Artyom stopped in the kitchen doorway, a travel bag clutched in one hand. Svetlana sat at the table with a slice of honey cake on a plate in front of her. She carefully separated the soft layers with a teaspoon, as though she had nowhere else to be. She did not even look at him.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he asked, louder than he had intended.
“I heard you.” She nodded and took another bite. “You said you were leaving. I said I was going to finish my cake.”
“Svetlana, I’m serious.”
“So am I. The cake really is delicious.” At last, she lifted her eyes to him. “I baked it myself. I thought we would finish it together after dinner, but considering how the evening has turned out, I’ll finish it without you.”
Artyom placed his bag on the floor and sat opposite her. He had prepared himself for shouting, tears and desperate pleas. Instead, he was faced with a plate of cake and a calm voice that made him deeply uncomfortable.
“Don’t you feel anything at all?” he asked.
“I do. It tastes sweet.” She slowly licked the spoon. “Were you hoping I would collapse onto the floor?”
“I thought you would at least ask me why.”
“I already know why.” Svetlana pushed the plate aside. “Her name is Alina. You’ve been messaging each other since March. She sends you hearts, and you like photographs of her breakfasts. I’ve known for a long time, Artyom. I was simply waiting for you to pack your own bag.”
He fell silent. His face went blank, and it was obvious that he had no idea how he was supposed to behave now.
“Were you spying on me?” he finally managed.
“Why would I need to?” She shrugged. “You left your phone on the table with the screen facing up. It isn’t my fault that your notifications flashed like Christmas lights.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What isn’t fair is looking me in the eyes for six months while lying about working late,” Svetlana replied calmly. “But I’m not going to argue about that either. You can finish the cake if you like. I’ve had enough.”
Artyom stood and paced across the kitchen. He was accustomed to Svetlana being gentle. She had always been the first to make peace, the first to call and the first to ask him to stay. This new composure frightened him.
“I thought we could at least discuss this like normal human beings,” he said.
“We are discussing it. I’m not interrupting you, screaming or throwing tea in your face.” She stood, carried the plate to the sink and turned toward him. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Svetlana, things have become… complicated. There hasn’t been anything between us for a long time. You’re always busy with your porcelain, your paints and those plates you spend all day decorating. I’m a living person. I need attention.”
“Attention,” she repeated. “I understand. How much longer were you planning to drag this out before having your ‘honest conversation’?”
“I was going to do it today.”
“With a packed bag in your hand.” She gave a faint, humourless smile. “Convenient timing. Fine. Go. I’m not stopping you.”
He froze. That was the last response he had expected.
“That’s it?” Artyom asked. “No ‘please stay’? No ‘let’s try again’?”
“Were you hoping I would beg?” Svetlana turned to face him fully. “I’ve been asking for ten years. That is enough. Now it is your turn to make a decision for yourself.”
A week later, they met in a small café near a pedestrian bridge. Artyom had insisted on the meeting. He called and said that they needed to “discuss everything calmly, like adults.”
Svetlana arrived on time, ordered thyme tea and placed her phone on the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to come,” he began as he sat across from her.
“I didn’t come to be polite,” she replied. “We share an apartment and a cat. Those things need to be settled. I’m not interested in discussing anything else.”
“Svetlana, I want us to handle this fairly.”
“Excellent. So do I.” She took a sip of tea. “We bought the apartment mostly with my savings. You contributed one-third. I’ll repay your share in cash. I’m keeping the cat because you were always afraid to even pet him.”
Artyom grimaced. He had clearly arrived with a different version of the conversation in mind.
“You calculated everything quickly,” he said. “Almost as though you had been preparing for this.”
“I had.” Svetlana nodded. “While you were sending hearts, I was doing the calculations. Someone had to.”
“You know, you’ve changed.” He leaned back in his chair. “You used to be softer. Kinder.”
