He smiled and replied, “All my money is mine, and yours is yours.” He didn’t realize that she had just gotten a multimillion-dollar inheritance.
Do you believe it? Igor stated, “The terrace faces directly east,” as they crossed the street and held hands. “We’ll get up in the morning and see the sun rise over the trees.”
Vera smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. The wind in February caused her scarf blow up, yet she was still comfortable next to Igor. They walked along the promenade, talking about their dream home, which was becoming a more regular topic of conversation.
“I just need a bigger window,” she said softly as she closed her eyes. “There’s a lot of light.” I’ll put an easel there.
Igor nodded and continued, “And you’ll paint your pictures.” He tenderly messed up her hair. “And I’ll make special shelves for your art.”
Vera got closer to him. They had been together for a year, but it felt like just one day. They talked for a long time, spent evenings together, and went to Kazan over the May vacations.
Igor looked like he could be trusted and was sure of himself. His construction business was doing well, even though he often complained about other firms and problems with contractors.
Igor stopped by the railing and peered out at the sea. “Listen,” he muttered. “We should have saved enough for the down payment by next winter if everything goes as planned.”
“Really? Vera gazed at him. “Then I’ll have to start painting portraits to make money.”
Igor frowned.
I can handle “why?” because I have a plan.
“But I want to be a part of it too,” Vera said as she moved back. “This is our home together.”
He smiled and put his arms around her shoulders.
“Before the wedding, we should focus on decorating our apartment.” What about the money? That’s for guys.
Vera intended to fight, but a phone call got in the way. A number that no one knows.
A deep male voice said, “Vera Andreievna?” “This is from Konovalov and Associates, a law firm.”
She took a step back and turned her back on Igor. The stranger’s official tone made her talk more quietly.
“I hear you.”
“This is about your uncle, Gennady Viktorovich Sokolov.”
Vera snatched the phone without thinking. Gena’s uncle. Her mother’s brother, with whom the family had stopped talking due of an old quarrel.
She just remembered his gray mustache and how huge his hands were when he handed her a rocking horse.
“Did something happen to him?” She went to a store window so Igor couldn’t see her expression.
“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 you need to be there for.
Vera turned around and stared. Igor was a few steps away, staring at his phone.
“How about three o’clock tomorrow?” “Please tell me where you live,” he said in a quiet voice.
After the call, she went back to Igor, who was waiting for her.
“Who was that?” He nodded at the phone.
“Oh,” Vera said as she waved her hand, “wrong number.” “What were we talking about?”
They kept going, but Vera’s thoughts was on something else. Her uncle’s news let her see how quickly things can change. The next day, she told Igor that a client needed a picture of her. She really sat in a leather chair in the lawyer’s office and listened to him, not being able to believe what she heard.
“Forty-seven million,” Konovalov replied again, handing her a stack of papers. “Plus a house in the country and an apartment in the city.”
Your uncle was a very successful investor, but he never had any children. You are the only one who can get what he left behind.
Vera took the papers with hands that shook. The amount didn’t make sense.
“Okay,” she could only say. “And… I’d like to keep this a secret for now.”
“Of course,” the lawyer answered. “We value privacy above all else.” And you’ll have to wait six months to get everything.
That night, she and Igor chatted about their wedding. He talked about the honeymoon, the restaurant, and the guests.
He rubbed her wrist gently and murmured, “We’ll start saving for the house when we get back.”
“Pretty soon, my little artist will live in a real mansion.” But we shouldn’t rush into having kids. First, we need to get our lives in order.
Vera didn’t say anything; she just stared at her hands. The papers detailing the inheritance were still buried in her studio, where the paintings were. A voice inside me kept begging me to wait, not to tell him yet, and to see what happened.
Igor snapped his fingers in front of her face and said, “Do you hear me?” “You’re daydreaming while I’m talking about our future.”
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about how to design the invitation,” Vera remarked with a smile. “Let’s do them in blue tones to match your eyes.”
The wedding was cozy and welcoming, like home. It wasn’t a banquet hall; it was a café with wide windows.
There were paintings that Vera had done instead of beautiful bouquets. It wasn’t a limousine; it was a cab with a kind driver who played jazz and told stories about his daughter, who was a violinist.
While the guests danced, Vera stood at the window and watched the rain make patterns on the glass. The paperwork on the inheritance sat in his office. She still hasn’t told Igor today. “Wait a little longer,” a voice inside her urged.
Igor stepped up behind her and hugged her tightly. “What are you thinking about, wife?”
“I can’t believe I’m your wife now,” she murmured, turning to him. “It sounds so… official.”
Igor laughed and said, “Get used to it.” “Everything will be official.” There will be registration for marriage, registration for a home, and so on.
“Kids?” Vera laughed.
Igor’s smile faded a little.
“Don’t rush this.” First, feel comfortable.
