Are you completely clueless or what? I’m telling you plain and simple, in Russian!
Igor stood right in the middle of the living room, legs wide apart like he was guarding his territory and wasn’t about to let anyone in. In his hand: the TV remote. On the screen: some football game. He hadn’t even bothered to turn down the volume.
Anna sat on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, calmly flipping through some paperwork. Work documents. Her own.
«Igor, I can hear you,» she said, with no hint of irritation.
«If you hear me, then do it! Mom says she needs the room for a studio. She wants to do sculpting. So, we’re clearing out your office and moving everything out.»
Anna slowly lifted her eyes. A studio. Lyudmila Sergeevna wanted to sculpt. With clay. In her office. Where her computer sat, where her contracts were kept, where she worked late into the night while Igor watched football.
«And when was that decided?» Anna asked.
«Today. Mom and I talked about it.»
Just like that. They talked about it—without her. About her things, her space—without her.
Lyudmila Sergeevna appeared in the doorway of the living room at the exact moment it mattered. As always. She always had a way of entering a room like she just happened to be there—though nothing in her life ever really happened by chance.
«Anechka, you don’t mind, do you?» she said with the voice of someone who already expects a yes.
Sixty-two years old, perm curls, wearing a floral robe with the air of a queen. Her own kitchen was always greasy, and dishes would pile up for three days—but in someone else’s house, she knew just how to take charge.
«I’ll think about it,» Anna said.
Lyudmila Sergeevna let out a sigh so heavy, it was as if she’d just been refused life-saving heart surgery.
«What’s there to think about? The room is sitting empty.»
«That’s my office.»
«Come on, Anna, it’s just a desk and a chair. That’s not an office.»
Igor nodded in agreement, like a child who’s just been praised. He always nodded when his mother said something he didn’t dare to say himself.
Anna stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured herself some water. Outside, the city was bright and noisy with spring. A tram rattled along the tracks. Somewhere, a door slammed. Just a typical Tuesday.
She stood at the window, thinking about how three years ago she’d moved into this apartment with just one suitcase and a strong intention to build something real. How she’d renovated the office herself—painted the walls deep green, put up shelves, bought a lamp with warm light. How she’d spent countless nights in there, pulling clients out of debt and tricky legal situations, because she was a financial consultant and did her job well.
Igor never once asked what she actually did for a living. But he always knew when payday rolled around.
When Anna returned to the living room, the conversation had gone on without her—Lyudmila Sergeevna was already discussing where to put the potter’s wheel.
«A potter’s wheel?» Anna repeated.
«Well yes,» Igor shrugged. «Mom’s going to sign up for classes.»
«That’s a big piece of equipment, Igor. It weighs about forty kilos.»
«So what?»
«The point is, our floor isn’t designed for constant vibration.»
«Oh, come on!» Lyudmila Sergeevna waved her hand. «You always find problems everywhere.»
Anna glanced at her mother-in-law, who stood with her arms crossed, wearing the expression of someone who thinks the world owes her. She’d shown up this morning—supposedly just for an hour to pick up a sweater—and was still here, almost at six in the evening. She’d managed to have lunch, take a nap on the couch, and now she was planning a full-on apartment makeover.
«You will do as I said!» Igor raised his voice.
Anna paused for a second. Then, calmly, she stated three numbers.
The numbers were from their joint account.
Igor looked at her like she’d suddenly started speaking another language.
«What does that mean?»
«It means that’s all that’s left in the account,» she replied evenly. «Because last month you asked me to transfer money to your mom ‘for treatment.’ Two months ago—for her car repairs. Before that, for a vacation. I didn’t say anything. But that was everything we had left.»
Lyudmila Sergeevna opened her mouth.
«I was sick! I had…»
«High blood pressure, I know. Which, magically, got better the day after the money hit your card.»
The living room fell silent. Only the sound of football murmured from the TV.
Igor slowly sat down on the armrest of the chair. He wasn’t used to Anna speaking like this—calmly, with actual numbers, not in a rage. This was worse than shouting. This was incomprehensible.
«Are you counting every penny now?» he finally asked, hurt in his voice.
«I manage the family budget. Someone has to.»
Lyudmila Sergeevna pursed her lips. She could do it so well that it looked like she might cry any second. But she didn’t. She saved her tears for the right moment.
Anna picked up her bag. She slipped on her coat—the beige one she’d bought for her own birthday, since no one else thought to do it.
«Where are you going?» Igor asked in surprise.
«To a meeting. For work.»
«Now? At six in the evening?»
