“I’m leaving for someone else, but I’m not giving up the apartment. Live wherever you want,” the husband said, unaware that Zhenya had been preparing for this very conversation for six months.

The October evening crept slowly through the windows like a shadow. The kitchen smelled of apple pie, their daughter fell asleep in her arms, and Zhenya carefully laid her in her crib. A door slammed in the hallway—Artyom, Igor’s old friend, arrived uninvited, as always.

Igor hadn’t returned yet. Artyom sat down at the table, drank tea, and looked at Zhenya the way he always did—with poorly concealed resentment. Zhenya was used to it.

« Would you like some pie? » she asked.

— I will. You bake and bake. You’re so homey and cozy. Igor probably appreciates it.

“I hope so,” Zhenya said and placed a plate in front of him.

Artyom chewed, silently, then suddenly grinned. Something inside him apparently snapped, and he decided to do what he’d long wanted to do.

« You know, Zhenya, you’re a good person. A really good person. But your Igor isn’t with Maxim right now. He’s with Kristina. He’s been going to see her for three months now. »

Zhenya put the kettle back on the stove. Her hand didn’t shake. She didn’t turn around.

– Why are you telling me this?

« I don’t know, but you should know. I once wanted you to choose me. You didn’t. Fine. But I also can’t watch him treat you like a fool. »

– You can. You could for three months.

Artyom fell silent. He finished his tea, stood up, and left without saying goodbye. Zhenya heard the front door slam. Then it became quiet. So quiet that she could hear her daughter breathing in the next room.

She sat down at the table, wiped the crumbs from the tablecloth, and began to think. She thought quickly, clearly, like someone who had lost everything before and knew that tears were a bad advisor.

The next day, she called Dmitry. Dima was the only person she trusted unconditionally. They had been friends since school, and Dima had gone through his own divorce two years earlier—a brutal, public one, with every piece of property split.

– Dim, I need to talk. Not on the phone.

— Tomorrow at twelve in the park by the fountain. Will you come?

– I’ll come.

They met by the old chestnut tree. Dima listened silently, without interrupting. When she finished, he rubbed his palms for a long time.

« Zhenya, I’ll tell you one thing. When my ex started making moves, I was still hoping for conversation. For understanding. For ‘let’s try this.’ Do you know how it ended? I ended up staying in a rented room with a suitcase.

– I don’t want it like that.

— Then don’t wait for him to get everything done first. Whose apartment is it?

— His mother registered it in her name. We’re just living.

Dima looked at her carefully. Something akin to respect flickered in his eyes.

– So you need to talk not to him, but to his mother.

Nina Vasilyevna lived two houses away, in a one-room apartment with geraniums on the windowsill and photos of her grandchildren on the wall. When Zhenya had given birth three years ago, a difficult and complicated one, it was her mother-in-law who kept vigil outside the hospital room. Not Igor. Nina Vasilyevna.

Zhenya came to her in the evening, unannounced. Nina Vasilyevna opened the door, looked at her daughter-in-law’s face, and immediately understood everything.

— Come in. The kettle is hot.

– I don’t know how to say it.

— Tell it like it is. I’m an old woman, words won’t kill me.

« Igor’s been cheating on me. For several months now. Her name is Kristina. »

The mother-in-law put down the cup. Slowly, carefully, as if she was afraid of breaking it. Then she exhaled.

« I knew something was wrong. He stopped coming over. He stopped calling. He used to drop by at least once a week, but now it’s like he’s completely stopped. »

« I don’t want a scandal. I want to resolve this so the children don’t get hurt. »

« Children are sacred, » said Nina Vasilyevna. « And you’re more than just a daughter-in-law to me. You’re like a daughter to me. Closer than a daughter. »

She fell silent. Zhenya knew what she was thinking. Larisa, Nina Vasilyevna’s biological daughter, had married twice, divorced twice, had abortions, and now was unable to have children. Larisa was alone again, living again on casual relationships and resenting the world. And Zhenya—Zhenya baked pies, did the laundry, cleaned, raised the children, and never raised her voice.

– Nina Vasilievna, the apartment we live in is registered in your name.

« Yes. And I know what you’re getting at. Don’t be afraid. I love my son, but I’m not going to admire his stupidity. »

« I’m not asking for anything. I just want you to know the truth. »

« I know the truth. Now listen to me. I have my own apartment, and I have the one where you live. And I have a head on my shoulders. Let’s sit down and think about this calmly. »

They sat until midnight. Zhenya recounted her conversation with Dima. Nina Vasilyevna listened, nodded, and occasionally asked short questions. By morning, the plan was ready.

