“And just imagine: I walk into an appliance store, pick out a vacuum cleaner, go up to the register—and the card doesn’t work!” Eleonora Viktorovna was telling the story indignantly, waving her hands; her voice trembled with genuine offense. “I entered the PIN three times and it kept saying ‘incorrect’! Your Sofia changed the PIN on the card and now I can’t buy anything! I simply can’t imagine how such a thing could happen—we had an agreement, everything was clear and understood, and now this unpleasant incident, which puts me in an awkward position before myself and before the salesperson who’d already packed up a wonderful vacuum cleaner—so powerful and modern—the very one I’d dreamed about for so long.”
Mark Svetlov stared at his mother in confusion, his tired eyes trying to focus on her agitated face. He had just come home from work, hadn’t even managed to take off his work jacket or catch his breath after a long day, and already his mother had met him at the door with these strange, completely unexpected complaints that had burst into his life like a hurricane, sweeping everything in their path.
“Mom, what card are you talking about?” Mark asked, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of cold water. His hands trembled slightly from fatigue and the wave of tension. “Why were you trying to pay with Sofia’s card? That’s her personal card. I don’t understand how it ended up with you and why you were using it at all—this must be some sort of misunderstanding.”
Eleonora Viktorovna froze for a second, her gaze darted up to the ceiling, and then she waved her hand as if shooing away an inconvenient question, trying to brush aside the essence of what was happening and pretend it wasn’t as serious as it seemed.
“We had an agreement! She herself offered to let me use her card if I needed something—she insisted on it, said she was always ready to help. And today I needed a vacuum cleaner, the old one broke completely, it’s pointless to fix it. And what now, I’m not even allowed to buy a vacuum cleaner to keep the house clean and tidy?” She folded her arms across her chest and looked at her son with that special, penetrating look she’d used since his childhood whenever she wanted to make him feel guilty, to remind him of duty and family ties.
Mark frowned; a deep furrow formed on his forehead, revealing inner turmoil and growing concern.
“I don’t recall Sofia ever offering anything like that… Not once did she say such a thing; it seems very strange and unlikely that she would.”
“Of course you don’t remember!” Eleonora Viktorovna cut him off, her voice ringing with hurt. “Your head is full of papers from work, constant reports and meetings. But she and I agreed long ago—woman to woman, kindly. And anyway, call her; let her explain why the card suddenly stopped working. I’ve been waiting for that vacuum cleaner for an hour already, it’s all I can think about!”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Mark took out his phone and dialed his wife’s number. His fingers slid across the screen unwillingly, anticipating an unpleasant conversation.
“Sofia, hi. Did you… change the PIN on your card?” he asked, turning away from his mother and trying to speak as quietly as possible to keep the conversation from her keen ears.
On the other end of the line hung a heavy, humming silence that lasted longer than one might expect.
“What made you ask that?” Sofia’s voice sounded wary, with notes of puzzlement and slight irritation. “What happened?”
“Well… Mom says she couldn’t pay for a vacuum cleaner with your card,” Mark felt goosebumps run down his back; he understood how absurd and ridiculous that sentence sounded.
Another pause—this time even more oppressive and eloquent.
“Mark, I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Sofia said quietly but very distinctly, and hung up, leaving him alone with his mounting anxiety.
Something in her voice—some steely note—made Mark feel that something was wrong; a premonition of an approaching storm tightened his heart with cold fingers.
“She’s on her way home,” he told his mother, trying to keep his voice even. “Let’s wait for her and sort everything out calmly, without extra emotion, like adults.”
With a look of deep offense, Eleonora Viktorovna sat down on a chair and ostentatiously glanced at the clock, emphasizing how precious her time was that she was wasting on this unpleasant wait.
“I hope she explains her behavior—so strange and illogical. You don’t treat relatives like this! We’re one family; we should trust and help each other, not create obstacles.”
When Sofia walked into the apartment, the atmosphere in the hallway was charged to the limit; the air seemed to hum with unspoken grievances and hidden tension. Without a word, without looking at anyone, she went straight to the kitchen where her husband and mother-in-law were waiting. Without taking off her light coat, she set a thick folder of documents on the table; her movements were precise and deliberate.
“Mark, here are the statements for my credit card for the last month,” she said in an even, almost dispassionate voice. “Please take a good look. Pay attention to the most recent transactions.”
Mark took the papers and began leafing through them slowly; his eyes ran along the lines, catching figures and store names. With each new page, his eyebrows rose higher and his face grew paler.
