Pack your things. You have three days.”
Anna froze with a towel in her hands. Water dripped from her wet hair onto the parquet floor, leaving dark spots. She turned around. Viktor was standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. His face was calm, almost indifferent. That was how he usually announced that he had bought a new phone or changed insurance companies.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me perfectly well.” He straightened up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Mom is moving in here. And we’re going to the dacha. Everything has already been decided.”
Anna slowly hung the towel on the hook. Her fingers were trembling, but she forced herself to breathe evenly. Not now. Don’t show weakness.
“Decided? Decided by whom?”
“By me.” Viktor shrugged. “The pipes in Mom’s apartment burst. Repairs will take at least two months. She has nowhere to go.”
“A hotel? A rented apartment?” Anna’s voice sounded quieter than she wanted it to.
“Why waste money when our dacha is sitting empty?” He turned away, as if the conversation was over. “By the way, if you start shouting, I’ll throw you out. So behave quietly.”
The door slammed shut. Anna remained standing in the middle of the bathroom, feeling the cold rise from her wet feet up through her body. Seven years of marriage. Seven years she had spent making this apartment a home, choosing every pillow, every plate. She had repainted the bedroom walls three times before finding the perfect shade of gray-blue. Her books were here, her morning coffee on the balcony, her life.
And now — three days.
Tamara Petrovna appeared on the doorstep on Friday evening with three huge suitcases and the air of a victor. She was a tall, large woman with stiffly styled hair and massive gold earrings. She looked around the hallway and pursed her lips.
“It’s dusty in here.” Her first words. Not even hello.
Anna stood by the wall, pressing a box of dishes to her chest. It was the last box she had managed to pack. Viktor had already taken the main things to the dacha: clothes, bed linen, cosmetics. Anna had begged him to at least leave her favorite set of cups — handmade ceramic ones, a gift from her friend Eva on her last birthday.
“Mom, you’ll break them,” Viktor had said then, pulling the box out of her hands. “They’ll be safer at the dacha.”
Now those cups were sitting in the old garden house, where the floors creaked and the air smelled of dampness.
“Hello, Tamara Petrovna,” Anna forced out.
“Show me where my room is.” Her mother-in-law pulled off her mink coat and handed it to Anna. Anna accepted it automatically; the heavy fur pressed down on her arms.
“Your room…” Anna faltered. “It’s where Viktor’s study used to be.”
“Study?” Tamara Petrovna raised an eyebrow. “Show me the bedroom. I need a big bed. My back hurts.”
“But that’s our bedroom…”
“It was yours.” Her mother-in-law walked past her, her heels clicking on the parquet. “Vitya said you had already moved out. I thought you’d leave today.”
Viktor came out of the kitchen with a glass of beer. His eyes met Anna’s — and then he looked away.
“Anya, let’s not make a scene. Get ready faster. I still have to go back to the dacha tonight.”
“You said I had three days!” Anna set the box down on the floor with a sharp movement. Something inside clinked.
“Well, Mom arrived earlier.” He took a sip of beer. “You’ll adapt.”
Tamara Petrovna had already gone into the bedroom. Her displeased voice came from inside:
“Viktor! The bed linen in here is so cheap. I’m allergic to synthetics. And there are no proper curtains — the sun will shine right in my eyes in the morning!”
Anna looked at her husband. He avoided her gaze, studying the label on the bottle.
“I chose that bed linen myself,” she said quietly. “Egyptian cotton. Three thousand per set.”
“Well, Mom is sensitive,” Viktor muttered. “You’ll buy more.”
“With what money?”
At last he looked at her. There was irritation in his eyes.
“With your own. You work, don’t you?”
She had worked. Anna had worked remotely as a designer, but a month ago she had been laid off. Only she and Eva knew about it. She hadn’t told Viktor — she had been afraid. Lately, he had already been constantly hinting that she didn’t earn enough.
“Take the box and let’s go,” Viktor said. “It’s getting dark.”
Anna picked up the box and held it against herself. It was all she had left.
The dacha was forty kilometers from the city, in an old gardening community. The little house had been built by Viktor’s parents — a simple box with a veranda and two rooms. Once, it had been cozy: a stove, a samovar, apple trees beneath the windows. But after Viktor’s father died, no one had really come there anymore.
The car bounced along the potholes of the broken road. Viktor was silent, focused on driving. Anna looked out the window. Beyond the glass, dark silhouettes of crooked fences floated past, along with rare windows glowing yellow.
“Does the electricity even work there?” she asked.
“I turned it on yesterday. It works.”
“And the heating?”
“There’s a stove. Plenty of firewood.”
Anna closed her eyes. A stove. March was just around the corner, and she would be heating a stove and carrying water from the pump in the yard.
