Anna Sergeyevna always came to work fifteen minutes early. Not out of zeal or a desire to impress—just because it felt right. While other employees were hastily finishing their coffee in the hallway, she was already sorting the mail, preparing documents for signature, and checking the director’s meeting schedule.
Her workstation—a small desk outside the office of Maksim Petrovich Volkov—was organized with mathematical precision. Folders were arranged by color and date, the pens lay strictly parallel to the edge of the desk, and the phone sat at a forty-five-degree angle to the computer monitor. Her colleagues teased her for her fastidiousness, but admitted that when something needed finding or clarifying, everyone went to Anna.
“Anya, where’s the contract with ‘Sistema Plus’?” someone from Sales would ask.
“Third shelf, blue folder, section ‘Active Contracts, S–T,’” she would reply without even looking up from her computer.
And sure enough, the contract was always right where she said it would be.
Dmitry worked in the same Sales department. He had been her husband for three years now. Tall, with slightly tousled light-brown hair and a perpetually wrinkled shirt, he seemed the complete opposite of his wife. If Anna was the embodiment of order, Dmitry personified creative chaos. His desk resembled a battlefield—papers, pens, coffee cups, business cards, and assorted indecipherable notes stuck together in fanciful pyramids.
“Dim, you forgot to send the request to accounting again,” Anna would tell him after work as they walked to the car.
“Oh, right. I’ll send it tomorrow,” he’d wave her off, already thinking about something else.
But tomorrow he would forget again, and Anna would have to discreetly remind the folks in accounting that Dmitry Kravtsov’s request was still on its way.
She loved him. Or at least she thought she did. They’d met back in their student days, married right after graduation, and got jobs at the same company. Back then, it seemed romantic—to build careers together and support each other. But over time Anna began to notice that the support only went one way.
Dmitry was often late to important meetings, forgot about deadlines, and had a habit of promising clients things the company simply couldn’t deliver. Anna learned to read his schedule and, gently, as if in passing, remind him about the crucial tasks.
“Dim, you’ve got a meeting with the Technostroy reps at ten tomorrow,” she’d say in the evening.
“Mm-hmm,” he’d nod, buried in his phone.
“They want to discuss options for lowering the price. I did the math—seven percent is the maximum discount we can give without hurting profitability.”
“Mm-hmm, seven. Got it.”
The next day he promised the clients fifteen percent off and full technical support the company didn’t even offer.
Maksim Petrovich Volkov, the company’s director, was a man of about forty-five with perceptive gray eyes and a habit of listening closely to whomever was speaking. Unlike many bosses, he didn’t like to raise his voice and preferred to resolve conflicts through dialogue. Anna had been his secretary for several years and knew: if Maksim Petrovich furrowed his brow while looking at documents, it meant someone on the staff had made promises they couldn’t keep.
“Anna Sergeyevna,” he called to her one morning, “do you have a minute?”
She picked up her notebook and stepped into his office. He stood by the window, holding some papers.
“Tell me, how long has your husband been working in Sales?”
The question was unexpected. Anna felt her heart tighten.
“Three years, Maksim Petrovich.”
“And how much of your time do you spend fixing his mistakes?”
She said nothing. He turned to face her.
“I don’t want to put you in an awkward position. But the numbers speak for themselves. Last quarter, Sales posted the lowest results in two years. At the same time, customer complaints went up. And eighty percent of those complaints concern one employee.”
Anna knew exactly whom he meant.
“Maksim Petrovich, I understand how unprofessional this must look…”
“Anna Sergeyevna,” he gently interrupted, “you’re the most valuable employee in this company. You know all our processes, you remember every contract, you know how to handle clients. Frankly, you do the job better than half the managers here. Why are you working as a secretary?”
“I like my job.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
She looked at him and suddenly realized she couldn’t lie. You couldn’t lie to this man—he saw people through and through.
“When we first started here, I wanted to try sales. But Dmitry said that two competitors in one family wasn’t right. That he’d feel awkward if I earned more.”
He nodded, as if he’d gotten exactly the answer he expected.
