someone else’s life. And her husband had grown accustomed to her never questioning or resisting. Perhaps this “mistake” by Viktor would become her chance for a real life.
— “He offered money for a waiver of any claim on the apartment,” she confided to Nina Petrovna.
— “And what about you?”
— “I think it’s time to find out what’s legally mine.”
Nina Petrovna nodded approvingly.
— “That’s right! I know a lawyer—a niece of mine. She’ll help sort this out.”
A few days later, Alla found herself sitting in the lawyer’s office.
— “So, you were officially married at the time of purchasing the apartment?” asked Svetlana Igorevna, Nina Petrovna’s niece, making notes in her notebook.
— “Yes, for three years already,” Alla said, twirling a now-cold cup of tea in her hands.
— “And all these years you managed the household and took care of the child?”
— “Exactly. Viktor insisted I quit my job. He said his salary was enough for everyone.”
Svetlana nodded:
— “Then you have every right to claim the marital property, regardless of whose name is on the documents. This is clearly stated in the Family Code.”
In despair, Alla exclaimed:
— “But I have no papers!”
The lawyer reassured her:
— “Don’t worry. I’ll help you gather the documents. We’ll need the marriage certificate, your son’s birth certificate, bank statements…”
A week later, they received an excerpt from Rosreestr. Alla stared at the document in disbelief.
— “The apartment is registered in both your names,” confirmed Svetlana. “You are fully entitled to half of the property.”
— “But how? Viktor always said…”
— “Most likely, he was just manipulating you. The documents don’t lie.”
That very day, Viktor called.
— “What are you doing?” he growled. “Why are you poking around in Rosreestr?”
— “Why did you lie to me about the apartment?” Alla asked calmly, surprised by her own firmness.
— “Don’t start,” he snapped. “I worked my whole life while you sat at home. This apartment is mine.”
— “Legally, it’s ours. And I am not going to sign any waiver.”
There was silence on the line.
— “You’ll regret this,” Viktor hissed. “I know influential people. You’ll end up with nothing.”
— “Threats only worsen your own position,” Alla replied, using the words Svetlana had advised. “From now on, let’s communicate through our lawyers.”
The conversation with Viktor gave her strength. Alla was no longer a shadow. She became a person with a right to her own life.
— “I need a job,” she said to Nina Petrovna. “I can no longer depend on others.”
— “Depend on others? You help me with cleaning and cooking. I’m a lonely person and you bring me joy,” protested the pensioner.
— “It doesn’t matter,” Alla smiled. “Misha needs a confident mother, not a victim of circumstances.”
With Svetlana’s help, a resume was put together. Alla had previously worked in accounting for a construction company. Fifteen years had passed, but her basic skills remained.
— “There are two hundred companies in the area!” Nina Petrovna cheerfully proclaimed. “They’ll take you somewhere!”
And they did—she was hired by a small firm as an assistant accountant. The salary was modest, but the schedule allowed her to pick up Misha from school.
— “I like that you smile more now,” her son remarked one day as they returned from school. “And you even bought a new dress. You look beautiful.”
Alla hugged him tightly. In the three months since leaving Viktor, she had truly changed—lost weight, gotten a haircut, and begun dressing differently.
— “You know, sweetheart, sometimes you have to lose something to find yourself.”
— “And why doesn’t Daddy come anymore? Did he stop loving me?”
Alla’s heart clenched. After their last conversation, Viktor had called only once—to say he wouldn’t come to see his son.
— “Daddy is very busy,” she answered cautiously. “He has a lot of work.”
The court proceedings for the division of property dragged on. Viktor hired an expensive lawyer, trying to prove that Alla had been a bad wife and therefore had no right to claim the marital property. But Svetlana was just as resolute. She calmly explained:
— “He thinks he can intimidate you. But the law is on our side.”
One evening, as she and Misha were returning from the store, a familiar car was parked by the entrance.
— “Daddy!” the boy shouted, running towards Viktor.
His husband looked haggard and exhausted.
— “Hello!” he greeted, hugging Misha while avoiding Alla’s gaze. “I missed you.”
— “Why haven’t you come?” the boy asked sternly.
— “Work, son, lots of work,” he replied guiltily with a shrug. “Alla, can we talk? Alone.”
Alla nodded to Misha:
— “Go over to Nina Petrovna’s and say that I’ll be up soon.”
Once her son disappeared into the entrance, Viktor’s expression suddenly changed.
— “What’s with all this circus?” he asked wearily. “Let’s end this like adults.”
— “Like adults—meaning leaving a wife and a child out in the street?”
He frowned:
— “I overreacted. But you forced my hand… with your behavior.”
— “Viktor, I don’t recall ever blaming you. On the contrary, I always tried to be the perfect wife.”
— “That’s exactly the problem!” he blurted out unexpectedly. “You were like… like a program! Always agreeable, never questioning. I felt like a monster next to such perfection.”
Alla was stunned:
— “You left me because I was… a good wife?”
— “I don’t know,” he ran a hand over his face. “Kristina left. Said I was selfish and a tyrant. Can you imagine? And I just wanted…”
— “She to admire you,” Alla finished. “Not to see flaws. Like I used to.”
A flash of surprise appeared in Viktor’s eyes.
— “You’ve changed.”
— “Yes. I’ve realized that life doesn’t end when your husband finds someone else.”
— “You know,” he smirked, “you’ve even become more attractive. Maybe we could try starting over? For Misha’s sake.”
Alla looked at him—this time without rose-colored glasses, without the fear of losing his love.
— “No, Viktor. Not for Misha and not for myself. You haven’t changed.”
Two months later, the court ruled—the apartment was divided equally, as was all the rest of their property. Viktor offered to buy out her share, and Alla agreed. With that money, she and Misha bought a small two-room apartment in the neighboring district.
— “It’s a pity that you’re leaving,” Nina Petrovna sighed, helping pack their things. “I got used to you.”
— “We’ll come visit,” Alla promised. “Without you, I wouldn’t have made it.”
— “Nonsense,” the pensioner waved off. “You made it on your own. Sometimes all you need is a push.”
Viktor kept his promise and began to see his son regularly. Kristina indeed left, but soon a new girl—Lena, even younger—appeared. Alla no longer felt jealousy—only a slight pity for a man who couldn’t appreciate what he had.
A year later, Alla was promoted to chief accountant. She enrolled in English courses and, for the first time in twenty years, went on a vacation with Misha—to Turkey, to the seaside.
Sitting on the plane, she watched as Misha drew the sea and palm trees in his notebook.
Three years ago, when her husband had left them out in the rain, Alla thought her life was over. But now she understood—it was only just beginning.
— “Mom, you know what?” Misha suddenly said. “I’m glad that we now live just the two of us.”
— “Why?” she asked in surprise.
— “Because now you’re real. And you no longer hide.”
Alla hugged her son tightly. At the age of nine, he understood what she hadn’t realized for so many years—that one cannot be happy if they stop being themselves.
Sometimes the greatest miscalculation by another person becomes your greatest blessing.
