Next to her stood a man of about fifty in a strict suit, with a briefcase in his hands. Igor opened his mouth to say something, but Olga beat him to it.
“Hello, Igor.” Her voice was even, without emotion. “I knew you would find me. That’s why I invited my lawyer. Meet Viktor Petrovich Solovyov.”
Igor stood at the gate, shifting his gaze from Olga to the man in the suit and back. A lawyer? Why does she need a lawyer?
“Olya, what are you talking about?” he began, but cut himself off seeing Viktor Petrovich open the briefcase and take out a folder with documents.
“Igor Valentinovich Morozov?” the lawyer asked in a businesslike manner.
“Yes, I am.” Igor still couldn’t recover from the shock. “Olya, what is happening? What is this house? Where did you get the money?”
“That’s none of your business,” Olga replied calmly, and there was not a drop of that softness in her voice to which he had become accustomed over ten years. “But since you arrived, Viktor Petrovich will hand you the documents personally. It’s even better — won’t have to send by courier.”
The lawyer handed Igor the folder. He mechanically took it, opened it. A statement of claim for divorce. His eyes scanned the lines. Request to dissolve the marriage… Division of property… Moral compensation for damages caused…
“You! You are filing for divorce?” Igor raised his head, stared at Olga. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Viktor Petrovich, please tell him about the timeline.”
The lawyer nodded, took out a second paper.
“Mr. Morozov, according to the Family Code article, property acquired before marriage or received as a gift or by way of inheritance is the personal property of the spouse. This house,” he pointed to the cottage behind Olga’s back, “was purchased by your spouse with funds received from the sale of a land plot inherited from her grandmother, as well as with funds from a personal deposit registered in her name before the marriage. Consequently, you cannot make any claims to this property.”
Igor listened, and the world around him seemed to sway. A plot? A deposit? He knew Olga had some inheritance from her grandmother but never attached importance to it. Trifles, he thought, pennies. And she, it turns out…
“How much?” he asked hoarsely. “How much money was there?”
“Enough to buy this house and live for several years without working,” Olga raised her chin slightly. “But I will continue to work. I like my job in the library. Remember? That very job about which you said nobody looks at me there.”
Igor felt his cheeks burning with shame and anger simultaneously. He looked back at the house, at the well-kept garden, at the brand new fence. All this — hers. She herself, without him, in a week arranged a life better than what they had together.
“Olya, listen,” he stepped closer to the gate, but the lawyer inconspicuously positioned himself so that he was between him and Olga. “Let’s talk. Talk normally. Without lawyers, without papers. We lived together for ten years.”
“Yes, we lived,” Olga nodded. “And nine of them were good. But the last year, especially the last three months, turned into hell. You changed, Igor. Or maybe you just showed your true face.”
“I didn’t… Olya, I was just nervous at work, the pressure was great.”
“Pressure at work does not give the right to humiliate a person,” she interrupted, and her voice became firmer. “You told me I was worth nothing. That without you I am nobody. That I live on your money and should be grateful for every penny. You kicked me out of the house at night, blocked the card, took the phone. And you were sure I would come crawling back, right?…”
Comments are closed.