When the neighbor left, Galina sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring out the window. Children played in the courtyard, young mothers pushed strollers, teenagers zipped by on scooters. Life was bustling all around, while she watched it as if from behind aquarium glass.
That evening Viktor returned late, tired and hungry. Galina reheated dinner, served it, cleared the table. The familiar ritual, polished by decades. He talked about work without expecting a reply—she’d long since turned into background noise for him, part of the room.
“By the way, I’m leaving tomorrow on a business trip for a week,” he tossed out, flipping through TV channels. “Tver. Need to close a project there. I’ll take travel money from your salary—mine’s already gone.”
Galina looked up from the socks she was darning.
“And the utilities? They’re due tomorrow…”
“Borrow from someone,” Viktor said, never looking away from the screen. “From Ninka again. I’ll pay it back later.”
Later. How many times had she heard that? And how many times had she ended up making excuses to people when the money was never returned?
That night, lying beside her husband’s loud snoring, Galina stared at the ceiling. Nina’s question looped in her mind: You don’t want to spend the rest of your life as a servant, do you?
And once, she had been different. In teachers’ college they’d chosen her as class representative; her classmates came to her for advice. She had dreamed of a big love, a marriage of equals, children raised in respect and understanding. What happened? When had she agreed to become a shadow?
The next day Galina saw Viktor off on his trip. He left by taxi, tossing his usual instructions over his shoulder: “Look after my mother, don’t forget her medicine, and keep the house in order.”
Valentina Pavlovna settled into the living room in front of the TV with a cup of tea.
“Galochka, could you buy me some cookies? I’m craving something sweet.”
“Buy them with what?” Galina blurted before she could stop herself.
Her mother-in-law stared at her in disbelief.
“With what? With your teacher’s salary, of course.”
“The salary that goes to your medicine and the utility bills.”
“Oh, I see!” Valentina Pavlovna stood up. “So you’re stingy with a sick old woman! For thirty years I treated you like my own daughter, and you—”
Galina listened to the familiar accusations and suddenly realized: enough. Enough apologizing for daring to spend her wages on necessities. Enough feeling guilty because she couldn’t buy cookies with money that didn’t exist.
“Valentina Pavlovna,” she interrupted, “I’m going to the doctor. My head hurts.”
It was a lie. Galina was going to see a lawyer.
She’d found the address of a legal office online the day before. On the bus, she clutched a slip of paper with the address and couldn’t believe she was truly doing it.
Elena Vladimirovna—gray at the temples, eyes alert—listened to her story without surprise.
“Unfortunately, your situation is very common,” she said. “Psychological pressure through financial control is a typical family pattern. But you have every basis to seek a division of property.”
“And if he refuses? He’ll say all the money is his…”
“The apartment was purchased during the marriage. It doesn’t matter whose name is on the documents. You have the right to half.” The lawyer pulled out forms. “The question is whether you’re ready to fight. He will resist.”
Galina pictured Viktor’s face when a court notice arrived. The shouting, the blame, the pressure. Then she remembered the morning fight over cottage cheese and cookies—remembered thirty years of having to ask for money for the most basic things in her own home.
“I’m ready,” she said.
A week later Viktor returned from the trip suntanned and pleased with himself. Over dinner he bragged about a project wrapped up successfully, about a bonus the boss had promised. Galina listened in silence, thinking about the folder of documents hidden in the linen cupboard.
“By the way, I need to go to the bank tomorrow,” he said, leaning back. “Re-register the deposit. You’ll be home in the morning?”
“I will,” Galina replied softly.
She didn’t tell him that tomorrow morning she was filing for divorce. She would tell him in the evening—after he came back from the bank and discovered that half the funds were frozen by court order.
Elena Vladimirovna had explained: the moment you file a claim for division of property, the court can place restrictions on disputed assets. Viktor wouldn’t learn about it until he tried to access the account.
Galina lay awake that night, imagining the next day. Was she scared? Yes. But for the first time in years she felt her life belonged to her.
In the morning, seeing her husband off, she handed him his briefcase and kissed his cheek like always. He didn’t even notice her hands were trembling.
The courthouse greeted her with cool marble steps and echoing hallways. Galina approached the clerk’s window.
“I’d like to file a claim,” she said—and was startled by how steady her own voice sounded.