«Yes. I work, Igor. That’s where the money comes from.»
She left, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn’t slam it. She just closed it.
On the landing, she stopped, leaned her back against the cool wall, and for a few seconds just breathed. Then she pulled out her phone.
She typed out a short message: «We need to talk. Are you free tonight?»
The reply came a minute later: «I’ll be at the café on Rechnaya in half an hour. Did something happen?»
Anna put her phone back in her pocket and walked down the stairs.
Yes. Something had happened. Or more precisely—something was finally starting.
The café on Rechnaya wasn’t a place people wandered into by accident. It was small, no giant sign on the front, just a copper plaque by the door—’Rechnaya, 14.’ Inside, it smelled of coffee and fresh pastries, with quiet jazz playing. Anna loved this spot because no one ever seemed to be in a hurry here.
Nadya was already waiting at a corner table—tall, with short-cropped hair, a cappuccino in hand, and the look of someone who really knows how to listen. They’d been friends for nine years. Ever since they studied finance together, and Nadya once slipped Anna a cheat sheet during a tax law exam. Since then—they’d had each other’s backs for everything.
«Spill it,» Nadya said, not even bothering with a hello. Because that’s exactly how it should be.
Anna sat down, took off her coat, and asked the waiter for tea. Then she began to tell her story. She spoke about the pottery wheel, the office, those three numbers, and about how Igor had looked at her—confused and somehow hurt, as if she was the one who had done something wrong.
Nadya listened without interrupting. At one point, she just closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.
«How long has this been going on?»
«Always,» Anna said. «I just never counted before.»
While they sat in the cafe, something interesting was happening across the city.
Left alone with her son, Lyudmila Sergeyevna didn’t waste any time. She knew how to move fast—especially when she felt the ground slipping from under her feet.
«Igoryok,» she said, sinking onto the sofa looking truly unwell. «Do you understand what’s going on?»
«Mom, don’t start.»
«I’m not starting anything. I’m speaking to you as your mother. This woman is counting money. Our money.»
«It’s a joint account.»
«Exactly! Joint! But she’s the only one managing it and treating you like some errand boy reporting back.»
Igor stayed silent. He rubbed the bridge of his nose—the thing he always did when he didn’t know what to say but felt like he should.
«She earns good money,» he finally said.
«There you go!» Lyudmila Sergeyevna raised a finger. «And she thinks that gives her the right. To everything. Get it?»
Igor didn’t really get it. But he nodded. Because it was easier to agree with his mother than to argue.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna leaned back on the couch and folded her hands over her stomach. Her gaze turned thoughtful—the look Anna had long ago learned to recognize. It was the look of someone with a plan brewing.
The next morning Anna woke up earlier than usual. Igor was still asleep—taking up three-quarters of the bed with arms sprawled out, as always.
She quietly got up, walked into the kitchen, and made some coffee. Outside, the city was already waking up—the first cars humming by, a door slamming somewhere, and a pigeon darting past the window.
Anna opened her laptop.
Among her emails was one she had been waiting on for two weeks. It was from Gromov—Pavel Andreevich Gromov, the owner of a small construction company she had worked with for the past six months. He was picky, meticulous, sometimes impossible—but he always paid well and on time. The email was short: “Anna, we need to meet. This isn’t something for email.”
She typed out a reply, set the meeting for noon, and closed her laptop.
Igor appeared in the kitchen doorway—in a t-shirt, face crumpled with sleep and holding a glass of water.
«You’re already up?»
«Already working.»
He was quiet for a moment. He poured himself some water, drank it, put the glass down. Then, without looking at her, he said:
«Mom was upset yesterday.»
«I know.»
«You could have been softer.»
Anna looked at him. This man she had once chosen—the handsome, confident one who could make her laugh until she cried. Where had all that gone? Or maybe it hadn’t gone anywhere, she’d just stopped noticing?
«Igor,» she said calmly. «I stated the numbers. That’s not being rude. That’s just a fact.»
He rubbed the bridge of his nose again. Then left the kitchen without answering.
The meeting with Gromov was set in a business center on Northern Avenue—a glass tower with mirrored elevators and a reception filled with fresh flowers. Anna arrived ten minutes early and managed to drink an espresso at the bar in the lobby.
Gromov appeared exactly at noon. Around fifty years old, broad-shouldered, with a firm handshake and the habit of looking people straight in the eye—not intimidating, just attentive. Anna respected people like that.
«Shall we sit?» he said, nodding toward the meeting room.
The room was small, with a glass wall and a view over the city. Gromov closed the door behind them and placed a folder on the table.
