Anna turned on the kettle and mechanically looked out the window. The spring outside was somehow too cheerful for her mood. Someone was honking near the house, probably Valentina Petrovna from the third, for whom the brake pedal and the horn are connected by one nerve. The street smelled of fried onions and children’s cries. The kitchen smelled of mint tea and an indefinite state of anxiety.
Alexey sat at the table and fiddled with a pen. It was glass, with a logo of some bank, he had been carrying it around with him for ten years. Apparently, loyalty still lives somewhere in him – just not in the relationship.
“Would you like some tea?” Anna asked, trying to keep her voice even, like a weather forecaster. You know, when they say “scattered precipitation,” but you already know your umbrella won’t save you.
“No. Let’s get straight to the point,” he answered dryly, without looking up.
She sat down on a stool, poured herself some tea, and wrapped her palms in the warm cup, as if it could protect her from what was about to sound.
– Anna, listen. I love you, you know that. But I can’t afford to go through the same meat grinder a second time. After my divorce from Tanya, I spent five years paying off a mortgage on an apartment where I didn’t even choose the curtains myself. – Alexey looked straight at her. His eyes were calm, almost official. – That’s why I suggest a prenuptial agreement.
He put the folder on the table. The same one, from the store with the loud name “Trust”, irony included. A blue plastic file, inside – sheets written not by her hand.
– Are you serious? – Anna didn’t expect the question to come out so hoarsely. – Are you now asking me to sign a document stating that I’m just going to… ‘sit here temporarily’, and then, if anything happens, I’ll leave in slippers and my underwear?
– It’s just a formality. Everyone should have their own. I get an apartment, you get your independence. Everything is fair.
– Honestly?! – She almost dropped the cup. – You call this honest? Alexey, you have a three-room apartment in the center, “your own”. And I have a mortgage in Balashikha and a mother who doesn’t know yet that I moved in with you. And you call me “honestly”.
– Well, no need to dramatize. This is a normal legal defense. I don’t want to get burned again.
Anna laughed. Not cheerfully, but nervously, like people laugh when they realize they’ve fallen into a trap and the only way out is through shame or scandal.
– Have you ever thought that if you don’t trust me, then maybe you shouldn’t start all this?
– I trust. I’m just not an idiot.
– Excellent. So, by your logic, I am a potential parasite. Waiting for you to weaken so I can steal your sofa and Samsung.
He was silent. Like a man who had already said everything and was now just waiting for the woman to “think and calm down.” Anna stood up.
– I’ll tell you this. This agreement is not about property. It’s about how you see me. As a hanger-on. As someone who “is about to steal you away.”
– You’re exaggerating.
– Go to hell with your legalism, Lyosha. This is not an exaggeration – it’s the truth. You don’t love me. You’re afraid of me.
He looked down. Scratched his chin. Everything as always – emotions under control, rationality – on the shield.
– I just want to sleep peacefully. Without lawyers and division.
— And I want to sleep with my husband, and not with an accountant who counts how much I ate for breakfast.
She abruptly left the kitchen, slamming the refrigerator door, simply because she couldn’t slam it with a real door—Alexei has everything with closers, so as “not to ruin the furniture.”
Later, she sat in the room, on the sofa, fiddling with her phone. Lyudmila had already called three times, but Anna hadn’t answered. She knew her friend would say, “I told you so,” and all that brotherly concern would now be like salt on a burn.
When she finally pressed “call back,” Lyudmila’s voice sounded soft, as always in such cases, with a hint of “well, I didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ but I did tell you.”
– Did you really sign this? – Lyudmila almost whispered.
– Not yet. But he’s waiting for it. He says it’s just a piece of paper. A formality.
– He has a brain like a calculator. You press it, it counts. Where are the feelings, Anya? Where is the love, all that?
– Exactly. He has a prenuptial agreement, I have a heart attack.
— Have you spoken to a lawyer?
– Not yet. What’s the point?
— The point is to understand how they want to shoe you — and how many pairs of socks you will have left after the divorce.
Anna laughed. For the first time that evening, for real. Because Lyuda knew how to both hit you in the stomach with a word and simultaneously squeeze you like a sister.
– Lyud, I’m scared. I’m afraid that if I refuse, he’ll leave. And if I agree, I’ll leave myself.
— That’s the answer. You either live with him or survive next to him. The “as long as it’s convenient” option may work for microwaves, but not for relationships.
— And if he says that there is no way without a contract?
– Then you say: “Okay, goodbye, but leave your slippers by the door.” And then you go to Marina Sergeyevna. She’s like the Hulk, only in a business suit. She’ll take his paper apart into atoms.
Anna did not sleep that night. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Alexey had been asleep for a long time, his back to her. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, but she heard his every breath. And with each breath it became clearer to her that she could not remain in this relationship as a convenient appendage. Even with heated seats and coffee in the morning.
