— I don’t want to, — Alisa winced.
— You have to. First, your personal belongings are there. Second, you need to officially terminate the lease with the landlady. I’ll go with you.
They went the next day. Alisa opened the door with her key. The apartment was quiet and somehow unwelcoming. It smelled of dust and neglect. Denis’s and Zoya Pavlovna’s things were scattered about, and there were dirty dishes in the kitchen.
— A pigsty, — Misha said succinctly.
Alisa went into the bedroom. Her things were piled in a heap in the corner. She silently took out suitcases and started packing them. Misha helped her. They worked quickly, trying not to talk. Every object reminded her of her past life. Here was a photo of her and Denis at the beach—happy, tanned. She threw it in the trash bag. Here was the blanket he had given her for their anniversary. She folded it and put it in a box of things to be donated to charity.
As they were finishing, a key turned in the lock. The door opened, and Denis appeared on the threshold. He obviously hadn’t expected to see them there. He froze, looking at the boxes and suitcases.
— You… what are you doing here?
— Packing things, — Mikhail answered. — Alisa doesn’t live here anymore.
— But… this is our apartment.
— This is a rented apartment, the lease is in Alisa’s name. She is terminating it. You will have to move out.
— Where? — Denis asked, bewildered. — I have nowhere to go.
— To your mother? That’s not our problem, — Misha cut him off. — You have two days to vacate the premises.
Denis looked at Alisa.
— Alis, please talk to me.
She shook her head.
— There’s nothing to talk about, Denis. Everything has been said.
She took the last box and headed for the exit. Misha followed her. Denis was left standing in the middle of the emptying apartment. Alone.
They moved the things to Misha’s place. He cleared out a room for Alisa’s “storage,” as he joked. In the evening, while unpacking boxes, Alisa came across an old photo album. She opened it. Her parents looked back at her from a photograph. Young, happy. They had died in a car crash when she was twenty. Misha had taken care of everything then. He became both a brother and a father to her. She turned the page. Here she was with Misha, still in school. He had his arm around her shoulders. She was laughing.
She closed the album. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wasn’t crying for Denis. She was crying for her shattered faith in love, in family, in the idea that a loved one cannot betray you. Misha entered the room, saw her tears, sat down next to her, and hugged her.
— Go on and cry, — he said softly. — You need to get through this.
And she cried on his shoulder. For a long, bitter time, weeping out all the pain, all the resentment, all the disappointment. And he just stroked her head and remained silent. And in that silence, there was more support than in all of Denis’s words over the two years of their marriage.
The trial took place two months later. Alisa went to the courthouse with Mikhail. She was calm. Over these months, she had gone through all the stages: anger, denial, depression. Now came acceptance. She accepted the fact that her marriage was a mistake, that the man she loved had turned out to be a weak and spineless traitor. And she was ready to put a period on this story.
Denis and Zoya Pavlovna sat in the dock. They looked terrible. Denis had lost even more weight, his suit hung on him like on a hanger. Zoya Pavlovna had aged ten years, her face had become a gray, wrinkled mask. They had a public defender, a young guy who stared at the floor and seemed not to believe what he was saying himself.
The trial was short. The prosecutor read out the charges. The testimonies of Alisa, the witnesses, the police officers, and the ambulance doctors were heard. Mikhail acted as the victim’s representative. He spoke clearly, harshly, operating with facts and articles of the law. He told the court not only about the incident itself but also about how Zoya Pavlovna systematically humiliated Alisa, and how Denis condoned it…
Comments are closed.