“All my money is mine, and yours is yours,” her husband said with a grin, not knowing that she had just gotten a multimillion-dollar inheritance.
Can you believe it? “The terrace faces directly east,” Igor said as they crossed the street and held her hand. “We’ll wake up in the morning, and the sun will rise over the trees.”
Vera grinned and leaned against his shoulder. The wind in February made her scarf fly up, yet she felt comfortable next to Igor. They walked along the promenade, talking about their ideal home, which was becoming a more common topic of conversation.
“I just need a bigger window,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “There’s a lot of light.” I’ll place an easel there.
Igor nodded and said, “And you’ll paint your pictures,” as he lovingly ruffled her hair. “And I’ll build special shelves for your paintings.”
Vera moved in closer to him. Their relationship had been going on for a year, yet it felt like one day. They had long talks, spent evenings together, and went to Kazan over the May holidays.
Igor seemed so trustworthy and sure of himself. His construction firm was doing well, although he regularly grumbled about other businesses and problems with contractors.
“Listen,” Igor said as he halted by the railing and looked out at the sea. “If everything goes as planned, we’ll have saved enough for the down payment by next winter.”
“Really?” Vera looked at him. “Then I’ll have to start painting portraits for money.”
Igor frowned.
“Why?” I can deal with that; I have a plan.
“But I want to be involved too.” Vera stepped back a little. “It’s our home together.”
He smiled and hugged her shoulders.
“Before the wedding, we should focus on decorating our apartment.” And the money? That’s for men.
Vera wanted to argue, but a phone call got in the way. A number that is not known.
“Vera Andreievna?” stated a deep male voice. “This is from the law firm of Konovalov and Associates.”
She stepped back a little and turned her back on Igor. The stranger’s formal tone made her speak more quietly.
“I hear you.”
“This is about your uncle, Gennady Viktorovich Sokolov.”
Vera instinctively grabbed the phone. Gena’s uncle. Her mother’s brother, with whom the family had cut relations because of an old fight.
She just remembered his gray mustache and how big his hands were when he gave her a rocking horse.
“Did something happen to him?” She turned to a store window so Igor couldn’t see her face.
“Sadly, Gennady Viktorovich died two weeks ago. “Illness.” His voice got softer. “Could you come to our office? We need to talk about some things that need your personal presence.”
Vera turned around and looked. Igor stood a few steps away, staring at his phone.
“Would three o’clock tomorrow work?” He asked in a low voice. “Please tell me where you live.”
She went back to Igor after the call, and he was looking at her expectantly.
“Who was that?” He nodded at the phone.
“Oh,” Vera waved her hand, “wrong number. “What were we talking about?”
They kept walking, but Vera’s mind was elsewhere. Her uncle’s announcement made her realize how rapidly things may change. The next day, she told Igor that she had a client who wanted a portrait. She actually sat in the lawyer’s office in a leather chair, listening to him and not being able to believe what she heard.
“Forty-seven million,” Konovalov said again, giving her a folder of papers. “Plus a country house and an apartment in the city.”
Your uncle was a highly successful investor, but he never had kids. You are the only one who can inherit from him.
Vera took the papers with shaking hands. The quantity didn’t make sense.
“Okay,” she could only say. “And… I’d like to keep this a secret for now.”
“Of course,” the lawyer said. “We value privacy above all else.” And you’ll only get everything in six months.
She and Igor talked about their wedding that night. He talked about the guests, the restaurant, and the honeymoon.
He massaged her wrist gently and said, “When we get back, we’ll start saving for the house.”
“My little artist will soon be living in a real mansion.” But we shouldn’t rush into having kids. We need to get our lives in order first.
Vera didn’t say anything and just looked at her hands. The documentation about the inheritance was still buried in her studio, among the paintings. An inner voice kept telling me to wait, not to tell him yet, and to see how things turned out.
“Do you hear me?” Igor snapped his fingers in front of her face. “I’m talking about our future, and you’re daydreaming.”
Vera smiled and said, “Sorry, I was thinking about how to design the invitation.” “Let’s do them in blue tones to match your eyes.”
The wedding felt like home, warm and inviting. It wasn’t a banquet hall; it was a café with big windows.
Instead of fancy bouquets, there were paintings that Vera had made. Instead of a limousine, it was a cab with a cheery driver who played jazz and shared stories about his violinist daughter.
Vera stood at the window and watched the rain make patterns on the glass while the visitors danced. The papers on the inheritance stayed in his study. She still didn’t tell Igor today. A voice inside her said, “Wait a little longer.”
“What are you thinking about, wife?” Igor walked up behind her and hugged her fiercely.
She turned to him and said, “I can’t believe I’m your wife now.” “It sounds so… official.”
Igor smiled and said, “Get used to it.” “Everything will be official.” Registration for marriage, registration for a dwelling, and so on…
“Kids?” Vera laughed.
Igor’s smile went away a little.
“Let’s not hurry this.” First, get settled.
Vera didn’t say anything. He has been bringing that up a lot lately. “Get established” seemed odd, like they were begging. The week after the wedding was like a cloud of honey. They moved into Igor’s apartment, which was bigger but colder.