By the time they arrived, it was completely dark. Viktor switched on the headlights — the beam pulled a crooked gate, an overgrown path, and the dark windows of the house out of the blackness. A dead house.
“Well, here we are.” He turned off the engine. “Make yourself at home.”
Anna got out of the car and shivered. The cold wind cut straight through her. Viktor opened the trunk and took out her things — two suitcases and several boxes.
“Carry them in yourself. I’m in a hurry. I still have to bring Mom some bed linen. She asked me to stop by the store.”
He was already getting back into the car. Anna stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve.
“Vitya. Wait. Let’s talk properly.”
He pulled his arm free.
“What is there to talk about? Everything’s decided. You’ll spend the winter here, and in spring we’ll see.”
“Spend the winter?” She didn’t recognize her own voice — thin, foreign. “Vitya, it’s me. Your wife. We’ve been together for seven years.”
“That’s exactly why you should understand.” He started the engine. “Mom is an elderly woman. She needs comfort. You’re young. You’ll manage.”
The car turned around, and the red taillights disappeared around the bend. Anna remained standing alone in the middle of the empty road. The silence pressed against her ears. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
She lifted her eyes to the house. The black windows stared at her like empty eye sockets.
Welcome to your new life.
Inside, it smelled of mold and old wood. Anna felt around for the switch — the bulb under the ceiling flashed with a dim yellow light. The room was smaller than she remembered. A sofa with sagging springs, a peeling table covered with oilcloth, a stove in the corner. Faded photographs hung on the walls — young Tamara Petrovna and her late husband against the backdrop of the sea.
Anna put her suitcases by the wall. She opened one of the boxes and pulled out a blanket. Wrapping herself in it, she sat down on the sofa. The springs creaked pitifully.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Eva: “How are you? Did you get there?”
Anna started typing a reply — then deleted it. What could she write? That she was sitting in a cold dacha house, thrown out of her own apartment? That her husband treated her like furniture that could be moved wherever it was convenient?
Instead of replying, she placed the phone beside her. She looked at the window. There was only her reflection there — a pale face, extinguished eyes, hunched shoulders.
“Three days,” he had said.
But it turned out to be less than two.
Somewhere deep inside the house, something creaked. Anna flinched and looked around. Old houses were full of sounds. Floorboards, wind in the cracks, mice under the floor. Nothing frightening.
She got up and went to the stove. Firewood lay nearby in a basket — dry and split. At least Viktor had taken care of that. Anna opened the stove door and began stacking the logs. Her hands were shaking — not from the cold. From anger. From hurt. From the fact that she had barely even resisted.
She had simply taken her things and left.
Like an obedient fool.
The fire caught quickly, flames dancing behind the cast-iron door. It became a little warmer. Anna sat back down on the sofa and pulled her knees to her chest.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would start doing something. Looking for work, looking for a rented place, sorting out her life. But now she would simply sit here. In silence. In emptiness. And try to understand how everything had come to this.
Outside the window, the wind howled.
Morning greeted Anna with gray light and an ache through her entire body. She had slept on the sofa without undressing, covered with the blanket and her jacket. The stove had long gone out, and the room was cold. Anna got up and stretched. Her back ached, her neck was stiff.
Her phone showed half past eight. Three missed calls from Eva and one message from Viktor: “Don’t forget to heat the stove. You could get carbon monoxide poisoning.”
No “How are you,” no “Good morning.” Just a survival instruction.
Anna went into the kitchen. It was small, with peeling cabinets and an ancient gas stove. She turned on the tap — rusty brown water came out. She had to let it run for about three minutes until it cleared. She found a kettle on a shelf, covered with a layer of dust. She washed it and put water on to boil.
While the water heated, Anna picked up her phone and called Eva.
“Finally!” her friend answered on the second ring. “I was starting to think bears had eaten you out there!”
“Almost,” Anna tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “Listen, can you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Ask around about work. You have contacts in design studios. I urgently need money.”
Eva was silent for a moment.
“Anya, what’s going on? Why are you at the dacha? Viktor said you were just going there to rest…”
“He said that?” Anna gripped the cup with both hands. “Eva, he threw me out. He gave the apartment to his mother and sent me here. And I agreed like an idiot.”
“What?!” Eva raised her voice. “Wait, wait. He can’t just…”
“He can. And he did.” Anna closed her eyes. “Evechka, I need to get back on my feet. Find a job, rent a place. Leave him.”
“Come to me! I’ll come get you right now!”
“No.” Anna sipped her tea and burned herself. “I don’t want to drag anyone into this. I need time to think. And money. Help me with work, please.”
Eva sighed.
“All right. I’ll call Denis from Creative. They were recently looking for a designer for projects. And I also have some freelance contacts; I can send them to you.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
“And you’re a fool for putting up with this for seven years,” Eva said gently. “But I love you. Hold on, okay?”
