“One more word about my salary, and you will never set foot in my home again,” I warned.
Zlata opened the front door of her apartment and lowered a heavy grocery bag onto the floor. Friday had been exhausting. Meetings had dragged on until evening, but her mood was still bright. In her pocket was a printed bonus statement, and the numbers on it warmed her heart. The project had been completed ahead of schedule, management had recognized her work, and after a year of intense effort, that acknowledgment felt twice as satisfying.
She took off her shoes, went into the kitchen, and began unpacking the groceries. Fresh salmon for baking, vegetables for salad, sour cream, herbs, fruit. Zlata wanted to prepare a nice dinner and celebrate her success quietly, just with Konstantin. Maybe they would finally talk about the vacation they had been postponing for six months. Or about renovating the bedroom, where the wallpaper had started peeling in one corner and had long needed replacing.
Zlata had bought the apartment eight years earlier, before she had even met Konstantin. Back then, she had worked as an assistant manager at a construction company, saving every kopeck and taking extra weekend jobs. Her parents had helped with the mortgage down payment, but she had paid off the rest herself. It had taken six years, and she was proud of that. It was a two-room apartment in a residential district, nothing luxurious, but bright, warm, comfortable — her own personal achievement.
She had met Konstantin at a corporate party hosted by mutual acquaintances. He was tall, calm, and sensible. He worked as an engineer at a factory and earned a stable, though modest, salary. He courted her slowly, without pressure. Six months later, he suggested they move in together. Zlata agreed without hesitation. She felt comfortable with him. Safe.
They married quietly, without a grand celebration. Konstantin’s mother, Vera Mikhailovna, and his younger sister, Taisia, came to the modest gathering, congratulated the couple, and gave them a dinner set. At first, Zlata thought her mother-in-law seemed strict, but not overly critical. Taisia behaved somewhat arrogantly, but Zlata blamed it on her age. The girl was twenty-three, fresh out of university, and clearly considered herself far too clever.
The first four years passed peacefully. Vera Mikhailovna and Taisia lived in a neighboring town and rarely visited — New Year’s, birthdays, the occasional family occasion. They called Konstantin in the evenings, but the conversations were short and routine. Zlata never interfered. She was simply glad that her husband’s family did not meddle in their life. Sometimes Konstantin helped his mother with small amounts of money, and Zlata never objected.
Everything changed a year ago.
Zlata was promoted and became head of her department. Her salary nearly doubled, and project bonuses started coming in. Konstantin seemed sincerely happy for her. He hugged her and said he was proud of his wife. But something flickered in his eyes that day — not jealousy exactly, more like embarrassment. As if her success had touched some vulnerable part of his masculine pride, though he never said a word aloud.
Two weeks after the promotion, Vera Mikhailovna called and announced she would come for the weekend. Zlata agreed, cooked dinner, and cleaned the apartment. But her mother-in-law arrived with Taisia. The two women looked around the apartment as though they were appraising property before buying it. Vera Mikhailovna praised the cleanliness, then immediately added that the curtains should be changed and the living room rug looked outdated.
Taisia settled on the sofa, threw her legs onto the coffee table, and demanded tea. Zlata brought it and placed the cup in front of her. Her sister-in-law gave a careless nod without even saying thank you. Vera Mikhailovna began asking about work, the new position, and the salary. Zlata answered vaguely, saying she earned decently, but did not reveal details. Her mother-in-law narrowed her eyes, though she stopped asking questions.
After that, the visits became more frequent. Vera Mikhailovna and Taisia started coming almost every week. Sometimes the mother-in-law had errands in the city. Sometimes Taisia needed to attend some course. They always stopped by the young couple’s apartment, stayed for lunch or dinner, and swallowed up all their free time. Zlata tried to remain hospitable. She cooked, cleaned up after them, and smiled through clenched teeth.
The remarks began quietly. At first, they were small criticisms about housekeeping. Vera Mikhailovna would find dust on a bookshelf and shake her head reproachfully. Taisia criticized the food, saying their mother cooked better. Konstantin said nothing and pretended not to hear. Zlata endured it. She did not want to quarrel with her husband’s family.
Then came the comments about her salary. One day, Vera Mikhailovna casually remarked that it was wrong when a wife earned more than her husband. According to her, it undermined the authority of the head of the family and made the man look weak in society. Taisia agreed and added that a real man supported his wife, not lived off her money.
