Zinaida slammed her MacBook shut with such fury that it seemed the entire burden of her misfortunes was blamed on the device itself.
The day had unfolded terribly. The client revised the technical assignment three times, and the doctor hinted over the phone to increase her medication dosage. As if she hadn’t already become a walking pharmacy!
Outside, February blurred the dirty gray Moscow haze against the windows, a typical late-afternoon chill at around six. It felt like the perfect moment to brew her favorite pu-erh tea and wrap herself in a cozy blanket.
However, something felt off today. The front door clicked shut three hours earlier than usual.
— Anton? Why are you home so early? Her husband’s voice caught Zinaida’s attention, though she didn’t turn around, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the dark laptop screen.
For the past year, their conversations resembled radio dramas — each tuned into separate frequencies, pretending to hear one another.
— We need to talk, the husband said, his voice sounding oddly congested.
Zinaida smirked inwardly. Having spent fifteen years in marriage, she had mastered every tone he used. This one declared, “I’ve messed up, but you’ll take the blame.”
— Alright, she replied, swiveling in her chair while noting how he looked like a middle manager awaiting a layoff — disheveled yet attempting to maintain appearances.
— I’m filing for divorce, Anton blurted out in one breath, as if plunging into icy water without hesitation.
Within her, something snapped—not her heart, but the last fragile thread of hope that things might somehow recover.
— I can’t live like this anymore, Anton paced nervously. — These endless hospital visits, your medications, the constant complaints… I’m still alive! I’m forty-two, yet I live like an old man!
— Forty-three, Zinaida corrected absentmindedly. — So, who is she?
Anton froze.
— What?
— Come on, spare me! She suddenly laughed. — I’m not blind. New shirts, a gym membership, weekend trips. Classic case! Just tell me her name.
— Vika, he pronounced the name with a peculiar intonation that made Zinaida shudder. — She’s twenty-five, full of life and energy, and—most importantly—healthy!
— And she can have children, Zinaida remarked calmly, without reproach, merely stating a fact.
Once, they had agreed not to risk her health for a child—at least, that’s what she believed was a mutual decision.
— Yes! Anton almost shouted the admission. — Damn right! I want a normal family, not this… this existence!
Zinaida slowly rose. A foolish thought circled her mind: good thing she wore her favorite home outfit instead of stretched sweatpants today. Somehow, appearing dignified at the collapse of a fifteen-year marriage felt essential.
— Fine, her voice was unexpectedly firm. — I agree.
— Just like that? Anton apparently expected hysteria, tears, or even objects flying.
— With one condition.
— What condition? His tone turned wary.
Zinaida smiled for the first time during their talk, unsettling Anton.
— You’ll find out tomorrow. Give me until morning.
***
As soon as Anton left, slamming the door, Zinaida grabbed her phone. Her hands trembled searching for the right contact.
— Hello, Ritka? Are you busy? I have an urgent situation… No, I’m not dying, but Anton filed for divorce. Wait, don’t start crying! I need legal help. Your brother is a lawyer, right? Can he come over in an hour?
She meticulously gathered their documents, fanned out like cards in solitaire on the table: marriage certificate, apartment papers, mortgage contract paid off three years prior, car documents…
— So, he wanted someone younger and healthy? Typical… she muttered, pulling a hefty folder of medical reports from the cupboard.
Exactly one hour later, a knock announced the arrival of Pavel, Ritka’s brother—a composed man in an expensive coat carrying a leather briefcase. A classic successful lawyer from television dramas.
— Fill me in, Pavel said curtly, settling at the table, laptop ready.
— My husband decided to upgrade the model, Zinaida grimly smiled. He found someone younger and without health issues. I want him to truly feel how it is to be sick and dependent.
Pavel raised an eyebrow:
— And how do you envision that?
— I have a plan. But I need to know if it’s lawful.
The next hour passed in detailed discussion. Pavel alternated between frowning, nodding approvingly, and typing rapidly.
— Usually, I avoid family cases, Pavel finally said, closing his laptop. But this one is special. I’ll take it—and even offer a discount since my sister recommended you!
— So it will work?
— With a smart approach—yes. But we must act swiftly. I expect you at the office early tomorrow. By the way, you’re impressive; most women in such predicaments either break down or beg. You’re different.
— I’m just tired of playing nice, Zinaida shrugged. Like the joke goes: don’t wake the bitch in me; she’s already sleep-deprived.