« Zhenya, I’ll tell you this. My son grew up, but he didn’t gain any wisdom. I couldn’t teach him that. But I won’t let anyone harm you or your grandchildren. Even if he never forgives me for it. »

— Are you sure?

« When I was thirty-five, my husband did the same thing. He left. I was left with two children and penniless. I won’t watch it happen again. »

Six months. For exactly six months, Zhenya lived as if nothing had changed. She cooked dinners. Washed shirts. Put the children to bed. She smiled when Igor came home late, smelling of someone else’s perfume. She waited. But not idly.

Dima helped with the paperwork. Nina Vasilyevna went to the notary. Everything was done quietly, carefully, without a single unnecessary word.

Igor arrived on Saturday morning. Clean-shaven, wearing a new jacket, with that expression on his face that Zhenya had already memorized—the expression of a man who has made a decision and is confident he’s right.

The children were playing in the room. Zhenya was washing the dishes.

– Zhenya, sit down. We have something to talk about.

– Speak.

« I’m leaving. For another woman. We’ve been strangers for a long time. You know that yourself. »

Zhenya wiped her hands with a towel. She sat down opposite. She remained silent.

— I won’t give up the apartment. This is my home. I grew up here. You can go to your parents. You have somewhere else.

« My parents have three rooms. They live there, my brother, sister with her husband and child. You know that. »

« It’s not my problem, Zhenya. I’m telling you honestly: live wherever you want. But the apartment is mine. »

— The apartment is registered in your mother’s name.

Igor flinched. Just a little, but Zhenya noticed.

— My mother will re-register. I am her son.

– You are her child. And I am raising her grandchildren.

« Don’t start. I’ve decided everything. Christina will move here in two weeks. You have time to pack your things. »

Zhenya stood up and went to the window. Outside, children were chasing pigeons in the yard, and the old maple tree was shedding its last leaves.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave.”

Igor didn’t expect it. He was bracing himself for screaming. For tears. For blackmail. But she simply said, « Okay. »

– Seriously?

— Seriously. I’ll take the kids and leave. In a week.

— Well… okay. Fine. I thought you’d be…

— What? Beg? Cling? No, Igor. I won’t.

He came out of the kitchen. He took out his phone. Zhenya heard him talking in a low voice to someone—probably to Maxim, his classmate, or that same Kristina.

His laughter drifted through the wall. Relieved, contented. Like that of a man who had expected war and received capitulation.

Maxim called that evening. Zhenya overheard the conversation—Igor was speaking loudly, openly.

« Max, that’s it, the matter is closed. She’s leaving. No hysterics. I told you—the main thing is to set her straight from the start. Women respect strength. »

« Handsome, » Maxim’s voice carried. « I always said: a stamp in your passport is a shackle. Throw it off, and you’re free. »

— Christina is already looking at furniture.

– That’s our way. And what about your mother?

– Mother will understand.

Zhenya closed the nursery door. She stroked her daughter’s head. She took out her phone and dialed Dmitry.

– Dim, he said it. Everything is as we thought. Word for word.

— Are you okay?

– I’m fine. Let’s begin.

A week later, Zhenya packed her things. Two suitcases, the children’s clothes, documents. Nothing extra. Igor stood in the hallway and watched her carry out the bags. There was a strange expression on his face—not guilt, not pity, but impatience. He waited for her to leave so he could call Kristina.

“The keys are on the nightstand,” Zhenya said.

– Yes.

— Will you say anything to the children?

— I’ll tell you. Later. When they grow up, they’ll understand.

Zhenya looked at him for a long moment, with that cool calm that comes when a decision has already been made and there’s no turning back.

– Goodbye, Igor.

– Go ahead. Good luck.

He didn’t even come out to help carry the suitcases to the car.

Dima was waiting downstairs. He loaded up the bags, seated the children, and they left. Zhenya didn’t look back.

Three days later, Nina Vasilyevna sold her one-bedroom apartment. Quietly, quickly, through a realtor she knew. Then she packed two suitcases, locked the empty apartment, and left.

Igor found out about this by accident – he stopped by his mother’s to pick up an old vacuum cleaner, and an unfamiliar man opened the door.

– Who are you?

— I live here. I bought an apartment. A month ago.

— What apartment? This is my mother’s apartment!

— Was your mother’s. Now mine.

Igor stood on the landing and felt the ground slipping away from under his feet. But that was only the beginning.

Exactly a month after Zhenya’s departure, the doorbell rang at the apartment where Igor was already living with Kristina. Igor opened the door. A man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, stood on the threshold.

« Good afternoon. My name is Yershov. I represent the interests of the owner of this apartment. Here is a general power of attorney from Nina Vasilyevna Gorchakova. The apartment has been sold. The new owner will assume control of the property in seven days. Please vacate the premises. »

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