That time, Zlata protested. She said Konstantin did not live off her, that they both worked and contributed to the household budget. Vera Mikhailovna smiled sourly and said that, either way, Zlata carried most of the expenses because her income was higher. Konstantin sat beside them, looking at his phone, not interfering. Zlata felt a sharp sting of hurt. Her husband had not even tried to defend her.
The next subject her mother-in-law raised was the apartment. Vera Mikhailovna asked bluntly why the property was registered only in Zlata’s name and why Konstantin did not have a share. Zlata patiently explained that she had bought the apartment with her own money before marriage and that, by law, it was her personal property. Her mother-in-law frowned and declared that this was wrong and humiliating for her son.
“So how does that work?” Vera Mikhailovna drawled, looking at Zlata with open disapproval. “My son lives in someone else’s apartment like some kind of tenant. That is humiliating for a man, Zlata. You should understand that.”
“The apartment is not someone else’s,” Zlata replied, trying to remain calm. “It is our shared home. Konstantin and I are a family. No one is humiliating anyone.”
“A family?” Taisia snorted, finally looking up from her phone. “If you were really a family, you would have given my brother a share a long time ago. As it is, you simply took him in under your roof.”
Konstantin remained silent that time too. He stood up and went out to the balcony to smoke, leaving his wife alone with his mother and sister. Zlata clenched her fists under the table but did not show it. She simply said the subject was closed and there was nothing more to discuss.
But Vera Mikhailovna kept returning to it again and again. Sometimes she hinted that Zlata was greedy and thought only of herself. Sometimes she said that if they divorced, Konstantin would be left with nothing, out on the street. Sometimes she directly demanded that Zlata transfer at least half the apartment to her son in order to secure his future.
Zlata tried to speak with Konstantin privately. She asked him to put his mother and sister in their place, to explain that they were interfering in matters that did not concern them. Her husband brushed it off. He said the women were just worried and that she should not take everything so personally. Zlata insisted, but Konstantin avoided the conversation, claiming he was tired or changing the subject.
The tension kept growing. Every visit from her mother-in-law became a test. Vera Mikhailovna would enter the apartment without even properly greeting her and immediately start inspecting the rooms, searching for flaws. Taisia would sprawl on the sofa, ordering Zlata around, demanding coffee, cookies, or a different television channel. Konstantin pretended not to notice.
At the end of another month, Zlata received notice of a bonus. The project her department had been working on had been successfully completed, and the client was pleased. Management gave all participants generous bonuses. Zlata looked at the amount on the payslip and smiled. It was good money. Enough to allow herself something pleasant.
She decided to arrange a celebratory dinner at home. On her way back, she stopped at an expensive supermarket and bought groceries: fresh fish, shrimp, costly cheese, and good wine. Konstantin loved oven-baked fish with vegetables, and that was exactly what Zlata planned to make. She wanted a peaceful evening for the two of them. Maybe even a conversation about something important.
At home, Zlata changed into comfortable clothes, put on an apron, turned on music, and began cooking. She sliced vegetables for the salad, marinated the fish, and set the oven to preheat. Her mood was light, almost joyful. Moments like this had become rare lately, and she treasured the silence and calm.
The front door slammed. Konstantin had come home from work.
“Kostya, hi!” Zlata called cheerfully from the kitchen. “How was your day?”
There was no answer. Instead, she heard familiar female voices — loud, confident, filling the entire apartment.
“Good evening!” Vera Mikhailovna announced. “We stopped by for dinner, Zlata. I hope you don’t mind?”
Zlata froze, the knife suspended above the cutting board. Everything inside her tightened with irritation.
Uninvited guests. Again.
She took a deep breath and wiped her hands on a towel. Then she went into the hallway with a forced smile.
“Vera Mikhailovna, Taisia, hello,” Zlata said evenly. “Come in.”
Her mother-in-law walked into the living room, took off her coat, and casually tossed it over the back of a chair. Taisia followed, looking around the apartment with the same assessing gaze as always. Konstantin stood in the hallway, avoiding his wife’s eyes.
“You knew they were coming?” Zlata asked quietly.
“Mom called when I was leaving work,” Konstantin muttered. “She said they were nearby and decided to drop in.”
“And you didn’t think to warn me?”
