“Pack your things and go, you have an hour!” my husband said at 2 a.m. He didn’t know that in the morning I would have to pick up not only my things but everything else as well.

“Pack your things and get out. You have an hour!” Igor hissed, almost knocking over the lamp in the hallway.

He didn’t yet know that I would actually be gone by dawn. Only I wouldn’t be taking a suitcase of clothes with me. I would be taking the life he mistakenly believed was his own.

The air was heavy with the scent of cognac, mixed with heavy feminine perfume. Behind my husband stood Lena—a young woman, maybe twenty-three. She clung to his jacket and tried to appear confident, though her eyes mingled fear and greed.

« Igor, it’s two in the morning, » I said calmly, tightening the belt of my robe. There were no more tears or hysteria inside. Just a strange coldness. « You’re drunk. Go home. We’ll talk tomorrow. »

« There will be no tomorrow! » he roared. « I’ve had enough, Ola. You’re like a concrete slab. Correct, heavy, predictable. And I want to live. I want to breathe. Lena understands me. She’s light. »

“Light,” I repeated.

« Don’t mock me! » he embraced the girl demonstratively. « The apartment is large, but two housekeepers won’t be here. You have an hour. Take your furs, jewelry, and anything else you want. I’m being generous. But you have to be out of here in sixty minutes. »

Lena is hungry.

“Please have some dignity,” she said. “You were clearly told.”

I looked at them and recalled twenty years of marriage. Our beginnings together in a rented studio apartment. The apartment we sold after my grandmother, thanks to which Igor opened his first car repair shop. The late-night accounting I did while he « ran errands. »

He was the face of the company. A charismatic leader. A man of success.

I was the engine hidden under the hood.

And now they decided to throw away this engine.

“Okay,” I replied calmly. “An hour is an hour.”

I turned and went to the bedroom.

The most important things didn’t fit in the suitcase

Behind me, I heard the clinking of glasses and the whispers of victors. They were opening the expensive wine I’d been saving for our anniversary.

I didn’t take out my suitcases.

Instead, I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser. Beneath the bedclothes was a small safe. A few flicks of the fingers were enough, and the lock yielded.

I pulled out a thick leather briefcase.

These were my things.

Documents from a company I owned exclusively. Powers of attorney for bank accounts. Documents for a car Igor considered his. The deed to the apartment my father had given me before our wedding.

Igor was never interested in papers.

– Ola, sign something there, you know what you’re talking about – he used to say.

For him, business was about brand, money and prestige.

For me it was a daily job.

I changed into jeans and a sweater. I put my documents, passport, and office keys in my purse. I left my jewelry in the closet. My fur coats too.

I took the foundation. The rest was just decoration.

When I returned to the hall, Igor was already sitting at the kitchen table.

“So what?” he sneered. “Where are the suitcases?”

– I don’t need them.

– Pride will destroy you.

– Maybe.

I put the keys on the glass table.

The metal hit the table with a soft clang.

It was the end of a chapter.

– Goodbye, Igor.

A minute later I was already on the street.

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