“I see. Then I have a proposal. Consider a promotion—Deputy for Business Development. Twice the salary, your own office, business trips. Are you willing?”
“And what about Dmitry?”
“What about him? This is your career, Anna Sergeyevna. Your life.”
That evening at home she told her husband about the offer. Dmitry listened, growing gloomier with every word.
“Deputy for Business Development,” he repeated. “So you’d be making more than me?”
“Dim, this is great! We’ll be able to afford more—maybe finally buy a bigger place…”
“And what will people say? The wife earns more than the husband?”
“What difference does it make what people say?”
“It makes a difference to me,” he snapped. “I won’t be a freeloader.”
“Dmitry, what are you talking about? What freeloader? We’re a family, a team…”
“A team,” he smirked. “In a team, everyone’s equal. And you want to be the boss.”
“I just want to grow.”
“At my expense.”
The conversation ended in a quarrel. Anna turned down the promotion.
A month later a new employee appeared in Sales—Alyona Smirnova. Twenty-six, a degree in marketing, experience at a large retail chain. She was bright and energetic, with long dark hair and a habit of laughing at any joke told by the male colleagues.
Anna noticed the change in her husband almost immediately. Dmitry began staying late at work, started paying more attention to his appearance, bought new shirts, and even signed up for a gym.
“We’ve got a new hire in the department,” he announced over dinner one day. “A very promising girl. Alyona. She’ll help me with major clients.”
“That’s good,” Anna answered, though for some reason her heart clenched.
Alyona really did turn out to be a good specialist. But Anna quickly realized it wasn’t just about professional qualities. Dmitry lingered with the new colleague in the smoking area, stayed late with her “discussing work issues,” and often mentioned her name in conversation.
“Alyona says our sales strategy is outdated,” he’d tell his wife.
“Alyona thinks we need to pay more attention to customer service.”
“Alyona suggested a great idea for the new ad campaign.”
Anna stayed silent. She saw how Dmitry looked at Alyona, how his face lit up when he heard her laugh in the corridor. And she understood she was losing him.
The end came faster than expected. One February evening Dmitry came home and said:
“We need to talk.”
They sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Dmitry was silent for a long time, fiddling with a cup of cold tea.
“I’m leaving,” he said at last.
“Where?” Anna didn’t understand.
“Leaving you. I’m leaving you. For Alyona.”
The world around her seemed to stop. She heard her own voice as if from a distance:
“How long?”
“What—how long?”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since December.”
Two months. Two months he’d been coming home to her, kissing her goodnight, making plans for the weekend—and for two months he’d been seeing someone else.
“Why?” she asked.
Dmitry shrugged.
“We’re different, Anya. Too different. You’re so… proper. You always know everything, remember everything, plan everything. Next to you I feel like a failure.”
“I never told you you were a failure.”
“You didn’t say it. But your eyes did. When I forgot something important, when I made a mistake in the figures, when I let clients down. You quietly fixed my errors, but I saw that look on your face.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“And Alyona… with her I feel like a man. She laughs at my jokes, admires my ideas. She believes in me.”
“And I didn’t?”
“You controlled.”
Anna realized there was no point arguing. Dmitry had already made up his mind. He packed his things that very evening and moved in with Alyona.
At work everyone pretended nothing had happened. Colleagues avoided meeting Anna’s eyes, and Dmitry and Alyona tried not to appear together in places where she might be. Anna worked as usual—precisely, neatly, professionally. Only Maksim Petrovich would sometimes let his gaze linger on her, as if he wanted to say something.
A month later Dmitry filed a request to transfer to the company’s branch on the other side of the city.
“It’ll be better for everyone,” he told Anna when they crossed paths in the hallway. “We shouldn’t be running into each other at work.”
She nodded. Alyona was transferring with him.
On the day they left, Maksim Petrovich invited Anna into his office.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said.
“Anna Sergeyevna,” he paused, “you deserve more.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re a smart and beautiful woman. You deserve a man who will appreciate that.”
She felt her cheeks warm.
“Maksim Petrovich, I don’t think that’s appropriate…”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But it’s true.”