“Mom,” he said slowly, struggling to articulate, lifting his eyes to Eleonora Viktorovna. “What are these purchases totaling 183,000 rubles? Was this all you? Vacuum cleaners, appliances, jewelry, clothes? What does this mean?”
Eleonora Viktorovna shrugged, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Ordinary purchases. A vacuum, a microwave, some clothes, cosmetics… What’s the big deal? Can’t one buy something for the house, for oneself? Sofia allowed it! She herself said that in case of necessity we could use it!”
“I never gave you permission to use my card,” Sofia said firmly, without a shadow of doubt. “Never, under any circumstances. And I don’t even understand how you learned the PIN—that’s strictly confidential.”
“Oh yes you did!” the mother-in-law exclaimed, her voice sliding into a high, shrill pitch. “I clearly remember you saying, ‘If necessary, you can use it!’ And you yourself said the code—loud and clear—I heard it perfectly and memorized it!”
Sofia narrowed her eyes; her gaze became sharp and penetrating.
“When exactly did I say that? On what day, under what circumstances? Try to recall precisely.”
“Last month, when I dropped by. You were standing right here,” Eleonora Viktorovna confidently pointed to a spot by the window, “and you were talking on the phone very loudly, so I couldn’t help but hear.”
Enlightenment seemed to flash across Sofia’s face; her features cleared, but there was no relief in her eyes—only cold fury.
“I was dictating the PIN for a corporate company card to my colleague for an urgent supplier payment! That’s a business card, not my personal one! It can only be used for business expenses!” She turned to Mark, her look full of reproach. “And your mother eavesdropped on a private conversation and decided it was the code for my personal card! And, taking advantage of the moment, she just took it and used it!”
“How was I supposed to know which card it was?” Eleonora threw up her hands, feigning complete ignorance. “You said the code—I remembered it. And I found the card in your drawer with documents when I was looking for old photographs that Mark had promised to show me last week but hadn’t found time.”
Sofia stared at her husband in astonishment; a mute question and growing disappointment were in her eyes.
“You gave her permission to rummage through my documents? Through my personal things? Do you realize that’s a violation of my privacy?”
Mark looked confused and ashamed; he didn’t know where to look.
“I didn’t think… She was just looking for the old photos; I didn’t know she would look through your documents, open your drawers. I stepped out of the room for a minute, and when I came back, she’d already found everything.”
“And how often did you use my card?” Sofia asked the mother-in-law, her voice icy. “Once a week? Twice? Every day?”
“Oh, not that often,” Eleonora waved it off, trying to inject a carefree note into her voice. “A few times a week—for little things, trifles. So what if I bought a couple of things for the home, for coziness! You’ve got plenty of money, a good salary—you won’t go broke over trifles like that.”
“One hundred eighty-three thousand rubles in a month is a ‘trifle’?” Sofia maintained an astonishing, almost unnatural calm, though inside she was seething with indignation. “That’s a third of my annual bonus, which I’d been saving for years for a down payment on a new apartment. The one Mark and I were dreaming about, in case you’ve forgotten,” she turned to her husband, and for the first time pain crept into her voice.
“Why are you so worked up over money?” Eleonora tried to deflect. “We’re not strangers! We’re family! I can help you too if needed—I’m always ready to support you.”
“With what could you help? You’re a pensioner,” Sofia cut in; her patience was beginning to snap. “And it’s not about money—it’s about trust and personal boundaries. You stole my card, used a PIN you overheard, and spent a huge sum without my knowledge or consent. That’s what’s called fraud, and there’s legal liability for it!”
Eleonora’s face turned crimson with anger and humiliation.
“How dare you accuse me of theft? I’m your husband’s mother! I’ve always treated you well, always tried to help despite your complicated character and constant busyness!”
“Mom, please calm down,” Mark tried to intervene, his voice tired and hopeless. “Let’s all cool off, sit down, and discuss this calmly like civilized people, without shouting and accusations.”
“No, Mark,” Sofia turned to her husband, her gaze firm and uncompromising. “This is serious. Very serious. I want to hear your opinion—your position. Your mother stole my money, and quite a lot. How do you feel about that? What do you intend to do?”
Mark’s eyes went back and forth between his wife and his mother. It was clear he was torn between them and that the internal conflict caused him real pain.
“Look, I think it was just a misunderstanding—some fatal coincidence. Mom didn’t mean any harm; she just misread the situation, confused the cards. She didn’t mean to hurt you or deceive you.”
