Olga sat flipping through a gourmet magazine, scribbling notes beside a new French julienne recipe that had caught her interest.
Cooking was more than a hobby—it was her true passion.
Engrossed in her culinary musings, she didn’t hear the front door open. Only the sound of deliberate, heavy footsteps made her realize her husband was home.
He walked past without a glance or a word. The air around him was thick with the scent of expensive cologne—and faint traces of unfamiliar perfume.
A chill settled in her chest.
He strode into the living room, yanked papers from his briefcase, and tossed them forcefully onto the table. They scattered across the floor like autumn leaves.
“What is this?” Olga asked, her voice shaking as she picked up the pages.
“Divorce papers,” he said coldly. “Sign them. Spare me the drama.”
“What are you talking about? Divorce? Things were going fine! You just got promoted—you toasted to me in front of everyone, said I was the perfect wife!”
“You were perfect—for someone climbing the corporate ladder. But I’m not that man anymore. I’m the deputy CEO now. I move in different circles. I need someone who matches that. Frankly, I’m embarrassed to call you my wife. You’re just a housewife, buried in recipes, invisible to the world.”
Olga gripped the papers tightly, her face pale. “So there is someone else?”
“Yes. Someone who makes me feel proud. Who matches my ambitions? Our marriage is outdated.”
Without another word, he walked out, already dialing someone.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m on my way. Wait for me at the restaurant.”
In ten minutes, everything Olga had spent years building came crashing down.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, a knock at the door startled her. She opened it slowly to find two movers.
“We’re here for Mr. Vladimirovich’s things,” one explained politely.
As they packed, Olga called her friend.
“Alla? You busy?”
“He gave me divorce papers yesterday.”
Alla sighed. “Ever since he got promoted, he’s been awful—mean to everyone, especially women. And then Marina Vitalyevna came along.”
“The new HR manager?”
“Yep. Young, loaded, ambitious. She’s been reeling him in since day one.”
Olga’s hands trembled.
The movers cleared his wardrobe, leaving behind an eerie emptiness. She picked up fallen ties and shut the drawers mechanically. Inside a jacket pocket, she found a photo of them smiling. She tore it to shreds.
The phone rang. It was Alla again.
“What now?”
“I’m not sure,” Olga said quietly. Then, firmer: “But I’m done crying. I’ve lived his life long enough. Time to start living mine.”
“Atta girl! But don’t sign those papers yet. Make him sweat.”
“No,” Olga replied. “I’ll sign. I’m not clinging to someone who betrayed me. But I’ll make sure he regrets every tear I’ve cried.”
She picked up her phone and made a call.
“Hello, I’d like to reserve a large event hall for next Friday—about 200 guests. And I’d like to discuss some special arrangements.”
The divorce went through swiftly. Olga signed everything without protest. Oleg felt victorious, basking in his new relationship.
At a lavish corporate party, Oleg and Marina took the spotlight. Marina beamed, “They say the company owner will be here tonight. No one’s ever seen her, but apparently, she’s a powerful woman.”
Just then, the new CEO stepped on stage.
Oleg nearly dropped his glass.
It was Olga—elegant, confident, radiant. The crowd erupted in applause as she spoke. Champagne was offered. She moved gracefully among employees, chatting, smiling, and exuding charm.
Oleg pushed through the crowd, trying to catch her. But she disappeared, while Marina sat frozen, her napkin crumpled in her fist.
The next morning at 9 a.m., Oleg was summoned to the CEO’s office.
She didn’t even look up. “Please sit, Oleg Vladimirovich. I’ll be brief. Your services are no longer required. Your values don’t align with our future.”
An hour later, Oleg stood outside what used to be his home. He rehearsed his apology all the way there, but as the door opened, his words failed him.
Olga looked stunning in a sleek pantsuit, her hair styled flawlessly.
“I love you,” he blurted. “It was a mistake. Anyone can make one.”
“No,” she said calmly. “What you did wasn’t a mistake—it was your true self showing.”
Just then, a tall, confident man appeared behind her. “Everything alright?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Oleg.
“Everything’s fine,” Olga replied, her voice soft but firm. “My ex-husband was just leaving. Right?”
The man stepped closer. “You should go. I don’t like using force—but I will.”
Olga smiled, watching Oleg retreat. For the first time in years, her life felt like her own—and it was finally headed in the right direction.