In the weeks that followed, something shifted between them. Maksim Petrovich began staying late at the office more often, finding reasons to talk with Anna. He asked her opinion on work matters, invited her to lunch to discuss new projects. For the first time in a long while, Anna felt professionally valued—someone was truly listening to her ideas and taking them seriously.
“You have excellent intuition with clients,” he told her once. “You always sense exactly what they want.”
“I just listen carefully,” she replied.
“Not just that. You have a gift for understanding people. It’s rare.”
Gradually their work conversations began to drift into personal ones. Maksim told her about his childhood in St. Petersburg, how he started his business from scratch, and his plans for the company’s future. Anna shared her thoughts about life and how she saw her future self.
“You know,” he said one evening when they were alone in the office, “I got divorced five years ago. For a long time I thought I’d never love anyone again. Then I realized I just hadn’t met the right person.”
Anna knew where he was going, and felt her heartbeat quicken.
“Maksim Petrovich…”
“Maksim,” he corrected gently. “Just Maksim.”
“Maksim, I don’t know if I’m ready for a new relationship.”
“I do,” he said softly. “You are. You’re just afraid to trust again.”
He was right. Anna was afraid—afraid of being vulnerable again, of believing that someone could truly value her.
Their first kiss happened a month later, at the corporate party celebrating the signing of a major contract. Anna had organized the event and stayed late to supervise the cleanup. Maksim helped her gather the remaining documents.
“Great party,” he said. “You thought of every detail.”
“That’s my job.”
“No,” he took her hand. “It’s your talent—the ability to create harmony where there wasn’t any.”
And then he kissed her. Gently, carefully, as if afraid to frighten her.
Their romance unfolded slowly and cautiously. Maksim never rushed her or pressured her. He was simply there—reliable, understanding, ready to support her in a difficult moment. With him, Anna felt not like a secretary fixing other people’s mistakes, but like a full-fledged partner.
Six months later he proposed. They signed the register quietly, without fanfare, inviting only their closest friends.
“I want you to stay on as my deputy,” Max said on their honeymoon. “Not a secretary—a deputy. We’re a team, a real team.”
“And what will people say?” Anna smiled, recalling her ex-husband’s words.
“What can they say? That a smart CEO married the best employee in the company? Let them talk.”
The pregnancy was a surprise. A pleasant one. At thirty-two, Anna felt truly happy for the first time in her life.
“We’ve got this,” Maksim would say, hugging her around her rounding belly. “We’re going to have a wonderful family.”
In her seventh month, Dmitry showed up at their office. The branch director had recommended reviewing his employment contract—too many customer complaints had piled up. Max decided to speak with him personally before making a final decision about dismissal.
Anna was at her desk sorting the mail when her ex-husband walked into reception. He’d aged; his face had thinned, and there was a nervous, twitchy look in his eyes. Seeing her, he stopped and smirked:
“Still stuck as a secretary—didn’t have the brains for anything more?” he sneered, not knowing she was now the boss’s wife.
Anna looked at him calmly and smiled. Then she slowly stood up, and Dmitry noticed her rounded belly. His expression changed—first surprise, then confusion.
“Darling, is everything all right?” Maksim Petrovich stepped into reception. He touched his wife’s shoulder gently and gave Dmitry a chilly look.
Dmitry stood there, glancing from one to the other. He saw the wedding bands on their hands, saw how Max was carefully steadying Anna, saw how she looked at her new husband—with warmth, trust, and love.
“Come into my office, Dmitry Evgenyevich,” Maksim said coolly. “We have a serious matter to discuss.”
Dmitry slunk into the office like a beaten dog. The conversation didn’t last long. Twenty minutes later, Max escorted him to the door and returned to his wife.
“Well, that settles our staffing questions,” he said, taking a signed termination order from a folder. “You know, I’m incredibly lucky.”
“Lucky how?”
“The woman I love has become not only my best partner, but also my wife—and soon she’ll be the mother of our child. What could be better?”
Anna hugged him and felt the baby kick inside her, as if agreeing with his dad. Yes—they really were lucky. All three of them.