After seeing Pavel off, she poured a glass of red wine but didn’t drink, instead mesmerized by the light reflecting in the dark liquid.
Her phone buzzed incessantly with messages from Ritka, demanding details. Zinaida briefly replied, “Everything is going according to plan. I’ll explain tomorrow.”
In the bedroom, while making the bed, she allowed herself quiet tears—the kind that belong to those who’ve learned to cope alone. Fifteen years—half a conscious life. Those vows of “in sorrow and in joy” felt like nonsense when facing real challenges.
“It’s alright,” she whispered, wiping tears. “Tomorrow will bring a new day. A new me.”
When preparing for the meeting at Pavel’s office the next morning, she applied makeup and wore her favorite dress for the first time in ages. Looking in the mirror, she realized this was not an end, but a beginning—a fresh start where she wouldn’t blame herself for her illness.
Anton called as she stepped into a taxi.
— So, what’s this condition of yours?
— Of course, dear, her voice sweetened. Meet me at 3 PM at the office on Letnikovskaya. We’ll discuss everything there.
***
The legal firm “Expert Law” was pleasantly cool inside, a relief to Zinaida who disliked heat.
She arrived early to finalize details despite a nagging migraine.
— Coffee? Pavel nodded toward the machine.
— No, thanks. I can’t. Let’s get to work.
— Alright, Pavel spread documents on the heavy redwood table. Are you certain you only want the house? I have info on his shady office dealings that could be leveraged.
— Absolutely, Zina interrupted. I only want that house—mom-in-law’s inheritance. No blackmail, please. I won’t stoop to his level.
— The house is in bad shape, Pavel grimaced, flipping photos from the appraisal. Roof leaking, utilities failing, yard overgrown. Do you have any idea how costly repairs will be?
— That’s my problem, she smiled enigmatically. Prepare the paperwork and stop looking at me like I’m crazy!
— Honestly, Pavel leaned back, in fifteen years of practice, I’ve never seen a wife opt for an old house instead of a fair share of property.
— Then I’m special, Zina winked before wincing from a shooting pain in her temple.
Anton arrived punctual, dressed sharply with a smug grin and pricey cologne emanating from him.
His smile faded slightly upon seeing the lawyer.
— What’s the condition? He plopped into a chair, clearly impatient. Let’s speed this up—I’ve got a meeting in an hour.
— Simple, Zinaida said, gazing intently. I want your mother’s house on the city’s outskirts—the one she left us. We sell the apartment and split the money. The car stays with you.
Anton burst out laughing.
— And that’s it? Seriously? That old shack? I thought… God, Zina, you’ve always been quirky, but this is beyond!
— Exactly, she remained calm though fury bubbled inside from his condescending tone. You have your father’s apartment, so housing isn’t an issue. Or did you plan to keep it all?
— Take it! He theatrically threw up his hands. I expected more drama—hysteria, threats. Instead, an ancient house with a leaky roof. Vika won’t believe it when I tell her!
— Let’s not mention the mistress during the divorce, Pavel interjected dryly, sliding documents toward Anton. Let’s focus on business.
Silence descended, broken only by paper rustling and the ticking of a luxury pen.
Anton meticulously read each clause before speaking.
— You know, he put down the pen, mom said some nonsense about this house before she died. Something about special energy and that the house should be cherished…
— Maybe it’s not nonsense, Zina quietly responded, recalling her first step into the house fifteen years ago.
Back then, she had no migraines, and her mother-in-law was alive—a kind, wise woman who embraced her like a daughter.
After signing all papers, Anton stood, adjusting his jacket.
— So, everyone happy? Vika is waiting… Damn, sorry!
— Yes, all free, Pavel snapped the folder shut. You’ll receive the house documents in three days.
— Good luck with… the house, Anton threw over his shoulder, avoiding Zinaida’s gaze as he exited.
Zinaida remained seated, stroking the folder. Her mother-in-law’s words about the house echoed in her mind.
— Everything will be fine, she whispered. This time, definitely.
***
Once she had the house keys, Zinaida opened every window wide.
The stale air, dust, and cobwebs revealed five years of neglect, turning a once cozy home into a horror movie set.
— Well, shall we get reacquainted? She ran her hand down old wallpaper that rustled as if the house truly welcomed its new owner.
The funds from selling the apartment came in handy.
Zinaida methodically renovated room by room—new roof, utilities, floors—all demanding attention. Oddly, the work invigorated rather than exhausted her. Every morning she awoke eager to face new tasks.
