An hour later she walked home as a different person. The process had begun. There was no going back.
Around three o’clock her phone rang. Viktor.
“What the hell is this?!” he roared. “They say the account is frozen! What divorce?! What have you done?!”
“I filed in court,” Galina said. “For division of property.”
A long silence, then:
“Have you lost your mind? I’ll be home in half an hour. And you will withdraw that application, do you hear me?”
“I won’t.”
She ended the call and braced herself for the hardest conversation of her life.
Viktor stormed in like a hurricane—yelling, waving his arms, demanding explanations. Valentina Pavlovna wailed in the corner, calling her ungrateful. Galina sat at the kitchen table and stayed silent.
“You ruined my whole life!” Viktor screamed. “I broke my back for you for thirty years! Apartment, car, dacha—everything for you! And you—like a snake…”
“It was all for you,” Galina said evenly. “I was the servant in that house. No money of my own. No decisions. No voice.”
“You don’t understand money!” he grabbed his head. “A woman should handle the home, not meddle in finances!”
“Then a man should provide for his wife,” Galina replied, “instead of making her beg for money just to buy bread.”
The sentence landed like a slap. Viktor froze, then turned sharply and disappeared into his room. The door slammed.
The court date was set two months out. Two months of hell—reproaches, pressure, threats. Their children sided with their father, unable to understand why their mother wanted to “destroy the family.” But Galina held her ground.
On the day of the hearing she wore a strict suit and, for the first time in years, put color on her lips. The courtroom felt stuffy, smelling of paper and nervous sweat. Viktor sat with his attorney, pointedly refusing to look at her.
“Plaintiff, state your position,” the judge said.
Galina stood. Her mouth was dry, but she forced herself to speak.
“Your Honor, for thirty years I lived in a marriage where I was treated as property. I worked, but I had no right to manage my own money. The apartment was purchased with the proceeds from selling my parents’ apartment, but it was registered in my husband’s name. I’m asking the court to restore fairness.”
“She’s lying!” Viktor blurted out. “I provided for her! She lived like royalty!”
“I couldn’t afford cottage cheese,” Galina said quietly. “In recent years I ate bread with margarine because my money went to family expenses and there was nothing left for me. That isn’t living. That’s surviving.”
The proceedings lasted three hours—testimony, document reviews, the origin of funds for the apartment purchase. Finally, the judge left to deliberate.
The decision went in Galina’s favor. She received the right to a one-room apartment and a cash settlement. Not a fortune—but enough to start over.
Viktor walked out without turning back. Valentina Pavlovna shot her daughter-in-law a look full of hate.
“You’ll be alone,” she hissed. “Who will need you now?”
Maybe she was right. But for the first time in thirty years, Galina wasn’t afraid of being alone. She was afraid of only one thing—becoming a shadow in someone else’s life again.
Her new apartment was small but bright: one room, a kitchen, a bathroom. After a three-room place it felt like a toy house. But it was hers.
