“The plaintiff demands the dissolution of the marriage and the eviction of the defendant from the apartment belonging to her by right of ownership. Are there any objections?”
Andrey stood up.
“Yes. I invested money in this apartment. I did repairs, bought furniture. I have a right to compensation.”
Viktor Petrovich rose.
“Your Honor, we have evidence that the defendant did not invest in the apartment’s renovation. All receipts and invoices are in the plaintiff’s name. The furniture was also purchased with her funds.”
The judge looked at the documents.
“No evidence of investment from the defendant has been presented. Furthermore, the case file contains evidence of the defendant’s infidelity with the plaintiff’s sister. Anything to add?”
Andrey was silent.
“The marriage is dissolved. The defendant is to be evicted from the apartment within ten days. The session is adjourned.”
Katya walked down the street with a strange feeling inside. Not joy, not sadness. Just emptiness. But not a heavy, crushing one like before. A light one. As if a backpack she had been carrying for a long time had been taken off her shoulders. She went into a cafe, ordered a coffee. Sat by the window, watching the passersby. Life went on. People hurried about their business, laughed, talked. The world hadn’t stopped because of her divorce.
A month later, Katya was returning from work. A bag of groceries in her hand, fatigue in her legs. She turned towards her building and suddenly saw a familiar figure at the gates of the maternity hospital. The gypsy woman. The same one. Sitting in the same spot with a baby in her arms, with a cardboard box for money.
Katya stopped. She stood for a moment, looking at her. Then she walked over. The gypsy woman looked up. Recognized her. Nodded.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Katya sat down beside her. “I wanted to thank you. For stopping me back then. If it weren’t for you…”
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