“They won’t stay long,” Konstantin shrugged. “Please don’t make a scene.”
Zlata turned around and went back to the kitchen.
She had to take out extra plates, cutlery, and rearrange the table. There was enough fish for everyone, but the mood of the celebratory dinner vanished instantly. Zlata sliced bread, feeling a dull irritation growing inside her.
She set the table and called everyone to dinner. Vera Mikhailovna seated herself at the head of the table and examined the dishes with an unreadable expression. Taisia picked up a fork, tried the salad, and grimaced.
“Too much vinegar,” she remarked. “Mom makes it better at home.”
Zlata said nothing and poured wine into the glasses. Konstantin chewed silently, staring at his plate. Vera Mikhailovna tasted the fish and nodded in approval, but did not give a compliment.
“Zlata, you made quite a spread,” her mother-in-law said after sipping her wine. “Did they give you another bonus? Must have been a nice amount.”
Zlata felt the muscles in her face tighten. Slowly, she raised her eyes to Vera Mikhailovna.
“Yes, I received a bonus for the project,” she answered briefly.
“Well, how much?” her mother-in-law persisted. “Surely you can share that with family. It is not a secret, is it?”
“Enough to put aside for a vacation,” Zlata replied evasively.
Vera Mikhailovna pressed her lips together.
“A vacation is nice, of course,” she said slowly. “But you should think, Zlata. You have that kind of money, while we, Konstantin’s parents, live on a pension. I am not asking, of course, but help from a daughter-in-law would be pleasant.”
Zlata tightened her grip on the fork.
“Vera Mikhailovna, Konstantin already helps you regularly,” Zlata said firmly. “We discuss every amount together.”
“Helps?” Taisia snorted. “A couple thousand a month is not help. You get huge bonuses, and you still feel sorry for your husband’s parents.”
Blood rushed to Zlata’s face. She placed her fork on the plate and tried to contain herself.
“Taisia, I am not obligated to support my husband’s family,” Zlata said slowly, pronouncing every word clearly. “I have my own salary and my own expenses.”
“My own salary!” Vera Mikhailovna threw up her hands. “You see, Kostya? Look at the kind of wife you have. Greedy. Selfish. She earns more than her husband and thinks far too highly of herself.”
“Mom, don’t,” Konstantin tried weakly.
“What do you mean, don’t?” his mother turned toward him. “Should I not speak the truth? She lives with my son, benefits from his care, and thinks only of herself. With that kind of money!”
“It is my money,” Zlata said, feeling herself begin to boil inside. “I earned it. I decide what to spend it on.”
“You earned it, but what about Kostya?” Taisia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Is he just living with you for nothing? A man in his own home should feel like the master, not some dependent.”
“No one is calling him a dependent!” Zlata raised her voice.
“Oh, please,” Vera Mikhailovna waved her hand. “All you ever say is my apartment, my money. My son is like a temporary guest in your home. It is humiliating for him.”
Something inside Zlata snapped.
All the irritation accumulated over the past year, all the swallowed insults, all her husband’s silent agreement with his family’s attacks — everything flared up at once. She stood sharply, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. Everyone fell silent and stared at her.
“One more word about my salary, and you will never set foot in my home again,” Zlata said firmly, looking straight at her mother-in-law.
A ringing silence filled the room.
Vera Mikhailovna opened her mouth but said nothing. Taisia stared at her in disbelief. Konstantin froze with a piece of fish on his fork.
Her husband was the first to recover. Konstantin’s face flushed red. He threw his fork onto the plate and jumped up.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted, slamming his palm on the table. “How dare you speak to my mother like that?”
“I am saying what I think,” Zlata did not back down. “I am tired of hearing about my salary, my apartment, and how greedy I supposedly am. This is my home, and I have the right to decide who enters it.”
“Your home?” Konstantin turned crimson. “And what am I, then? A guest?”
“You are my husband,” Zlata held his gaze. “But your mother and sister are guests. And if guests do not know how to behave, they do not have to come here again.”
Vera Mikhailovna gave a theatrical sob and clutched her heart.
“Kostya, do you hear how she is speaking to me?” she moaned. “I always knew this girl was not worthy of you. Shameless. Ungrateful…”
“Mom, calm down,” Konstantin walked over and put his arms around her shoulders.