Vera brought in her paintings, arranged flowers, and tried to make the room feel cozy. Igor didn’t mind, but he always told himself:
“We’ll save up for the house and spend less on little things.”
He said on Friday that he intended to cut back on how much he taught at the art school.
Vera said at dinner, “I want to work on a solo show.” “Even if I have to tighten my belt a little.”
“What do you mean by ‘tighten’?”” Igor dropped his fork. “Are you going to make less money?”
“Temporarily,” he said with a nod. “Only a few months.” I decided it would be best to focus on art since we don’t have any kids.
Igor suddenly got up from the table.
“Listen carefully,” his voice got chilly. “Your money is yours, and my money is mine.”
I won’t help anyone. “Work for what you want.”
Vera stopped moving and opened her mouth. The words of her spouse hit her like a slap.
“But we’re family,” she finally said. “Isn’t that what marriage is all about, helping each other?”
Igor cut her off and said, “Yes, support.” “Not profit. It’s your job to take care of it.
My job is my own. We both put money into our future. But I’m not going to waste money while you paint your images.
He walked out of the kitchen, leaving her speechless. They each slept on their own side of the bed that night, as if there were an invisible line separating them. Igor pretended like nothing had happened the night before the next morning.
He looked at movie listings, chatted about ski locations for winter vacations, and laughed about a coworker who was locked in an elevator with an accountant.
Vera studied him and tried to figure out what she had done wrong. His beard was properly groomed, his hair was flawlessly styled, and when he smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were so familiar and yet so strange. She suddenly saw cold calculation behind every act of caring. Behind every compliment was a judgment of how useful she was.
“Can you lend me $5,000 until payday?” she asked, putting her theory to the test.
Her smile faded, and for a time, her gaze was locked.
She gently altered the subject by saying, “I won’t give you any money; remember that.”
Two months later, Vera struck a deal with the Neo-Art ad agency. Now her day started at six in the morning and concluded late at night. The routine was confusing: she went to art school in the mornings, sketched ads during the day, and did other work at night that made her tired. She got home after the city had gone to sleep. Igor finally discovered that she was gone on the eighth day of this marathon.
“Did they make you the night watch?” He muttered this from his laptop as the key turned almost eleven.
“I did more work.” Vera pulled off her shoes because her feet were numb. “How else am I going to make a living?” “That was the deal, remember?”
Igor made a face like he had eaten something sour.
“Don’t be over the top.” I only meant that you shouldn’t give up a steady job to try new things.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he headed to the washroom, “your budget is safe.”
Vera was working three jobs at once by the end of their third month of marriage. It was as if she needed to prove something to herself, not so much to Igor. School, agency, and private workshops on the weekends.
She saw her husband less often than the delivery man. She came when he was asleep and departed before he woke up.
She knew she wouldn’t have to work for a while because of the inheritance, but she wanted to show that she could get by without it.
When they did meet, she was able to do laundry, clean the bathroom, and make something for the next day without making a sound, like a robot programmed to do chores.
Igor didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing. He worked longer hours, came home angry, and blew up over small things. One day, she saw texts on his phone from a woman named Margarita that were plainly flirting. Igor told her to go away when she questioned, “She’s an interior designer; we’re talking about a project.”
“At one in the morning?” Vera lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t tell me when or who to talk to,” he said. “And don’t look at my phone.”
The next few weeks were very cold. Vera ceased asking about her day, washing her clothes, or cooking for two. She lived like a roommate, with separate lives that never crossed paths. The day before their six-month wedding anniversary, she got the first payment of her inheritance. The amount in the account made her feel a little dizzy. Igor didn’t know because he had started a different account.
He got there later than usual that night. He smelled like wine and cologne.
He answered her stare by saying, “We had a party.” “We agreed to a new project.”
Vera nodded without saying anything. She had already packed the few items that really mattered: her paintings, paintbrushes, clothes, and her mother’s photo album. There was an envelope with the divorce paperwork on the table. Waiting for her time.
“Did you get the milk?” Igor asked, not taking his eyes off his laptop, and his fingers were still typing.
Vera had packed her things a month ago, but the application was still in her desk drawer. She wasn’t held back by feelings that had already dissipated. Instead, she was kept back by a painful curiosity about how far this bizarre experiment in her life could go.
He put the bags on the counter and said, “In the bag on the left.” “I paid for the internet; the receipt is on the fridge.”
Igor scarcely nodded because he was so focused on his task. Vera quietly went to the bedroom and opened the closet’s top drawer.
A basic shoebox was located under a pile of winter sweaters. It was her personal safe. During those weeks, she had made the inheritance a real thing by talking to lawyers, meeting with investors, doing paperwork, and making investments.
The money, the city apartment, and the country house were all legally hers now.
She carefully glanced over the new papers: bank statements with seven-digit numbers, a sealed property certificate, and a bunch of keys to a big apartment with a view of the river. A group of free people waiting for their time.
Igor immediately perked up that night as they were eating dinner:
“Hey, remember we wanted a house in the country?”
Vera raised her head from her plate:
“Yes.”
