Anton tapped his fingers irritably on the steering wheel, watching the endless stream of pedestrians crossing the street.
“When will this ever end?” he ground out through clenched teeth. “The whole city’s clogged with some poor souls without cars.”
Bored in the traffic jam, he started looking around. To his left, a luxury SUV pulled up to the traffic light — gleaming as if fresh off a commercial set, spotless with flawless shine and chrome.
A woman was behind the wheel.
“Well, look who’s driving,” Anton snorted with contempt. “I wonder how she managed to scrape together money for a car like that?”
Meanwhile, the woman removed her sunglasses, adjusted her hair, and glanced in the rearview mirror. At that moment, Anton’s heart froze — he recognized her. It was Lera, his ex-wife.
“No way…” he whispered, his mouth dropping open in shock. “But how? Why?”
His memory instantly took him back. He had personally made sure she didn’t get anything in the divorce. She didn’t even have a driver’s license! And now she’s driving a brand-new SUV while he sat in his old clunker barely holding together.
“Maybe she hid some income?” he frantically thought, trying to find any explanation.
Their story had started almost romantically. Back then, Lera was painting graffiti on the wall of his farm — bright, covered in paint, with rebellious hair. He pretended to be interested, though inwardly he thought it was pointless nonsense.
“Just vandalism,” he thought then. “Who needs these colorful scribbles?”
But aloud, he said something different. He liked Lera’s appearance, but didn’t care much about the rest. Their short romance unexpectedly turned into a serious relationship. She was a smart conversationalist, had her own opinions, but seemed gentle and trusting.
For over a year, Anton deceived both himself and her, pretending to be interested in her art. Then he decided she was suitable for family life. He proposed by the book: office rooftop, flowers, garlands, knee on one leg, diamond ring.
The wedding was held at an expensive hotel, but within hours Anton regretted his words. Lera’s friends — loud, free-spirited, dressed however they wanted — stood out from the rest of the celebration. Just seeing them made him want to hide from the respectable guests.
“The first thing I’ll do is forbid her from seeing them,” he decided then. “Now she’s my wife. I won’t let just anyone come into our home.”
Surprisingly, Lera accepted his conditions, only asking to meet her friends outside the house.
“Anton, I can’t just stop talking to people you don’t like,” she timidly objected. “That’s silly. I don’t like everyone in your circle either, but you don’t demand that from me.”
“Lera, don’t compare,” he cut her off. “My friends are real people, the true elite.”
Lera knew what true elite meant and understood Anton’s friends were far from it. But she kept quiet — if it made him happy, let him think what he wanted.
But restrictions didn’t end with friends. He began to dislike her appearance, the smell of paint, and her constant disheveled look. At first, this freedom seemed amusing to him, but now he wanted order.
Through pressure and threats, he forced Lera to quit painting.
“If you like art, go to museums like normal people,” he said. “Why crawl around alleys? My colleagues are tired of explaining your weird hobby to their wives.”
“But it’s not just a hobby, it’s my income,” Lera tried to argue. “You work in an office and have no education!”
“Lera, you’re not an artist. You’re just a scribbler,” he said coldly.
Those words clearly hurt her — she didn’t speak to him for days. Then Anton noticed her albums, brushes, and paint jars disappeared. She no longer stayed out late and started using fragrant lotion instead of the smell of oil paints.
“Thanks, dear,” he said, pleased with the changes, and invited her to a restaurant to make peace.
She was stunning in a burgundy dress with a new haircut.
“Look at us — what a beautiful couple!” he hugged her, turning her to face the huge mirror. “That’s what I’m talking about. Now you look like my real wife. Much better! You can do something more suitable — like needlework or cooking.”
Lera was silent. That woman in the mirror was a stranger. But one thing she understood clearly — it was time to find herself again.
She tried different things until she settled on photography. Her artist’s eye caught the right light, angle, mood. Her photos were lively, full of energy. People started booking her services and inviting her to events. In her free time, she liked to walk the streets, capturing passersby, animals, trees, houses — everything that resonated with her.
Anton grew more irritated watching his ex-wife’s success. In his opinion, Lera wasted time jumping from one hobby to another. It even bored him — now all she did was talk about work, ask for advice as if he cared! Especially infuriating was that his acquaintances praised her.
“What’s there to praise?” he was angry. “For photography? Nowadays, any fool can grab a phone and snap a shot. Where’s the talent?”
Gradually, his feelings cooled completely, and he took a mistress. Exactly the kind of woman he dreamed of: well-groomed, confident, always impeccably dressed and made up. No silly hobbies, no strange friends — just stylish, expensive, and “proper.”
Lera learned about the divorce unexpectedly — when summoned to court. Anton enjoyed watching her confusion. He personally made sure she got nothing — the lawyer worked every penny.
“You have three days to pack,” he said coldly.
Lera didn’t argue. Nodding, she just left.
Anton had no time for her — his new lover took all his attention. She took him to galleries, exhibitions, social parties, demanded new things — shoes, dresses, expensive cosmetics.
“You have to keep up appearances,” she said.
Though sometimes he felt drawn back — to the days when Lera silently sat by the window painting, and he could just take off his tie and relax on the couch with a dark beer.
But now he saw her — and didn’t recognize her. How could she have changed so quickly?
Without realizing what he was doing, Anton followed her car. He thought she’d head to the old one-room apartment where she lived after the divorce. But no — she passed by, turned into a district he had only heard of — luxury mansions.
When the gate automatically opened in front of her and she drove into the yard, Anton stopped a little way off. Lera got out, handed the keys to a man in a sharp suit, who drove the car into the garage. She walked toward the house.
Anton decisively got out of his car and followed her. No one even stopped him from entering.
In the spacious hall, Lera was talking with a couple of young people. Noticing Anton, they exchanged looks and disappeared.
“Thanks, guys. I’ll come later,” she said, then slowly approached her ex-husband. “Didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you? Curiosity? You recovered quickly from everything. Well, admit it — you were hiding money, weren’t you?”
Lera smiled and shrugged:
“So that’s why you came here — envy? Then come, I’ll tell you everything myself.”
She led him to a room, and drinks were brought immediately.
“Sit down. You think I work here? You could say that. I’m the owner. You see, darling, when they offered to buy my photos, I didn’t miss my chance. You’re not even aware some works sell for outrageous sums. And believe me, not all rich people can afford them. I was one of the lucky ones.”
She gestured around:
“It turns out I have not only talent as an artist and photographer but also business skills. I decided to try business. This is all mine — house, studio, team. The best work and study here. We organize photo shoots, advertising projects, hold exhibitions and master classes. So your share in my success is that you showed me what I don’t want to be.”
Anton was silent. He was bursting with envy.
“You wanted to break me, remake me, take away my individuality. But I chose my own path. Though I spent a lot of time on you.”
Lera stood up:
“Well, for old times’ sake, I won’t charge you. You’ll find your own way out.”
She left, leaving him alone. He stood and began pacing the room — her works hung on the walls, signed neatly. That irritated him even more.
“How dare she talk to me like that?!” he seethed inside.
His hand reached for one of the photos when a strong man in a business suit entered:
“You seem lost. Let me show you to the exit.”
At home, a new disappointment awaited him.
“Anton, I’m leaving,” his girlfriend met him at the door with a suitcase.
“Why?”
“Look at yourself — you’re nice, kind, but not my level. Goodbye, kitty,” she kissed his cheek and left, leaving only the scent of perfume in the air.
“Get lost! I can do without you!” he punched the wall hard.
He had never felt such humiliation before.