“How can I calm down?” Vera Mikhailovna sobbed louder. “I am being insulted to my face, thrown out of my own son’s home!”
“This is not your son’s home,” Zlata cut in. “This is my apartment. And I am tired of your visits, your demands, and your hints.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Taisia jumped up and pointed at Zlata. “How dare you speak to your elders like that?”
“Very easily,” Zlata crossed her arms. “I work, I earn money, and I pay for this apartment. I will not allow anyone to tell me how to spend what is mine.”
“Such disrespect for elders,” Vera Mikhailovna shook her head, wiping away imaginary tears. “No upbringing at all. I knew nothing good would come of this marriage.”
“Whether anything good comes of it or not is my business,” Zlata said, feeling an icy anger rising inside her. “But I know for certain that I will no longer listen to reproaches in my own home.”
Konstantin looked at his wife with a strange, uncomprehending expression, as though he were seeing her for the first time. Zlata waited, hoping that at least now he would take her side. That he would say something to his mother and sister in defense of his wife.
But Konstantin remained silent, his jaw clenched.
“Kostya, say something to her!” Taisia demanded. “She is insulting your mother, and you are just standing there!”
“Zlata, you are wrong,” Konstantin finally said in a dull voice. “This is my family. You cannot throw them out.”
“I can,” Zlata looked at him and understood that something inside her had finally broken. “And I will. Right now.”
She turned to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law.
“Vera Mikhailovna, Taisia, leave my apartment,” Zlata said firmly. “Immediately.”
“What?” Vera Mikhailovna sprang from her chair. “You are throwing me out? Your husband’s mother?”
“Yes,” Zlata confirmed. “Take your things and leave.”
“Kostya!” his mother grabbed his arm. “Are you going to allow this…?”
“Mom, please calm down,” Konstantin tried to guide her back toward the chair.
“I will not calm down!” Vera Mikhailovna pulled her hand away. “I have been insulted and humiliated! Kostya, if you allow this insolent woman to treat me like that, I will stop considering you my son!”
Konstantin froze, casting a confused glance between his mother and his wife.
Zlata watched him, waiting. This was the moment. The moment when Konstantin had to choose a side. The moment when he would reveal who truly mattered to him.
“Zlata, let’s calm down and talk normally,” Konstantin began in a conciliatory tone. “Mom didn’t mean to offend you. She just…”
“She just what?” Zlata interrupted him. “Just spent a whole year picking at me about my salary? Just demanded a share in my apartment? Just called me greedy and selfish?”
“You understand, Mom is worried about me,” Konstantin spread his hands.
“Worried?” Zlata gave a bitter laugh. “Or does she simply want to control our life?”
“Control!” Vera Mikhailovna snorted. “I want my son not to feel like a dependent in someone else’s apartment!”
“This is not someone else’s apartment. It is our home!” Zlata raised her voice. “How many times do I have to repeat that?”
“A home where my son has no rights!” Taisia jumped into the conversation. “Tomorrow you could decide to throw him out, and he would end up on the street!”
“I am not planning to throw anyone out,” Zlata clenched her fists. “But if Konstantin keeps staying silent while his family insults me, maybe I should rethink our relationship.”
“You hear that, Kostya?” Vera Mikhailovna looked triumphantly at her son. “She is blackmailing you! That is the kind of wife you have!”
“I am not blackmailing anyone,” Zlata said tiredly, running a hand over her face. “I simply cannot tolerate this anymore.”
She looked again at her mother-in-law and sister-in-law.
“Leave,” Zlata repeated. “Now.”
Vera Mikhailovna slowly stood up, straightened her back, and looked at Zlata with undisguised hatred.
“Fine,” she hissed through her teeth. “Let’s go, Taisia. We are no longer welcome here.”
Taisia grabbed her bag and gave Zlata a venomous glare.
“You’ll regret this,” she spat. “You will not turn my brother against us.”
Vera Mikhailovna headed for the door, and Taisia followed her. Konstantin rushed after them, saying something, trying to stop them. Zlata remained in the kitchen, listening to their voices in the hallway.
Her mother-in-law loudly lamented. Konstantin tried to calm her. Finally, the front door slammed shut.
Zlata heard her husband’s footsteps as he returned. Konstantin entered the kitchen, his face red, his eyes lost.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked. “You threw my mother out.”