“I used to be in love,” she corrected him. “Those are different things. Actually, let me put it more simply. I used to feel sorry for you. Now I don’t have time.”
“Alina says you’re trying to punish me.”
“Alina is your adviser now?” Svetlana raised an eyebrow. “Tell her I’m not taking revenge. I’m settling accounts. Those are very different things.”
A waiter approached and placed a coffee in front of Artyom. He did not touch it.
“Svetlana, I’m not your enemy,” he said more quietly. “We spent ten years together. Can you really throw all of that away?”
“You packed everything into one bag and headed for the door yourself,” she reminded him. “I’m merely helping you carry it out.”
“You’ve become cruel.”
“I’ve become honest,” she replied, placing her cup down. “Cruelty is making promises and then betraying someone. I’m not promising you anything, and I’m not taking anything that belongs to you. Take what is yours and leave.”
He tapped his fingers against the table. Anger was building inside him. He was accustomed to being the person in control during difficult conversations, but now he could feel the ground slipping away beneath him.
“What if I don’t agree to one-third?” he said sharply. “What if I want half?”
“On what grounds?”
“Because I lived there. I’m registered at that address. Besides, a man shouldn’t have to leave with nothing.”
“According to whom?” Svetlana asked evenly. “You left voluntarily. No one threw you out. If you want half, show me proof that you paid half. If you can prove it, I’ll give it to you. If not, you’ll receive exactly what you contributed. It’s very simple.”
“It’s impossible to talk to you!” His raised voice made the people at the next table turn around. “You twist everything!”
“I’m not twisting anything. I’m putting everything back where it belongs.” She placed money on the table for her tea. “And there’s no need to shout. People came here to relax. When you’re ready to discuss numbers, write to me. Calmly and point by point. I’ll respond.”
She stood and walked toward the exit.
Artyom watched her leave, unable to understand when he had gone from being the triumphant husband walking away to being the man who was told, “It’s very simple,” and abandoned beside a cup of cooling coffee.
The next conversation about money took place in a park beside the water. This time, Artyom did not come alone. He brought his friend Denis, apparently believing that the two of them would appear more intimidating.
Svetlana arrived by herself, wearing a light jacket with her keys in one pocket.
“Svetlana, I asked Denis to come because he can confirm something,” Artyom began. “He remembers that I paid for the renovations.”
“Good evening, Denis.” She nodded politely. “Do you genuinely remember Artyom paying for the renovation?”
Denis hesitated. He had clearly not expected her to address him directly.
“Well… I remember that there was a renovation,” he said cautiously.
“There certainly was,” Svetlana agreed. “New tiles, a new kitchen and plenty of repairs. The only problem is that I paid for all of it. I have the bank transfers and the contracts with the workers. Denis, do you remember who actually made the payments?”
“I… I didn’t get involved in that part.” Denis looked away. “Artyom, you dragged me into the wrong conversation. I thought I was just coming along while you talked.”
“Denis!” Artyom snapped. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side.” Denis raised both hands. “I was just standing nearby. You know what? I should probably leave. You two can sort this out yourselves.”
He nodded goodbye to Svetlana and quickly walked down the path. Artyom remained where he was, his face openly indignant.
“Very impressive support you brought with you,” Svetlana remarked. “Invite more people next time. I’ll listen to all of them.”
“You deliberately backed him into a corner!”
“I asked him a question, and he answered honestly.” She shrugged. “It isn’t my fault that the truth isn’t on your side.”
“Let’s be honest, Svetlana.” Artyom stepped closer. “I understand that you’re hurt. But why do you need all that money for yourself? You’ll never even spend it all with your little painted plates. I need to build a new life.”
“With Alina?”
“With whoever I choose!” His voice rose. “I have the right to be happy.”
“You do.” She nodded. “At your own expense, not mine.”
“You’re greedy.”
“I’m greedy?” Svetlana gave a short laugh. “For ten years, I paid for our home, our holidays and, apparently, even the gifts you gave Alina. Yet somehow I’m the greedy one. Your mind works in fascinating ways.”
