Her husband’s voice rose so suddenly that Katya instinctively took a step back.
“Don’t argue with me! I’ve made my decision, and that’s how it’s going to be!”
She stared at him and felt everything slowly fall into place. It was like looking at a blurred image for a long time and then, all at once, seeing it come sharply into focus.
Until that moment, she had still doubted herself. She had kept telling herself that perhaps she was mistaken, that maybe she had misunderstood him.
But now, looking at Andrei’s flushed face, his clenched fists, and the vein twitching at his temple, she finally understood.
No. She had understood everything perfectly.
The real ending of this story, however, was still ahead.
They had married at the end of April, when lilacs were blooming in the courtyard and life seemed to be opening before them like clusters of white and purple flowers.
Katya had inherited an apartment from her grandmother. It was spacious, with high ceilings and wide windowsills large enough to hold entire stacks of books.
The apartment was old. There were Soviet-era tiles in the bathroom, dried-out wooden window frames, and faded floral wallpaper that had begun peeling away from the walls in places, forming swollen bubbles.
But it belonged to her.
It was entirely her own.
Andrei moved in immediately after the wedding.
He was the kind of man who naturally created an impression of reliability. Broad-shouldered, quiet, and accustomed to fixing things with his own hands.
On their very first weekend together, he got to work. He repaired the kitchen faucet that had been dripping for months, replaced a broken electrical socket in the hallway, and secured the curtain rod in the bedroom.
Katya watched him with tenderness, thinking how fortunate she was.
“With an apartment like this, we’re practically rich,” he said, looking around the large living room. “It just needs some investment.”
“We’ll do it,” she agreed. “Not all at once, but gradually.”
He nodded and smiled in that familiar way that still made warmth spread through her chest.
The first few months went well.
Andrei willingly took care of small repairs and seemed to enjoy the work. He filled cracks, painted several surfaces, and replaced the baseboards in the hallway.
Katya made coffee while he worked, and together they discussed how beautiful the apartment would look one day.
A large, bright kitchen.
Parquet flooring instead of old linoleum.
New windows that would keep the cold out during winter.
Then something changed.
Katya could not say exactly when it happened.
Perhaps it began when Andrei started having longer and more frequent phone conversations, leaving the room and quietly closing the door behind him.
Or perhaps it was when he began asking questions that had never seemed to interest him before.
What was the exact size of the apartment?
Did she have an official extract from the property register?
Katya answered him, but she noticed a faint sense of unease growing inside her. She could not tell whether it was intuition or simple exhaustion.
She reassured herself that he only wanted to understand the situation properly.
After all, it was his home now too.
Then came the evening when Andrei approached her with a serious expression and said he wanted to talk.
They sat in the kitchen.
It was already November. Outside the window, a streetlamp swayed in the wind, casting moving shadows across the wall.
“I’ve calculated everything,” Andrei began, placing a sheet of paper covered with notes on the table. “Renovating an apartment this size would cost a fortune. We don’t have that kind of money, and we won’t have it anytime soon. But I’ve found a solution.”
Katya wrapped both hands around her mug and listened.
“We sell this apartment and buy a smaller one. We use the difference to renovate it properly and buy new furniture. We’ll have a comfortable, modern home instead of this.”
He gestured toward the kitchen, where the paint was peeling from the radiator and a long crack ran above the doorway.
Katya said nothing.
She looked down at the sheet of paper covered with his calculations.
To be honest, the idea sounded reasonable at first.
She had sometimes thought that the apartment was too large for just two people. Keeping it clean and maintained was difficult, and they truly could not afford a complete renovation.
His logic seemed clear.
Almost convincing.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Andrei nodded.
Far too calmly, like a man who already knew what her answer would eventually be.
Katya thought about it for several days.
She weighed the advantages and disadvantages, made calculations in her head, and imagined a smaller apartment with new windows, bright walls, and a modern interior.
She argued with herself.
She almost managed to believe that selling was the sensible thing to do.
Then she overheard part of a conversation that had never been intended for her ears.
Andrei was speaking on the phone in the living room. The door was partly closed but not completely, and as Katya walked through the hallway, she heard his voice.
It sounded quieter and more relaxed than usual.
“I’ve almost convinced her,” he said. “Just a little longer, and she’ll agree.”
Katya stopped moving.
She stood silently in the hallway, hearing the blood pounding in her ears.
Almost convinced her.
Not “we’ve almost made a decision.”
Not “we’re discussing it.”
Not even “Katya is still thinking.”
Convinced her.
As though she were a problem that needed to be solved.
An obstacle that needed to be overcome.
Katya quietly walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle, and waited for him to finish the call.
She heard him laugh.
She heard him say, “Don’t worry.”
Then she heard him say goodbye.
While the kettle heated, Katya realized something important.
Something deeply unpleasant.
If they sold this apartment and bought another one, the new property would be purchased during their marriage.
It would be bought with shared marital funds, even though most of the money would come from the apartment she had inherited.
Legally, the new apartment could become jointly owned property.
It would no longer be hers alone.
It would belong to both of them.
And in the event of a divorce, she could lose a significant part of what her grandmother had left her.
Katya had never planned for divorce.
She did not even want to think about divorce.
But she could not ignore the fact that the man in the next room had just told someone that he had “almost convinced her.”