“I found out…” she said, leaning forward. “There are some good choices in Sosnovo.” If we get a mortgage and put down money…
“Ours?” Vera cut in. “You mean the money you put down?”
Igor froze for a moment, but then he was fine.
“Well, technically mine.” But it’s for both of us.
Vera put down her fork and said, “That sounds interesting.” “And I believed all of your money was yours and all of my money was mine. Or have the regulations changed?
She turned red, but only for a short while.
Igor opened his hands and said, “I don’t get your tone.” “All I’m saying is that we should make our dream come true.” The one we talked about before the big day.
Vera cautiously stood up from the table.
She said, “I’ll clean the dishes tomorrow.” “I need to get ready for class tomorrow.”
Igor stopped her at the door in the morning:
“Hey, I didn’t intend to hurt you yesterday. Let’s just think about the future together. You wanted a garden, a house, and a studio…
Vera stared at him for a long time. The man in front of her was not the same man she had loved. Or maybe he was, but now she could see him plainly.
He remarked, “Don’t wait for me; I’ll be late today.”
Vera didn’t go to work that afternoon. She told the taxi driver to take her to a glass building in the financial area, where her lawyer’s office was, instead of the customary route. Then she told him to take her to an old house on the Fontanka River.
The inherited flat was cold and empty, with light flowing in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
She went slowly over the parquet, listening to it crackle under her heels as if it were telling the story of people who used to live there.
Five rooms with stucco ceilings and marble windowsills that are big and airy. Not forced promotional pictures, but real paintings that come to life and have a personality.
Igor got home a week later than normal. His eyes glittered, and his movements were quick and nervous.
“Vera!” he almost yelled. “You won’t believe this!” I saw Anton, remember? He says, “I work at a bank…”
He halted when he spotted her in the chair with a box on her lap.
“What happened?” “Her smile vanished.
Vera gave him the box and said, “This is for you.”
Igor weighed it in his hands, as if to see how important it was, and then took off the cover. His eyebrows gently rose, and his fingers stayed on the papers. The seconds passed in silence.
“Are you kidding?”” Her voice broke, and her pupils were wide open, showing a mix of incredulity and a new hunger.
“Look at the stamps.” Vera leaned against the doorframe and watched his face transform. “A flat with a view of the Neva, a mansion in the pine forest, and a bank statement with seven-digit numbers.” There are no forgeries.
He scanned through the pages, his eyes wild with numbers.
“Where did all of this come from?”
Vera smiled a little.
“Do you remember the call on the embankment before the wedding?” My uncle Gennady’s lawyer was there. He gave me all of his money. Forty-seven million, to be exact.
Igor fell down on the couch, as if the air surrounding him had gotten thicker.
“And you’ve been quiet this whole time?” He looked up with his gloomy stare. “Why?”
“You decide what’s most important in our family,” she said as she walked up to the window and ran her finger along the sill. “All of my money is mine, and all of your money is yours.” I just did what I was told.
She turned around and stared him in the eye:
“At that moment, I realized that this wasn’t a marriage for you; it was a good business deal.” You get to do what you want and have a helpful maid, but you don’t have to do anything in exchange. I needed to be sure for good. I have no doubts now.
Igor swallowed and ran his fingers over the pages as if he were looking for a way out.
“Let’s not be hasty,” her voice turned fake soft. “This is a great chance to make our dreams come true! The house you wanted, your studio!” We could even have a kid…”
“No,” Vera murmured softly but strongly enough that he stopped. “Here you go,” she said, putting an envelope with an official seal on the table. “Request for divorce. There is already my signature. “Yours is missing.”
“Are you out of your mind?” He jumped and threw the papers down. “That’s our cash! I am your hubby!”
“But you said it yourself…”
“Forget your words!”” He lunged at her and grabbed her shoulders. “I won’t sign anything!”
Vera pushed his hands away gently but firmly.
“You’ll have to do it,” she said angrily. “Otherwise, the court will get a full report on your interactions with Margarita.” And with Elena, who works in accounting.
And the blonde girl from the gym whose name I didn’t even bother to memorize. “Call logs, camera recordings, and testimonies: my lawyer was surprisingly thorough.”
Igor moved back, his face blanched.
“That’s blackmail.”
He shook his head and said, “No.” “It’s a way to help me in the future.” And, to be honest, it’s hardly the most expensive one.
The two-story building’s front was lit up by the sun. Vera paused in the doorway and looked at the new sign that said “Breath of Color Art Space.” “Painting School and Gallery.” It had been three months since the divorce. Three months of complete freedom and change. During that period, she was able to not only finish buying the facility but also finish the renovations, choose teachers, and start an advertising campaign.
The real estate agency sent her a text announcing the final registration of the property, which made her smartphone vibrate in her pocket. She now owned the building. No liens. No claims. No ghosts from the past.
Vera opened the glass door and went in. The big windows let in a lot of light, and the room was full with the voices of the first students: fifteen bright-eyed kids who were impatiently seated in their chairs at their easels.
“Hello, young talents!” He smiled as he looked at their faces. “Are you ready to create your first pieces of art?”