“Darling, what do you mean by divorce? Youre at stage four! What about the apartment? I wont inherit it!” her husband ranted hysterically.
Elena calmly wiped the fogged-up bathroom mirror and froze, studying her reflection. Her once-soft features now seemed sharp and angular, her cheeks hollow, her eyes dull and lifeless. The illness had mercilessly altered her appearance, erasing traces of her former self. *”I need to call Katya,”* she repeated silently. Her niece had to know the truth, no matter how painful it would be for both of them.
Muffled sounds of a soccer match drifted from the living roomPavel sprawled on the couch, feet on the coffee table, chips crumbs undoubtedly scattered around him. Elena sighed heavily, feeling an invisible weight pressing on her shoulders, and closed her eyes for a moment, retreating from reality.
This apartment symbolized decades of her sacrifice. She had bought it long before meeting Pavel, paying off the mortgage over five grueling yearsworking two jobs, denying herself necessities, scraping by on the cheapest food, returning late only to leave again at dawn. When the final payment cleared, she weptthese walls held her sleepless nights, relentless labor, and resolve. She had earned it with her very life.
Theyd met years ago in a coffee line. Hed charmed her with attention, effortless conversation, and careflowers, romantic dinners, tenderness. Then, abruptly, it vanished. The man shed adored dissolved, leaving behind indifference.
“Lena, did you pay the internet? Its lagging,” Pavel called from the living room.
“Yes, on Monday. Restart the router.”
“Too far,” he drawled lazily. “You do ityoure closer.”
She didnt argue. The mundane no longer irritated herbut after todays doctor visit, every detail of their life sharpened.
*”Stage four,”* the doctor had said, avoiding her gaze. *”Liver and bone metastases. We can try treatment, but be realistic.”*
She nodded as if discussing weather, not her remaining months. Pragmatic as ever, she began mentally listing steps: the will, insurance, talking to Katya. No loose ends.
“Len, whats for dinner?” Pavel called.
“I didnt cook. Order something.”
“Wasting money again?” he grumbled. “You had the day off.”
She didnt respond. He genuinely believed earning money was her duty, while he dabbled in odd jobs and delusional “big plans” he never pursued. At first, she hadnt mindedshe was used to self-reliance. But eventually, it became clear: he wasnt just lazy. He *expected* her to provide while he “found himself.”
“I saw the doctor today,” she said, watching his profile.
“Mhm,” he muttered, eyes on the screen.
“I have cancer.”
He turned, frowning. “What?”
“Stage four, Pasha.”
He set the remote down, stunned. “Stage four? Can they treat it?”
“Theyll try, but chances are low. Months, not years.”
Blinking rapidly, he ran a hand through his hair. “Butthere must be experimental treatments abroad?”
“Too expensive.”
“Youve got good insurance, right?” He paced nervously. “And savings?”
*There it was.* Even now, his first concern was moneynot her.
“Yes, I have savings.”
“Good!” His tone brightened. “Well fight this. Itll be fine.”
He hugged her awkwardly, then pulled back as if fearing contamination.
“Listen, Ive got to meet Dima. Work stuff,” he grabbed his jacket. “Stay strong, okay?”
The door slammed before she could reply. Silence settled, broken only by distant traffic.
A week later, his absences grew. Late nights, unfamiliar cologne, his phone face-down. She didnt confront himafter the diagnosis, it didnt matter. Until one night, she overheard him on the balcony:
*”Soon, itll all be over… Doctor says she wont last long… The inheritance is mineapartment, savings, everything…”*
Her blood chilled. He was already dividing her lifes work.
At dawn, he announced a weekend getaway*”Need fresh air.”* She nodded silently over coffee, a cold resolve hardening inside.
Once he left, she called Katya.
“Come. We need to talk.”
Her niece arrived in an hour, alarmed by her aunts tone. When Elena revealed her diagnosis, Katya wept but steadied herself. “How can I help?”
“Im making a will. Everything goes to you.”
“What about Uncle Pasha?”
“Hes already planning how to spend my money,” Elena smirked bitterly. “While Im on IVs, hes with his new fling.”
They visited a notary that day. Elenas will was ironclad. Back home, she filed for divorceno asset split, just a clean severance of their farce marriage.
Surprisingly, relief washed over her. The weight was gone. That evening, she cooked and watched a long-postponed series.
Pavel returned three days later, refresheduntil his phone pinged with the divorce notification. He dismissed it as spam, then panic set in.
“Elena!” He stormed inside. “Whats this nonsense on my phone?”
Silence. He checked the fridge, grabbed a beer. Another notificationhis tax filings now excluded joint assets.
“What the hell?!” He gaped at the screen.
*Divorce petition. Filed by Elena Viktorovna Sokolova. Status: Pending.*
“This is a joke,” he muttered, dialing herstraight to voicemail. A third alert clarified: *No asset divisionproperty acquired pre-marriage.*
Elenas closet was half-empty. Her toiletries gone. The panic crested when her key turned that night.
“Youre back! Where were you? Whats this divorce crap?”
“Im staying with Katya,” she said flatly, collecting more belongings.
“Why?! Youre sick! You need me!”
“Really?” She met his eyes. “Before or after you told your girlfriend how fast Id die, so youd get my money?”
His face paled. “What? What girlfriend?”
“I heard you, Pasha. *Soon itll all be over… inheritance is mine…* Charming.”
“You misunderstood”
“No. The divorce is final. The apartment was mine before we married. You lose nothingexcept what you never had.”
His veneer crumbled. “Divorce?! Youre dying! The apartment!” His voice crackednot with grief, but greed. “I cant inherit it!”
Her last doubt evaporated.
“So thats your concern? Not me?” she whispered. “In all our years, youve never sounded this sincereuntil now, over brick and mortar.”
“Youve got it wrong! Im just shocked”
“Stop lying, Pasha. You loved my comfort, not me.”
“Thats not true!” His gaze darted wildly.
She zipped her bag. “The saddest part? I loved you. Wanted a family. But our marriage was a transactionmy labor for your comfort.”
Desperate, he blocked the door. *”We can fix this! Ill change!”*
“Too late.” She stepped around him. “My wills done. Katya gets everything. Find yourself another meal ticket.”
The click of the lock sealed his fate.
Alone in the apartment, the silence suffocated him. The wallsonce hisfelt alien. His life, built on exploitation, collapsed.
Calls went unanswered. When he confronted Katya, she shut the door in his face.
A month later, the court finalized the divorce. Pavel sat across from Elenas lawyerhis last hope gone.
That same day, Elena underwent chemo, Katya holding her hand. Sunlight filtered through the curtains.
“I dont regret it,” Elena murmured. “Not pretending anymorethat I had a family.”
Katya squeezed her fingers. “Well get through this. Together.”
Pavel moved into a shabby rented room, staring at peeling wallpaper. Comfort was gone. Only now did he grasp his lossnot just money or shelter, but the trust and dignity hed squandered.
