“Basically, girls, give it a month. A month and a half at most,” Zhanna said, taking a sip of coffee before setting the cup back on its saucer and looking at her friends. “Then I’m moving in with Nikita. Into his three-bedroom apartment on the Embankment.”
Katya, who had known about their affair from the very beginning, frowned and pulled her ice cream closer.
“And what about Vera? They have two children, Zhanna. Ten years of marriage. Is she just supposed to pack a suitcase and leave?”
“It’ll be fine,” Zhanna waved her off. “Nikita will handle everything. Vera doesn’t have any say in that family anyway. She depends on him completely. He told me himself that they’ve basically been strangers for the last two years. They’re only pretending to be a family because of the kids. He’ll give her the divorce papers, she’ll sign them, and that’ll be the end of it. She’ll get some compensation and probably move back to her mother’s place outside the city. Nikita has everything under control.”
Zhanna genuinely believed that.
To her, Nikita was the kind of determined, capable man who knew how to deal with difficult situations. Whenever he came to see her, he always repeated the same thing:
“I’ll take care of everything myself. Vera won’t make a scene. That’s easier for her too. The main thing is to do it quietly.”
At that very moment, in the three-bedroom apartment on the Embankment, Nikita was pacing back and forth across his home office. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was undone. He was trying to find the right words, but all he could remember were the carefully rehearsed phrases his lawyer had given him.
Vera was sitting behind the desk.
Two printed A4 pages lay in front of her: a draft divorce settlement and an agreement concerning the division of their property. Nikita had picked the documents up from a lawyer he knew three days earlier, but he still hadn’t figured out how to approach the conversation.
According to his plan, Vera was supposed to sign away her rights to the apartment and the car without arguments or hysterics. In return, he promised to pay her a fixed amount in installments over the next three years.
“Have you read it?” Nikita asked, stopping beside the window and looking out at the evening city. He avoided looking directly at Vera. “I think it’s fair. I’m not leaving you with nothing. I’ll support the children and pay official child support. There’s no point dragging this marriage out any longer. We’re only making each other miserable.”
Vera remained silent.
During the past six months, rumors had reached her through mutual acquaintances, and late-night notifications had kept appearing on her husband’s phone. By now, there were no emotions left inside her.
She had cried all her tears long ago.
Now she simply wanted everything to be over.
“I’m not signing this, Nikita,” Vera said.
He slowly turned around.
“Why? Is it not enough money? Vera, let’s be realistic. For the past five years, you’ve basically been living off my income. You worked at that library for almost nothing and took care of the children. I brought most of the money into this household. I’m the one running the business.”
“That’s not the point,” Vera interrupted. “You’re offering me vague payments stretched over three years. Today you have a business. Tomorrow you might not. Today you pay me. Tomorrow you change your mind. But this apartment was bought during our marriage. And my parents sold their old country house so we could afford the down payment when you had practically no money at all. Do you remember that?”
Nikita grimaced.
“I remember everything. But I invested ten times more into this place!”
“Which is why there won’t be any quiet private arrangement or installment plan,” Vera continued, folding the pages neatly in half. “I’ve spoken to a lawyer.”
Nikita tensed.
“What lawyer? You’ve already been talking to lawyers?”
“Of course. I’m not a stupid woman, even if you’ve gotten used to thinking of me that way. Here’s my proposal: we sell the apartment together at market value. The money is divided equally after the children’s shares are deducted. No installments from you. Everything goes through an official sale and legal division. You get your share. I get mine.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Nikita raised his voice and stepped toward the desk. “Sell our apartment? After everything I’ve put into it? And where am I supposed to live? You expect me to rent?”
“The same way I would,” Vera replied as she stood. “Buy yourself a one-bedroom apartment or take out a mortgage using your share. The realtor is coming tomorrow at six to evaluate the property and take photographs.”
She calmly picked up the papers and left the office.
Nikita had never seen his wife like this before—collected, determined, and fully prepared to defend what belonged to her.
Within five minutes, his certainty that he controlled the situation and could pressure Vera into doing what he wanted had completely collapsed.
She was no longer afraid of his anger.
And she was no longer trying to save their marriage.
His phone vibrated in his trouser pocket.
Zhanna.
Nikita rejected the call, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and slammed his fist against the wooden desk.
The next day, shortly before lunchtime, Nikita met Zhanna in a café near her workplace.
“Why didn’t you answer me yesterday?” Zhanna demanded the moment he sat down. “I called three times. What happened with the papers?”
“Vera is refusing,” Nikita muttered while ordering a double espresso. “She won’t sign the agreement.”
