“Darling, what does divorce mean? You have stage 4! What about the apartment? I wont be able to inherit it!” her husband shrieked hysterically.
Elena wiped the foggy bathroom mirror slowly and froze, studying her reflection. Her once-soft features now seemed sharp and angular, her hollowed cheeks pronounced, her eyes dull and lifeless. The illness had reshaped her mercilessly, erasing traces of her past. *Call Katya*, she repeated silently. Her niece deserved the truth, no matter how painful.
Muted football commentary drifted from the living roomPavel sprawled on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, likely surrounded by chip crumbs. Elena sighed, an invisible weight pressing down. She shut her eyes briefly, escaping reality for a second.
This apartment symbolized decades of sacrifice. Shed bought it long before Pavel, enduring five grueling years of mortgage payments. She worked two jobs, scrimped on necessities, skipped indulgences, returning home past midnight only to leave at dawn. When the final payment cleared, she weptthose walls held her sleepless nights and relentless toil. It was more than a homeit was her lifes price.
Theyd met years ago in a coffee line. He charmed her with attention, ease, and careflowers, romantic dinners, tender gestures. But soon, that version vanished, leaving indifference.
“Lena, did you pay the internet? Its slow today,” Pavel called.
“Monday,” she replied, stepping out. “Restart the router.”
“Too far. Do ityoure closer.”
She obliged silently. Little chores no longer irked her, but after the doctors visit, every detail sharpened.
“Stage four,” the doctor said, avoiding her eyes. “Metastasized to liver and bones. Treatment options exist, but be realistic.”
She nodded as if discussing weather, not her lifespan. Practical as ever, she listed tasks: draft a will, check insurance, tell Katya. No loose ends.
“Lena, whats for dinner?”
“Didnt cook. Order something.”
“Wasting money again?” he grumbled. “You had the day off.”
She said nothing. He genuinely believed earning was her duty while he floated between odd jobs and pipe dreams. At first, she ignored itshe was self-reliant. But his laziness wasnt laziness; it was entitlement.
“I saw the doctor today,” she said, watching him.
“Mhm,” he muttered, eyes on the screen.
“I have cancer.”
He turned, frowning. “What?”
“Stage four, Pasha. Months left.”
He blinked, ran a hand through his hair. “But medicines advancedexperimental treatments? Abroad?”
“Expensive.” She studied him.
“You have insurance, savings, right?” He paced anxiously.
Ah. Even now, his first thought was moneynot her, not grief.
“Yeah, savings.”
“Great! Well treat you. Youll be fine.” He hugged her stiffly, recoiling as if contagion lurked. “Gotta meet Dimonwork stuff. Stay strong.” The door slammed before she replied.
A week later, his absences grew. Late returns, unfamiliar cologne, phone face-down. She didnt confront himwhy bother? But one night, she overheard him on the balcony:
“Yeah, itll end soon. Doctor said she wont last. Heartbreaking, but… Yeah, inheritance is mine. The apartment, savingsall mine.”
Her stomach dropped. He was counting down her days, dividing her lifes work.
At dawn, he announced a weekend trip to a friends dacha”need fresh air.” She nodded silently over coffee. Inside, a plan crystallizedcold and precise.
Once he left, she called Katya.
“Come. We need to talk.”
Katya arrived, alarmed by her aunts tone. At the news, she sobbed but steadied herself. “How can I help?”
“I need a will. Everything goes to you.”
“But Uncle Pasha”
“Hes already spending my money,” Elena said dryly.
They visited a notary that day. Everything to Katya. Back home, Elena filed for divorceno asset split, just termination of a dead union. Relief flooded her. She cooked dinner, watched her show.
Pavel returned refreshed three days later. His phone buzzeddivorce papers. He scoffed, checked the portal. *Filed by Elena Viktorovna Sokolova. Pending.*
“Elena!” He stormed inside. “Whats this?” Silence. Half her belongings were gonecosmetics, family photos. Panic set in. Calls went unanswered.
At night, keys turned.
“Finally! Where were you? Why the divorce?”
“Im staying with Katya,” she said, packing more.
“Why?! Youre sick!”
“Really?” She stared him down. “Were you planning to care for me before or after discussing my death with your mistress?”
He paled. “What nonsense?”
“I heard you. Soon itll end, inheritance is mine.”
“You misunderstood”
“No. The apartment was mine before marriage. You lose nothingbecause you never had me.”
He gripped the doorframe. “Divorce?! Youre dying! The apartmentI cant inherit it!”
Her last doubt dissolved. “Ah. Not for me. For the apartment.”
She left, locking the door behind her. The click sealed his fate.
Alone, silence engulfed him. The apartment, once his, felt foreign. Calls to Elena went unanswered. Desperate, he went to Katyas.
“She doesnt want to see you,” Katya said icily, shutting the door.
A week later, court papers arrived. Elena was absentrepresented by a lawyer. Outside the courthouse, Pavel stared at the gray sky. Freedom felt like loneliness.
Meanwhile, Elena underwent chemo, Katya by her side.
“No regrets,” she murmured. “Better to spend my time with love than someone waiting for me to die.”
Katya squeezed her hand. “Well face it together.”
Pavel moved to a dingy rented room. Peeling walls, sagging couch. Comfort was gone. Only now, too late, did he realize what hed truly lostnot a home, but dignity, respect, and the woman whod once loved him.