“I defended my boundaries,” Zlata answered calmly. “The thing you refuse to do.”
“What boundaries?” Konstantin waved his hand. “That is my family!”
“And I am your family,” Zlata looked into his eyes. “But for some reason, you always choose their side.”
“I am not choosing anyone,” Konstantin turned away. “I am just trying to keep the peace.”
“Peace?” Zlata smiled bitterly. “What peace, Kostya? Your mother constantly insults me, and you keep quiet. Your sister calls me greedy, and you pretend not to hear.”
“They don’t mean it badly,” Konstantin muttered. “That is just their character.”
“Their character,” Zlata shook her head. “So I have to tolerate their character, but they do not have to tolerate mine?”
“You could have been softer,” Konstantin said, turning back to her. “You could understand that Mom worries about me.”
“Worries?” Zlata felt the anger rise again. “Or does she just want me to transfer half of the apartment to you?”
“And what would be so wrong with that?” Konstantin suddenly straightened. “We are a family. Why can’t you register a share in my name?”
Zlata froze, staring at him.
There it was.
Konstantin had finally said aloud what he had been thinking all along.
“Because this is my apartment,” Zlata said slowly. “I bought it before I met you. With my own money.”
“But we have been married for five years,” Konstantin took a step toward her. “I live here. I pay utilities. I have contributed to repairs. Don’t I deserve at least some rights to this home?”
“You live here for free,” Zlata reminded him. “I never asked you to pay rent.”
“For free?” Konstantin sneered. “So you think I’m a freeloader?”
“I did not say that,” Zlata shook her head. “But if that is how you see yourself, then perhaps something in our life needs to change.”
“What exactly?” Konstantin crossed his arms.
“For example, you could start defending your wife from attacks by your family,” Zlata held his gaze. “Or at least stop standing by silently when they insult me.”
“I never agreed with them,” Konstantin objected.
“You were silent,” Zlata cut him off. “And silence is also agreement.”
Konstantin turned away, walked to the window, and looked outside.
“Maybe Mom has a reason to worry,” he said quietly. “You really did change after the promotion. You became cold. Arrogant.”
Zlata felt something inside her finally shatter.
She walked over to him and stood beside him.
“Kostya,” she said firmly. “I want you to leave this apartment now.”
Konstantin spun around.
“What?”
“Leave,” Zlata repeated. “Go to your mother, to your sister, wherever you want. But leave.”
“You are throwing me out?” Konstantin could not believe what he was hearing.
“Yes,” Zlata nodded. “I can no longer be near a person who does not respect me.”
“This is insane,” Konstantin stepped back. “I am your husband!”
“You are a man who has lived in my apartment for five years and has not once defended me,” Zlata said. “You allow your mother and sister to insult me, demand my money, and lay claim to my property. And you stay silent.”
“I was trying to keep the peace,” Konstantin spread his hands.
“You were trying to please everyone,” Zlata shook her head. “And in the end, you betrayed me.”
“I did not betray anyone!”
“You did,” Zlata pointed to the door. “Leave, Konstantin. I need to be alone.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
Konstantin stood there for a moment, staring at his wife in confusion. Then he turned and left the kitchen. Zlata heard him gathering his things in the bedroom, slamming wardrobe doors. Ten minutes later, he appeared in the hallway with a bag in his hand.
“You’ll regret this,” Konstantin said as he pulled on his jacket.
“Maybe,” Zlata answered calmly. “But right now, I don’t.”
Konstantin slammed the door.
Zlata remained alone in the apartment. She leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes. Inside her was a strange feeling — relief mixed with emptiness. As if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but something important had been taken away at the same time.
She returned to the kitchen and looked at the set table. The fish had gone cold. The wine in the glasses remained untouched. She began clearing the dishes and putting the leftover food into containers. She moved slowly, mechanically, trying not to think about anything.
She went to bed late. She lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening in her mind. Maybe she should have held back. Maybe she should have kept silent again, as she had done for the past year. But there was no regret inside her. Only clarity, and the strange certainty that she had done the right thing.
In the morning, Zlata woke early. She drank coffee, got dressed, and left. She went to a lawyer she had consulted a few months earlier on work-related matters. This time, she asked about divorce. The lawyer explained the process, the deadlines, and the documents needed. Zlata nodded, memorized, and took notes.