“What do you mean, she won’t?” Zhanna stared at him in surprise. “What does she want? More money?”
“She wants the apartment sold. A complete division through a market sale.”
Zhanna froze with her coffee cup in her hand.
“What do you mean, sold? Nikita, are you joking? Where are we supposed to live? You told me yourself that I’d be moving into the apartment on the Embankment in a month. You said you’d give her some money and she’d move in with her mother!”
“I thought she would!” Nikita snapped. “I didn’t expect her to go to a lawyer. She already called a realtor. He’s coming at six tonight to inspect the apartment.”
“How did you let that happen?” Zhanna crushed a paper napkin in her fist. “You’re the man, aren’t you? Put her in her place! Tell her that if she keeps acting like this, she’ll get nothing at all after court! That’s what you told me before!”
Nikita looked at Zhanna with irritation.
She had no idea what the real situation was, yet she was throwing around foolish advice as though everything were simple.
“Zhanna, stop talking nonsense,” he said sharply. “By law, she’s entitled to half of everything we acquired during the marriage. If it goes to court, the result will probably be the same, except the process could drag on for a year. And during that year, I’ll still have to live under the same roof with her and the children, pay for everything, and keep going to hearings. Is that what you want?”
“I want you to solve the problem like you promised!” Zhanna raised her voice. “For six months you’ve been telling me that everything is under control!”
“I am solving it!” Nikita shouted loudly enough that several people at nearby tables turned their heads.
He fell silent, took a breath, and drank some coffee.
Zhanna looked at him, and an unpleasant realization began creeping in.
He wasn’t some all-powerful man who controlled everything.
He was just an ordinary confused man who had trapped himself and didn’t know how to get out.
They were expecting the realtor at six that evening.
But Zhanna arrived first.
After lunch, Nikita had been running between work sites, trying to settle business issues and answering phone calls distractedly. Zhanna had grown tired of listening to his weak, repetitive “I’ll handle it.”
She decided he was simply being too soft with his soon-to-be ex-wife and wanted to assess the situation herself.
After all, she had been planning to move into that apartment within a month. Giving it up to some “quiet housewife” was definitely not part of her plan.
Vera opened the door.
“Who are you here to see?” Vera asked, calmly studying her visitor.
“I’m here to see Nikita. But actually, I’m here to see you,” Zhanna said, deliberately stepping inside. “I’m Zhanna. I don’t think I need to explain who I am.”
“Come into the kitchen. Nikita should be here in about twenty minutes.”
They sat down at the large dining table.
Zhanna pulled a tablet from her handbag, clearly intending to take control of the conversation immediately.
“Vera, let’s avoid drama and personal resentment. Nikita is dragging this out because he feels sorry for you. The children, ten years together—I understand all of that. But you’re an adult, and you should understand that you won’t be living here anyway. I’m offering you a reasonable compromise. You stop creating obstacles, sign the agreement giving up your share, and I’ll personally add a certain amount of cash on top. Enough to help you rent a place at first. Why take this all the way to court?”
Vera stood, walked over to the kitchen counter, and poured herself a glass of filtered water.
She took a sip, turned around, and looked at Zhanna with faint curiosity.
“Cash from whose money?” Vera asked calmly. “Nikita doesn’t have much available savings. Everything is tied up in the business, and even that isn’t doing particularly well right now. So are you offering your own money?”
Zhanna hesitated slightly, not expecting the question.
“That’s between Nikita and me.”
“No, it isn’t only between the two of you,” Vera interrupted, approaching the table. “This apartment is currently valued at around twenty-two million rubles. Eight million represents the children’s protected shares and cannot be touched. The remaining fourteen million is divided equally between the spouses. Does Nikita have fifteen million rubles available right now to hand over to me and settle everything immediately? No. Do you have that kind of money? Judging by the fact that you rent a modest one-bedroom apartment and arrived here in an economy-class taxi, I assume you don’t either.”
Zhanna’s face tightened with anger.
She hadn’t expected this supposedly timid housewife to know where she lived, understand the value of the apartment, and calmly dismantle her financial position without showing the slightest emotion.
At that moment, a key turned in the front door.
Nikita entered the apartment, breathing heavily.
He stopped in the hallway when he saw Zhanna.
“Zhanna?! What are you doing here?”
“I came to help you put an end to this ridiculous circus,” Zhanna replied, rising from her chair. “But apparently your wife has already calculated and evaluated everything for everyone.”
The doorbell rang.
“Good evening. My name is Sergey. I’m here regarding the property valuation and preparation of the preliminary sale agreement. Are both owners present?”
