I noticed the folder by accident. Yesterday, Kolya brought another batch of papers — “work stuff, Val, nothing interesting.” Usually, I didn’t meddle with his documents. For thirty-two years of marriage, we had invisible but strong boundaries: the kitchen, cleaning, grandchildren — that was mine; bills, documents, property — that was his. But this morning, while dusting the shelf in the office, I knocked the folder, and it fell to the floor, scattering its contents.
«Gift agreement…» — I read, picking up the top sheet.
Our summer house in Ozerki. It was in the name of Tanya, Nikolai’s sister. On the next sheet were the documents for the house we had built with such effort five years ago. And again, Tanya’s name.
I sat on the floor, spreading the papers before me when my husband entered.
«What are you doing?» — his voice sounded calm, but I knew that tone. He used it when the children broke something valuable when they were little.
I looked up at him and felt like I had been caught in the act. But what had I done wrong?
«Kolya, why is the house and the dacha in your sister’s name?»
He sighed, as though he had to explain the obvious to a child:
«You know, Val, I have a business. Anything can happen. It’s safer for the family this way.»
«But why Tanya? Why not me?» — my voice trembled.
«Stop it,» — he grimaced. «What difference does it make whose name it’s in? It’s all ours, family property.»
Nikolai gathered the papers, neatly folded them into the folder, and put it in the drawer of his desk. Then he extended his hand, helping me up from the floor.
«Valya, we’ve been together for thirty years. Do you really not trust me?»
I nodded and forced a smile. But something inside me cracked. It was as if I had spent my whole life standing in a warm, cozy room, only to suddenly discover that behind one of the walls, there was an icy emptiness.
He kissed me on the cheek and went to the kitchen. I heard the clink of a cup, the water boiling in the kettle. The usual sounds of our home. Only now, I knew for sure: this house wasn’t mine.
For three days, I walked around like in a fog. I did everything as usual: cooked, cleaned, and on Thursday, I picked up the grandchildren from kindergarten. But something inside me was turning over. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked at my sleeping husband beside me. A stranger.
On Friday, Kolya left for a business trip. I put the kettle on and pulled out old photo albums. Here’s our wedding — me in the white lace dress that I had remade from my mother’s. Kolya looks at me with tenderness. Back then, I worked as a nurse, dreaming of entering medical school. Then Lenochka was born, two years later, Serёzha. I put off medical school for better times.
I flipped through several pages. Our first apartment — a one-room flat on the outskirts. I sat with the children, while Kolya was missing at work. “Hang on, Valyusha,” — he’d say, “everything will get better soon.”
Here we are at the dacha of his parents. No longer young — I was over forty. The children had grown. I still hadn’t returned to medicine, but I had mastered cooking and knitting. I remember how my mother-in-law praised me: “Kolya is lucky to have such a wife — a true keeper of the hearth!”
I closed the album. The mirror reflected an older woman with tired eyes. What had I done with my life? I had dissolved into my husband, into the children, into daily life. And now it turned out I wasn’t even a part of the family. Just… the help.
Outside, it was raining. I poured more tea and, for the first time in many years, allowed myself to cry — not because of the children’s problems, not because of a fight with my husband, but because of myself. Because of that girl in the white dress who once dreamed of healing people.
The tears ended suddenly. I wiped my face with the kitchen towel and suddenly felt something new — anger. Not at Kolya — at myself. How could I have so easily given up my life? Swapped dreams for borscht and knitted socks?
Then the phone rang — my granddaughter wanted me to read her a fairy tale via video call. I began reading about Cinderella and suddenly stumbled on the part where the prince finds her by the glass slipper.
“Grandma, what’s wrong?” — Nastya asked.
“You know, darling,” — I smiled, “I think Cinderella could have found happiness on her own, without the prince.”
“How?” — my granddaughter was surprised.
I didn’t know how to answer. But for the first time in a long time, I felt that I wanted to figure it out.
I was so nervous that I drove past the turn three times. The legal office «Justice» was tucked away in the old building of a former research institute, and the office number — 317 — I repeated like a mantra, climbing up the shabby stairs.
“Please sit, Valentina Sergeyevna,” — Irina Lvovna, a woman in her fifties with a keen gaze, pointed to the chair across from the desk. “So, what happened?”
I suddenly felt awkward. I took out the folder with copies of the documents I had secretly made yesterday.
