Dmitri sat on the opposite side of the courtroom, just beyond the narrow aisle, and smiled.
Anna saw that smile only out of the corner of her eye, but it was enough to make her stomach twist in a painful spasm. She rested her hands on her belly and clenched her fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
As if, by doing so, she could protect the tiny life inside her — the only thing he had not yet taken from her.
He was already celebrating his victory.
He lounged back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and from time to time nodded toward his lawyer, wearing the expression of a man who knows everything is already decided. As if Anna were nothing but a shadow. As if she no longer existed.
The judge slowly flipped through the documents, while Dmitri’s lawyer rustled the papers and spoke in a calm, well-trained voice:
“The house was built with my client’s funds before the marriage. All documentation confirms this.”
Semyon Yegorovich — a gray-haired man with heavy, stern brows — looked at him without a trace of emotion.
He had been a longtime friend of Anna’s late father-in-law. When he learned what had happened, he agreed to take the case almost for free. He spoke little, but when he did, the courtroom fell silent.
“Seven years of marriage,” he said briefly, “are also a document.”
The lawyer shrugged, as if it were a trivial detail.
“My client has reason to believe the marriage was entered into for financial gain.”
Anna felt her heart sink somewhere deep inside, as though it had fallen into an empty void.
Dmitri stared out the window. He did not look at her even once. She tried to catch his gaze, desperately, the way a drowning person grasps for air, but he turned his head away. As if she weren’t there. As if she had never been.
Just six months earlier, he had stroked her belly and whispered in the evenings:
“We’ll be three soon.”
He drove her to medical appointments, sat beside her on hard clinic chairs, spent nights comparing strollers and cribs online. And then he went to the region — to some man named Viktor.
He returned a stranger. Cold. Silent.
Two weeks later, he changed the locks and threw her out onto the street.
She was seven months pregnant.
Semyon Yegorovich had looked at her then in disbelief.
“He just threw you out? Dmitri?”
“He just closed the door.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, frowned, remained silent for a long time. Then he made several phone calls. The next day, he said:
“Viktor. His father once kicked him out of the supply base for theft. Now he’s back and taking revenge. He promised Dmitri contracts if he got rid of you. He wants the entire inheritance for himself. No division.”
Anna said nothing. It sounded like a nightmare. “Did Dmitri agree?” she finally asked. Semyon Yegorovich nodded.
“I’m afraid he did.”
The judge’s voice pulled her out of the memory: “Does the defense have any additional evidence?” Dmitri’s lawyer spread his hands. “Everything has already been presented. No further evidence is necessary.”
Dmitri smiled. Quickly. Almost imperceptibly. And then the door opened.
An elderly man entered the courtroom wearing a worn jacket, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. His face was sun-darkened, deeply lined with wrinkles, and his hands were those of a man who had worked physically all his life — broad, hard, calloused. He scanned the room and nodded to Semyon Yegorovich.
Dmitri froze. His face turned pale.
“Who is that?” he hissed to his lawyer.
Semyon Yegorovich stood up.
“Your Honor, a witness for the defense. Nikolai Fyodorovich, warehouse clerk at the supply base. He has kept records for thirty years. He can confirm certain circumstances.”
Nikolai Fyodorovich pulled a thick, yellowed ledger with a worn cover from his bag. A warehouse logbook — something long obsolete. These days everything is digital. But he had kept the old records.
“Everything is here,” he said, opening it slowly. “Deliveries, invoices, signatures. Dmitri frequently visited Viktor, signed documents. Out of habit, I wrote everything down.”
Dmitri jumped to his feet. “What does this have to do with this case?!” Semyon Yegorovich calmly removed several sheets from his folder. “It has everything to do with it. Among these documents is a receipt. Signed by you.”
He paused.
“In it, you commit to evicting your wife before the birth of the child in exchange for a share of the profits from a joint business with Viktor. The copy was found in the base archives.”
The silence thickened, becoming almost physical. The judge extended her hand. Dmitri’s lawyer grabbed the papers, skimmed them, and went pale.
“Dmitri… is this true?”
Dmitri stood there with clenched fists. Red blotches appeared on his neck. He looked at Nikolai Fyodorovich, then at Semyon Yegorovich, and finally at Anna. Then he covered his face with his hands.
“Viktor said he would destroy me,” his voice trembled. “He would take everything my father left. He would prove in court that my father owed him money… He has connections, lawyers… He promised me a share in the business if I… if I got rid of her.”
He spoke to the floor.
“I thought it was the only way. That I was saving the company. That later… somehow…”
Anna looked at him and did not recognize the man she had lived with. Seven years. A shared bed, mornings, plans. And now — he had sold her for peace and someone else’s promises.
“That’s enough,” the judge said. “The case will be reconsidered in light of the new evidence.”
The verdict came a month later.
The house — to Anna. Part of the family business — as well. Viktor disappeared from the region. Rumors said he had far more on his conscience.
Dmitri lost his partners. Shops began to close. In their town, news traveled fast.
Anna gave birth in early spring.
Little Maksym — red, fists clenched, breathing loudly. She lay in the hospital room and looked at him, at the being who had almost been left without a roof over his head.
Dmitri came to the hospital. He stood outside the entrance holding a bag of baby clothes. Anna saw him through the window — hunched, aged, wearing a jacket too large for him. She didn’t go down.
Now he comes on Saturdays. He stands by the gate. Brings bags of food. Asks to hold his son. Anna allows it — five minutes.
He holds Maksym carefully, as if afraid of breaking him. He looks at him as though he wants to say something. But he remains silent.
She doesn’t let him past the gate. The door stays closed. The keys are with her. One day he asked: “Can I at least play with him in the yard? Half an hour.”
Anna looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head. “No. Not now. Maybe someday, when I understand that you’ve truly changed. For now — five minutes. And that’s already a lot.”
He nodded. Handed her the baby. Turned around and walked to his car. Anna watched him go and felt neither anger nor pity. Only emptiness.
