Anya stared out of the window, the cold patterns of frost creeping across the glass, each icy tendril mimicking the chill settling in her chest. The phone call she had just received had brought back memories she wasn’t ready to relive. Dmitry’s voice was as familiar as it was revolting. Soft, ingratiating, as if he had not shattered her world once before, as if he hadn’t left her to pick up the pieces after abandoning her for someone else.
“Anya, don’t be silent. I have something to ask,” Dmitry’s voice came through the phone with that tone, the one that once held promises of forever. She felt her pulse quicken in frustration but said nothing. Her silence was enough to provoke him to speak further.
“I know this sounds crazy, but Lena and I are in a tough spot. We’ve moved out of our apartment, and we have nowhere to go. Could you let us stay at the dacha for a couple of months? Just until we figure things out. I swear, we’ll be quiet. You won’t even notice us.”
The audacity. The sheer nerve of him. Her ex-husband, the man who once swore eternal love to her, now asking for shelter in the very place they had once built together. A place that was supposed to be their sanctuary, a place where no one could touch their happiness.
She could picture it so clearly — Dmitry, young, carefree, holding a hammer in his hands as they built the dacha. It was supposed to be their fortress. Their safe haven. A symbol of their bond. But now, it felt like a cruel joke. He had abandoned her, left her shattered, and now he wanted to bring his new wife into their shared space.
The words he spoke were poison. And yet, a strange cold clarity filled her mind. She wasn’t going to help him out of pity. No. She was going to make him regret everything.
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside her. Her hand gripped the phone tighter.
“Anya, please, we really have nowhere else to go,” Dmitry’s voice was desperate, pleading now. “Lena is pregnant. We can’t stay on the streets.”
The mention of the pregnancy struck deep. It hit at the one place she could never reach — the children. It stung, but it also revealed his true nature. He didn’t care about her. If he had, he would never have left her in the first place.
Her breath hitched as memories of their wedding day flooded her mind. Dmitry’s vows — the promises he made to her, to always be there, to never betray her. But betrayal was exactly what he had done. He had thrown everything away for another woman, and now he was standing on her doorstep, asking for help as if he had done nothing wrong.
A part of her wanted to hang up, to throw the phone across the room and never look back. But the other part, the one that had always believed in fairness and justice, whispered that this was an opportunity. An opportunity not to forgive, but to make things right. To make him understand the consequences of his actions.
“Fine,” she said, her voice cold and even. “You can stay at the dacha.”
The relief in Dmitry’s voice was instant. He thanked her profusely, promising that he knew she wouldn’t abandon him. But Anya had already stopped listening. The trap had been set, and now all she had to do was wait for him to walk right into it.
The next few days passed in a haze of tension. Every time her phone buzzed, she braced herself for another call from Dmitry. She knew he would check in, just to ensure that he still had a hold on her. But the call didn’t come until Saturday morning.
“Hi! We’re here. Everything’s great,” Dmitry’s cheerful voice came through the line, but Anya could hear the underlying arrogance in his tone now. The desperation was gone. “There’s a lot of work to do here, though. Cobwebs in the corners, the garden is overgrown. But it’s no big deal. Lena and I will put everything in order.”
Anya’s hands trembled with anger. He had the audacity to speak as if the place was his, as if he had every right to invade it.
“I didn’t ask you to tidy up anything,” she replied firmly, her voice as icy as the frost on the window. “I let you stay. That’s it.”
Dmitry’s tone shifted, irritation creeping in. “Anya, why are you starting this? We’re just trying to help. Lena says the air here is good for the baby. She already has plans for a flower bed — right under the bedroom windows.”
Her bedroom. Their bedroom. The place where so many memories had been made. The place where their love had once been real. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to leave, but she forced herself to stay calm.
“Don’t touch my roses,” she said, her voice tight with restraint.
“Who needs your thorns?” Dmitry scoffed. “Lena wants peonies. And there’s another thing. The attic is full of your old stuff — boxes, dresses. We don’t have room for all this junk. Can I take it to the shed?”
The memories flooded back like a tidal wave. Dmitry had always had a way of changing things without asking. The bathroom tiles he’d ripped out without consulting her, the cheap plastic that replaced her carefully chosen materials. His so-called “improvements” had always cost her more than she was willing to give.
“Don’t touch my things, Dima,” she said, her voice hardening.
“Why are you holding on to them so much? They’re just junk!” Dmitry’s irritation flared. “We need space, Anya! Lena is nervous. She can’t handle all this clutter!”
Anya’s heart raced as she closed her eyes, her grip tightening on the phone. She had made a decision — and now, it was time to let him feel the consequences of his betrayal.
“No,” she said, her voice final. “You don’t get to change everything. Not this time.”
And just like that, the trap was set.