“Misunderstanding?” Sofia couldn’t believe her ears; her eyes widened. “Mark, we’re talking about theft—about fraud approaching two hundred thousand rubles! What kind of ‘misunderstanding’ is that? She took someone else’s card and spent someone else’s money. That’s a fact!”
“Stop using that horrible word!” Eleonora exploded, jumping up from the chair. “No one stole anything! I simply took what I needed, what in principle should be available to family members. And anyway, I gave you both life—I raised a son—and you begrudge me a few pennies, a few slips of paper!”
Sofia took a deep breath, trying to calm down and gather her thoughts.
“I’m filing a police report,” she said firmly and quietly. “And I’m changing the locks. Today.”
Eleonora turned as pale as a sheet; genuine horror filled her eyes.
“Are you completely out of your mind? The police? On me? On a close relative? Do you understand what you’re saying?”
Mark jumped to his feet, his face twisted with despair.
“Sofia, you can’t do this! She’s my mother! We have to resolve this among ourselves—within the family—without outsiders, without a scandal! Calling the police is going too far!”
“And what do you suggest—just forget it?” Sofia asked, her voice trembling. “Let your mother keep stealing my money, feeling untouchable? What’s next—she’ll take out a loan in my name? Pawn my apartment?”
“Why call it ‘stealing’ right away?” Eleonora tried to find justification. “I would have returned everything… in time, gradually, as soon as I had the chance. It’s not like I refuse.”
“From what income?” Sofia turned to her mother-in-law, her look merciless. “Your pension is thirty thousand. To return what you spent in a single month would take you half a year—if you didn’t eat at all and spent every ruble on repayment.”
“Sofia,” Mark took her hand; his palm was cold and damp. “Listen, let’s settle this amicably. I’ll talk to Mom—she won’t do it again, I promise. And the money… well, what can we do now. I’ll take extra shifts, do side jobs—I’ll reimburse you over time down to the last kopeck.”
“It’s not about the money, Mark,” Sofia said softly but very clearly. “It’s about your mother believing she can freely dispose of my things, my money, my life as if they were her own. And you—you condone it by your behavior. You allow her to.”
The doorbell rang. The quiet but insistent sound thundered like a clap of doom. Seizing the pause, Mark went to open it. On the threshold stood their neighbor, Valentina Semenovna, holding an empty cup.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, peering into his face, “but I’ve run out of sugar and guests are coming soon. Could you lend me some until tomorrow?”
But seeing the tense, emotion-contorted faces, she hesitated, sensing she’d come at a bad time.
“Am I interrupting? Are you having some kind of problem? I can come back later…”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Mark tried to smile, but only managed a pitiful grimace. “Come in, Valentina Semenovna.”
The neighbor stepped carefully into the kitchen and immediately noticed Eleonora, who was trying to assume a carefree air.
“Oh, Eleonora, you’re here too! I was just going to ask where you bought that wonderful set of bed linen you showed me yesterday. And that gorgeous multicooker—so modern. You kept saying your daughter-in-law wouldn’t notice the spending, she’s rolling in money anyway and is always at work…”
A dead, tomb-like silence fell over the kitchen. Eleonora turned even paler and lowered her eyes to the floor.
“What are you talking about?” Sofia asked slowly, syllable by syllable, looking from the neighbor to her mother-in-law; her face was stone.
Realizing the chilling tension, Valentina grew flustered and fidgeted.
“Well, Eleonora was bragging about the great purchases she’d made recently. She said she uses your card, but you don’t notice anyway because you have lots of money and don’t even count it. She even sent me photos in the messenger—showed off her new things…”
Mark stood as if struck by lightning; his face showed total disbelief and shame. Valentina took out her phone and opened the chat. On the screen were messages from Eleonora with photos of the purchases and comments: “Look what multicooker I bought! Sofia won’t even notice—she has tons of money, and I’ve long dreamed of one like this,” “And here’s a new set of bed linen—crazy expensive, but when it’s someone else’s money, why not treat yourself? She doesn’t keep track anyway.”
Mark slowly, as if in slow motion, sank onto a chair, looking at his mother with a mute question and disappointment.
“Mom… Did you really say that? Were you bragging about deceiving my wife? Did you laugh at her behind her back?”
Eleonora flushed to the roots of her hair and began to babble excuses, her words tangling and tripping over each other:
“I was just joking! Valentina misunderstood—she always twists everything! It was just a joke—dark humor—nothing serious!”