She took out the contract. She leafed through it slowly. Each word was like a slap in the face.
“Property acquired during marriage remains the property of the party who registered it in his or her name.”
“The parties waive mutual claims in the event of divorce.”
“The costs of living together are borne in proportion to the income of the parties.”
That is, he pays more, but he has more rights. And she – sit, love, and don’t make claims.
The kettle in the kitchen clicked. She didn’t remember turning it on. So it was Alexey.
“Aren’t you sleeping?” he asked quietly, entering the room.
– No. I’m thinking about how to make a woman the accountant of my soul.
– I did not mean that.
– You wanted to protect yourself. And you did it – from me. Strange logic, but logical.
He sat down next to me. Warm, familiar, but at that moment – alien.
— Will you sign after all?
Anna took a deep breath.
– Tomorrow I’ll talk to a lawyer. If everything you offered me is really such a formality, as you say, then you have nothing to fear.
He nodded. But it was clear from his face that he was afraid. Not of lawyers. But of the truth.
Anna ran into the business center building, confusing the floor. The elevator got stuck between the second and third floors – a classic example of the genre. While she was walking up, she mentally cursed everything: Lesha’s logic, herself for her naivety, and even Marina Sergeyevna, whom she had not yet seen, but already suspected of devouring her with a crunch.
Marina Sergeevna turned out to be different. She looked to be about forty-something or less. Clear, collected, with a voice that could manage three subordinates, a telephone, and a divorce at the same time.
– Anna? Come in. Sit down. Tea, coffee, support in difficult times?
“Uh-huh… support in addition to the analysis of the marriage contract,” Anna tried to joke, but her voice wavered.
– Well, then tea. I also prefer sugar in a mug, not in life, – the lawyer nodded and took the sheets, straightening them out like a battlefield.
There was a pause. Too long.
– Uh-huh… – Marina said, leafing through. – This isn’t even a prenuptial agreement. This is a financial slap in the face. Who drew it up?
– Him. Well, with some notary. Through friends. He says everything is “according to the law.”
— According to the law, maybe. According to conscience, definitely not. It is written here that if you get divorced, and even if you have a child, you still get zero. Are you aware of that?
Anna shuddered. The word “child” was spot on. They had discussed it. They had even chosen names. And now – “if there will be a child” and “zero” in one phrase. Wonderful.
— Is it possible… well… to make changes?
– Anna. Anything is possible. The question is, is he ready? Are you even sure he’s on your side?
– I want to be sure. I love him. It’s just… he’s afraid.
Marina chuckled.
— Afraid? Aren’t you afraid of being left on the street, with a suitcase of underwear and without an apartment, if one day he “stops feeling”? This, by the way, is a quote from one of my cases.
Anna looked down.
— I thought that love is not about calculations…
– And he thought differently. Now you have to think what is more important: his comfort or your safety. I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about respect.
An assistant looked into the office:
– Marina Sergeevna, you have an online consultation with Ms. Chistyakova in ten minutes.
– Thank you, Katya. Tea for Anna. Strength of spirit for me. – She returned to Anna. – So. Listen carefully. You have two paths.
She showed her fingers, like in math class when they explain that “minus times minus” makes plus, but the pain still remains.
— First, you sign. Then you live in anticipation. What if he changes. What if he leaves. What if… Well, you get the idea.
– Got it. Tremble every day from the thought that you will be left with nothing again. This has happened before.
– That’s exactly it. The second option is to revise the terms. You have the right to justice. He wants a contract – let it be. But a contract that includes you. And not just his walls and frying pans.
– Will you help?
— I’m already helping. I’ll rewrite everything. I’ll add clauses that will reflect: if you’re together, the property is common. If not together, by agreement. If there’s a child, obligations. Not a handout, but a responsibility.
Anna exhaled. As if she had been held under water and only now had she surfaced.
– Marina Sergeevna, thank you. I thought lawyers were dry people. And you are like… a legal Mother Teresa.
– I’m just a woman who got divorced twice and now I save others. Apparently, this is my path. That’s it, Anna, go home. Calmly. And with an answer. He tested you – now you test him.
Anna came home at half past seven. Alexey met her with pancakes. Apparently, somewhere in his head was: “if you did something wrong – feed me.” The universal male system of apologies.
“Where have you been?” he asked cautiously, as if he didn’t know.
– A lawyer. A real one, – she answered calmly and sat down at the table. – The pancakes are cold. As is our closeness lately.
He froze. Then he sat down opposite.
– Anna. Let’s not turn this into a drama. I’m not your enemy. I’m just a cautious person.
– You are a coward, Lyosha. You are not afraid of me, but of repetition. But in the end, you yourself create repetition. Again, mistrust, again a woman who is nearby, but without rights. It’s like paying for the metro without getting to the right station.
– I did not mean that.
— You didn’t want to give anything away. Not even the belief that we were partners. And I’m not your housekeeper. And not an “option with risks.” I’m the woman you supposedly fucking love.
