“Damn you!” Igor screeched, and a white flash shot across the room — the vase with fake daisies crashed into the wall. Glass scattered across the floor, glinting in the lamplight, and a sharp shard grazed Anna’s leg.
She didn’t even flinch.
“Have you lost your mind?!” her voice cracked. “Kirill is sleeping!”
“And what the hell are you doing?!” Igor lunged for the table, grabbed his phone, stabbing at the screen like he wanted to punch a hole through it. “My card doesn’t work! I’m standing there like an idiot! Mom’s waiting, and I’ve got nothing!”
“Because I blocked the account,” Anna said. Soft, but firm.
“What?”
“The account. I closed it.”
He froze, as if someone had hit him.
“Why? What for?”
“Think, Igor. I can count too. You’ve drained almost a hundred thousand this month alone. All these transfers — ‘for mom’s boots,’ ‘for mom’s medicine.’ Is she walking on gold?”
His face flushed dark red.
“She is my mother! She raised me! I owe her!”
“And I don’t owe you anything?” Anna leaned on the wall, trying not to collapse. “We have a mortgage, bills, a child… and you’re building your mother a wardrobe.”
“Shut up.” He stepped closer, veins bulging. “Give me access back.”
“No.”
“I said give it back!”
From the children’s room came a cry. Their son whimpered, then burst into frightened sobs.
“See what you’re doing?!” Igor shouted. “You’re scaring him!”
“No — you are,” Anna snapped, brushing past him.
Kirill sat on his bed, clutching his stuffed tiger. Anna hugged him, stroking his hair.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay…”
But nothing inside her was okay. Everything inside was coming apart — heavy, bitter, sticky.
She understood: this wasn’t just another fight. This was the point of no return.
Twelve years together — gone to dust. She had forgiven so many “loans,” “helping his friend,” “helping family,” “mom needed this and that.” And the night before she finally snapped, opened the banking app — and saw it. Nearly four hundred thousand gone in six months.
Her knees had buckled.
Now she put on her jacket and grabbed her bag.
“Where are you going?” Igor blocked the doorway, fists clenched, eyes rabid.
“For some air.”
“You’re not leaving until you open the account.”
“Move.”
“No.”
His phone buzzed on the couch.
“See? Look!” He shoved the screen in her face. “Mom’s calling! She’s at the store, waiting! Because of you!”
Anna walked around him and left. The door slammed behind her.
The stairwell smelled of damp and dust. Outside, the October wind cut through her coat. She headed to the bus stop without thinking. She just needed to be away from his voice, his accusations, his theatrics.
On the bus, she leaned her forehead against the cold window. Home stayed behind — son included — but she knew Igor wouldn’t hurt him. He never hit. Not physically. Words, pressure — yes. But not hands.
Yet.
In the city center she wandered into a café, ignoring Igor’s endless calls. Then a message arrived from an unknown number:
“I need to speak with you. It’s about Igor. Very important. Café Amaretto, in an hour.”
Suspicious. But something in her gut said go.
The café was small and shabby, smelled of cinnamon. A young woman was waiting — tired face, cheap jacket… pregnant.
“Are you Anna?” she asked quietly. “I’m Valeria. Can we talk?”
Anna sat. Air drained out of her lungs.
“I know this is sudden,” Valeria rushed. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to tell the truth. I’ve been with Igor for two years. And… the baby is his. I’m five months along.”
It hit like a slap.
Two years. Five months.
“Why tell me?” Anna finally asked.
“Because he lies to both of us,” Valeria whispered. “He said you were separated. That he lived alone. But today I saw his messages — ‘Running late, meeting at work.’ And I realized… he’s been living with you all along.”
Anna stared at the pregnant belly under the jacket. The life inside it made everything feel even more cruel.
“And the money he sends his mom…” Anna murmured.
“Comes to me,” Valeria said. “For rent. Complicated pregnancy. He said we’d ‘live together soon.’”
Everything aligned.
Anna laughed bitterly.
“Well. Congratulations to us both. Two women, one salary.”
They spoke quietly. Rain streaked the windows outside.
When Anna returned home, she confronted Igor.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“With Valeria.”
That single sentence cracked his mask.
He tried denying, spinning new lies — but it was over.
“I’m filing for divorce,” Anna said.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Too late.”
He snarled threats, slammed the door, disappeared.
After that came the swearing mother-in-law, the accusations, the screaming, the scenes. Anna began recording everything. When she played the recordings back to them — the threats, the insults — they finally backed down.
And then she got an unexpected offer from her boss:
A transfer to Kaliningrad. More pay. Housing included. A chance to start over.
She said yes.
The divorce went quickly. Igor tried a last pathetic attempt to take her apartment — and lost. The judge listened to the recordings, reviewed the documents, and handed down a clear decision: the apartment was entirely Anna’s. Igor even owed her compensation.
Insignificant money — but satisfying.
Kaliningrad greeted them with wind, salt, and freedom.
Kirill ran along the beach, shouting at seagulls, collecting stones. Anna watched the waves slam the shore and felt, for the first time in years — she could breathe.
The apartment was small but cozy. Work was steady. The sea healed.
Sometimes she scrolled through old messages:
“Give me the account.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“You’re nothing without me.”
Delete. Delete. Delete.
One day a message came from Valeria:
“I had the baby. A boy. I named him Alyosha. Igor vanished the moment I told him I don’t want anything from him. But I’m happy. My son is everything.”
Anna replied:
“Mine too.”
In December the sea froze at the edges. The sky hung low over the town. The court sent a final letter confirming Igor’s defeat.
Anna smiled — not in triumph, but in quiet relief.
She had not broken. She had not drowned. She had walked out of hell on her own feet.
That evening she and Kirill went to the shore. Snowflakes drifted through the air. A huge ship moved through the mist, its lights like wandering stars.
“Mama, look! A ship!”
“Yes. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“When will we ride a ship?”
“In summer,” she said, smiling. “We definitely will.”
He hugged her neck. She breathed in the warm, familiar scent of his hair.
Ahead was a new life. Without lies. Without shouting. Without fear.
Just the sea, the wind, and Anna — finally a free woman who saved herself when no one else would.
And if someone asked her now, “Are you happy?”
She would answer simply:
“Yes. Now — yes.”
