Another supply contract for medical equipment blurred before her eyes. The numbers and clauses had long merged into a monotonous mush. Yelena rubbed the bridge of her nose and leaned back in her chair.
A call from her husband came just in time.
“Lena, hi. Listen, I’m going to be late today. The meeting’s dragging on.”
“Again?” She flipped the page without thinking. “Third time this week.”
“Well, what can you do, it’s work. Don’t make dinner for me, I’ll grab something somewhere.”
“Alright,” Yelena was already used to her husband’s constant late nights at work. Over the last six months, they’d become noticeably more frequent. “See you at home.”
“Yeah, sure. Okay, bye.”
She was about to hang up when she suddenly heard a familiar woman’s laugh in the background. Her hand froze above the screen. That laugh… where had she heard it?
“Igor, you promised!” came the same voice, now clearer.
Yelena’s heart skipped a beat. Anzhela. Her former friend— they hadn’t spoken in two years after a nasty incident with money.
What was she doing next to Igor?
“Be patient a little,” she heard her husband say. “We have to be careful.”
“I’m tired of hiding! When will you finally make up your mind?”
“Anzhel, we agreed. Just a little longer and it will all work out. The main thing is that Lena doesn’t suspect anything ahead of time.”
Yelena felt her fingers go numb. The phone almost slipped from her hand. What did he mean “make up your mind”? What were they talking about?
“I’m tired of waiting,” Anzhela went on. “We’ve been dragging this out for two years. She’ll find out anyway.”
“She will, but not now. I have a plan. Trust me.”
A plan? Yelena pressed the phone tighter to her ear, afraid to miss a single word. Her throat went dry.
“Your Yelena is so naive,” Anzhela laughed. “She still doesn’t suspect a thing. And we practically pulled everything off right under her nose.”
“Quiet,” Igor snapped. “Don’t get complacent. She’s smarter than she looks.”
“Igor, I’m serious. Stop stalling. Get the papers done and finish this. I can’t keep playing this comedy.”
Papers? What papers? Yelena felt a cold chill spread along her spine. Could it be…?
“Alright, alright. I’ll meet with the lawyer next week. But you have to promise to be more careful. If she suspects something early, everything could fall apart.”
“I promise. But I won’t wait forever!”
She heard movement and a car door slam through the receiver.
“Get in, let’s go. I’m in a hurry.”
The line went dead.
Yelena sat motionless, staring at the black screen of her phone. Her thoughts tangled, refusing to form a logical chain.
Igor and Anzhela. Two years. Papers. A plan.
She tried to reconstruct the timeline. Anzhela had disappeared from their lives after the scandal over the loan. It had turned out she’d spent the money she’d borrowed from Yelena not on her mother’s medical treatment, as she’d claimed.
But if the overheard conversation was to be believed, she and Igor had been seeing each other for two years. All this time.
“Lena, can you sign the contract with Medtek?” Marina, the head of procurement, slipped into the office unnoticed and handed over a folder of documents. “There are two copies, need your signature on both.”
Yelena took the folder mechanically, but the letters blurred again. Her hand trembled.
“Lena, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did something happen?”
“No, it’s fine. I just… have a bit of a headache.”
“Maybe go home? There’s only an hour left in the day. You can sign the contract tomorrow.”
“No, I’d better do it now,” Yelena forced herself to focus on the text.
At home, she wandered aimlessly around the apartment.
The overheard conversation kept replaying in her head, over and over. Every phrase sprouted new meanings, every word felt like a threat.
The family photos on the dresser suddenly looked like the set pieces of someone else’s life.
Yelena picked up a snapshot from their vacation in Sochi. She remembered that day perfectly. Igor had been typing on his phone all evening, and when she asked “what are you doing?” he muttered that he was working and hid the screen.
Back then she thought her husband was just a hopeless workaholic. Now she understood he hadn’t been texting colleagues at all.
“We’ve been dragging this out for two years,” Anzhela’s words echoed.
So it had started right after the money scandal.
Maybe they’d staged that fight on purpose? So they wouldn’t cross paths and wouldn’t arouse suspicion?
Yelena went to the kitchen and put the kettle on by habit. There were groceries in the fridge for dinner. She always cooked extra in case Igor changed his mind and came home. Now the habit felt ridiculous.
Suddenly, a text from her husband popped up:
“The meeting’s dragging on even more. I’ll be late, don’t wait up.”
Standard! How many messages like that had there been in recent months?
Yelena tried to remember when she’d first noticed changes in Igor’s behavior. More frequent late nights at work, a new way of dressing, an expensive cologne he’d never bought before.
And then there were the oddities with money.
Igor had gotten more secretive about finances and stopped discussing big purchases. He said he wanted to surprise her.
What a naive fool—she’d even been happy about his “thoughtfulness”!
Yelena opened her laptop and logged into online banking. Their joint account showed ordinary expenses: utilities, groceries, gas.
But his personal card…
Cash withdrawals had become much more frequent. Restaurants she didn’t know. Flower shops… and he hadn’t given her flowers for half a year.
