— Don’t touch that box, my tools are in there. And anyway, Nadya, move faster. My mother will be here in an hour, she wants to measure the curtains.
Igor was sprawled on the couch, his legs thrown over the armrest, lazily flipping through TV channels. Empty beer cans lay scattered around him on the floor, giving off the sour, stale smell of last night’s “good mood.”
Nadezhda silently folded clothes into large black bags. Her hands did not tremble; her movements were steady, almost mechanical. Only inside did everything twist into one tight, painful knot.
— Igor, this is my apartment too. We paid the mortgage together — she said quietly, without turning around.
— The money came from my account — Igor snorted, not taking his eyes off the screen. — The fact that you transferred half your salary there, darling, that was household expenses. The lawyer said so: you can’t prove anything.
So pack your rags. Tomorrow is the hearing, and by evening I don’t want even the smell of you left here. Zhanna can’t stand dust.
The door flew open without a knock. On the threshold appeared Larisa Sergeyevna, the mother-in-law. A metal tape measure and a notebook were in her hands. She didn’t even say hello, heading straight to the window, nearly stepping on Nadya’s bag of shoes.
— Ugh, how gloomy — she grimaced, yanking down the old curtain. — Igor, we need Roman blinds here. Beige. Zhannochka likes beige. And this junk — she nodded toward the boxes — can go to the trash.
Nadya straightened up. She looked at her husband, lazily scratching his stomach, then at her mother-in-law, who was already mentally pasting new wallpaper on the walls. In that moment something clicked inside her.
Self-pity evaporated. In its place came cold, clear calculation.
— All right, Larisa Sergeyevna. I’ll take out the junk.
The zipper of the bag rasped sharply and briefly. Like a line drawn for good.
A stubborn drizzle fell over the steps of the district courthouse. Igor came out first, his jacket thrown open wide as if displaying a trophy. He glowed like someone who had just won a particularly cunning game.
Beside him, sharp heels clicking, walked Zhanna — young, flashy, in a short expensive faux-fur coat that Igor had bought her a week ago with Nadya’s credit card while she slept.
— So, what’s up, ex? — Igor stopped, blocking Nadya’s way. — Like the taste of defeat? The apartment’s mine, as my mother’s premarital investment. The car’s mine too.
And you, darling, keep your loans. The judge confirmed it: you took them during the marriage — you pay them.
— You promised you’d close them — Nadya adjusted the collar of her worn coat, looking at the bridge of his nose. — You said it was for business development.
— I said a lot of things — he winked at Zhanna. — The business failed. It happens. Now fly wherever you want.
Zhanna curled her lip disdainfully.
— Igor, let’s go already. I have a manicure appointment, and then we wanted to celebrate. Don’t waste time on losers.
Igor wrapped his arm around her waist and burst out laughing.
— You’re right, baby! “I stripped her to the last penny!” Well, Nadya, adios! Drop the keys in the mailbox!
They got into the black SUV. Nadya still saw Igor gesturing animatedly while Zhanna threw her head back laughing.
As soon as the car disappeared around the corner, Nadya took out her phone.
— Eduard Viktorovich? They’ve left. He has the court decision in his hands. He’s completely sure he won.
— Excellent — the lawyer’s voice was calm and steely. — The damage amount has been recorded by the court as family expenses. That’s exactly what we needed for the proper qualification. I’m notifying the authorities. We begin.
Music thundered in Igor’s apartment. Larisa Sergeyevna, flushed and satisfied, tore down the old curtains and threw them into a pile in the middle of the living room like war trophies.
— That’s how it’s done, son! — she shouted over the bass. — The air already feels fresher! We’ll renovate, clean everything up. Zhannochka, would you like some champagne?
Zhanna sat on the couch, scrolling through social media, swinging her new shoe.
— Of course, Larisa Sergeyevna. But in proper glasses, not those chipped ones. We have money now — she smiled predatorily. — Kitty, you promised me fifty thousand for the cosmetologist.
— Right away, baby — Igor pulled out his phone, dancing slightly. — Today we spend it all! That fool will be paying for ten years, and we’ll live like royalty…
He entered the banking app. A red circle flashed on the screen.
Transaction declined. Account frozen.
Igor frowned.
— What the hell? Some kind of glitch.
He tried another card. Frozen. Contact the bank.
— Mom, is your app working? — his voice trembled.
— It is… or… oh. — His mother stared at her screen. — Access restricted. Igor, what’s happening?
The doorbell rang long and insistently.
— Must be the delivery guy — Igor laughed nervously. — I ordered food.
He opened the door.
It wasn’t couriers. Two stern, broad-shouldered police officers stood there, a plainclothes investigator, and Eduard Viktorovich.
— Smirnov Igor Valeryevich? — the investigator asked dryly.
— That’s me. Who are you? This is private property!
— Major crimes investigator Gromov. You are under arrest.
— For what?! I won the case!
— The civil case, yes — the lawyer stepped inside. — But this is a criminal proceeding. Large-scale fraud. Unauthorized access to computer information.
Larisa Sergeyevna rushed out holding the champagne bottle.
— What fraud?! This is Nadya’s fabrication!
— Smirnova Larisa Sergeyevna? You’ll be coming with us as well. Complicity. You confirmed fictitious contracts knowing the funds were stolen from your daughter-in-law.
Zhanna jumped up.
— I didn’t know anything!
— Your coat was purchased on the fourteenth at eleven p.m. with Nadezhda Smirnova’s card. The transaction was confirmed from your phone, Igor Valeryevich. We have the footage.
Igor’s legs gave way.
— But she was my wife… shared money…
— Shared means with consent — the lawyer leaned closer. — But entering her app using her fingerprint, taking out loans in her name, transferring three million to yourself, forging her electronic signature — that’s theft.
— We waited until the amount reached especially large scale — added the investigator. — So the sentence would be real.
Six years passed.
The closed, prestigious suburban club White Dew shone with lights. Two major companies were celebrating a merger. The parking lot was filled with luxury cars, and the air carried the scent of expensive perfume and pine.
Nadezhda stepped out onto the terrace. Her posture was straight, her gaze calm.
She wore an elegant evening gown, confidence in every movement. Her father, who had left her not only money but a share in the business, would have been proud of how she rebuilt her life and expanded the company after the divorce.
— Champagne, madam? — a quiet voice sounded beside her.
Nadya turned.
The waiter bowed low, avoiding the guests’ eyes. The uniform hung loosely on him. His hands were red and chapped. His face was gaunt, his hair streaked with gray.
It was Igor.
Nadya recognized him only after a moment. Life had worn him down severely.
Igor raised his eyes. A glass clinked on the tray.
— Nadya? — he breathed soundlessly.
She looked him over. There was no gloating in her eyes. Only empty, cool indifference.
— No, thank you. And please replace that glass. It’s stained.
She turned to the tall, kind-eyed man standing beside her.
— Shall we go, Andrey? It’s getting chilly.
— Of course, darling. Shall I get you something else?
— No. I have everything I need.
Laughing, they walked back into the light.
Igor remained on the terrace. The wind tugged at his apron. He heard the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses — the sounds of life flowing past him.
— Hey, you! — the manager called out. — Guests are waiting! Move!
Igor flinched, hunched his shoulders, and hurried toward the kitchen.
The real punishment wasn’t prison.
It was this moment.
The fact that the woman he had robbed and betrayed did not take revenge.
She simply became happy.
Without him.