Vera didn’t utter a word. He has been talking about that a lot lately. “Get established” seemed strange, 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 cooler.
Vera brought in her paintings, put flowers in vases, and tried to make the area feel warm and inviting. Igor didn’t care, but he always said to himself:
“We’ll save money for the house and spend less on small things.”
He announced on Friday that he wanted to teach less at the art school.
“I want to work on a solo show,” Vera said during dinner. “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?” “
He nodded and said, “Temporarily.” “Only a few months.” Since we don’t have any kids, I thought it would be best to focus on art.
Igor abruptly sprang up from the table.
“Listen closely,” his voice turned cold. “Your money is yours, and my money is mine.”
I won’t aid anyone. “You have to work for what you want.”
Vera stopped moving and opened her mouth. What her husband said hit her like a smack.
“But we’re family,” she finally responded. “Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Helping each other?” “
“Yes, support,” Igor interrupted her off. “Not profit.” You need to take care of it.
My job is mine. We both save money for the future. But I’m not going to squander money on things while you paint.
He left the kitchen, and she couldn’t say anything. That night, they each slept on their own side of the bed, as if there were an invisible line between them. Igor acted as nothing had happened the night before when he woke up the next morning.
He read movie listings, talked about where to go skiing in the winter, and laughed at a coworker who was stuck in an elevator with an accountant.
Vera looked at him and tried to figure out what she had done wrong. His beard was well-groomed, his hair was perfectly styled, and when he smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were both familiar and odd. She now saw cold calculation beneath every gesture of kindness. There was a judgment of how useful she was behind every compliment.
“Can you lend me $5,000 until payday?” she asked, putting her theory to the test.
Her smile faded, and for a while, she couldn’t look away.
She changed the issue in a gentle way by stating, “I won’t give you any money; keep that in mind.”
Vera made a deal with the Neo-Art ad agency two months later. Her day now started at six in the morning and ended late at night. The schedule was hard to follow. She went to art school in the morning, sketched commercials during the day, and performed other work at night that made her sleepy. She got home after the city had gone to bed. Igor ultimately found out she was gone on the seventh day of the race.
“Did they make you the night watch?” he said this quietly from his laptop as the clock struck eleven.
“I did more work.” Vera took off her shoes because her feet were cold. “How am I going to make money?” “That was the deal, remember?”
Igor looked like he had eaten something unpleasant.
“Don’t go too far.” All I meant was that you shouldn’t quit your steady career to try new things.
He said, “Don’t worry, your budget is safe,” as he walked to the bathroom.
By the conclusion of their third month of marriage, Vera was working three jobs at once. She seemed to need to prove something to herself more than to Igor. Workshops in school, at an agency, and on the weekends.
She saw her husband less often than the delivery man did. She came when he was sleeping and left before he woke up.
She knew she wouldn’t have to work for a time because of the inheritance, but she wanted to show that she could live without it.
When they met, she was able to do laundry, clean the bathroom, and create something for the next day without making a sound, like a robot that had been trained to do tasks.
Igor didn’t care much about what she was doing. He worked longer hours, was upset when he got home, and lost his temper over little things. She discovered texts on his phone from a woman named Margarita that were clearly flirting one day. When she asked, “She’s an interior designer; we’re talking about a project,” Igor told her to go.
“At one in the morning?” Vera raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t tell me when or who to talk to,” he said. “And don’t check my phone.”
It was exceedingly cold for the next few weeks. Vera stopped asking about her day, doing her laundry, or cooking for two. She lived like a roommate, with her own life that never crossed paths with hers. She got the first payment of her inheritance the day before their six-month wedding anniversary. She felt a little woozy because of how much was in the account. Igor didn’t know because he had made a new account.
That night, he came there later than usual. He smelled like cologne and alcohol.
He looked at her and said, “We had a party.” “We agreed to work on a new project.”
Vera nodded but didn’t say anything. She had previously packed the few things that were really important, like her clothes, paintings, paintbrushes, and her mother’s photo album. There was an envelope on the table with the divorce papers in it. Waiting for her turn.
Igor inquired, “Did you get the milk?” He didn’t look up from 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 didn’t let feelings that had already gone away hold her back. Instead, a terrible curiosity about how far this strange experiment in her life could go kept her from going.
He set the bags down on the counter and said, “In the bag on the left.” “I paid for the internet; the receipt is on the fridge.”
Igor barely nodded since he was so concentrated on what he was doing. Vera silently went to the bedroom and opened the top drawer of the closet.
There found a little shoebox under a pile of winter clothing. It was her own safe. During those weeks, she had made the inheritance a real thing by meeting with investors, talking to lawyers, filling out paperwork, and making investments.
The money, the city flat, and the country estate all belonged to her now.
She looked over the new papers carefully. They were bank statements with seven-digit numbers, a sealed property certificate, and a collection of keys to a huge apartment with a view of the river. A gathering of persons that are free and waiting for their turn.
