She took screenshots. Then she methodically saved the entire conversation to the cloud and began to wait.
Kirill brought up the conversation a week later. He sat next to her on the sofa, putting his arm around her shoulders.
— Olya, I was thinking. Maybe we should re-register the apartment? You know, so it’s in both our names. We are husband and wife, after all.
Olya stared at the television.
— Why?
— Well, it’s the proper thing to do. Family property.
— We’ve been married for three years. The apartment was bought by me five years before the wedding. It’s my personal property.
He winced.
— What, you don’t trust me?
— I trust you. But I’m not re-registering it.
Kirill’s face fell.
— You know, my mom said you were selfish. I didn’t believe her.
Olya got up from the sofa.
— Tell your mom that I know about your plan. I read everything.
He turned pale. He tried to justify himself, but his words got tangled. Olya went into the bedroom and locked the door. That night she didn’t sleep; she planned. She needed to act carefully. Divorce was one thing. But she wanted them to understand: you couldn’t treat her like that.
For the next few weeks, Olya pretended that nothing had happened. She transferred money to Tamara Lvovna, cooked lunches, and smiled at family gatherings. Kirill relaxed, thinking the storm had passed. Meanwhile, Olya was preparing.
She found a good lawyer, gathered all the documents proving the apartment was her personal property. She opened a new bank account and started transferring money there. Little by little, she moved her most valuable things out of the house: documents, jewelry, photos. She left all of it with her friend, Ira. Ira was in shock when she heard the whole story.
— Olya, you put up with this for three years? Why didn’t you say anything?
— I thought I could change the situation. I believed he would change.
— Men don’t change, especially mama’s boys…
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