She wanted to scream from helplessness and humiliation. How could she have been so blind? All the signs of infidelity were right there, and she’d kept making plans for their future together and dreaming about children.
She shut the laptop and began pacing the room again, nerves frayed. She had to do something—but what? Stage a jealous scene? Or ask him straight out?
“If she suspects something early, everything could fall apart.”
What exactly could fall apart? And what papers was Igor planning to file?
A troubling thought suddenly surfaced. The apartment was in her name—her parents had gifted it to her when they married. But after registering the marriage, Igor had become a co-owner. Was he planning to…?
Yelena rushed to the safe where they kept all the important documents. Marriage certificate, apartment papers, her passport—everything was in place. But that didn’t mean anything. Copies could have been made in advance.
She thought of Anzhela. Always cunning and calculating.
At the university she could wriggle out of any situation and pin the blame on others. And the “loan for her mother’s treatment” had shown what she was capable of. It turned out her mother was alive and well, and the money had gone to pay off Anzhela’s debts.
And now the two of them were planning something. Against her!
Her phone buzzed again.
“Lena, I’m leaving on a business trip tomorrow morning. For three days. Forgot to warn you.”
A business trip. How convenient! Three days with Anzhela at some hotel.
Yelena quickly typed back: “Okay. Which city are you going to?”
The reply didn’t come right away: “Voronezh. Meeting with suppliers.”
She opened her husband’s work email. Luckily, she knew the password; Igor had never hidden it.
There were no messages about a trip to Voronezh. But there was a correspondence with a travel agency about reserving a room at a hotel outside Moscow. For two people. For tomorrow.
All night Yelena lay awake, listening to every sound.
Igor came home around midnight, slipped quietly into the shower, then lay down beside her and started snoring almost immediately. Usually she would have been glad he’d come home, but now his presence felt like part of a phony performance.
In the morning her husband packed for his “business trip” with particular care. Yelena pretended to sleep, but watched him through half-closed eyes.
“Lena, I’m off,” he leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“Have a good trip,” she mumbled, trying to sound drowsy.
After he left, Yelena dressed quickly and went to work. But focusing was impossible. She shuffled papers mechanically, answered calls, nodded through a meeting, and thought only about one thing—what to do next?
By lunchtime, a plan had formed.
If Igor and Anzhela were at a hotel outside Moscow, she had time to go through her husband’s things at home. Maybe she’d find something that would clarify the situation.
She asked to leave work under the pretext of feeling unwell (not far from the truth) and headed home.
She started with his desk. The drawers held the usual: pens, notebooks, chargers. But in the farthest corner her fingers found a folded sheet. It was a printed appraisal of their apartment. Dated last week.
Her hands shook. So he really was planning to sell the place. Their home— the one her parents had given them!
Yelena went to the bedroom and opened her husband’s side of the wardrobe. Between shirts she found a bag from a jewelry store. Inside lay expensive gold diamond earrings. The receipt showed an amount they usually spent in a month on everything.
The earrings clearly weren’t for her. Yelena was allergic to gold, and her husband knew that perfectly well.
In the pocket of his jacket she found a lawyer’s business card and a note with a date.
“Divorce. Division of property.” In Igor’s handwriting.
So in three days he was going to file for divorce!
Yelena sat down on the bed, feeling her knees buckle. All this time he’d been preparing to dump her. And not just dump her, but rob her too.
She felt a surge of fury. Pure, cold rage at their brazen assumption that she was some fool they could lead by the nose.
She grabbed her laptop and got to work.
First, she logged into online banking and transferred all the money from their joint account to her personal one.
Then she found the number of the travel agency her husband had used.
“Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Kravtsov’s wife. He asked me to tell you the hotel check-in is postponed. We have a family issue.”
“I see. When do you plan to arrive?”
“Unknown for now. Most likely we’ll have to cancel the reservation.”
“Alright, we’ll make the changes. Thank you for letting us know!”
Yelena smiled with satisfaction. Let the lovebirds arrive to find the hotel door closed to them. Romantic date—ruined!
But that wasn’t enough. She needed something more. Something that would make them understand it was dangerous to play with her.
She picked up the phone again and dialed the number of her acquaintance, Attorney Oleg Mikhailovich, who had helped with her grandmother’s estate.
“Oleg Mikhailovich, good afternoon. This is Yelena Kravtsova. I have an urgent family law question. Please tell me how I can protect my property if my husband files for divorce?”
“Yelena, what happened? You looked so happy not long ago.”
“Things weren’t what they seemed. My husband is going to a lawyer in three days to file for divorce. I found out by accident.”
“I see. Was the apartment gifted to you by your parents before or after the marriage?”
“Before. But we registered our marriage afterward.”
“That doesn’t matter. The deed of gift is in your name, which means the apartment is your personal property. It isn’t divided in a divorce. But there are nuances if joint funds were invested into renovations or remodeling.”
Yelena exhaled in relief. They hadn’t done any major renovations, only cosmetic touch-ups.
“And what about our savings?”
“If the money is in joint accounts, it’s split in half. But if one spouse tries to conceal income or move funds, the court can take that into account in the division.”
