— Marina Viktorovna? Is that you? Please, just don’t come in! — Svetlana, my husband’s personal assistant, jumped up so abruptly that she banged her knee against the desk.
The loud crash of a folder full of documents hitting the floor echoed down the corridor, making me flinch involuntarily.
— Sveta, what’s wrong with you? You’re pale as a wall. I brought Viktor lunch, today is our anniversary.
Twenty-five years… — I lifted the package slightly, still warm, a faint scent of cinnamon and baked apples rising from it. — Is he in?
— No! I mean… yes, but… there’s… a meeting. Very important. With investors — she stammered.
Svetlana looked as if she might collapse at any moment. Her face was chalk-white, her lips trembling, her fingers nervously gripping the edge of the desk.
Then heavy, steady footsteps echoed down the corridor — Viktor’s.
I would have recognized them among a thousand. He wasn’t alone. A woman’s laughter rang out beside him — sharp, artificial, чужой, sending an icy tightness through my chest.
Svetlana suddenly grabbed my shoulder, her fingers clutching my coat tightly.
— Quick… into the closet! — she whispered desperately, and before I could protest, she shoved me inside and shut the door.
I found myself in a narrow, suffocating space. Around me hung men’s jackets and heavy winter coats on hangers, the air thick with the musty smell of leather and old paper.
The closet door was worn, with a narrow crack near one hinge through which I could see part of the reception area.
The office door flew open.
— Svetik, darling, bring us some coffee. And don’t come in, we have an important conversation — Viktor said as he walked past her without even looking.
The woman followed him in. She was tall and slender, wearing a tight red dress that seemed to glow in the dim light. As she walked, she tossed her hair back and pouted irritably.
— Vitya, how long is this going to drag on? You promised we’d wrap this up today. I’m tired of hiding.
— Angela, quieter — Viktor turned to her and pulled her close. — Just a little longer. My little housewife has already prepared everything. She firmly believes I’m saving our business.
Tonight she’ll sign the deed transferring the apartment to my sister — you know, “so the bailiffs won’t seize it.” In a week, my sister will transfer it to you. And that’s it. No trace left.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. My heart was pounding wildly. The apartment. That apartment… the one we bought in the nineties, saving every penny. Where we raised our son. Where I knew every crack in the ceiling.
— Are you sure she’ll sign? — Angela’s fingers slid playfully over his tie. — What if she resists?
— Marina? — Viktor snorted mockingly, and there was so much contempt in that sound it cut deep. — In twenty-five years she hasn’t made a single decision on her own.
She’ll ask, “Vityenka, will this really help?” And I’ll say, “Yes, my dear, it’s for our future.”
And she’ll sign. It won’t even occur to her that her “future” is a shabby room in some godforsaken communal apartment that I’ll generously rent for her for a while. Just so she’s not in the way.
They went into the office. The lock clicked shut.
I slowly slid down to the bottom of the closet, onto dusty boxes. The lunch in my hands had gone cold. I had spent three hours making it. Duck with apples. His favorite.
After a while, the door opened. Svetlana stood there, her face streaked with tears, but she wasn’t sobbing anymore — just crying quietly.
— Marina Viktorovna… come out. I had no other choice.
He… ruined my sister six months ago. She worked for him as an accountant. He pinned a shortage on her, threatened her with prison if she didn’t resign immediately. I stayed here only to wait for the right moment…
— Do you have access to his computer? — I asked. My voice sounded чужой, cold as steel.
— Yes. And to the safe keys too. He often leaves them in his desk when that woman is here. He completely loses his head.
— Sveta, I need all the company documents. And all his accounts. Can you get them?
Svetlana nodded. In her eyes, fear had been replaced by determination — and it gave me strength too.
That day I got home earlier than Viktor. I took down the festive tablecloth, blew out the candles.
I placed the folder Svetlana had given me on the table. It turned out there were no debts. The business was thriving. Just money transfers — to that woman. Car dealerships, jewelry stores.
Viktor came home around nine. Cheerful, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
— My dear, I’m home! Sorry I’m late, the partners… a nightmare.
He walked into the kitchen, tossed the bouquet aside, then froze. I was sitting by the window in the dark, only the streetlight casting a dim glow over the table.
— Marina? Why are you sitting in the dark? Where’s dinner? We’re celebrating today…
— The celebration ended in the closet. In your office — I said quietly.
He froze.
— What closet? What are you talking about?
I turned on the light. Placed the recorder in front of him.
Viktor listened. His face gradually turned pale. When he lunged to grab it, my hand pressed down over it.
— Don’t. Copies are already with my lawyer. And your business partner too. Don’t you think he’ll be interested in where the company’s money went?
Viktor collapsed into a chair.
— Marina… it was just talk… men sometimes…
— Enough.
— You’re nothing without me! — he suddenly shouted, jumping up, his face twisted with rage. — You spent your whole life sewing curtains! You didn’t bring a single penny into this house! Everything is mine!
He raised his hand.
I didn’t move.
— Go ahead. And then financial fraud won’t be the only charge. My lawyer already mentioned the forged signature. Svetlana will testify.
His hand slowly dropped.
— What do you want?
— You leave. Now. With one suitcase. The apartment is mine. The car is mine. Half of your business is mine. Or tomorrow everything goes to the authorities.
An hour later, he was gone. The door slammed shut behind him with a dull echo.
From the window, I watched him in the darkness, hunched over, dragging his bag. He looked small. Insignificant.
I went back to the kitchen. Threw the chrysanthemums in the trash. Unwrapped the package, cut a piece of duck, and ate slowly.
It was delicious.
Not bitter. Not painful.
Just… food.
The next morning, I called Svetlana.
— Sveta, are you working tomorrow?
— I quit… I couldn’t stay there anymore.
— Come work for me. I’m opening my own atelier. I need someone who understands numbers. And isn’t afraid.
On the other end of the line, a quiet laugh, mixed with tears.
— I’ll be there.
I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
A woman was looking back at me. With calm eyes.
Without tears.
And for the first time… without fear.