“You see… Thirty-two years of marriage… My husband transferred all the property to his sister…”
The lawyer quickly skimmed through the papers, and her face became serious.
“When was this done?”
“The house five years ago, the dacha three years ago. But I only found out last week.”
She sighed, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Valentina Sergeyevna, how long have you been married?”
“Since ’89…”
“Did you have a prenuptial agreement?”
I even smiled.
“Are you kidding? We didn’t even talk about such things back then. We got married during the Soviet Union.”
Irina Lvovna looked at me a little differently — like she was looking at a patient with an unpleasant diagnosis.
“By law, property acquired during marriage is divided in half. But if your husband has already re-registered it…”
“What does that mean?” — I interrupted, feeling the chill between my shoulder blades.
“Legally, it now belongs to his sister. We can try to contest it, but… Did you know about this when the documents were signed?”
“No!” — I almost shouted the word. “I didn’t suspect anything…”
“Did you work during the marriage?”
“Of course,” — I nodded. “I worked at the library, then ran a craft club at the cultural center. When the children were born, I stayed home with them. Later, I helped with the grandchildren…”
She made a note in her notebook.
“So, you didn’t have any official income for most of the marriage?”
It felt like I had been struck in the gut. Thirty years of life, and all that time…
“What should I do?” — I whispered.
“First, you need to create an inventory of the property that was definitely acquired during the marriage. Gather all the documents you have. And…”
She paused, as though deciding.
“And be prepared for the fact that without a divorce, recovering anything will be nearly impossible.”
I sat there, stunned. The only thought in my head was: did he really plan everything? Had he been building this scheme all this time while I cooked borscht and mended his shirts?
“I’ll gather the documents,” — my voice sounded unexpectedly firm. “And… I’ll file for divorce.”
For the first time in my life, I said those words aloud, and they didn’t sound like a sentence, but like the beginning of something new.
“Confirmation of receipt of the document…” — I carefully signed the form at the post office. With each paper, with each request, I felt a little more confident.
In the past month, my life has grown shrouded in secrets, like an old well covered with moss. On Mondays and Thursdays, I supposedly went «to a knitting club at Margarita Petrovna’s.» In reality, I attended computer literacy courses at the local library.
— Valentina, take your time, — Alia Viktorovna, the librarian with thirty years of experience, patiently repeated. — Press the buttons more confidently.
For some reason, I was afraid of those buttons — it seemed like one wrong press and the computer would explode. But the fear faded with each passing day. Just like the fear of Nikolai.
He, however, didn’t notice anything. Or rather, he noticed it in his own way:
— Valya, you seem younger? — he chuckled at dinner. — Your eyes are shining. Have you fallen in love in your old age?
I just smiled. Indeed, I had fallen in love. In myself, the new me, which I was discovering every day.
On Tuesdays, I met with Vera Nikolaevna — the lawyer recommended by Irina Lvovna.
— Is the inventory of property ready? — Vera Nikolaevna was a dry, business-like woman, but I felt a strange warmth from her. — And the bank statement showing deposits into your husband’s account?
— I don’t know his passwords…
— What about his credit history? Are you a co-signer?
Questions poured down like peas from a torn bag. I got confused, forgot things, but stubbornly returned with new documents. With every time, the folder grew thicker.
At home, I hid it under old winter clothes in the wardrobe. Nikolai never looked there — clean shirts would magically appear in his closet.
— You know, Valentina, — Vera said once over a cup of tea after another consultation, — many women in your place would have already given up.
I shrugged:
— Where should I give up to? I’m not a twenty-year-old girl to run around and lament. I’m sixty-one. If I don’t change everything now, when will I?
In the evenings, when Nikolai was asleep, I would take out my notebook, where I wrote down my action plan. A month ago, I didn’t even know which side of the computer to approach. Today, I had an email and a personal account on the government services website.
«The most important thing is not to scare him off too soon,» Vera said. And I waited. I gathered documents, consulted with specialists, and each day my resolve grew stronger.
This resolve I carefully hid behind the familiar mask of a caring wife, but I knew — soon that mask would no longer fit me.
Nikolai came home earlier than usual. He had some special, elated look — the one he wore when closing a lucrative deal.
— Valyusha, — he kissed me on the cheek, — I have a surprise for you.
I smiled, not stopping my task of chopping vegetables for the salad. Over the past months, I had learned to play the role of the old Valentina — compliant, soft, a little naïve. Exactly naïve, otherwise, how could I explain that for thirty-two years I hadn’t noticed the obvious?
