“My wife is naive; she trusts me blindly. Her apartment will be mine,” — I overheard my husband’s conversation.
I never saw myself as naive. On the contrary, I had every reason to be proud: I left my small hometown for a big city, landed a good job, and even bought a three‑room apartment. Then I got married, thinking my happiness would know no bounds. How wrong I was!
Hello, dear readers! Today I’m sharing a case from my practice that I found truly fascinating. I hope you enjoy it too. A client came to see me to recount an event in her family.
I met Vlas a year and a half ago during a rafting trip, a first for both of us. This charming young man captivated me at once—he played guitar beautifully and sang wonderfully. We spent two weeks by the river, paddling huge inflatable rafts and gathering around the fire at night to eat grilled fish, canned chickpeas, simple soups, and tea served in tin cups under the starry sky.
I had moved from my ten‑thousand‑person town to the big city, where young people had only quarry jobs up north. I yearned to see the world, especially since I graduated with honors and excelled in my state exams. With my parents’ support, I enrolled in history at university, but ended up joining a real estate agency. I quickly earned a reputation as a professional—friends and acquaintances recommended me, and I never lacked assignments. Our agency was one of the oldest and largest, and I felt fortunate to be hired there.
I worked tirelessly and had no desire to return home, although I continued supporting my parents financially. Soon I bought an apartment and paid it off early. I enjoyed my single life and had no interest in commitment, believing family life too complex. Plus, I didn’t consider myself beautiful—I lived in peace with my ordinary looks. Yet Vlas won my heart at first glance with his admiring, loving eyes. After rafting, we dined at a cozy restaurant and began dating. He struck me as kind and reliable.
Vlas, too, came from a village far away, and his parents were proud of his success. He worked in a building‑materials store; the pay was modest, but he loved his job. For me, money wasn’t everything—I valued a person’s soul and mind. Vlas wasn’t in a hurry to start a family either; he waited for the right person. Six months later he proposed, and I joyfully accepted. We opted for a quiet city‑hall wedding with only close friends, then returned to my apartment as husband and wife.
I made our home cozy—bought lovely bedding, sewed curtains, and retiled the bathroom. In the evenings we cooked together. Vlas loved to cook, and his Finnish maternal heritage showed in his creamy cod soup—worthy of royalty.
We had nearly enough savings to fulfill our dreams and planned a seaside vacation. I’d never seen the ocean and longed to gaze at turquoise waters.
But recently our relationship soured. Vlas, once gentle, now made cruel jokes about my appearance. I didn’t believe myself beautiful—just ordinary—and his barbs cut deep. I asked, “If I’m so unattractive and old, why marry me?” He replied, “I feel good with you,” realizing he’d crossed a line.
My mother‑in‑law had gifted us her apartment but refused to let us sell it. My husband, three years my junior, used that as an excuse for childish taunts. His behavior chipped away at our happiness, and I wondered why I endured it. Alone, I was at peace—no one humiliated me. I would have preferred a cat to a man who constantly belittles me!
One day I arrived home early to find him on the phone plotting to trick me into cosigning a bank loan, then use a friendly notary to transfer my apartment to him. I froze, slipped out, and rang the doorbell as if I’d forgotten my keys. He invited me to dinner, boasting about his salmon, while I waited for his lies.
The next day we went to the notary. He praised my generosity while the notary handed me the papers. At that moment, the police burst in and arrested both men. They were stunned. I told them I wouldn’t let anyone steal my home.
I cooperated with the police and filed for divorce. With no children or shared assets, it was over in under a month. Free from that traitor, I reflected on how I’d missed the warning signs.
I adopted a Labrador named Zephyr, my faithful companion for morning and evening walks. My mother visited and reminded me there are good people in the world. Even Zephyr will find a partner, and one day I might too. Though I may never remarry, I live each day with pride and dignity, grateful for the lessons learned.
