Elena woke up first, as usual. Maxim was sleeping beside her, arms spread out over the blanket. The sun was breaking through the thick curtains, lighting up the familiar outlines of the bedroom. Three years ago, she had brought her husband into her home. Now, sometimes it seemed that it was Elena who was living as a guest.
Getting out of bed, Elena went to the kitchen. She turned on the coffee machine, took out her favorite cup. Outside the window, the avenue was noisy with people rushing to work. And she was about to face another day at the office, where every hour brought good money.
“Len, did you forget mom’s request?” came from the bedroom.
Elena froze by the refrigerator. Yesterday, Zinaida Petrovna had called and asked for twenty thousand for treatment. The third time in six months. Previous debts still hung in the air.
“What request?” the wife asked playfully, returning with coffee to the room.
Maxim stretched and yawned.
“Well, you promised to think about it. Mom really needs money for procedures.”
“I promised to think. And I did,” Elena sat on the edge of the bed. “Maxim, your family has borrowed a hundred thousand from us over the year. And not a single kopeck has been returned.”
“Come on, we’re family!” the husband raised himself on his elbow. “You have enough money; you earn much more.”
That phrase cut like a knife. Elena put the cup on the nightstand.
“I earn,” she said calmly. “And we spend together. Mostly on your relatives, though.”
“Here we go again,” Maxim leaned back on the pillows. “I’m not forcing you. You agreed to combine our finances. And I didn’t transfer money without your consent.”
Combine. Such a beautiful word. But there was really nothing much to combine — Maxim’s salary barely covered his personal expenses. But spending Elena’s money — they did that together indeed.
“Fine,” Elena stood up. “But this time, let your mother borrow officially. We’ll draw up an IOU.”
“Are you serious?” the husband frowned. “Demand an IOU from your own mother?”
“Very serious. Or no money.”
Maxim was silent, but his face darkened. Elena noticed but decided not to yield. She had already given in too often.
At the office, the workday dragged slowly. Meetings, calls, reports. By lunch, fatigue accumulated — unrelated to work, but more about the expected money conversation waiting at home.
Around three o’clock, Elena prepared for a client meeting. Leaving the office, she decided to drop into a nearby café — she wanted to drink a proper coffee in a calm atmosphere.
The café was half-empty. Elena ordered a cappuccino and settled in a distant corner. A huge plant shielded her, creating an illusion of privacy. She took out her phone and scrolled through the news feed when she caught sight of a familiar figure from the corner of her eye.
Maxim was sitting at a table. With a woman.
Elena froze. Her husband was supposed to be at work. At least, he planned to be there this morning. And the woman next to him Elena didn’t know. A pretty blonde, about thirty-five, tastefully dressed.
Her heart raced. Elena pressed herself into the back of the chair. From here, she had a good view of their table, but they were unlikely to notice her.
“Everything is going according to plan,” Maxim was telling his companion with a smirk. “Only the last stage left.”
“And she doesn’t suspect?” the woman leaned closer.
“Elena? She’s too busy with work. The main thing is not to scare her off now.”
Elena tensed. What were they talking about? And why was her husband discussing her with a stranger?
“Are the documents ready?” the blonde continued.
“Almost. Need to slip her a couple of papers to sign. I’ll say it’s for the tax office or something else. She won’t read carefully; she trusts me.”
Elena caught her breath. What documents? What did these words mean?
“And then?”
“Then it’s simple. Divorce by mutual consent. The apartment will be entirely mine. Plus the savings. Altogether — about seven million, no less.”
“Not bad for three years of work,” the blonde laughed.
“Three years of patience,” Maxim corrected. “You know how hard it is to pretend to be a loving husband? But the result is worth it.”
Elena grabbed the edge of the chair. The world began to blur. So all this time… all the tender words, future plans, family life — a deception?
“And what about love?” the woman asked mockingly.
“Love for money — that’s all there was between us,” Maxim put his arm around her shoulders.
Elena closed her eyes tight. She wanted to jump up, run to them, pour out everything she had bottled up. But her legs wouldn’t obey. And fragments of memories flashed through her mind.
How Maxim persuaded her to combine accounts. How he said everything in a family should be shared. He was just fooling her. And Elena agreed every time because she believed — they were family.
“When do you plan to finish the show?” the blonde moved away from Maxim.
“Soon. She’ll sign the documents this week, then it’s just a matter of technique.”
Maxim glanced at his watch.
“I have to go. Dear wife will be back from work soon. Need to play the role of a model husband.”