“Both of us,” Vera replied calmly. “Come into the living room. The apartment documents are on the table.”
For the next half hour, the realtor walked from room to room, measuring spaces with a laser device, making notes on his tablet, and asking brief questions.
Zhanna remained in the hallway.
She never took her eyes off Nikita.
And Nikita was visibly nervous.
He followed the realtor around, trying to look as though he was still in control, but he kept glancing at Vera.
Eventually, everyone returned to the living room.
The realtor pulled a preliminary agreement from his folder and placed it on the coffee table.
“All right,” he said. “The location is excellent, and the renovation is in good condition. We’ve established an appropriate market price. To begin the sales process, I need signatures from both owners on this document.”
He took out a pen and handed it to Nikita.
Nikita hesitated.
Slowly, he looked toward Zhanna.
She was waiting for him to slam his fist on the table, throw the pen aside, and declare:
“We’re not signing anything. The apartment stays with me. Get out!”
But Nikita remained silent.
There was simply nothing he could say.
He had no arguments, no money, and no legal loopholes.
“Nikita! Say something!” Zhanna finally burst out.
“What do you want me to say?!” Nikita shouted, turning toward her. “What am I supposed to say, Zhanna?! I don’t have fifteen million rubles to give her right now! Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? Sell one of my kidneys? Sell the business for next to nothing?!”
“But you promised me! You said everything had been settled! You said you had everything under control!”
“I thought we’d agree on payments over three years!” he yelled, completely losing the last of his dignity in front of a stranger and his own wife. “I didn’t know she’d get a lawyer and demand an immediate sale!”
Silence filled the living room.
The realtor tactfully picked up his tablet and pretended to study some documents.
Zhanna stared at Nikita.
The man standing in front of her was confused and helpless. Behind all his confident promises, he had little more than pretty words and a share in the apartment.
“I see,” Zhanna said. “‘I’ll take care of everything myself.’”
She turned around, grabbed her handbag from the ottoman, and headed for the door.
Nikita hurried after her.
“Zhanna, wait! Where are you going? Come on, let’s sit down and talk about this properly!”
“Talk about what?” Zhanna stopped at the door and looked at him. “About how the two of us are supposed to squeeze into my rented one-bedroom apartment while you spend years fighting in court? Don’t call me again.”
She slammed the door behind her.
Nikita returned to the living room.
“Sign it, Nikita,” Vera said. “Don’t keep the man waiting. His working day is already over.”
Nikita sighed and finally placed a large, sweeping signature on the document.
The apartment was sold three and a half months later.
Living together during those months was difficult.
Nikita pretended that nothing catastrophic had happened. He spoke loudly on the phone, making a show of how busy he was with work, came home late, and looked away whenever Vera passed him.
Vera, meanwhile, simply continued with her life.
She packed boxes, cooked for the children, checked their homework, and handled everything that needed to be done.
To her, Nikita had become nothing more than a stranger she temporarily had to share an apartment with until the sale was completed.
Zhanna never contacted him again.
Nikita still tried to send her messages explaining himself. He called repeatedly and even showed up at her apartment once with a bouquet of roses.
Zhanna didn’t open the door.
Instead, she sent him a short text:
“Stop embarrassing yourself. I don’t need a man carrying someone else’s problems.”
Nikita was deeply offended.
It turned out Zhanna didn’t need him after all.
Once the money from the sale arrived, Vera took her share along with the children’s protected portions and bought a comfortable two-bedroom apartment in a good neighborhood near their school, without needing a mortgage.
On moving day, while the movers carried out boxes filled with her belongings, Nikita sat alone in the kitchen.
“Happy now?” he muttered when Vera walked in. “You destroyed everything we spent years building.”
Vera stopped in the doorway, looked at him, and calmly replied:
“You destroyed it yourself, Nikita. The moment you decided your desires mattered more than our family.”
She placed the keys on the table and closed the door behind her.
Nikita could afford only a modest one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city.
To renovate it, he had to take out loans because his business had started struggling.
Without Vera, who had always handled the household, Nikita’s daily life quickly descended into chaos. His new apartment was permanently messy, the refrigerator was filled with ready-made supermarket meals, and his evenings were spent watching television in complete silence.
Six months later, on a bleak autumn evening, Nikita sat alone with a bottle of beer and decided to message Vera.
He spent a long time choosing his words.
Finally, he wrote a lengthy message saying that he missed the children, admitted he had made mistakes, and suggested that they meet for coffee and “talk like adults.”
Her reply came five minutes later.
It contained only two short sentences:
“Handle all matters concerning the children and child support through my lawyer. We have no reason to meet in person.”
