A May Morning
“Are you sure?” the realtor asked, reviewing the documents once again.
“A deed of gift is serious. It will be difficult to reverse later.”
“I’m sure,” Yana said firmly, signing the papers. Her hand did not tremble—she had made her decision.
The May morning sun bathed the notary’s office in light. The air conditioner hummed quietly on the windowsill, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the reception area. An ordinary day—except for the unusual decisions being made within these walls.
“Mom knows what to do,” Yana said, slipping a copy of the documents into her purse. “Just in case.”
That had been a year ago—long before Dima started staying late at work, long before the unfamiliar scent of another woman’s perfume appeared on his shirts, long before the strange phone calls in the evenings.
Yana was no fool. Raised in a family of lawyers, she had been taught from childhood to think two steps ahead. The apartment had been bought with her money—a legacy from her grandmother. Dima was just beginning his career then, burdened with a car loan.
“Sweetheart, transfer the title to me,” her mother had advised gently. “Not because of divorce—just as insurance. You never know what life holds.”
Yana had agreed. No scandal, no explanations to her husband. She simply gifted the apartment to her mother—a clean transaction on paper, but in truth, a backup plan.
Her phone buzzed—a message from Dima: “I’ll be late today. Important meeting.”
Yana smiled sadly. Important meeting—just like yesterday, and the day before. She opened the latest photo from the private detective: Dima and a blonde woman, walking into a restaurant, his hand resting on her waist, smiling happily.
“Would you like some coffee?” the secretary offered.
“Thanks, no,” Yana replied, standing. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, the full documents will arrive within the hour.”
Yana stepped outside. May was warm; the lilacs had finished blooming, but their scent still lingered in the air. She and Dima had met in May, six years ago. He had seemed so reliable, so faithful. She believed him.
Her phone rang again: “Darling, sorry, I’ll be very late tonight. Don’t wait.”
“Okay,” she answered. “I’ll be late too. I have things to settle.”
The café was quiet, a post-lunch lull. Yana chose a window seat and pulled out a folder of documents. It was her and her mother’s favorite spot—cozy, with pastries that tasted like childhood.
“Got everything?” her mother asked as she sat, removing her light jacket.
Elena Sergeyevna, though fifty-five, looked no older than forty. A renowned family law attorney, she had witnessed hundreds of divorces and knew every trap.
Yana spread out the papers. “Here’s the bank statement. He withdrew almost all the money from our joint account. Yesterday.”
“He’s preparing,” her mother nodded. “And this?”
“The detective’s report—restaurants, hotels, jewelry stores over the past three months.”
“Jewelry?” Elena Sergeyevna raised an eyebrow. “Has he given you anything recently?”
“No,” Yana said, smiling sadly. “But his new girlfriend wears a Cartier bracelet—the same one on the credit card statement.”
A waitress brought their favorite lavender tea. Yana stirred mechanically—two teaspoons of sugar, just as always.
“Alright,” her mother said, opening her planner. “The apartment has been in my name for a year. Clean, legal. No joint loans. Let him keep his car. But the accounts? We’ll have to work on those.”
“Mom, I don’t need money.”
“You do,” Elena Sergeyevna said firmly. “It’s not just money—it’s your years. You’ve worked, saved. And he…”
“I know,” Yana interrupted, clutching her cup. “I overheard him talking to a lawyer yesterday. About dividing assets, about the apartment…”
“Let him talk,” her mother smiled. “He doesn’t know about the deed of gift, does he?”
“No. He thinks he can claim half, or at least a share.”
“Are you sure about the divorce?”
Yana looked out the window. A young couple strolled by, hand in hand—just like they had been once.
“Do you remember when you taught me to drive?” she asked softly. “You said: look not just ahead, but also in the mirrors. Danger might be there.”
“I remember,” Elena Sergeyevna said, covering her daughter’s hand. “What do you see in the mirrors now?”
“Lies. Betrayal. A double life.” Yana opened her phone gallery. “Look—this is from a week ago at ‘Nebo’ restaurant. This one’s from the cinema three days ago. And this…”
“That’s enough,” her mother said gently, taking the phone. “When?”
“Tonight. He’ll come home late, after meeting her. I’ve prepared everything.”
“The documents?”
“In your office safe. I’ve packed my essentials. I’ll collect the rest later.”
Her phone buzzed again—a message from Dima: “Want to buy something for dinner?”
“No,” Yana typed. “We need to talk.”