The couple stood up. Maxim said something else to his companion, but Elena no longer heard. Her ears were ringing, and black spots floated before her eyes.
They headed for the exit. Elena watched them, then dropped her head into her hands. Three years of life. Three years her husband called “work.”
The waitress came with the bill. Elena paid absentmindedly and went outside. People hurried on their errands, some laughing, others talking on phones. A normal day in an ordinary city. And her world had just collapsed.
The next days passed in a fog. Elena worked automatically, smiled at colleagues, answered questions. At home, she pretended to be a caring wife. Cooked dinners, asked Maxim about his affairs, listened to stories about work.
Every word he now sounded fake. Every smile seemed a mask. Elena felt like she was looking at a stranger pretending to be her husband.
A plan matured in her mind. Clear, thought out, merciless.
By the end of the week, everything was ready.
The money was transferred to a personal account Maxim had no access to. The apartment documents Elena took to her mother. Everything was decided.
Elena sat at the kitchen table, slowly sipping tea. Outside, rain drizzled, droplets ran down the windows. An ordinary Saturday morning. Maxim had gone “to friends,” as he explained the day before.
The keys clicked in the lock around noon. The front door slammed open.
“Where’s the money?!” Maxim burst into the kitchen with a distorted face. “Elena, where’s the money?! All the savings disappeared from the account!”
His wife calmly raised her eyes. Maxim stood in the middle of the kitchen, disheveled, red with indignation.
“What’s going on? You wanted to take away my apartment and money?” Elena asked calmly. “Too bad I turned out smarter, huh, Maxim?”
The husband froze. Surprise, then fear reflected on his face.
“What are you talking about?” he muttered uncertainly.
“About your plans. About the documents you were going to slip me to sign. About the divorce you planned after getting half my property,” Elena took a sip of tea. “And about your pretty blonde.”
Maxim paled.
“You… you were spying on me?”
“I happened to see. And I heard your whole conversation about ‘three years of work’ and ‘naive Lena.’”
“Elena, I can explain everything…”
“Explain?” the wife put the cup on the saucer. “What is there to explain? You married me for money. Pretended to be a loving husband for three years. Planned to cheat and take half the apartment and savings. Then leave me and run to your mistress.”
“That’s not true!” Maxim stepped forward. “I really loved you… love you!”
“Enough,” Elena laughed. “At the café you said something else. ‘Love for money — that’s all there was between us.’ Remember those words?”
Maxim sank into the chair opposite.
“Elena, give me a chance to fix it all. That woman… she means nothing. And I don’t need money. Let’s start over.”
“Start over?” Elena stood up. “You know, I have a better idea. Let’s finish it all. For good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Divorce. And you’ll leave today.”
“But the apartment… the savings… Legally, I’m entitled to half!”
“What half?” Elena walked to the window. “The apartment was bought before marriage. Registered only in my name. And the savings… they’re gone.”
“What do you mean gone?!”
“Transferred to another account. Only I have access. And in court, it’ll be easy to prove you didn’t put a single ruble into those savings.”
Maxim jumped up.
“You have no right! That’s our joint money!”
“Ours?” Elena turned to him. “Interesting. You earned peanuts! I supported your family! So where was your money? Why didn’t you spend on your mother and father?”
“Elena, what are you doing? We’re family!”
“Family?” steel entered her voice. “Family doesn’t plan to rob each other. Family doesn’t count years of marriage as ‘work.’”
Maxim paced around the kitchen.
“Okay, I admit — I had bad thoughts. But I changed my mind! I realized I love you for real!”
“Sure. Especially after you found out you won’t get either the apartment or the savings!”
“Elena, please…”
“Pack your things,” the wife interrupted. “You have to leave by evening.”
“Where will I go?”
“To the blonde. Or to your mother. I don’t care.”
Maxim tried to say something else, but Elena went to the bedroom. An hour later, he left the apartment with two suitcases.
The divorce went surprisingly fast. Maxim tried to claim property, but all documents were flawless. The apartment was premarital property. The savings were personal. There was practically no shared property.
Zinaida Petrovna called every day demanding explanations. Elena answered politely:
“Your son deceived me. Look for money at his new girlfriend’s.”
A month later, it was all over. Elena sat in a travel agency, flipping through brochures.
“Italy? Spain?” the manager suggested.
“Bora Bora,” Elena said, pointing to a photo of a lagoon. “Three weeks. The most expensive room.”
For the first time in years, she was spending money only on herself. And the feeling was surprisingly pleasant.