Three days later, she filed for divorce.
Konstantin did not call. He did not write. Zlata did not try to contact him either. The silence said more than any words could have.
The divorce was finalized a month later. Konstantin came to the registry office, signed the papers, and did not look at his former wife.
The apartment remained Zlata’s property. It was documented, and Konstantin made no claims. He understood that he had no legal rights to the apartment, and arguing would be pointless. He collected his things while Zlata was at work and left the keys on the small cabinet in the hallway.
During the first weeks after the divorce, Zlata learned to live with the silence. She came home from work, entered the apartment — and there was no one. No husband. No constantly calling mother-in-law. No surprise visits from Vera Mikhailovna and Taisia. Only her. Her space. Her rules.
At first, it felt unfamiliar.
Then it felt peaceful.
And then Zlata realized this was exactly what she had been missing for the last few years. Peace. The right to manage her own life. The absence of constant tension and the expectation of another complaint.
Zlata began taking care of the apartment. She did light cosmetic repairs in the bedroom, changed the curtains, and bought new plants. She rearranged the furniture the way she had wanted for a long time. She started seeing her friends more often.
Work was going well. Zlata received another project — important and interesting. Management valued her professionalism, and her colleagues respected her. Her salary allowed her to live comfortably, save for the future, and enjoy small pleasures without guilt.
Six months after the divorce, Zlata sat on the balcony with a cup of tea, watching the sunset. The city hummed below. Cars moved along the streets. People hurried about their business. Zlata thought about the evening when everything had changed. About the sentence that had turned her life around.
She did not regret it.
Not once. Not for a second.
On the contrary, she was grateful to herself for having the courage to say what had built up inside her. For having the resolve to protect her boundaries, her rights, and her dignity. For not being afraid to remain alone, as long as she remained herself.
Zlata finished her tea and smiled.
Life went on.
Without accusations. Without pressure. Without the need to justify her success. She worked, earned money, lived in her own apartment — and no one had the right to tell her how to manage her life anymore.
Sometimes Zlata met acquaintances who asked about Konstantin. She would simply say they had divorced and change the subject. She did not share details. It was her story, her choice, her path.
One day, in a supermarket, Zlata ran into Taisia. Her former sister-in-law was walking down the next aisle, pushing a cart. Zlata wanted to turn away and avoid the meeting, but Taisia noticed her first. She stopped and stared.
“Well?” Taisia snapped. “Are you happy now? You destroyed the family and threw your husband out.”
Zlata looked at her calmly.
“I did not destroy a family,” she replied evenly. “I protected myself. There is a difference.”
“Kostya still can’t recover,” Taisia crossed her arms. “He lives with Mom and doesn’t know what to do with himself.”
“That is his choice,” Zlata said with a shrug. “Just like his silence was his choice when you insulted me.”
Taisia opened her mouth to say something else, but Zlata had already turned away and continued walking. She did not look back. She did not slow down. That chapter of her life was closed, and there was no reason to return to it.
That same evening, Zlata sat at home reviewing work documents when her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
“Zlata, it’s Konstantin,” came the familiar voice.
Zlata remained silent for a second, gathering her thoughts.
“Hello, Kostya. What happened?”
“I wanted…” Konstantin hesitated. “I wanted to apologize. For what happened back then. For not defending you.”
Zlata leaned back against the sofa.
“That was six months ago,” she said calmly. “Why are you calling now?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Konstantin sighed. “I thought you were wrong. I thought Mom was just worried about me. But then I understood… I understood that you were telling the truth.”
“And what has changed?” Zlata asked.
“Nothing,” Konstantin admitted honestly. “I just wanted to say that I was wrong. That I regret it.”
“All right,” Zlata nodded, though he could not see it. “I accept your apology. Anything else?”
“Maybe we could…” Konstantin hesitated again. “Meet? Talk?”
“No,” Zlata answered firmly. “We closed that page, Kostya. We each have our own life now.”
“But I…”
“Goodbye, Konstantin,” Zlata said, and ended the call.
She sat for a while, looking at the phone. There was no pain inside her. No regret. No desire to bring back the past. Only calm and clarity.
She had made the right choice that evening, when she had spoken the sentence that changed everything.
Then Zlata returned to her documents.
Life continued — her life, her decisions, her boundaries.
And no one had the right to violate them anymore.