“A joke?” the neighbor wouldn’t let up, sensing she was being dragged into something unpleasant. “And when you said your daughter-in-law thinks too highly of herself with her big salary, and that she still won’t notice anything because she doesn’t count her money—was that a joke too?”
“Valentina, you…” Eleonora began, but fell silent when she caught her son’s gaze, full of pain and disappointment.
Sofia silently picked up her bag; her movements were calm and measured.
“I’m leaving,” she said tonelessly. “I’ll spend the night at a friend’s. And tomorrow morning I’m going to the police to file a fraud report. I have all the evidence.”
She headed for the door, but Mark blocked her path, his face contorted with pleading.
“Sofia, wait! I beg you—let’s talk, discuss everything!” He threw an angry, reproachful look at his mother. “Mom will make restitution—I’ll personally see to it, I promise. We don’t need the police—we’ll handle it ourselves!”
“I don’t want any conversations, Mark,” Sofia said firmly. “I’ve heard and seen everything I needed. My decision is made.”
“But she’s my mother!” Mark cried, his voice cracking. “Do you want her thrown in prison? To have a criminal record? Do you realize that will destroy her life?”
“I want justice,” Sofia replied coldly. “If it were a stranger you wouldn’t hesitate for a second—you’d drag them to the police yourself.”
“But she isn’t a stranger! She’s my mother! My own mother!” Despair rang in his voice.
“And does that give her the right to steal?” Sofia looked him straight in the eyes, her gaze piercing. “Tell me honestly, Mark—if I had taken money from your mother or your relatives without their knowledge, would you be defending me like this, persuading them not to go to the police?”
Mark was silent, head bowed—and that silence, that inability to give a direct answer, spoke louder than any words.
“I thought so,” Sofia said quietly, and, stepping around him, left the apartment, slamming the door. The sound struck Mark like a sentence.
The next day, Sofia filed a report with the police. She laid out in detail all the facts of the fraudulent use of her card, provided the account statements and screenshots of the neighbor’s messages—but did not name the culprit directly, leaving that to the police so as not to appear vindictive.
When Mark learned of this from an acquaintance on the investigative team who called him, he rushed to Sofia’s workplace, his face pale, his eyes feverishly bright.
“You really did this?” he was furious; his voice shook. “You filed a report against my mother? After everything I said to you?”
“I filed a report about fraudulent use of my bank card,” Sofia replied calmly and clearly. “I provided all the necessary evidence. The investigation will take it from here.”
“Withdraw the report!” Mark demanded, almost losing control. “Immediately! I insist!”
“No,” Sofia said firmly, without a shadow of doubt. “I won’t. I have to protect myself.”
“You’re choosing some money over our family? Over our relationship?” Mark couldn’t believe it; to him it felt like betrayal.
“No, Mark. I’m choosing respect for myself and my boundaries. Your mother didn’t just take money. She knowingly violated my trust, invaded my personal life and space, and then laughed about it with the neighbors! She boasted of her impunity!”
“She’s remorseful,” Ruslan lowered his voice, trying to pull himself together. “She cried all night, couldn’t sleep—she’s terribly ashamed; she understands everything.”
“She’s crying not because she truly regrets what she did, but because she got caught and now faces real consequences,” Sofia replied coolly. “Remember what she said and how she behaved when I first discovered the theft. She didn’t even think to apologize! She only made excuses and blamed me!”
Mark ran a hand through his hair; his shoulders slumped with helplessness.
“All right—what if she apologizes to you publicly, in front of everyone, and returns all the money? Will you withdraw the report then?”
Sofia thought for a moment, weighing his proposal.
“I’ll consider it under three mandatory conditions. First: she publicly, in the presence of witnesses, admits her guilt and apologizes to me. Second: she returns every last ruble within a week. And third—and most important—she never again crosses the threshold of our apartment without my personal invitation. Never.”
Mark frowned, displeasure crossing his face.
“The last condition is too harsh. She’s my mother—she has a right to visit her son.”
“This is not up for discussion,” Sofia cut him off. “She knowingly and repeatedly violated my boundaries and my trust. I no longer feel safe in my own home knowing she can walk in at any moment and rummage through my things. I don’t want to see her in my home. Period.”
Reluctantly, with a heavy heart, Mark agreed and went to his mother to discuss these difficult terms.
