What did he want?
“He asked when I would give you the day off,” Marina watched as he took out a bottle of mother’s milk, ignoring the breakfast he had made.
“Oh, you know him.”
He’s just worried about me.
He has a weak heart.
“He has a heart like the Terminator,” Marina thought, but she said something else out loud:
“Pasha, what do you want?”
Aren’t you tired of living forever “in the middle of a divorce wave”?
Pasha shrugged and munched on cold peppers.
“That’s good.”
The apartment is yours, the car is shared, there is a job.”
He complains – let him complain.
Do you feel sorry for him or what?
Marina didn’t feel sorry for him.
He could have even vomited.
Because at 32, the main event of the day wasn’t a new project at the architecture firm, but when he packed up.
Marina spent the next week in a strange, almost euphoric state.
He didn’t argue any further, didn’t convince Pasha that his mother was crossing the line, and didn’t flinch when he heard the familiar hissing sound on his phone.
He acted silently.
While Pasha was working, Marina met with a lawyer.
The same pushy guy who specializes in cases where one party thinks they’re very cunning and the other is defenseless.
“Well,” the lawyer tapped his pen on the table.
The apartment was his, he bought it before his marriage.
There was no doubt about it.
But the car, the dacha and the deposits…
“The dacha is in his mother’s name, but it was built with my bonuses,” Marina laid down a pile of bricks.
I kept it all for five years.
As if I had guessed.
“Fantastic,” the lawyer smiled.
— Eleonora Arkadyevna will like it.
Not only are we getting divorced, we’re also getting our share in cash.
Plus the division of the joint savings, which they so cleverly transferred to the “mother’s treatment account.”
In the evening, Marina packed some small things.
An old mug with a broken handle that Pasha loved.
Photos that still made me laugh.
He didn’t put it in the trash, but in a box with the words “Past” written on it.
Without anger.
With the hygienic precision of a surgeon.
Eleonora Arkadyevna invited them to dinner on Friday.
This was his “victory march.”
She walked up and down the kitchen in a starched apron, stacking plates on top of each other as if they were chess pieces on a board that had already been checked off.
“Eat, Santa Claus, eat!”
Homemade dumplings, not the cardboard ones given by Marina.
Now a new life begins for you.
Marina calmly sipped her tea.
“Indeed, Eleonora Arkadyevna.”
Life changes.
As promised, I prepared the documents.
The mother-in-law froze, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
— So!
Finally!
Give it to me, I’ll check it myself, so you don’t take anything extra with you.
Marina took a thick folder out of her bag.
On the first page, in large letters, it read: “Request for divorce and division of jointly acquired property.”
— It’s here — Today
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