He fell silent. And then… he pressed his lips together.
— Did you bring something from the lawyer?
– Yes. A new draft contract. With normal clauses. With respect to me, to us, and, you won’t believe it, even to your apartment. Everything is balanced. No slobber, but no meanness either.
— Can I see it?
– Yes, you can. But keep in mind. If you say, “This doesn’t suit me,” we’re breaking up. Period. I don’t want to be in a couple where there’s only one driver and the other is a suitcase.
He took the contract. He read it for a long time. Even his eyebrows moved. He snorted at times.
– Do you seriously think I’ll sign this?
She stood up silently and took her coat.
– Here is the answer.
— Where are you going?
— To Lyudmila. There is an apartment there without a contract, but with support. And you think about it: do you want a partnership… or just property that doesn’t get on your nerves.
She slammed the door. Not very loudly – those damned closers again.
Lyudmila’s apartment smelled of chicken cutlets and new life.
– Well, I congratulate you. You’re practically a bride with balls. Did he sign?
– Not yet. I left. I said: either he – with respect, or I – with things.
– Now you’re a real woman. Not a wimp with a ring, but a queen with self-esteem.
– I’m scared, Lyud. What if I lose everything?
– You didn’t lose. You got yourself back. Now wait. If he’s not an idiot, he’ll show up. With a new contract. And with those same three words.
– What kind?
– “I understood everything.” And without pancakes.
Anna woke up early. Lyudmila, as always, had gone out on business, leaving a note on the fridge in the style of “eat everything except Vadimov’s beer.” The apartment resembled a refuge for women who had fled ridiculous marriages, toxic bosses, and beauticians who made eyebrows “like young Aunt Zina’s.” What Anna valued most now was precisely this – the silence in which to think.
On the second day of her absence from Lesha’s universe, he didn’t call. No texts, no messages. Nothing. An absolute vacuum in which only one thought stirred: maybe he was glad that everything had resolved itself?
On the third day, she went outside. The weather was the same as inside – cloudy, but bearable. She walked to a coffee shop, ordered the most expensive cappuccino – in defiance of all modesty. And it was at this moment that Alexey found her.
Without flowers. Without pancakes. With a piece of paper. And with a girl of about twelve.
Anna almost dropped her coffee.
“Hello,” he breathed out.
“Is this your… daughter?” almost in a whisper.
The girl frowned and turned away.
– Sonya. Daughter. From my first marriage. I’ve wanted to show her to you for a long time, but… it never worked out.
– You wanted to show me your daughter, but decided to start with a careless marriage contract? You have an interesting approach.
– Anna, please. I brought the signed contract. A new one. According to the template you gave me.
He held out the paper. She took it, glanced at it. No tricks. No deception. Clean. Like a pension fund tear.
– And you decided to do it like this? With a child as a backup? Is this blackmail or a demonstration that you are, after all, a person with feelings?
— I want you to see: I’m not afraid to share what’s dear to me. Not my property, not my life. I was just… afraid of getting into trouble again. But you’re not a trouble. You’re a chance. And I don’t want to fuck it up.
– Very romantic. I hope the girl can’t hear everything now.
– Sonya has already heard worse. Right, Sonya?
The girl shrugged and muttered gloomily:
– I don’t care, I just want to go home.
“I understand you,” Anna nodded. “Me too.”
“Shall we go?” he asked quietly.
– Are you sure? In your contract, I am no longer a “cohabitant in law”, but an “equal partner”. Do you sleep normally with this?
– Yes. Better than when you left. I realized that I don’t need a woman – a comfortable one. I need you. With all the “no”, “I’ll think about it” and “take your slippers out of the bathroom”.
She looked at him. Then at Sonya. She was clearly enduring it. She didn’t sob, didn’t roll her eyes – she just endured it. A good actor. But Anna knew how to read people like that.
– Okay. Consider it a test drive. No sex until you prove that you can share not only square meters, but also respect.
– I’m ready.
– Then let’s go. Just don’t put the slippers in the bath. And I’m refusing pancakes for now.
Sonya finally smiled.
– You have a funny family. Mom said you were “strange adults.” Looks like she was right.
“You haven’t seen how he irons shirts yet. It’s a survival performance,” Anna smiled.
And they went. The three of them. No guarantee, but with a chance.
In the evening they were sitting in the kitchen. Alexey was washing dishes (!), Sonya was typing something on her phone, and Anna was drinking tea. Not a metaphor, but regular tea – black, with lemon.
“Do you believe this can work?” he asked without turning around.
– No. But I want to try. And that’s already a lot.
He nodded. Sonya raised her head:
– You are strange. But maybe not so hopeless.
And Anna thought for the first time in a long time: maybe this time she didn’t get into trouble. But she entered. Into the house. Where there are finally walls, and a word, and coffee without fear.