«Anna, I want to offer you something. Not as a client to a consultant. As a partner—to a partner.»
She didn’t have time to answer—he had already opened the folder. Inside was a project: a new residential district in the north of the city, investments, and a financial model that needed to be built from the ground up.
«I need someone on the inside,» Gromov said. «A financial director. Not just an employee—a partner. With their own stake.»
Anna looked at the documents. The numbers were serious. Very serious.
«Why me?» she asked.
«Because in six months, you found three holes that my full-time staff missed in two years.» He smiled slightly. «People like you aren’t let go to fend for themselves.»
She paused. Looked out the window—the city below was alive, small from up here, bustling, real.
«I need to think about it,» Anna said.
«Three days,» Gromov replied. «I can’t wait any longer.»
She got home at four. And immediately sensed something was off. Not a smell, not a sound. Just the air—it felt different. Tense.
Lyudmila Sergeevna was sitting in the living room. Again. Even though she had left yesterday. Even though nobody invited her.
There were three cups on the table. And another man sitting there, someone Anna had seen only a couple times—Boris, Igor’s cousin. A lawyer. Quiet, with small, watchful eyes.
«Ah, Anya’s here,» Lyudmila Sergeevna said with a smile. «Come, sit with us—we’re just having tea.»
Anna glanced at Igor. He was staring at the table.
And then she understood everything.
Boris looked up—slowly, like a man in no hurry. He smiled with just his lips.
«Anna, please join us. We were just discussing some family matters.»
Family matters. That meant money. That meant the account. That meant Lyudmila Sergeevna hadn’t wasted any time.
Anna put her bag on the floor, calmly took off her coat, and hung it on a hook. She did everything slowly, unhurriedly, as her mind pieced together what was happening. A lawyer in the living room, her mother-in-law with a pinched look, her husband fixated on the table—this wasn’t a casual tea. It was a little ambush, carefully arranged during the few hours she’d been at the meeting with Gromov.
She sat down. Took a cup. Sipped.
«I’m listening,» Anna said.
Boris shifted some paper that was in front of him. Taking his time.
«Aunt Lyuda came to me with a question about property. Specifically, jointly acquired property. I just explained how the law works.»
«I know how it works,» Anna said. «I’m a financial consultant. I work with lawyers every day.»
Boris narrowed his eyes a little. Lyudmila Sergeevna pursed her lips.
«Well, that’s good,» Boris said. «So you understand that the apartment, registered in both our names—»
«Registered in my name,» Anna corrected calmly.
A pause.
Igor finally lifted his head.
«What do you mean—in your name?» he asked.
«It means that when we bought the apartment, you asked to have it put in my name. Remember? Because at the time you had an outstanding loan and the bank might have refused us. So I registered it to myself. But we both signed the paperwork. You signed, too.»
The living room grew very quiet. Only the distant hum of a tram could be heard from outside.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna looked at her son. Then at Boris. Boris was scrolling quickly through something on his phone.
Igor stood up. He walked to the window and turned his back to the room.
«That doesn’t mean I don’t have rights,» he finally said.
«You do,» Anna agreed. «As a spouse. But that’s a different matter. And completely different paperwork.»
Boris left half an hour later. Lyudmila Sergeyevna followed him, blaming her high blood pressure. She always got high blood pressure at just the right moment—like an ambulance you call when the conversation goes somewhere you don’t want.
Anna cleared the cups, rinsed them, and set them out to dry. Igor still stood at the window.
«Why are you doing this?» he asked, not turning around.
«Doing what exactly?»
«You showed my mom out. Boris was just explaining things.»
«Boris showed up in my apartment without an invitation to tell me about my own apartment.» Anna dried her hands with a towel. «That’s what I call something else entirely.»
Igor turned around. His expression had something childlike about it—hurt and lost. She used to find that look touching. Now, it just seemed tired.
«You’re always like this,» he said. «Always controlling, always calculating. It’s impossible to just live with you.»
Anna stared at him for a long time. Then she said:
«Igor, when was the last time you paid for our utilities?»
He didn’t answer.
«Do you remember how much our insurance costs?»
Silence.
«You know, last year I paid off your parking fines twice because you forgot about them?»
«Those are little things.»
«That’s my life,» she said softly. «All those little things.»
The next day, Anna called Gromov.
«I agree,» she said. «But I need two more weeks. There are some things I need to sort out first.»
«Alright,» he replied without unnecessary words. People like him don’t ask unnecessary questions.
Then she called Nadya.
«I need a good family lawyer,» Anna said. «Not Boris.»
