Ludmila automatically wiped her hands on her apron and listened. The front door slammed—Vasily had come home from work earlier than usual. Strange. On Thursdays he always stayed late for meetings.
“Lyud, are you home?” Her husband’s voice sounded different somehow.
“In the kitchen,” she turned off the stove and covered the pan with a lid.
Vasily walked in slowly, without his usual “what’s for dinner?” He stopped by the table without sitting down. He put down his car keys. Ludmila understood everything at once. This was the very moment she’d been afraid of for the past six months.
“We need to talk,” Vasily was looking somewhere past her.
“Talk,” Ludmila wiped her hands again, though they were already dry.
“I met another woman. We… it’s serious.”
Ludmila felt something snap inside. Thirty-two years together. Built the house from scratch. Raised the kids. And just like that?
“Serious?” was all she managed to squeeze out.
“Yes. I’m moving in with her for a while. Then we’ll decide about the house.”
“Which house?” Ludmila didn’t recognize her own voice.
“Ours, of course. We’ll need to divide the property,” Vasily finally looked her in the eye. “I’ve thought it all through. You understand, most of the money for construction was mine. You only worked part-time.”
Ludmila looked at this stranger and couldn’t believe it. Was this really her Vasya? The one who helped roof the house in the rain? Who hung wallpaper with her until three in the morning?
“Do you even understand what you’re saying?”
“Lyud, let’s not make a scene. I’m being honest, I’m giving you a heads-up. I’m not disappearing on the sly.”
“How generous!” She suddenly felt anger. “And when?”
“When what?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. Olga is waiting. She’s my colleague, you don’t know her.”
“I do,” Ludmila answered quietly. “By the smell of perfume on your shirts.”
Vasily flinched but stayed silent. He took out his cigarettes.
“Don’t smoke in the house.”
“For God’s sake, Lyud, what difference does it make now?” But he put the pack away.
When he left to pack, Ludmila sat down on a chair and just stared out the window. In the yard they had arranged together, the cherry tree was already starting to bloom. Last year Vasily had wanted to cut it down—said it got in the way, cast shade on the beds. Ludmila had stood her ground.
“I’ll take a few things,” her husband’s voice brought her back to reality. “I’ll pick up the rest later, once we decide about the house.”
“We’ll decide,” she echoed.
When the door slammed, Ludmila slowly went upstairs. The bedroom smelled of Vasily’s cologne. On the bed—a rumpled cover, a mark from the suitcase. Ludmila flung the window wide open.
“What a fool you are, Lyuda,” she said to herself. “How could you let this happen?”
She knelt by the dresser and pushed the bottom drawer all the way out. Behind it, in a recess in the wall, lay an old leather folder with documents. The very one Vasily had long forgotten about. But she—had not.
Ludmila pulled out the yellowed papers and found the sheet she needed. She unfolded it. “Deed of Gift.” Vasily had signed it eight years earlier, when he was about to leave on a dangerous business trip. “Just in case,” he’d said then. Half the house officially belonged to her.
Ludmila pressed the document to her chest and, for the first time that evening, felt she could breathe. The story wasn’t over yet. Not at all the way Vasily had planned.
A week later, Vasily called her himself.
“Lyud, we need to meet. To talk about the house.”
“Come over,” Ludmila tried to keep her voice steady. “When?”
“I can today. After work.”
In the evening his car stopped at the gate. Vasily walked into the house as if he had simply come back from work. Ludmila noticed a new shirt and a fresh haircut.
“Tea?” she asked.
“Okay,” he sat at the table and looked around the kitchen. “Everything’s the same here.”
“What was supposed to change in a week?”
Vasily shrugged and took out a notebook.
“I’ve done some thinking about the house. We built it during the marriage, so we split it fifty-fifty. But given that I put in most of the money…”
“And?”
“It would be fair if I got two-thirds.”
Ludmila almost laughed.
“And what does your Olya think about our house?”
Vasily winced.
“What’s Olga got to do with it? This is between you and me.”
“You’re planning to live together, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. For now at her place, then we’ll see.”