- The stale house began transforming into a renewal project.
- Each day brought more satisfaction than the last.
- Her enthusiasm replaced the chronic fatigue she once felt.
— What are you doing? Ritka exclaimed during a visit. You’ll waste all the money on that old shack! You should rent a place instead.
— Not a shack, a home, Zina replied calmly while clearing overgrown bushes. And it’s worth every penny.
***
The summerhouse deep in the yard turned out almost intact. A little roof fixing and window replacement transformed it into a perfect workshop.
Zinaida had long dreamed of a personal atelier, but Anton dismissed the idea as frivolous.
— First client! she cheered like a child when a neighbor brought a dress for repair. Soon, the second and third followed, as word of mouth spread effectively.
Then, an unexpected change occurred.
Initially dismissing it, she soon noticed her chronic migraines fading away. They lessened in frequency, then in intensity, until they disappeared entirely.
“It’s impossible!” the doctor exclaimed, astonished by her test results. “Are you taking something?”
— Just fresh air and joyful work, Zina smiled.
Time passed unnoticed. The atelier flourished, the house rejuvenated, and Zinaida seemed to grow younger. Wrinkles between her brows vanished, her eyes sparkled, and her posture straightened.
Thoughts of Anton became rare. Occasionally, flipping through old photos, she wondered about his life. She’d heard from acquaintances he remarried Vika shortly after their divorce, though it no longer mattered.
— Mom was right, she whispered in the evenings on her restored porch. The house really has a special aura—not from the walls or roof, but from what happens inside it.
Life improved steadily. The client list expanded, and regular patrons emerged. She even hired a young girl from next door eager to learn sewing.
— You know, Ritka once said looking at her friend, the divorce did you good. You’ve become… different.
— Not the divorce, Zinaida shook her head. Just finally doing what I love and living where I choose.
Then, three years later, an encounter at the fabric department of a mall changed everything.
***
— Zina? Is that you? A familiar voice called from a few feet away. She slowly turned, already knowing who it was.
Anton stood, looking aged—graying temples, bags under eyes, a gaunt face. The confident young man who filed for divorce three years ago was gone.
— Hello, she met his surprised gaze calmly. Long time no see.
— I… barely recognized you, he said, puzzled. You’ve changed so much…
— Time shows no mercy, she shrugged, secretly pleased. She looked fit, well-groomed, with sparkling eyes and healthy cheeks.
— No, you look younger, he shook his head. Like time reversed. And the migraines? Are they still there?
— Gone, she smiled gently. Completely. The doctors are still amazed.
— How? Anton’s voice trembled. Found a cure?
— You could say that. I just started living my own life—in that old shack you despised.
The ex-husband nervously tugged his jacket sleeve, his hands visibly shaking.
— And you… how are you? she asked politely.
— Not great, he grimaced. The past year has been cursed. First hypertension, then heart problems, now neuralgia…
— And Vika? How is she?
— She left, he quickly looked away. Claimed she hadn’t signed up to be a caregiver.
Zinaida’s lips curved into a smile—not out of malice but understanding.
— You know, she said picking up her fabric bag, life always puts everything in its place. I was sick because you were my headache. You left, the illness left too. Seems it just moved on to you and Vika!
— Zina… the ex-husband stepped closer. I have to say… I was wrong back then. Maybe…
— No, she gently shook her head. No “maybes.” I have my path and you have yours. And thank you. Without that divorce, I’d never have found myself.
— Are you happy? His voice held a strange mix of surprise and bitterness.
— More than ever! Zina adjusted her bag. I have my business, a beloved home, no migraines, and most importantly, no headache in the form of an unloved husband!
Turning away, she walked toward the exit, feeling his gaze on her back. The click of her heels echoed confidently on the polished marble floor, marking the beat of a new, joyful life.
Six months later, she learned from mutual acquaintances that Anton suffered a heart attack and was hospitalized. Vika didn’t even visit him. But by then, Zinaida was too busy preparing for her first clothing collection showcase to care.
Conclusion: Zinaida’s story vividly illustrates how reclaiming one’s life and dignity can follow even painful endings. While relentless illness and marital strain once engulfed her, the courage to embrace change, invest in her passion, and confront hardships reshaped her existence into one marked by renewed health, independence, and happiness. This journey reminds us that sometimes, letting go is the gateway to true self-discovery and fulfillment.