Evelina briefly recounted the events of the previous day. Stanislav listened without interrupting.
— And now he’s threatening to report me to the police for alleged assault?
— Exactly.
— Are there any witnesses to the incident?
— Only his mother, who is on his side.
Stanislav sighed heavily.
— The situation is unpleasant. But if there’s no video recording or independent witnesses, it will be difficult to prove anything. On the other hand, they also have nothing to back up their accusations. Most likely, a case won’t even be opened. What about the divorce and division of property? The apartment is under a mortgage, you say? Who is the main borrower?
— We both are, but I contribute more.
— Do you have the payment documents?
— Of course. I keep a record of all expenses.
— Then the chances are pretty good. But let’s meet in person, I’ll look over the documents.
— Thanks, Stas. You have no idea how much this means to me right now.
After work, Evelina didn’t go home. She went straight to the real estate agency she had worked with when she and Timur were buying the apartment.
— I need to rent a one-bedroom apartment. Clean, furnished, in a decent neighborhood, and as soon as possible.
The realtor, Alexey, who had helped them with the mortgage, raised his eyebrows in surprise.
— Evelina Sergeyevna, what happened to your apartment?
— Nothing yet. But I urgently need temporary housing.
Alexey nodded understandingly. He had worked with people long enough not to ask unnecessary questions.
— There are a few options. We can look at them right now.
By evening, Evelina had a lease agreement for a small but cozy apartment fifteen minutes from her work. After paying the first month’s rent and a security deposit, she received the keys. The new place looked impersonal but clean: a sofa, a table, a wardrobe, a minimal set of dishes. It was enough for a temporary refuge.
Evelina sat down on the sofa and, for the first time in 24 hours, allowed herself to cry. The tears flowed silently, washing away the tension, the hurt, the disappointment, but not the determination. The determination only grew stronger with each passing minute. Later, after wiping her tears, she made another list. This time, it was of the things she needed to take from the apartment while Timur and his mother were in the hospital. Documents, personal belongings, her work laptop, photos, jewelry.
“Well, Klavdiya Gennadyevna,” Evelina thought. “You wanted this apartment? Take it. But I won’t be in it anymore.”
With this thought, she headed to her former home to pack the essentials. And as she methodically packed her things into suitcases, the realization grew stronger inside her: she was not a victim of circumstances. She was the author of her own life. And now, she was starting a new chapter.
The front door of the apartment that Evelina had considered her home just yesterday closed behind her with a dull click. She took off her shoes and walked into the living room, looking around the space with a new, detached gaze. Usually, upon returning from work, the first thing she did was check if Timur was home, call him for dinner, or ask how his day had been. Now, the apartment was silent, broken only by the ticking of the wall clock.
Evelina went to the window. Outside, the almost-night city spread out — a scattering of lights, unfamiliar and indifferent. The home she and Timur had furnished over five years now seemed just as indifferent. Every item here had been chosen with love: the sofa, which they had sat on dozens of others before buying; the bookshelves, assembled with their own hands; the paintings, brought back from vacations. And now it all looked like a stage set.
“Right,” Evelina clapped her hands, chasing away the melancholy. “To business.”
She took out a large suitcase, two backpacks, and several large bags. The plan was simple: take only the bare essentials, and resolve the rest through a lawyer. She should start with the documents.
In the top drawer of the dresser was a folder with important papers: the marriage certificate (how ironic it looked now), her passport, insurance policy, apartment documents, mortgage agreement, credit statements, tax returns for the last few years. Evelina methodically went through each sheet, putting them in a separate folder. Her work record book and university diploma were also here. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should take the marriage certificate, but decided it might be needed for the divorce.
Divorce. The word still sounded unreal. Just the day before yesterday, she was planning a celebratory dinner with her husband, and today she was packing her things to disappear from his life. The phone rang so unexpectedly that Evelina flinched. The clinic’s name appeared on the screen.
— Hello?
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