Lena stood by the window of her empty apartment, gazing out at the yard where her children had once played. Now, Misha, her son, was twenty years old, working in St. Petersburg, while Katya, her daughter, was eighteen and studying at university. The apartment, once filled with the sounds of laughter, running footsteps, and the mountain of textbooks strewn across the table, felt enormous and painfully quiet.
It had been a long time since things were this way. Years ago, when Misha was born, Lena made the decision to leave her job in advertising. “Why do you need this career?” Andrey had asked back then. “I’ll earn the money, and you take care of the house and the kids.” And she did. She had spent the following years cooking, cleaning, driving Misha to various activities, sitting by his bedside when he was sick, and helping with his homework. Then, when Katya was born, life became a whirlwind: early mornings, preparing breakfast, seeing her husband off to work, the kids to school, then shopping, cleaning, more cooking, picking up the kids, taking them to their activities, and the endless cycle of laundry and ironing. Every day was a blur of responsibilities.
Andrey came home tired, ate dinner in silence, and collapsed in front of the TV. On weekends, he went fishing or played football with friends. “You rest at home all week,” he would say whenever she asked him to stay home and help with the kids.
And then there was Valentina Petrovna, Andrey’s mother, who never failed to remind Lena of her place. “Andryusha works hard, he needs peace at home. And you? You just sit at home like a lady. In my day, women worked and ran the house too.” Lena would grit her teeth in silence. There was no point in arguing—her mother-in-law only saw what she wanted to see, never bothering to understand.
The years passed in the blink of an eye. The kids grew up and became more independent. Lena began to think about herself again, about returning to work, about taking care of her own needs. She joined a gym, started taking better care of herself, and even updated her wardrobe. For the first time in years, she looked at herself in the mirror and thought, “I’m not so bad.” But Andrey didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care to.
Then came the day when Andrey announced that he had fallen in love with his new secretary, Alina. A young, bright, and ambitious twenty-five-year-old. The words hit Lena like a slap across the face, though part of her had known this was coming. The long hours at work, his distant attitude, and his coldness—it all made sense now.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the inheritance arrived. Lena’s distant aunt, who had lived in a small town far away, had passed away, leaving Lena a significant amount of money. The moment the news reached her, things began to change. Suddenly, Andrey was back. He came to her with his charm, his apologies, and his promises. Valentina Petrovna, too, appeared at her door, now wanting to be involved in Lena’s life again, claiming that family was the most important thing, just when the inheritance came through.
But Lena didn’t want their apologies or their regret. She only wanted one thing—revenge.
“Take them and get out! I don’t intend to put up with this!” she snapped when Andrey entered the apartment with his mother, the same cold arrogance in his eyes. They thought that the money would somehow bring them back into her good graces, that she would forgive them all. But Lena was no longer the quiet housewife she once was.
She had learned to stand on her own, to care for herself and not rely on the approval of others. And now, with this inheritance, she would rewrite the story. The apartment that once felt so lonely would soon be filled with her own choices, her own voice.
“I’m not the same woman I was,” Lena whispered to herself as she stared out at the empty yard, her eyes steady and determined. “This time, it’s my turn to decide how things go.”