By seven, Yana was home. The apartment smelled fresh—she had opened windows all morning, changed curtains, rearranged the vases. The final cleaning of this house.
On the table lay their wedding photo. Back then, she’d worn a simple white dress, and he a gray suit. No lavish ceremony, just close family. “The wedding isn’t the main thing—it’s the life afterwards,” Dima had said. Such beautiful words.
Yana traced a finger along the glass. Six years. Six years believing it was real.
Her phone buzzed—the detective: “They are leaving the restaurant. Sending photo.”
In the snapshot, Dima kissed a blonde—right on the street, unhidden. Wearing the shirt Yana had gifted him the day before.
“Thanks,” she replied. “No more.”
The keys jingled. Earlier than usual. Yana placed the photo back and sat in an armchair.
“Darling, I’m home!” Dima sounded unusually cheerful. He smelled of wine—and another woman’s perfume. “I have a surprise!”
“Oh?” she watched as he pulled out a bottle of champagne. He wavered on his feet.
“Yes! I got promoted! Now Development Director. Salary doubled, and…”
“And more ‘meetings’?” Yana asked quietly.
“What?”
“Meetings at ‘Nebo,’ the cinema, the ‘Riviera’ hotel…”
Dima slowly lowered the bottle. The smile faded.
“Have you been watching me?”
“Not me. The detective,” Yana said, showing her phone. “Want to see the photos? The one of you kissing her outside the restaurant, in the car…”
“Wait,” he raised his hands. “Let’s talk. It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?” Yana stood. “That my husband is cheating? That he buys her three-hundred-thousand-ruble bracelets? That he empties our joint account?”
“How did you…”
“Never mind.” She moved to the window. “The important thing is I know. And I’ve known for a long time.”
“Sweetheart,” he stepped closer. “It’s a mistake. Lena’s just a colleague…”
“Lena?” Yana smirked. “I thought it was Sveta—she’s saved in your phone as Sveta.”
“Yana…”
“Don’t touch me.” She pulled away. “No explanations. I’ve already decided.”
“What?”
She looked out again at the young couple. “Divorce.”
“Divorce?” Dima laughed nervously. “Over a few meetings? Are you serious?”
“A few meetings?” Yana opened her gallery. “March 15, restaurant. March 20, theater. March 25, restaurant again. April—four hotel meetings. May—eight already.”
“You counted?”
“The detective did. Dates, times, places. Photos—lots of them.”
Dima sank onto the couch. His tie was crooked, eyes dark under heavy lids. No longer the man in the photos with his lover.
“And now?” he asked, burying his face in his hands. “Will you blackmail me?”
“Why?” Yana shrugged. “Just divorce. You want it, don’t you? Otherwise, why withdraw money?”
He flinched. “How did you…”
“Bank statement. Four million withdrawn yesterday. Preparing for asset division?”
“What’s so special about that?” Dima suddenly grew aggressive. “It’s joint money. The apartment is ours. By law, I’m entitled to half.”
“Apartment?” Yana smiled coldly. “Honey, it’s not mine—it’s Mom’s. Here’s the Rosreestr extract. Check it yourself.”
Dima trembled reading the papers.
“When… how?”
“A year ago. A legal deed of gift. Mom’s a lawyer—everything proper.”
“Did you plan this?” He paled.
“As insurance.” Yana pulled a packed bag from the closet. “Mom taught me—always think ahead. Especially when your husband starts staying late.”
“Fuck…” Dima hissed.
“No insults.” She wrapped her coat around herself. “I’ll pack the rest later. Keys go to Mom. You can live here until the divorce. Mom agreed.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. End of the game, Dima. You lost.”
“Wait!” He jumped up, blocking the door. “Let’s talk. We can fix this!”
“Fix what?” She fastened her coat. “Your hotel trips? The bracelet? The lies?”
“I’ll explain! It’s over with Lena, I swear!”
“Really?” She showed a photo taken an hour ago—another passionate kiss.
Dima held his head. “Damn… Yana, I’m confused. It was a mistake. Let’s start over.”
“Start over?” She smiled sadly. “Do you know what’s funny? I loved you. I believed you. When Mom suggested the apartment transfer, I resisted. Said—we’re family…”
She picked up their wedding photo. “Remember? You said we’d always be together. Never betray me.”
“I love you!”
“No, Dima. You love yourself. Now, realizing you’ll lose the apartment, you’re trying to save face.”
“That’s not true! I love you.”
“Then why withdraw money? Consult a lawyer? L