Anna hung up. She finished her tea. She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit within these four walls feeling sorry for herself.
She dressed warmly and went outside. The plot was overgrown with weeds, the apple trees stood bare, their trunks blackened by time. The gate hung on one hinge. The neighboring plot looked well-kept — a fresh fence, neat garden beds under the snow, a new shed.
At the neighbor’s gate stood a woman of about fifty in a padded jacket and rubber boots. She was watering something with a can. Seeing Anna, she waved.
“Hello, neighbor! Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”
Anna came closer.
“Hello. I’m Anna. This is my husband’s dacha — or rather, his mother’s…”
“Ah, Tamara’s!” The woman nodded. “I’m Nadezhda, but just call me Nadya. Are you here for long?”
“It looks that way.”
Nadezhda gave her an assessing look. Apparently, she read something in Anna’s face, because her expression softened.
“Listen, if you need anything, knock on my door. I can bring milk, homemade eggs. Or help with the stove if you can’t manage.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, feeling a lump rise in her throat. A strange woman was showing more care than her own husband. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. We all help each other here.” Nadezhda set down the watering can. “By the way, your Tamara hasn’t been here for ages. Three years, probably. After her husband died, she completely abandoned the dacha.”
“She’s in our apartment now,” Anna said, and immediately regretted it. She shouldn’t have.
But Nadezhda only snorted softly.
“I see. Well, never mind. It’s nice here in spring. Fresh air, silence. You’ll get some rest from the city bustle.”
Anna returned to the house. Rest. Yes, of course. As if she had come here on vacation, not been thrown out like something useless.
Her phone vibrated again. Viktor.
“Mom is asking you to bring her multicooker. It’s somewhere in your boxes. Find it and send it by courier.”
Anna read the message three times. The multicooker. Tamara Petrovna had moved into her apartment and now wanted the appliances too.
Her fingers typed the reply on their own: “Find it yourself. You’re the mistress of the house now.”
She sent it without thinking. Her heart pounded. The phone immediately rang. Viktor. Anna rejected the call. He called again — she rejected it again. On the third attempt, a message came:
“Have you lost your mind completely? I said find it and send it!”
Anna turned off the sound and placed the phone screen-down. Her hands were shaking — not from fear. From anger. From the fact that she had finally dared to answer back.
She went to the window. Behind the glass was a gray March day, bare trees, an empty road. But for some reason, it became easier to breathe.
For the first time in many years, she had said no.
And the world had not collapsed.
Viktor arrived in the evening. Anna heard the car door slam, then the gate creak. He didn’t even knock — he just flung the door open and burst into the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His face was red, his eyes darting around. “You don’t answer the phone, you send rude messages!”
Anna was sitting by the stove with a book in her hands. An old detective novel she had found on the shelf. She lifted her eyes and looked calmly at her husband.
“Hello, Vitya.”
“What hello?!” He stepped closer. “Mom was upset all day! She needs the multicooker, and you…”
“I owe your mother nothing,” Anna interrupted. Her voice was steady, without trembling. “And I owe you nothing either, by the way.”
Viktor froze. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that answer.
“Have you completely lost your mind? I put you here temporarily, and you…”
“Put me?” Anna closed the book and placed it on the table. She stood up. “You threw me out of my own home. Out of the apartment I spent seven years making livable. You gave everything to your mother without even asking my opinion.”
“She’s an elderly woman! She has repairs going on!”
“Repairs for two months, you said so yourself,” Anna stepped toward him. “But you told me: spend the winter here, and in spring we’ll see. So from the beginning, you planned to stick me here for a long time. Didn’t you?”
Viktor looked away.
“Well… Mom wanted to live in normal conditions. And no one lives here anyway.”
“I live here,” Anna said quietly. “I’m here. And you know what? You can take your multicooker, your mother, and your entire life. I’m tired.”
“What do you mean, tired?” He frowned. “You’re my wife!”
“I was.” Anna felt a strange relief. The words came out on their own, as if they had been locked up for years. “A wife is a partner. A person you consult with, a person you respect. What am I to you? Furniture that can be moved wherever it’s convenient?”
“Oh God, here we go again!” Viktor threw up his hands. “I’m trying for the family! I’m helping my mother!”
“And me?” Anna stepped closer. “When was the last time you helped me? When did you ask how I was doing? When did you ask what I wanted?”
Silence. Only the crackling of the firewood in the stove.
“I… I work, I bring in money…”
“Money isn’t enough for a family,” Anna said. “I lost my job a month ago. Did you notice? No. You don’t notice anything except your own wishes and your mommy’s wishes.”
Viktor turned pale.
“You lost your job? And kept quiet?”
“I was afraid.” Anna gave a bitter smile. “Afraid you would start reproaching me. That you’d say how useless I am. That I don’t know how to earn money. Like that time, remember? When I wanted to open my own studio and you said, ‘Why? You’ll fail anyway.’”