That evening the three of them met on neutral ground—in a quiet café. Eleonora looked dejected and older, but when Mark laid out Sofia’s conditions clearly and unambiguously, her face changed, filling with anger and hurt.
“What? I have to apologize publicly, in front of everyone? As if I were some criminal? For what? For taking a little money from a rich daughter-in-law who’s rolling in it?” She raised her voice, drawing the attention of other patrons. “Others would thank her for having a mother-in-law like me! I don’t call her every day, I don’t meddle in their life with advice, I always try to be tactful!”
“Mom, we agreed,” Mark reminded her wearily. “You promised to make concessions to hush up this scandal.”
“I thought we’d just talk and work it out as a family! But she wants to humiliate me—to disgrace me publicly!” Eleonora turned to Sofia, her eyes flashing. “Are you happy? You’ve turned my own son against his own mother! You’re destroying our family!”
Sofia listened to the tirade without a word. She looked at her mother-in-law and realized there would be no sincere apology or remorse—there never had been. But even more striking and painful was Mark’s reaction: instead of insisting on the conditions, he again gently coaxed his mother, effectively excusing her behavior and yielding to her.
“Mom, enough—calm down,” he said, his voice tired and hopeless. “You really acted badly—unfairly. Just apologize and we’ll forget it all, start fresh. Please.”
“I won’t apologize for what I didn’t do!” Eleonora snapped, folding her arms. “I didn’t steal anything! If Sofia treated family properly—like a decent person—she would have offered me money herself if she saw I needed something! But all she does is work and hoard!”
Watching this scene, Sofia felt her heart finally harden. She saw that Mark wouldn’t change—that he would always take his mother’s side, always justify her and demand concessions from his wife.
“I’m filing for divorce,” she said quietly but very clearly, rising from the table. “I see no other way.”
Mark looked up at her, eyes full of horror and incomprehension.
“What? Sofia, you can’t! Over some nonsense—over money! We can fix this; we can go to a therapist!”
“I can. And I am,” she looked at him with infinite sadness. “I can’t be with a man who doesn’t respect me—my feelings and my boundaries. Who, in any situation, will put his mother above me and above our relationship. I’m leaving.”
“But we can work it out!” Mark shouted, jumping up. “Let’s try again—let’s think! I’ll talk to Mom again!”
“No, Mark. My mind is made up,” Sofia turned and walked toward the exit with firm steps, without looking back.
“Good riddance!” Eleonora called after her, her voice ringing with malice. “We’ll find my son a proper, respectable wife—one who respects family and her elders instead of counting every penny!”
Sofia didn’t turn or answer. She knew with absolute certainty that she had made the only right decision for herself. The café door clicked shut behind her, separating her from her past life.
The next day Sofia withdrew her police report. Not because she forgave her mother-in-law or changed her mind, but because she didn’t want to waste her time, strength, and emotional energy on a draining case—on courts and proceedings. She had more important matters—the start of divorce proceedings and an active search for new housing, a new life.
Mark tried several times to talk to her—came to her office, called dozens of times, sent long messages full of despair and reproach. He begged her to come back, promising the moon; then he accused her of coldness and destroying the family. But Sofia was adamant; her decision was final and not subject to appeal.
“You’re not even trying to understand me, to put yourself in my place,” she told him at their last, very difficult meeting. “For you, your mother is always right—no matter what she does, no matter how she behaves. She’s allowed everything, and I’m allowed nothing.”
“But she’s my mother!” Mark repeated yet again, like an incantation. “How do you not understand—I have to take care of her; I can’t betray her!”
“That’s exactly why we’re parting,” Sofia replied sadly. “You can’t and won’t draw a healthy, necessary boundary between our new family and your mother. And I don’t want—and won’t—spend my life in second or third place, enduring humiliation and theft. Goodbye, Mark.”
The divorce took about three months. All that time, Sofia stayed with her friend, and then, after the divorce, she rented a small but very cozy studio. Mark reluctantly, heavy-hearted, signed all the necessary papers, hoping until the very last day that Sofia would come to her senses and change her mind.
After the divorce, Sofia changed jobs, moving to a larger company for a significantly higher-level, well-paid position. Step by step she rebuilt her finances, saved money, and planned to buy her own separate apartment within a year to a year and a half—her own fortress.
One day, walking out of a bank where she’d been getting detailed advice about mortgage programs, Sofia literally bumped into Anton Verkhovtsev—the very attorney who had handled her divorce. He was businesslike and collected, but at this chance meeting his face lit with a warm, sincere smile.