“We’ll see,” Ludmila repeated. “Vasya, have you found a notary? For the division?”
“Yes, there’s a good specialist. A friend recommended him.”
“Give me the number, I’ll call and clarify the details.”
Vasily looked at his wife in surprise.
“What, are you in a hurry to get rid of the house?”
“No. I just want to make things clear.”
That evening Ludmila stared at the phone for a long time. Then she dialed her friend.
“Tanya, hi. Listen, I need some advice on documents.”
“Lyud? Did something happen?”
“Vasya left. For a younger one.”
Tanya was silent for a moment.
“What a jerk. Sorry, but… a jerk.”
“He wants to split the house. Says two-thirds are his.”
“What documents do you have?”
“A gift deed for half the house. We drew it up eight years ago.”
“That’s perfect! Did he forget about it?”
“Seems like it.”
Two days later, Vasily came over again. This time with news.
“Lyud, Olga and I talked it over. She doesn’t mind if you live here for a while. You know, until we sell.”
“Sell?”
“Well, yes. We’ll divide the money, and each go our own way.”
Ludmila shook her head.
“Vasya, I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t sell the house.”
“What do you mean?” he frowned. “Are you planning to fight me?”
“No. I just want to stay in my home.”
“Our home,” Vasily corrected her. “And I’ll decide what happens to it.”
“We’ll decide together,” Ludmila smiled. “Tomorrow at two, at the notary’s. Here’s the address.”
When he left, she took out the folder with the documents. “I wonder what his face will look like when he sees his own signature,” Ludmila thought, and for the first time in two weeks she smiled for real.
That night she dreamed of their old house. The one where it all began. Tiny, with a stove and creaky floorboards. Back then Vasya used to say: “Hang in there, Lyuda, we’ll build a new one—and then we’ll really live!”
They built it. They lived. And now…
The notary’s office greeted Ludmila with cool air and the smell of paper. She arrived fifteen minutes early—she wanted to gather her thoughts. The young secretary smiled:
“Are you here to see Sergey Pavlovich? Go right in, he’s already in.”
The notary turned out to be a man of about sixty with an attentive look.
“Ludmila Nikolaevna? Please, have a seat. Your husband hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Ex-husband,” Ludmila corrected him and took the folder out of her bag. “Here, I wanted to show you these in advance.”
The notary studied the papers and nodded:
“Everything’s in order. The gift deed is properly drafted. Half the house is unconditionally yours.”
“Can he contest it?”
“In theory—yes. In practice—the chances are almost nil. His signature, official registration…”
The door opened. Vasily walked in with a confident air. A young woman in a sharp suit followed him.
“Olga?” Ludmila was surprised. “Why did you bring her?”
“Olga is a lawyer,” Vasily replied curtly. “She’ll help us sort this out.”
The notary raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“Good afternoon,” Olga sat next to Vasily. “As I understand it, we’re discussing the division of marital property?”
“Exactly,” Vasily nodded. “The house was built during the marriage, but the main contribution was mine.”
Ludmila silently looked at the pair. Olga—well-groomed, confident, about twenty years younger than her. Hair styled, manicure flawless. And those eyes—sharp, appraising.
“Sergey Pavlovich,” Ludmila addressed the notary. “Would you show the documents, please.”
The notary laid the papers on the table:
“Vasily Petrovich, this is a Deed of Gift from 2015. Your signature. According to it, you voluntarily transferred half of the house into your wife’s ownership.”
Vasily stared at the document. His face slowly changed—bewilderment, recognition, anger.
“What the… Lyuda, did you slip this paper under my nose?”
“Think back. Before the trip to Siberia. You said, ‘Just in case.’”
Olga took the document and skimmed it.
“This changes things,” she straightened up. “Vasily, why didn’t you say so?”
“I forgot! It’s been eight years!”
“You forgot that you gifted your wife half the house?” Olga looked at him with disbelief.
Vasily jumped up:
“Lyuda, you set this up! Kept quiet on purpose!”
“Did you forget on purpose?” Ludmila asked softly. “Or did you just not think I’d keep it?”