— What surprise? — I asked, deliberately adding interest to my voice.
Nikolai took out a familiar blue folder with documents from his briefcase.
— Do you remember our apartment? Where Dima and Lena live now?
Of course, I remembered. Our first apartment, which we got during the Soviet Union, and then privatized. Now our son and his wife lived there.
— I remember, of course.
— Well, — Nikolai opened the folder solemnly, — I decided to make a gift deed. To Dima, of course.
Something inside me snapped. Our last joint property. The one we got when we were young, before all his «schemes.» The apartment where our children grew up, where I grew up as a woman and mother.
— I just need your consent, — Nikolai continued, handing me a pen, — you’re not opposed, are you?
I stared at the extended pen, at his confident smile. Thirty-two years ago, he smiled just like that when he gave me the ring.
— No, — I said quietly.
— Excuse me, what? — His smile faltered.
— I said «no,» Kolya.
He frowned, as if hearing something foolish.
— Valya, don’t be silly. This is for Dima. For our son.
— And the fact that you transferred the house and the dacha to your sister — is that also for our son? — I felt my hands tremble, and I put the knife down.
His face changed instantly — the smile disappeared, his eyes narrowed.
— Are you still on about that? I explained it to you…
I silently opened the buffet drawer and took out my folder. Thick, filled with dozens of documents, statements, and applications. My folder.
— What is this? — His voice turned cold.
— Divorce papers, — I was surprised at how calmly those words sounded. — I’m filing for divorce, Kolya.
He looked at me as if I had suddenly spoken in a foreign language. Then he laughed — unsure, broken:
— Are you joking? At sixty? After thirty years of marriage?
— Sixty-one. After thirty-two years of marriage, — I corrected him. — And no, I’m not joking.
— Because I want to protect our property? You… — He stopped, seemingly choosing softer words, — you just don’t understand.
— I understand everything, — my voice gained steel. — I understand that «our» property has long become «yours.» And that you’ve simply written me off.
He suddenly flared up — I hadn’t seen him like this in a long time:
— What do you even understand about business? You’ve been sitting with the kids your whole life, making your soups — you should just continue doing your thing!
He almost yelled the last phrase. And in that moment, something in me finally snapped — the last thread that connected me to my old life.
— And I am, Kolya. For the first time in many years — I’m doing my thing.
The courtroom, damn it, is tiny. Just like the vice-principal’s office at school, where I used to get scolded for Dima’s antics. The benches are wooden — hard and uncomfortable. I sat on the edge so I could stretch my legs.
— Citizen Romanova, are you ready? — Vera Nikolaevna leaned towards me, and I could smell some expensive perfume.
I nodded. Strangely enough, I was calm. Three months gathering papers, three months crying — and now there’s nothing inside, just lightness.
— Case No. 375 on divorce, — the secretary mumbled.
I glanced at Nikolai. A cream-colored shirt, a tie — he’s dressed as if going to negotiations. But his face was pale, drawn even. And next to him — his lawyer, all made up. On heels, with a hairstyle as if she were going to a reception, not to court. She saw me — wrinkled her nose. Of course, an old woman is getting divorced, it’s funny to her.
— Citizen Romanov, do you admit the claims? — the judge, a woman about fifty, looked at Kolya over her glasses.
— I categorically do not admit, — Kolya stood up and straightened his jacket. — The cottage and house legally belong to my sister, Tatyana Petrovna Somova. There’s nothing to divide here.
— Your Honor, — Vera Nikolaevna stood up too, — we have evidence that the property was re-registered without the plaintiff’s knowledge or consent. And we have witness testimony that citizen Romanova directly participated in financing the construction…
I listened to their argument as if through cotton wool. In my head, a silly phrase kept spinning: «And so the fairy tale is over, though there was much that was beautiful in it.» Where that line comes from, I don’t remember, maybe from a song or a poem.
The judge listened to me carefully. I told everything honestly: how I found out about the gift agreements, how I saved for the cottage, how I worked on the house for years — doing everything myself, wallpapering, sewing curtains.
After two hours and three hearings, we got the decision. A quarter of the house and the cottage — in money. Just enough for separate housing. The little things — a washing machine, a TV, carpets — Kolya gave without argument. Maybe he was tired of them.
When it was all over, Nikolai caught up with me in the corridor.
