In the hallway hung the heavy scent of dampness and expensive tobacco. Vitalij was smoking in the stairwell again, but the smoke crept relentlessly into the apartment. Olga knelt on the floor, polishing his shoes with a carefully chosen sponge. Every stain had to be avoided
—Vitalij tolerated no flaws, neither on shoes nor in life.“Olga, is this going to take forever?” His voice sounded indifferent, almost lethargic, tinged with that self-satisfied baritone he had cultivated over the past two years. “Where’s the shirt? I asked for blue, something that matches my eyes.”
“It’s being ironed, Vitalij. Just a moment.” Olga stood up, her back aching as always.In the bedroom, Vitalij stood in front of the mirror, sucked in his already flat stomach, and examined his reflection. The self-loving, well-groomed manner of a man over forty who loved himself more than anyone else.
“Time to lose some weight,” he muttered, glancing at her house dress. “How much do you weigh? Ate too many noodles? I said: fewer carbs. Or are you trying to provoke me so I’ll find someone younger?”He laughed, satisfied with himself. Olga remained silent.
Silence had become her weapon, a protective reflex. A wrong word could trigger a cascade of orders that made it clear who ruled the house and who was a useless appendage.Three years ago, when her design institute was closed, Olga was left without work. At that time, Vitalij said, “Stay home, take care of everything,
I’ll handle it.” She believed him. But six months later, the daily theater began.“Where did you put the thousand?” Vitalij held up the receipt, studying it meticulously. “Quark? Why so expensive? There are discounts. You earn nothing, Olga, so save.”
Olga saved. She cooked soups from chicken bones that looked like gourmet dishes. Mended tights with clear nail polish. She became a shadow in the household.But the shadow developed its own life.It all began in the attic. Among forgotten treasures, Olga discovered three pieces of Soviet linen,
an inheritance from her grandmother. The fabric was sturdy, noble, irresistible. She was embarrassed to ask for money, but the gift for her niece had to be completed. She sewed a set of bed linens—with lace, embroidery, each stitch a small miracle from memories of old courses.
The niece was thrilled. And a friend asked, “Where did you get it? I want one too.”Olga began secretly taking orders. She spent nights in the kitchen, muffling the sewing machine noise with a towel. She paid for the fabric with money from selling old gold earrings
—the very ones Vitalij had given her for their tenth wedding anniversary when he was still a “human.” She lied, and he raged for two days.Six months later, her social media page hit the first thousand followers, three months later the online marketplace. Olga led a double life worthy of a spy.
The goods were stored with Aunt Walja, shipping and money flow remained hidden from Vitalij.He continued throwing cash “for the household” on the table and monitored every cent.“You’ve completely fallen apart,” he snapped when he saw her old down coat. “You walk like a scarecrow.
Embarrassing in front of my business partners. At least put on some makeup.”“The cosmetics are gone, Vitalij. Give me two thousand.”“Deal with it. Beetroot—natural product.”Olga nodded. Behind closed doors, she opened the banking app. There was the money—more than Vitalij’s annual salary. But she waited. Patiently.
The occasion came in November—Vitalij’s 45th birthday.“We’re celebrating at the ‘Panorama,’” he announced, adjusting his tie. “Boss, partners, family. It has to be lavish.”“Vitalij, that’s expensive…”“No problem. You probably have a little cushion, or your mother, or a loan. I’ll pay later, with interest.”
Olga looked him in the eyes. No love, only calculation.“All right, I’ll cover the banquet costs.”She bought a deep midnight-blue dress, shoes worth a car, and booked an appointment with the city’s best stylist.Live music played in the restaurant. The tables groaned under caviar, sturgeon, and fine drinks.
Vitalij sat at the head, swollen with pride. Next to him was Kristina, a young marketing specialist, fifteen years younger, with a greedy look.Vitalij whispered to her, touched her elbow, boasted, laughed. Olga sat calmly, her eyes sharp as knives.
Then, in the middle of the break, she rose quietly and unexpectedly. She took the microphone. Her hand did not tremble. Only calm and precision.“You’re right, Vitalij,” she began, her voice clear and firm. “A waste of time.” She turned to the guests. “This banquet, worth half a million, I paid for.
His suit? My money. The watch on his wrist? My money.”Vitalij went pale, his words caught in his throat.“I am not unemployed. My home textiles brand runs nationwide; I earn three times as much as you.”She stepped closer, her perfume filling the room.
“The gift? I made it. And one twist: I’ve just processed the repayment. Your account? Empty.”She put down the microphone. No sound in the huge hall except the clicking of her heels as she walked away.Outside, snow was falling. Large, fluffy snow. Olga breathed in the frosty air.
Her phone vibrated: “Ex.” She answered.“Olga! Wait!” Vitalij’s voice sounded helpless, panicked. “Invoice! Police! My account! Kristina…”Olga smiled. “God forgives, Vitalij. I’ll file for divorce. And a tip: tell them to wash the dishes.”
She hung up, removed the SIM card, and threw it away. A business taxi waited in front of the house.“Where to?”“To the new life,” Olga smiled, and the music from the car blared loudly.