And that man was her husband.
When Andrei entered the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his usual smile on his face, Katya already knew what she was going to say.
“I need to tell you something,” she began evenly.
He sat down across from her and raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve been thinking about your proposal, and there’s one thing that keeps bothering me.”
“Go on.”
“If we sell my apartment and buy another one while we’re married, the new property could become jointly owned. I would lose the protection of what I had before our marriage.”
For a moment, he stared at her in silence.
Then his expression changed.
“So you don’t trust me.”
“I’m trying to understand the situation.”
“You don’t trust me,” he repeated.
A hard, aggressive tone entered his voice, one she had already begun to recognize.
“After everything I’ve done here. Do you have any idea how much I’ve invested in this apartment? My own work, my own time. And now you’re sitting there trying to protect yourself from me.”
“Andrei, I’m not saying that you—”
“That’s petty,” he interrupted. “It’s selfish and insulting. Do I look like the kind of man who would fight over property? Are we a family or not?”
Katya watched him and thought that he was very skilled at this.
He knew how to turn a conversation around until she became the guilty one.
He transformed a practical question about property into a question about trust.
He turned her understandable concern into a personal flaw.
“I’m not saying you plan to divide anything,” she replied calmly. “I’m saying that the legal situation would change.”
“To hell with the legal situation! You’re my wife. I’m thinking about our future, while you’re counting square meters.”
He stood up and paced around the kitchen.
Then he stopped and looked at her with the expression of someone who believed the discussion was over.
“I’m the head of this family, and I’ve made the decision. This is better for both of us. Don’t argue with me! I’ve decided, and that’s how it’s going to be!”
Katya did not look away.
She watched him carefully and noticed things she had probably refused to see before.
He was angry.
Truly angry.
Not hurt. Not offended.
Angry in the way people become angry when something important is slipping away from them.
Something they had been counting on.
Had this really been nothing more than a discussion about renovations, he would have listened to her.
He might have disagreed, but he would have listened.
Instead, he was shouting.
He was talking about his contributions, his repairs, and everything he had supposedly done, as if he were trying to prove that she owed him something.
As though his work around the apartment had been an advance payment that she was now expected to repay by agreeing to the sale.
The longer he spoke, the more clearly Katya understood how absurd his claims were.
A faucet.
An electrical socket.
A few baseboards.
Some plaster in one room.
It had been useful, honest work, but compared with the cost of a real renovation, it amounted to almost nothing.
It could hardly be called a serious financial investment.
Yet Andrei spoke as though he had rebuilt the entire apartment from the ground up.
And then Katya understood.
He was angry because his plan was beginning to collapse.
“All right,” she said.
He stopped talking and looked at her suspiciously.
“All right?”
“Yes. Call your mother right now and tell her you failed to convince me.”
Silence settled over the kitchen like a heavy blanket.
“What?” he finally asked.
“You were just speaking to her. Call her again. I want to hear the conversation.”
His face changed.
He no longer looked angry.
He looked confused, and there was something very revealing in that confusion.
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to—”
“Call her, Andrei.”
He hesitated.
Katya waited.
Eventually, he picked up his phone.
Perhaps he understood that refusing would look even worse.
He found the number and pressed the call button.
Katya heard someone answer.
It was a woman’s voice she had known for nearly a year.
The voice of her mother-in-law, Zinaida Petrovna, the same woman who had given a wedding toast about “a proper family” and “a strong husband.”
“Mom,” Andrei began cautiously. “There’s a problem. Katya doesn’t agree. We won’t be able to—”
Zinaida Petrovna immediately began speaking.
Loudly.
Irritably.
And very specifically.
She said that the apartment should have become shared property from the very beginning.
She complained that things could not continue like this.
She asked whether Andrei had properly explained how profitable the arrangement would be.
Then she demanded to know why he had not managed to speak to his wife more effectively.
She spoke like a person whose carefully prepared plan was falling apart.
A detailed, deliberate plan.
Katya listened without interrupting.
When Andrei ended the call, silence returned to the kitchen.
Outside the window, the streetlamp continued swaying in the wind.
“I want you to leave,” Katya said.
Her voice was calm.
She was surprised by how calm it sounded.
“Katya…”
“Today. Take whatever you need for the next few days and leave.”
He tried once more.
He spoke about love, misunderstanding, and how she had interpreted everything incorrectly.
He claimed that his mother was simply worried about them.
But his words no longer reached her.
She had already heard enough.
When it became clear that persuasion was not working, his tone changed again.
“You’ll reimburse me for the renovation,” he said from the doorway.
His voice had become cold and unfamiliar.
“I invested a lot in this place, and I’ll get my money back.”
Katya looked at him one final time.
“Take me to court,” she said simply. “Unless you’re afraid the judge will laugh at the amount you’re claiming.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Katya remained standing in the hallway, beside the electrical socket Andrei had once repaired.
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
Outside, the streetlamp continued to sway.
The crack above the doorway was still there.
The faded floral wallpaper still bulged away from the walls.
The apartment was old.
It needed money, patience, and a great deal of work.
But it was hers.
The following week, Katya filed for divorce.
That weekend, she took a notebook from the cupboard and began writing down everything that needed to be repaired.
There was no need to hurry.
She would do it gradually.