Nadya was silent for a second.
«Are you sure?»
«I’m tired of being unsure.»
For a week the apartment was quiet. Igor acted like someone who had been wronged. He ate breakfast in silence, had dinner in front of the TV, and sometimes called his mother and talked for a long time, holed up in the bedroom. Anna didn’t listen in. She worked—spent her evenings in her office, studying documents for Gromov’s project, and met with the lawyer.
The lawyer’s name was Svetlana Igorevna—a slender woman of about forty-five, with short hair and a habit of speaking only to the point. She listened to Anna, looked over the papers she brought, and said:
«You’re in a strong position. The apartment is yours. The joint account—we’ll document the transactions over the past three years. Do you have the bank statements?»
«All of them,» Anna said.
Svetlana Igorevna nodded with slight approval.
Lyudmila Sergeyevna suddenly appeared on Saturday. No call ahead, as usual—she just knocked on the door, standing there with a pot in her hands. Soup. She always brought soup when she wanted to come in and stay for a while.
«Am I interrupting?» she asked as she was already stepping inside.
Anna stepped aside to let her in, watching as her mother-in-law made her way to the kitchen, set the pot down, and looked around with that familiar, proprietorial glance of someone checking that everything was in order.
«Anya, I wanted to talk,» Lyudmila Sergeyevna said as she sat down. «Honestly. No Boris, none of those papers.»
«I’m listening.»
«You’re a good woman.» It clearly took her effort to say this. «But you’re too rigid. Family isn’t just bookkeeping.»
«Family is also bookkeeping,» Anna replied. «Because without it, there’s only debt, resentment, and talks with a lawyer in the kitchen.»
Lyudmila Sergeyevna looked at her like someone ready with their next argument. But Anna spoke before she could say anything:
«Lyudmila Sergeyevna, over the last three years, I’ve transferred a little over eight hundred thousand to you. For treatment, the car, the vacation, plus a few smaller things. I don’t regret it. But I want you to know. Just know—the number.»
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth. Closed it. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table.
«Igor asked,» she finally said quietly.
«I know. He asked. I gave. But someone had to keep count.»
That evening, Igor sat alone in the kitchen. His mother had already left—quickly, without finishing her tea. Anna came in, poured herself some water, and stopped by the window.
«Did she tell you?» he asked.
«Tell me what?»
«The number.»
«I told her myself.»
Igor was silent for a long time. Then, without looking at her:
«I didn’t know it was that much.»
«I knew.»
It wasn’t a reproach. Just a fact. Like those three numbers on a screen—calm, exact, undeniable.
Igor got up, walked past her, and paused in the doorway.
«Anna,» he said. «Are we even… okay?»
She gazed out the window. The city below was glowing with lights, vibrant and indifferent all at once. Somewhere out there—a new project, a new life, already beginning without him knowing.
«I don’t know, Igor,» she answered honestly. «Right now, I really don’t know.»
He left. And she stayed by the window—cup in hand—with a quiet, firm feeling inside her that wasn’t anger or fear.
It was something else. Something that felt a bit like a beginning.
The documents were handed over by Svetlana Igorevna on Friday morning.
Anna signed everything calmly, her hands steady. She put the papers into a folder and slipped it into her bag. She thanked her and went outside.
The city was busy with its own things—rushing, buzzing, carrying people along with their coffee and headphones. She walked slowly, unhurried, thinking how just three years ago she couldn’t have imagined herself like this—walking down the street with a folder holding her own decision.
She told Igor that evening. No introductions, no drama.
«I filed for divorce.»
He sat with his phone in hand, slowly looking up as if he didn’t grasp it right away. Then he put the phone down on the table.
«Because of my mother?» he finally asked.
«Because of us,» Anna said. «Your mother is the least of it.»
He didn’t shout. He didn’t try to persuade her. He just sat there and looked at her with that same lost expression that once felt endearing to her, but now it told her only one thing—he never grew up. And he never will.
The next morning, Lyudmila Sergeevna called. Her voice was firm, with no pleasantries:
«You’re destroying the family.»
«There was no family left,» Anna replied. «There was just an account in the red.»
And she hung up.
A month later, she started at her new job—a room on the eighth floor, a view over the river, her own mug on the windowsill. Gromov shook her hand briefly, businesslike:
«Welcome aboard.»
That evening, Nadya sent a message: «So how is it?»
Anna looked out at the river, at the city lights, at her own reflection in the glass—calm, a bit tired, but truly herself.
She typed back just one word:
«Good.»
And for the first time in a long while, it was true.