Igor brightened up right away that night when they were eating dinner:
“Hey, do you remember we wanted a house in the country?”
Vera looked up from her plate:
“Yes.”
“I found out…” she began, leaning forward. “There are some good choices in Sosnovo.” If we acquire a loan and put down money…
“Ours?” Vera said. “You mean the cash you put down?”
Igor stopped for a second, but then he was OK.
“Well, technically mine.” But it’s for both of us.
Vera laid down her fork and murmured, “That sounds interesting.” “I thought all of your money was yours and all of my money was mine. Have the rules changed?”
She got red, but not for long.
Igor extended 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 great day.
Vera carefully got up from the table.
“I’ll wash the dishes tomorrow,” she said. “I need to get ready for class tomorrow.”
In the morning, Igor stopped her at the door:
“Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. Let’s just think about what’s to come. You wanted a house, a garden, and a studio…
Vera looked at him for a long time. The man in front of her was not the man she had loved. Or maybe he was, but now she could see him well.
He said, “Don’t wait for me; I’m going to be late today.”
That afternoon, Vera didn’t go to work. Instead of the usual route, she requested the taxi driver to take her to a glass building in the financial district, where her lawyer’s office was. Then she urged him to drive her to an old house on the Fontanka River.
The inherited flat was vacant and frigid, with light coming in through the windows that went from floor to ceiling.
She walked slowly across the parquet floor, listening to it crackle under her heels as if it were narrating the story of the people who used to live there.
Five rooms with broad, airy plaster ceilings and marble windowsills. Not fake commercial photographs, but real paintings that come to life and have their own personalities.
Igor got home a week later than usual. His eyes sparkled, and he moved quickly and nervously.
“Vera!” he almost shouted. “You won’t believe this!” I saw Anton, remember? He says, “I work at a bank…”
He stopped when he saw her sitting in a chair with a box on her lap.
“What happened?” “Her smile went away.
Vera handed him the box and added, “This is for you.”
Igor held it in his hands to see how essential it was, then took off the cover. His eyebrows went up slightly, and his fingers stayed on the papers. The seconds went by in quiet.
“Are you serious? Her voice cracked, and her pupils were wide open, revealing that she was both shocked and hungry.
“Look at the stamps.” Vera leaned against the doorframe and watched as his face changed. “A flat with a view of the Neva, a mansion in the pine forest, and a bank statement with seven-digit numbers.” No fakes here.
He looked over the pages quickly, his eyes full of figures.
“Where did all of this come from?”
Vera grinned 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 cash. To be exact, forty-seven million.
Igor dropped down on the couch, as if the air around him had gotten heavier.
“And you’ve been quiet this whole time?” He gazed up at me with a sad look. “Why?”
She came up to the window and ran her finger along the sill. “You decide what’s most important in our family,” she murmured. “All of my money is mine, and all of your money is yours.” I just did what I was told.
She looked him in the eye and said:
“At that moment, I knew this wasn’t a marriage for you; it was a good business deal.” You may do what you want and have a maid who helps you, but you don’t have to do anything in return. I had to be sure for good. I don’t have any doubts now.
Igor swallowed and ran his fingers over the pages as if he were trying to find a way out.
“Don’t be in a hurry,” she said in a phony quiet voice. “This is a great chance to make our dreams come true! The house you wanted, your studio!” We could even have a child…
“No,” Vera whispered quietly but firmly enough to make him stop. “Here you go,” she continued, putting an envelope with an official seal on the table. “Request for divorce.” My signature is already there. “Yours is gone.”
“Are you crazy?” He jumped up and threw the papers down. “That’s our money! I’m your husband!”
“But you said it yourself…”
“Forget what you said!” He ran at her and grasped her shoulders. “I won’t sign anything!” “
Vera gently but forcefully pushed his hands away.
“You’re going to have to do it,” she added fiercely. “If you don’t, the court will get a full report on how you talked to Margarita.” And with Elena, who works in accounting.
And the blonde girl from the gym whose name I didn’t even try to remember. “My lawyer was surprisingly thorough with call logs, camera recordings, and testimonies.”
Igor stepped back, his face pale.
“That’s extortion.”
He shook his head and said, “No.” “It’s a way to help me in the future.” And honestly, it’s not even the most expensive one.
The sun lit up the front of the two-story building. Vera stopped in the doorway to look 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 time, she was able to finish buying the building, finish the renovations, choose teachers, and start an advertising campaign.
The real estate agent sent her a text to let her know that the property was officially hers. It made her phone vibrate in her pocket. She now owned the building. There were no liens, no claims, and no ghosts from the past.
Vera opened the door and walked in. The huge windows let in a lot of light, and the room was full with the voices of the first students: fifteen eager kids who were sitting at their easels and waiting for their turn.
“Hi, young talents!” He grinned at their looks and said, “Are you ready to make your first pieces of art?” “