“You can’t prove anything about those gifts.”
“I don’t need to prove it,” she replied calmly. “I’m not even including them in the calculation. Take your one-third and live your life. But don’t treat me like a bank you can rob after slamming the door in my face. If you continue pushing me, I really will sit down and calculate everything properly. Believe me, you won’t enjoy the result. I can also take this to court and demand compensation.”
Artyom clenched his jaw. He stepped forward and then backward, clearly unable to work out which emotional string he needed to pull to bring back the former Svetlana—the woman who always gave in.
“You’ll regret treating me like this,” he hissed.
“I doubt it.” She looked at him calmly. “I’ve already spent years regretting enough for both of us. Now it’s my turn to live without that weight.”
“You think you’re strong?”
“I don’t need to think about it.” Svetlana took out her phone. “Tomorrow I’ll send you the full calculation, including receipts, dates and signatures. If you agree, I’ll transfer the money that same day. If you disagree, we’ll spend longer calculating it and then go to court. The amount will not increase. In fact, it may fall considerably.”
“Why are you in such a hurry to finish everything?”
“Because I don’t like unfinished work,” she replied. “Not in porcelain and not in life. When something breaks, I gather the pieces and repair what can be repaired quickly. Dragging it out only causes more damage.”
Svetlana later invited him to her small studio, where she painted porcelain. She chose the place deliberately. She felt calm there, while Artyom had always been irritated by her brushes, paints and rows of white cups.
He arrived tense, and Alina was with him.
“I brought Alina so the two of you could meet properly,” he announced from the doorway. “There’s no point hiding anymore.”
“Hello, Alina.” Svetlana put down her brush. “Come in. Just be careful. Some of the pieces are drying.”
Alina walked farther into the room, looking around with mild superiority.
“So this is where you spend your entire day,” she said. “Artyom told me it was cramped. He wasn’t exaggerating. There’s hardly room to move.”
“Perhaps, but every inch of it belongs to me,” Svetlana replied. “From one wall to the other. What brought you here, Alina? Did you want to look me in the eye?”
“I wanted to tell you to stop clinging to a man who doesn’t love you.” Alina folded her arms. “Let him go. And stop being so selfish about the money. Artyom deserves a proper new beginning.”
“Interesting.” Svetlana turned toward her husband. “Artyom, how much of ‘our’ property did you promise her?”
He flinched.
“I didn’t promise her anything.”
“You absolutely did,” Alina said. “You promised me half the apartment. You said you would sue for it… or rather, that you would reach an agreement.”
“Alina!” he hissed.
“What?” She lifted her chin. “You’ve been filling my head with stories about that half for two months. Do you think I’m wasting my time for nothing?”
Svetlana laughed quietly. There was no cruelty in it. It was the laugh of someone who had finally discovered the last missing piece of a puzzle.
“Now everything makes sense,” she said. “Artyom, you weren’t asking me for fairness. You were reporting back to her. Her love for you depends on how much you manage to carry away.”
“That’s none of your business,” he muttered.
“You’re right. It isn’t anymore.” Svetlana nodded. “Alina, I’ll speak plainly and without hostility. He will not bring you half because half does not belong to him. He has one-third. I will transfer it directly into his bank account so the two of you don’t argue over who gets to spend it first. And he’ll receive even that only if he stops being difficult. If this goes to court, he may end up with less.”
“You have no right…” Alina began.
“I do,” Svetlana interrupted gently. “Those are my terms. If you want the money, accept it as offered. If not, keep your principles. People say principles can keep you warm too.”
Alina turned toward Artyom, her expression suddenly sour.
“You said this would be easy,” she told him. “You said she was quiet and would sign anything you put in front of her.”
“She used to be quiet,” he replied helplessly.
“I did,” Svetlana confirmed. “I believed my silence was protecting our marriage. Then I realised it was only protecting your arrogance, so I stopped.”