— Valya, what are you doing? — he asked tiredly, without anger. — Where will you go? To Olya’s? She has two of her own, she won’t have time for you.
— You were right then, in the argument, — I suddenly smiled, looking him straight in the eyes. — It’s time for me to do my thing.
— Valentina Sergeevna, please sort out these forms, — the library director, Raisa Andreevna, threw a stack of papers onto my desk. — You’re the only one with legible handwriting.
— Of course, Raisa Andreevna, — I was distracted from the computer. I typed slowly, but without errors.
The city library archive became my second home. I was hired almost immediately — libraries are always short on staff. As for the low salary — my requests are modest now. A small one-bedroom in a new building on the outskirts. The simplest of repairs. But — it’s all mine.
At first, my son was upset, blaming me for the breakdown of the family. But then he thawed. He started bringing the grandkids every weekend. Masha, my five-year-old, has already baked half the kitchen with me. She loves grandma’s pies — with cabbage, with apples.
— Grandma, don’t you miss us? — Dima asked once, when he was picking up the kids.
— Why would I? — I was surprised. — I have work, friends… You know, Nadya and I go to the theater every month. Soon we’re going on a tour to St. Petersburg.
He shook his head. Then suddenly hugged me tightly:
— You’re great, Mom.
And I thought so too. Really, I am great.
A year has passed. An entire damn year. I’m sitting on the windowsill, watching the rain drum on the glass, and thinking — it passed quickly, huh?
The kettle whistles in the kitchen. I go to make tea. Vera Nikolaevna’s gift — a cup with cornflowers — is already waiting on the table. A good woman, soulful. She called a couple of months after the trial, asking how I was settling in.
And I’ve settled in… well, pretty well. The first weeks I cried, of course. Thirty-two years down the drain — there was plenty to cry about. Then it stopped. Maybe the tears ran out? Or maybe it just didn’t make sense to cry anymore?
I took the tea to the room and went to the mirror. I used to be afraid to look in it — every year a new wrinkle, a new gray strand. Now I look boldly. Yeah, I’m an old lady. Sixty-two is no joke. But my eyes… there’s something new about my eyes. They’ve become alive, curious.
The library is always busy now. «Valentina Sergeevna, help with the catalog,» «Valentina Sergeevna, make an inventory.» And recently Raisa Andreevna called me:
— We’re going to master the electronic database, Romanova. Are you good with computers?
— I am, — I replied. And I wasn’t lying at all. I got so good over the year that the kids can’t believe it. Dima says his boss knows less about computers than I do. Funny.
The phone rang so unexpectedly that I jumped. The screen showed: «Nikolai.» We hadn’t spoken for about three months, since he came to get the things still left at Dima’s garage.
— Yes, — I answered, after a second of thinking.
— Valya, — his voice sounded strange, soft, — how are you?
— Fine, — I said. And suddenly realized I wasn’t lying. — Really fine, Kolya.
— I see… — there was a pause, then: — Dima said it’s your… well… anniversary today.
— Yeah, — I couldn’t help but smile. — A year of freedom.
— I just wanted to know if everything’s okay with you? — he asked after a long pause.
— Completely, — I answered. — How about you?
— Nothing special, working, — his voice carried those familiar notes of self-satisfaction. — By the way, I’ll soon get the house back in my name. Tanya, can you believe it, demanded money for it being in her name. She’s really gotten bold…
I almost laughed. He hadn’t changed a bit. Still spinning things around, moving them from place to place. But now, it doesn’t concern me.
— Kolya, I have to go, — I interrupted. — I’m glad to hear everything’s fine with you.
After the call, I went back to the mirror. Fixed my hair. More gray hairs. More wrinkles. But who cares?
It’s six in the evening. Nadya promised to drop by — we were going to the philharmonic. Classical music, can you imagine? I used to hate it, and now I have a subscription. I’m learning English. And I’m taking computer courses — advanced level.
What comes next, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to a sanatorium this summer. Olya offered me a voucher. Maybe I’ll sign up for cooking classes — I’ve always wanted to learn how to bake a real strudel.
I was standing in front of the mirror and suddenly realized — this is it, the feeling I’ve been looking for in my eyes. It’s curiosity. Curiosity about life. About myself. About what’s ahead.
Someone knocks at the door. Probably Nadya has arrived. Time to go. I now have my own road. Unknown, sometimes frightening. But — mine.
