At lunchtime, Irina Dmitrievna suggested a walk. They went to a small park nearby, strolling along the paths. The air was warm, smelling of spring and freshness. Anna breathed deeply, and it suddenly seemed to her that she had forgotten what it was like to breathe freely.
“You know,” Irina Dmitrievna began, “I was once in a similar situation myself. A long time ago, about twenty years ago. My ex-husband was also very caring. Too caring.”
Anna looked at her in surprise.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. He controlled my every move. He called ten times a day, checked who I was talking to, what I was eating, where I was going. He said he was worried, that he loved me, that I couldn’t manage without him. And I believed him. For three years, I believed him. Until I realized I was suffocating.”
“And how did you leave?”
“I packed my things and went to my sister’s. He also called, wrote, begged me to come back. Promised to change. But I knew: people like that don’t change. They just learn to better hide their need for control. I filed for divorce. He resisted, but eventually, it was over. And you know what? For the first time, I felt alive. Real.”
Anna listened, and something warm spread inside her. She was not alone. She was not crazy. What was happening to her had happened to others. And there was a way out.
“Did you have any regrets?” she asked quietly.
“Not for a second. My only regret was not leaving sooner.”
They returned home in the evening. Anna felt tired but calm. She had dinner, took a shower, and went to bed early. Tomorrow was an important meeting with the lawyer.
In the morning, Anna arrived at Elena Grigoryevna’s office—a small space on the third floor of a business center. The lawyer greeted her warmly, sat her down at the table, and listened attentively to her entire story. Anna spoke, sometimes faltering, sometimes pausing to gather her thoughts. She told her about the bracelet, the attacks, the medical report, the control, the final argument.
Elena Grigoryevna took notes, asking clarifying questions. When Anna finished, she put down her pen and looked her in the eyes.
“Anna, what you’ve described is a classic case of domestic psychological abuse. Your husband used methods of control, manipulation, and undermining your health. You have a medical report confirming the harm from the bracelet. This is an important document.”
“What should I do next?” Anna’s voice trembled.
“First, ensure your safety. Are you staying with acquaintances now?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do not return home alone. If you need to retrieve your belongings, do so in the presence of witnesses or the police. Second, we file for divorce. Under the Family Code, you have the right to dissolve the marriage without the other spouse’s consent if cohabitation has become impossible. Third, we document all his attempts to contact you. Calls, messages, visits. All of this may be needed if he starts to threaten or stalk you.”
Anna nodded, writing down the main points.
“And how quickly can the divorce be finalized?”
“If he doesn’t agree, the process could take several months. The court allows time for reconciliation, usually one to three months. But given the circumstances—the psychological abuse, the medical documents—we may be able to expedite the process. The main thing is your firm position.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” Anna straightened up. “I’m not going back to him.”
Elena Grigoryevna smiled.
“Excellent. Then let’s start preparing the documents. I will draft the petition now. You’ll sign it, and we will file it with the court next week. In the meantime, avoid all contact with your husband. Don’t answer his calls, don’t meet with him alone.”
They spent another hour discussing the details: division of property, financial matters, alimony. Anna had no children with Vladimir. The apartment was his, acquired before the marriage, but she had a right to a share of jointly acquired property. Her car was hers, bought before the marriage. This simplified things.
When Anna left the office, she felt lighter. She had a plan. A clear, understandable plan of action. She was no longer fumbling in the dark, trying to figure out what to do. Now she knew.
The phone rang. An unknown number. Anna stopped by her car, hesitated, then answered.
“Hello?”
“Anya, it’s me,” Vladimir’s voice sounded tired, almost pleading. “Please, don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”
She gripped the phone tighter.
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“We do. Please, just hear me out. I realized I was wrong. I really was too controlling. But I did it out of fear. Fear of losing you. I love you so much, Anya. Please, let’s meet, talk things over calmly.”
“Vladimir, I’m filing for divorce.”
A pause. A long, drawn-out pause. Then his voice changed, becoming sharp and cold.
“Are you serious?”
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