“Sofia?” he was slightly surprised. “What an unexpected and pleasant meeting!”
“Hello, Anton,” she couldn’t help smiling back. “Are you at the bank on business?”
“Yes, a client had a small issue with a loan agreement—I was helping sort it out. And you? Also taking care of financial matters?”
“I was consulting about a mortgage—comparing programs,” Sofia nodded. “I’m planning to finally buy my own apartment. Time to start a new life from a clean slate.”
“Excellent—just wonderful news!” His eyes shone with genuine delight. “So life is gradually settling down—moving into a new, calmer channel?”
“Yes, gradually. Not without difficulties, of course,” she nodded. “But I’m content. A new, interesting job, new plans, new goals…”
“Shall we grab a cup of coffee?” he suggested unexpectedly but very confidently. “If you’re not in a hurry and have a bit of free time. There’s a nice place right over there.”
Sofia thought for a moment, but her inner voice told her it was a good idea.
“You know, why not?” she smiled. “Coffee would be just right.”
Over a cup of fragrant coffee, they chatted easily. It turned out they had a lot in common: a passion for traveling to new, unexplored places; a deep interest in history and architecture; similar views on life, relationships, and the importance of personal space. Anton said he himself had gone through a long, difficult divorce five years earlier and therefore understood her feelings well.
“At the time I thought my life was over—that everything had collapsed and nothing good lay ahead,” he admitted candidly. “And now, looking back, I see it wasn’t a collapse at all but the beginning of an absolutely new, much happier and more harmonious chapter in my life.”
“You know, I’m beginning to feel the same,” Sofia agreed, and it was the pure truth. “At first, of course, it was very painful, bitter, and upsetting. And now I’m gradually coming to the conclusion that everything that happened was the right, though very hard, turn of fate. And it really turned out for the best.”
They talked for more than an hour and, in the end, exchanged numbers, agreeing to visit a newly opened architecture museum sometime soon—an exhibition that interested them both.
A few weeks later, when Sofia was actively working on the mortgage paperwork, her former neighbor, Valentina Semenovna, called unexpectedly.
“Sofe, sorry to bother you,” she began, agitated. “You won’t believe what’s going on here! Your ex, Mark, is in serious trouble!”
“What happened?” Sofia asked, more out of politeness and human sympathy than any real interest in his life.
“His mother, Eleonora, took out a large bank loan in his name after he gave her some kind of power of attorney to obtain a certificate—naively. And now she isn’t making payments; the interest is mounting! Collectors have already come to him several times, demanding money, threatening him. He keeps shouting he didn’t know anything, didn’t take any loans—that he was set up!”
Sofia sighed softly. She felt no gloating—only a touch of sadness and regret that things had turned out this way.
“I’m genuinely sorry to hear that, Valentina Semenovna. But you must understand—it’s absolutely not my problem anymore. I’m no longer involved.”
“Of course, of course—I understand!” the neighbor bustled. “I just thought you might be interested to know how things are with them. And good for you, that you left in time and didn’t put up with it! How are your own affairs? Did you find the apartment you’d been eyeing?”
Sofia couldn’t keep a light, happy smile from her face.
“Almost. I’m already at the final stage of the mortgage paperwork; everything will be ready soon.”
She didn’t tell the inquisitive neighbor that for the past two months she’d been regularly and with great pleasure seeing Anton, and that those meetings—their conversations, their outings to theaters and exhibitions—brought her immeasurably more joy, warmth, and inner peace than the entire last, difficult year of marriage to Mark.
Six months after the official divorce, Sofia finally signed the long-awaited purchase agreement for a small but very bright and cozy apartment in a new, developing district. That very evening, she and Anton celebrated this momentous event with a modest but very heartwarming dinner in a small, cozy restaurant.
“To your new home—to your new, happy life in it,” Anton proposed a beautiful, heartfelt toast, raising his glass of red wine.
“And to the right—though difficult—decisions that ultimately lead you to happiness,” Sofia added, smiling back and clinking her glass.
At that very moment, looking into his kind, understanding eyes, she knew, finally and irrevocably, that she was truly happy. She had found the strength to protect herself, her interests, her dignity. She had built a new, independent life in which her decisions were respected and her personal boundaries carefully observed.
And this new feeling—of freedom, self-respect, and genuine inner peace—was worth every kopeck once spent, every tear shed, and every minute of the pain she had had to endure. She was free, happy, and looked to the future with confidence and quiet joy.