Artyom stepped toward her, his face hardening.
“Do you know what you are?” he burst out. “You’re calculating, cold and…”
“Finish the sentence,” she said calmly. “But choose your words carefully. There is delicate porcelain in here, and your voice is rather crude.”
He stopped.
Alina grabbed his sleeve.
“Let’s go,” she said. “There’s no point talking to her. She outplayed you, and you’re just standing there blinking.”
“No one outplayed anyone,” Svetlana remarked as she picked up her brush again. “I simply stopped letting him win. The door is open. Goodbye.”
They left, and from the other side of the door, Svetlana could hear them arguing. Alina was angrily accusing him of something while Artyom tried to defend himself.
Svetlana dipped her brush into blue paint and drew a smooth, even line across the white side of a cup.
Their final conversation took place inside the empty apartment where they had once begun their life together. Artyom came to collect his remaining belongings—two boxes of books and an old jacket.
Svetlana was fastening the cat inside his carrier, preparing to take him to their new home.
“The money arrived,” Artyom said, standing in the middle of the hallway. “Thank you. Although you could have given me more.”
“No, I couldn’t,” she replied. “I gave you exactly what belonged to you. Not one rouble less and not one rouble more. I’ll sleep peacefully knowing that. By the way, I’ve already sold the apartment. I’m leaving.”
“Alina left me,” he said, as though he had not heard the last sentence. “She called me a failure. Said I couldn’t even divide an apartment properly.”
Svetlana looked at him. There was no triumph or pity in her eyes, only calmness.
“That’s unfortunate,” she said. “But it is something you and Alina will have to deal with.”
“Svetlana.” He stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we rushed into this. Maybe it isn’t too late.”
“It is,” she answered evenly. “There’s a rule in my profession. If porcelain develops a crack during firing, you don’t continue painting it. The piece will break eventually. You put it aside and begin with a new blank. We developed a crack, Artyom. And I’ve already chosen a new beginning.”
“So there’s someone else,” he said immediately.
“There is me,” Svetlana replied. “And it turns out that I am more than enough.”
“You’re pretending you don’t care.” His voice grew louder. “But I know you lie awake at night thinking about me.”
“Artyom,” she said as she secured the carrier, “for the past several nights, the only thing I’ve been thinking about is how to move the cat comfortably. You were not on the list.”
“You’re humiliating me on purpose!”
“No.” She straightened. “I’m letting you go. You see that as humiliation because you were used to me holding on to you. Now I’ve released you, and suddenly you feel empty. But that emptiness belongs to you, not me.”
He fell silent and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. It was obvious that he was searching for words that would make him important again, but he could not find any.
“What am I supposed to do now?” he finally asked. For the first time, there was no aggression in his voice, only confusion.
“Live,” Svetlana said simply. “But live at your own expense. And don’t send hearts to another woman while someone at home is baking you a cake. Having someone bake a cake for you is not cheap, you know. It is worth more than half an apartment.”
She lifted the carrier, picked up the keys from the small table and handed him the second set.
“Lock the door after you take your boxes,” she said. “Drop the key into the mailbox afterward. The apartment is sold, and your share is already in your account.”
“You’ve decided everything.”
“I have.” She nodded. “While you were packing your bag and planning your impressive departure, I was thinking about how to remain myself with dignity. I believe I managed it better than you did.”
He stood in the hallway with two boxes at his feet while she reached the door.
“Svetlana,” he called after her. “That cake… did you really finish it that night?”
“Every last crumb.” A faint smile touched her lips. “It was the most delicious slice of my life. That was where everything began.”
She walked out, carefully carrying the cat in his carrier. The door closed softly behind her without a slam.
Artyom remained alone in the empty hallway—a man who had expected to leave as the winner but had somehow lost everything, and who now had to gather the broken pieces of his own life instead of destroying someone else’s.