“So I have the right to transfer our joint money to my account?”
“Technically, yes, you do. But it’s better to document all financial movements. And are you sure your husband is filing for divorce? Maybe you should talk first?”
“Oleg Mikhailovich, he’s been seeing another woman for two years. And he’s planning to sell our apartment—he even ordered an appraisal.”
“In that case, act quickly. I can see you today at six.”
After talking to the lawyer, Yelena felt lighter. But it still wasn’t enough.
Igor and Anzhela thought she was defenseless and naive; she intended to prove the opposite.
She remembered that Anzhela worked at an advertising agency that serviced several large shopping centers. A serious position, image matters. Management would hardly appreciate an employee who destroys other people’s families.
Finding her supervisor’s contacts wasn’t hard.
Yelena drafted a short but pointed letter stating that their employee had been seeing a married man for two years and was planning schemes involving real estate with him.
She didn’t send the letter yet. She decided to keep it as her final argument.
By six o’clock she was at Oleg Mikhailovich’s office. The seasoned lawyer took stock immediately:
“Yelena, you’re right not to sit on your hands. Men often think wives don’t understand legal matters.”
“What do you advise?”
“Tomorrow morning, before he goes to his lawyer, file for divorce yourself. That will give you the advantage: you’ll be the plaintiff, not the defendant. You’ll be able to set the terms.”
“And the apartment will definitely remain mine?”
“Absolutely. Moreover, if we can prove he was hiding expenses and spending marital funds on his lover, the court may rule against him in the division of property.”
Oleg Mikhailovich prepared all the necessary documents. Yelena signed a power of attorney for him to handle the case.
“And one more thing,” the lawyer added. “If you have recordings of their conversations, messages, photos—any of that could be useful. Russian courts take marital infidelity seriously.”
That evening at home, Yelena drew up a plan for the next day.
In the morning she would go to court and file for divorce. Then to work, as if nothing had happened. And later, while Igor sat in his lawyer’s office, he would be served papers stating that the divorce had already been initiated—by her.
Around eleven p.m. another message from Igor arrived:
“Lena, are you okay? I’m tired—turning in early. I won’t call tomorrow. Negotiations all day.”
“Of course you won’t,” Yelena thought. “You have other plans.”
She quickly typed her reply:
“Alright, darling. Good luck with the negotiations. Love you.”
The last word was hard to type, but she had to keep up appearances to the end.
Yelena sent the text and turned off her phone. She intended to get a good rest—the next few days would be very intense.
In the morning she woke with a strange feeling of lightness.
For the first time in months, she knew exactly what she was doing and why. At nine a.m. she filed for divorce, and by eleven she was already at work.
Igor was silent for two days. Apparently, he was enjoying the last days of his “business trip” with Anzhela.
At last, the long-awaited call came.
“Lena, this… this must be some misunderstanding!” her husband stammered, bewildered. “I was just served. It says you’re filing for divorce.”
“Not a misunderstanding,” she answered calmly. “Reality. Because I know everything, Igor.”
He tried to sound indignant:
“What are you talking about? I’m on a business trip in Voronezh!”
“At the ‘Podmoskovnye Dali’ hotel. In a double room. With Anzhela, my former friend. Is that what you meant to say?”
“Lena, listen…”
“No, you listen. The apartment stays with me. Don’t even dream about it! I’ve already transferred the money from the joint account to my own. And I grabbed the gold earrings too. They were yours—now they’re ours!”
“You were spying on me?”
“Hardly! You turned out to be so careless I didn’t have to do anything at all. When we talked three days ago, you forgot to hang up. I heard everything. A pleasant coincidence!”
She heard a woman’s voice through the receiver. Anzhela was saying something angrily in the background.
“Yes, Igor, tell your girlfriend I’ve sent a letter to her agency. With details about your affair. Let’s see what management thinks of an employee who wrecks families.”
“You had no right!”
“And you had the right to lie to me for two years? To plan a divorce behind my back and the sale of my apartment?”
Igor’s voice turned pleading:
“Lena, we can talk it all through. I’ll explain…”
“You’ll explain in court. Oleg Mikhailovich will be representing my interests. Because I don’t want to see you!”
She hung up and turned off her phone.
That evening, as usual, Marina from the neighboring department popped in:
“Lena, you look kind of… happy today. What happened?”
“I’m getting a divorce!”
“Good Lord! And you say it so calmly?”
“You know, when you make the right decision, it gets easier to breathe right away.”
A week later a reply came from the advertising agency. Anzhela was issued a formal reprimand and stripped of her quarterly bonus. And a month after that she resigned. Apparently, the atmosphere at work had become unhealthy after everyone learned the truth.
Igor tried to pass word through acquaintances that he was ready to settle. But Yelena was unyielding.
The divorce went quickly. There was nothing to argue about. The apartment, documented as her property, remained with her. The joint savings were split in half, but since Igor couldn’t explain the origin of his large recent expenses, his share turned out to be symbolic.
And for the first time in years, Yelena felt that her life belonged to her again. That sometimes justice does triumph—especially if you give it a little help.
