That evening, Alisa could feel that something was wrong.
The apartment was full of Artyom’s relatives. His mother, Galina Petrovna, sat at the head of the table like a queen, while his sister Marina, her husband Oleg, Uncle Borya, and several other family members filled the living room with loud conversation.
Alisa had spent nearly the entire day preparing dinner. She had cooked, cleaned, baked a cake, arranged flowers, and made sure everything looked perfect.
Still, no one seemed to notice her effort.
Artyom had been behaving strangely all evening. He drank more than usual and repeatedly exchanged glances with his mother.
At one point, Alisa saw him speaking quietly on the phone near the window. As soon as he noticed her, he ended the call.
“Work?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” he replied. “Mom wants more lemonade.”
Alisa returned to the kitchen.
She was used to feeling like an outsider around his family. Galina Petrovna constantly moved things around in the apartment, criticized Alisa’s choices, and behaved as though the home belonged to her.
Alisa had learned not to argue.
But that night, her mother-in-law seemed unusually pleased about something.
When dessert was finally served, Artyom suddenly stood.
Everyone fell quiet.
Alisa assumed he was about to make a toast.
Instead, he rested his hands on the table and looked around the room.
“Since everyone is here,” he said, “I want to announce something.”
Alisa felt her stomach tighten.
Then he said it.
“Alisa and I are getting divorced.”
The room went silent.
Artyom continued.
“I’m tired of living with a woman who has achieved nothing. She lives off me and can’t even give me a child.”
Alisa stared at him.
For several seconds, she couldn’t understand what was happening.
This wasn’t a private conversation between husband and wife.
It was a performance.
And everyone had been waiting for it.
She looked at Galina Petrovna.
Her mother-in-law was smiling.
“Finally,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I always knew she wasn’t good enough for you. A freeloader.”
Marina lowered her eyes.
Oleg pretended to focus on the cake.
No one defended Alisa.
That hurt almost more than Artyom’s words.
She looked at her hands. One finger was still covered with a bandage from preparing dinner, and a fresh burn marked the back of her hand.
She had spent six hours cooking for these people.
Now they sat around the table while her husband humiliated her.
“Artyom,” she said quietly.
He didn’t even look at her.
Instead, he glanced at his mother, who gave him a small approving nod.
That was enough.
Alisa stood and went upstairs.
In the bedroom, she opened a suitcase and began packing.
She took only the essentials—clothes, cosmetics, personal items.
She deliberately left the jewelry behind. She didn’t want anyone accusing her of stealing something.
Then her phone rang.
It was her father, Viktor Andreyevich.
She almost didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
“Alisa,” her father said calmly. “Tomorrow at ten, a realtor and a buyer are coming. I’m selling the apartment.”
She froze.
“What apartment?”
“The one you and Artyom are living in.”
Alisa stared at the wall.
“But—”
“You’re not living there anymore,” her father interrupted.
Then he explained.
Artyom’s phone had accidentally called him earlier while Artyom was rehearsing his divorce speech.
Viktor Andreyevich had heard everything.
He had heard Artyom practicing the insults.
He had heard Galina Petrovna encouraging him.
He had even heard them discussing another woman.
“Pack your things,” her father said. “And take the antique dinner set from the cabinet. It belongs to you.”
Then the call ended.
Alisa remained motionless for several seconds.
She looked at her reflection in the dark window.
She wasn’t crying anymore.
Something inside her had changed.
For years, she had tried to preserve the marriage, tolerate the criticism, support Artyom, and keep peace with his mother.
Now none of that mattered.
An hour later, Alisa went downstairs.
Everyone was still there.
Galina Petrovna sat proudly on the sofa as though she had won a battle.
Artyom stood near the window smoking.
“Are you packed?” he asked.
“Almost.”
Alisa walked toward the glass cabinet.
“I need to take something.”
Galina Petrovna immediately noticed.
“What are you taking?”
“My mother’s dinner set.”
Her mother-in-law stood.
The delicate porcelain set had always attracted her attention. It was decorated with gold handles and hand-painted flowers and had never been used.
“That stays here,” Galina Petrovna snapped. “It belongs to the family.”
Artyom turned around.
“Let her take it. I don’t need that junk.”
“It’s an antique!” his mother protested. “It was kept in your house.”
Alisa slowly looked at her.
“Your house?”
Galina Petrovna hesitated.
Then she straightened.
“Of course. Artyom has supported you for years. You should be grateful he allowed you to live here.”
Alisa almost laughed.
She remembered all the times she had paid for groceries because Artyom claimed his salary was late.
She remembered buying his expensive suit while postponing the purchase of her own winter boots.
She remembered rejecting job opportunities because Artyom didn’t want her becoming too independent.
“I’m not going to argue,” Alisa said calmly. “But tomorrow morning, a realtor is coming.”
Artyom frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“The apartment is being sold.”
His face changed.
“What apartment? This is our apartment.”
“No, Artyom.”
Alisa looked directly at him.
“This apartment belongs to my father. It always has. You were simply living here.”
Silence filled the room.
Galina Petrovna turned pale.
Alisa continued wrapping the porcelain plates in towels.
“You can’t take that!” her mother-in-law shouted. “I’ll call the police.”
“Go ahead,” Alisa replied. “Then you can explain to them why you’re refusing to leave the property after the owner asked you to.”
Artyom moved closer.
“Alisa, stop this. Let’s talk.”
“About what?”
She turned toward him.
“About how you rehearsed your divorce speech in the bathroom?”
Artyom froze.
“Or about how your mother applauded?”
His face went gray.
“How do you know?”
“Your phone called my father.”
Artyom stared at her.
“He heard everything,” she continued. “Including the name Lera.”
Marina gasped.
Galina Petrovna grabbed the chair beside her.
“It’s not what you think,” Artyom began.
Alisa raised her hand.
“I don’t care.”
Her voice was completely calm.
“You wanted a divorce. You’ll get one. But you won’t be living here anymore.”
She finished packing the dinner set and carried the box toward the hallway.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll send someone for the rest of my things. If anything disappears, I’ll report it.”
Artyom said nothing.
“And one more thing,” Alisa added.
She picked up her car keys.
“The car is registered in my name.”
She looked at him.
“You can take the bus to Lera.”
Then she walked out.
Outside, the November air was cold and damp.
Alisa placed the porcelain set on the passenger seat and drove away.
Two blocks later, she stopped and called her father.
“Dad,” she said, “I took the dinner set.”
She paused.
“And I took myself.”
“That’s what matters,” he replied.
Three days later, Viktor Andreyevich sold the apartment.
Artyom moved in with his mother.
Lera disappeared as soon as she learned that he no longer had access to the apartment, the car, or Alisa’s financial support.
Marina eventually sent Alisa a message.
“I’m sorry. I knew and stayed silent.”
Alisa didn’t respond.
She was finished with that family.
Instead, she accepted a position at another company—one Artyom had previously discouraged her from taking.
She rented a small apartment in the old part of the city.
For the first time, she chose everything herself.
The curtains were light and soft, nothing like the colors Artyom or Galina Petrovna preferred.
One evening, as Alisa sat peacefully drinking tea, someone rang the doorbell.
She opened the door.
Artyom stood there.
He had lost weight. His face looked tired and defeated.
“Alisa,” he said quietly. “Can I come in? I want to talk.”
She looked at the man she had once loved.
And felt nothing.
“No,” she said.
Then she closed the door.
Alisa returned to her armchair, picked up a photograph of her mother, and smiled.
For the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid of what came next.
She knew she would manage.
Because now she finally had herself.