Olga scribbled notes on a new French julienne dish in a gourmet magazine.
Cooking was her passion, not a pastime.
Her culinary thoughts kept her from hearing the front door open. Only heavy, purposeful footsteps alerted her that her husband was home.
He walked by without looking or speaking. He was surrounded by costly cologne and small traces of unknown perfume.
She felt cold.
He entered the living room, grabbed documents from his briefcase, and threw them on the table. They spread like autumn leaves on the floor.
What’s this? While picking up the papers, Olga inquired, shaking her voice.
“Divorce papers,” he answered coldly. “Sign them. Spare me drama.”
“You talking about what? Divorce? Things were good! You got promoted—you toasted me in front of everyone and called me the perfect wife!”
You were ideal for business advancement. I’m no longer that man. Now I’m deputy CEO. My circles change. Someone like that is needed. I’m ashamed to call you wife. You’re a homemaker buried in recipes, invisible.”
Olga clenched the papers, pallid. Is there someone else?
“Yes. Someone who inspires me. Who shares my goals? Our marriage is old.”
Without saying a word, he left and called someone.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m going. Wait for me at the restaurant.”
Olga lost all she had built for years in 15 minutes.
A knock at the door woke her the next morning after a restless night. She carefully opened it to discover two movers.
“We’re here for Mr. Vladimirovich’s things,” one said pleasantly.
Olga called her pal while packing.
“Alla? You busy?
No, what’s up? You sound awful.”
“He gave me divorce papers yesterday.”
Alla sighed. Since his promotion, he’s been rude to everyone, especially ladies. Then Marina Vitalyevna appeared.”
The next HR manager?
“Yep. Rich, young, ambitious. She’s drawn him in since the beginning.”
Olga shook.
An unnerving void was left after the movers emptied his closet. She methodically closed drawers after picking up dropped ties. She spotted their smiling snapshot in a jacket pocket. She ripped it up.
The phone rang. Alla returned.
“What now?”
“I’m not sure,” Olga said. Firmer: “But I’m done crying. I’ve lived his life enough. Start living my life.”
Atta girl! Wait to sign the documents. Make him sweat.”
“No,” Olga said. “I’ll sign. I’m not sticking to a traitor. But I’ll make him regret every tear I’ve shed.”
Phone in hand, she called.
“Hello, I want to reserve a large event hall for 200 people next Friday. I want to discuss unique arrangements.”
The divorce was quick. Olga signed everything without objection. Oleg reveled in his new friendship.
Oleg and Marina starred at a grandiose business gala. “They say the company owner will be here tonight,” Marina beams. No one has seen her, but she’s powerful.”
Just then, the new CEO appeared.
Oleg nearly dropped his glass.
It was lovely, confident, bright Olga. As she talked, the crowd applauded. Champagne was served. She spoke, smiled, and charmed employees.
Oleg pursued her through the crowd. She vanished as Marina froze, her napkin crumpled in her fist.
The next morning, Oleg was called to the CEO’s office at 9 a.m.
Not even looking up. “Sit, Oleg Vladimirovich. Shall be brief. Your services are no longer needed. Your principles contradict our future.”
An hour later, Oleg stood outside his former house. As the door opened, he forgot his apologies, which he had practiced all the way.
Olga looked gorgeous in a pantsuit with perfect hair.
“I love you,” he shouted. It was wrong. Anybody can create one.”
“No,” she answered quietly. “What you did wasn’t a mistake—it expressed your true self.”
Then a tall, confident man emerged behind her. “Everything alright?” he questioned, staring at Oleg.
“Everything’s fine,” Olga said softly but firmly. Ex-husband was leaving. Right?”
The man approached. You should go. I hate employing force, but I will.”
Olga smiled as Oleg left. Her life felt like hers for the first time in years, and it was finally going well.