“Gentlemen,” the notary intervened. “Let’s keep emotions out of this. Legally, the situation is clear: half the house belongs to Ludmila Nikolaevna.”
“Vasya, calm down,” Olga put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a catastrophe. You’ll sell the house and split the money.”
“I’m not going to sell,” Ludmila said firmly. “This is my house.”
“Our house!” Vasily barked.
“Which you were planning to take away,” Ludmila raised her voice for the first time. “‘My money, my investment’—and where did my thirty years of life go?”
Olga grimaced and edged away from Vasily.
“I have to get back to work,” she stood up. “Vasily, we’ll talk later.”
When the door closed behind her, silence hung in the office.
“This still won’t end so easily,” Vasily hissed.
Ludmila gathered her documents.
“You know, Vasya, for thirty-two years I was afraid of upsetting you. I tried to please you. And now… I don’t care what you think.”
She walked out of the office and took a deep breath. The spring sun warmed her face. For the first time in many years, Ludmila felt… free.
Three months passed.
Ludmila sipped tea on the veranda and watched the last rays of the sun gild the apple trees. She used to rarely allow herself such moments—there was always something to do, cleaning, cooking. Now she had learned to pause and simply enjoy the moment.
The phone rang unexpectedly. Vasily. Ludmila sighed and answered:
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Lyud, we need to meet,” his voice sounded tired. “We need to talk.”
“Come by if you want,” she was no longer afraid of these meetings.
That evening the gate creaked. Vasily looked different—thinner, drawn. Without his usual self-assurance.
“Come in,” Ludmila nodded to the chair. “What happened?”
Vasily sat down and ran a hand over his face.
“It’s over with Olga.”
“I see,” Ludmila felt neither gloating nor pity. Just a fact.
“She… well, she found better options.”
“And now what?”
Vasily was silent for a long time.
“I thought… maybe we could try again? So many years together. Things happen.”
Ludmila looked at him and didn’t recognize him. Where was the Vasily who commanded and decided for both of them? In front of her sat a bewildered man who had lost his footing.
“No, Vasya,” she shook her head. “It’s too late.”
“Lyud, I know it’s my fault…”
“It’s not about fault. It’s just that I’m different now. And I… like it this way.”
Vasily looked around. New photos had appeared on the walls—Ludmila with friends, with the grandchildren.
“Do you know where I’m living?”
“No.”
“I’m renting a room. In the middle of nowhere.”
Ludmila shrugged.
“You have your half of the house. You can sell it, buy an apartment.”
“I can’t sell without your consent. And I have no money—everything went to Olga.”
Ludmila stood up and poured more tea.
“And what are you proposing?”
“Maybe I could live here? In the guest room?”
“No,” she answered firmly. “This isn’t our house anymore. This is my house.”
A familiar irritation flickered across his face.
“You’re getting back at me, aren’t you?”
“I’m living, Vasya. Without looking over my shoulder at you. For the first time in thirty-two years.”
He was silent for a long time, then nodded:
“Alright. I’ll go then.”
At the gate, Vasily turned around:
“You know, you’ve changed, Lyud.”
“I know,” she smiled.
When he left, Ludmila returned to the veranda. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Tanya, hi! How about that trip to the theater on Saturday?”
“I’m in! Did your guy show up?”
“Yeah, he was just here.”
“And?”
“He wanted to come back.”
“And you?”
“I don’t want to go back to the past.”
Ludmila put down the phone and closed her eyes. Summer lay ahead. She was planning to redo the bedroom, take a trip to the sea.
A week later, a letter came from the notary. Vasily had withdrawn his claims. Ludmila smiled.
At the end of the month she signed all the papers. The house belonged entirely to her. In the evening Ludmila went out into the garden, walked along the paths, and touched the rough bark of the apple tree.
“Well then,” she said aloud. “Now it’s truly mine.”
Music drifted over from the neighboring house. Ludmila listened—it was an old song from her youth. She suddenly caught herself dancing a little, like a girl. And she laughed.
At fifty-seven, life doesn’t end. It only begins—when you finally understand what you’re worth. And that it’s never too late to start living for yourself.
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Continued in the comments.