“I was just being realistic!”
“You were busy with yourself.” Anna picked up her phone from the table. “Do you know what I realized in these two days? I’m better off alone. Here, in this shabby dacha, in the cold and silence — better than beside you.”
Viktor said nothing. Then he abruptly turned toward the door.
“All right. Sit here then, since you’re so proud. Just keep in mind: I’m not giving you any more money. And you won’t get the apartment. It’s registered in Mom’s name.”
“In Tamara Petrovna’s name?” Anna frowned. “How?”
“That’s how. I transferred it by deed of gift yesterday. Now the apartment is hers.” He smirked. “So don’t dream about divorce and dividing property.”
The door slammed. The engine roared. The red lights dissolved into the darkness.
Anna stood in the middle of the room. Her heart was beating wildly. The apartment was in Tamara Petrovna’s name. That meant he had planned everything in advance. Get rid of his wife, provide for his mother, leave Anna with nothing.
She could have burst into tears. She could have collapsed onto the sofa and pitied herself. But instead, Anna took out her phone and called Eva.
“Eva, any news?”
“Yes! Denis is ready to take you on for a project! It’s small, but the pay is decent. And two more freelancers wrote to me; they need a designer on a permanent basis.”
“Excellent,” Anna smiled. Her first real smile in two days. “Send me the contacts. And also… can you find out about a lawyer? I need a divorce consultation.”
“I already did,” Eva said, triumph in her voice. “I booked you an appointment for tomorrow. She’s a friend of my sister’s, very competent. She says that if the apartment was transferred without your consent, it can be challenged.”
Anna closed her eyes. Inhale. Exhale.
“Thank you. You’re saving me.”
“You’re saving yourself, silly. I’m just helping.”
When the conversation ended, Anna went to the window. Outside, there was darkness, but somewhere in the distance, the lights of neighboring houses were glowing. Life continued. Her life continued.
Yes, it was frightening now. Uncertainty, lack of money, the need to start everything from scratch. But somewhere deep inside, something long forgotten had awakened. Anger? No. Strength.
For so many years, she had lived for someone else. Pleasing, adjusting, keeping silent. Now it was time to live for herself.
Anna turned back toward the room. Small, cold, unfamiliar. But it was temporary shelter. She would find work. Rent a place. Divorce and begin a new life.
Without Viktor. Without Tamara Petrovna. Without fear and humiliation.
For the first time in seven years, Anna felt free.
Three months passed.
Anna was sitting in a small rented apartment on the outskirts of the city, finishing her coffee and reviewing sketches for a new project. There was a lot of work — Denis had turned out to be an excellent partner and had already recommended her to two major clients. Money had started coming in. Not a huge amount, but enough to rent a place and feel human again.
Her phone vibrated. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Anna Sergeyevna?” an unfamiliar male voice asked. “This is Attorney Kovalyov. I represent the interests of Tamara Petrovna Sokolova.”
Anna straightened.
“I’m listening.”
“My client would like to offer you a settlement agreement. She is prepared to return the apartment and compensate you for moral damages if you withdraw the lawsuit seeking to have the deed of gift declared invalid.”
Anna smirked. So the lawyer Eva’s friend had recommended had been right — transferring the apartment without the second spouse’s consent could be challenged. And Tamara Petrovna had realized it.
“How much?” Anna asked briefly.
“Two million rubles. Plus the apartment will be returned to your joint ownership.”
“Three million,” Anna said. “The apartment fully in my name. And the divorce with no claims from his side.”
The attorney hesitated.
“I will convey your terms.”
Two days later, Viktor called. His voice sounded tired, defeated.
“Mom agrees. Three million and the apartment. Just get everything processed quickly.”
“What happened?” Anna couldn’t help asking. “Why such sudden generosity?”
Viktor was silent for a moment.
“Mom has problems. The repairs in her apartment dragged on, and she ran out of money. The contractors are demanding another million and a half, otherwise they won’t finish. And she has nowhere to live — your apartment will have to be returned through court, and she’s afraid. Plus now her son from her first marriage is suing her over Father’s inheritance. In short, it’s a complete nightmare.”
Anna closed her eyes. Karma. Real karma.
“And you?” she asked quietly.
“I’m tired,” Viktor admitted. “Mom caused scandals every day, demanded one thing after another. I realized what it was like for you. Forgive me.”
“Too late,” Anna said. “We’ll sign the agreement through the lawyers. That’s all.”
She hung up. Then she stood and went to the window. Beyond the glass was a May evening, green trees, children’s voices in the courtyard. A new life. Her life.
The apartment would return. There would be money. Freedom was already hers.
Tamara Petrovna got what she deserved — left without the apartment, without money, with lawsuits and a disappointed son.
And Anna received the most important thing of all — herself.
