Lena stood by the window of her empty apartment and looked out at the yard where her children used to play. Now Misha was twenty years old, working in St. Petersburg, and Katya was eighteen, studying at university. The apartment seemed huge and uncomfortable without their laughter, without the constant running around, without the pile of textbooks on the table.

Many years ago, when Misha was born, she quit her job in advertising. “Why do you need that career,” Andrey said back then, “I’ll earn the money, and you take care of the house and the children.” And she did. She cooked, washed, cleaned, took the kids to clubs and sections, stayed with the sick ones, helped with homework. When Katya was born, life turned into a nonstop marathon: up at six in the morning, breakfast for everyone, seeing off her husband to work, kids to kindergarten and school, then shopping, cooking, cleaning, picking up the kids, clubs, lessons, dinner, laundry, ironing… And that every day.

Andrey came home tired, ate dinner silently, and turned on the TV. On weekends, he met with friends, played football, or went fishing. “You rest at home all week,” he said when she asked him to stay home and help with the children.

And his mother, Valentina Petrovna, regularly reminded her: “Andryusha is tired at work; he needs peace at home. And what about you? Sitting at home like a lady. In my day, women worked and ran the household.” Lena was silent, gritting her teeth. Explaining was useless — her mother-in-law saw only what she wanted to see.

The years flew by unnoticed. The children grew up, became more independent. Lena began to think about going back to work, taking care of herself. She signed up for a gym, started taking care of herself, updated her wardrobe. For the first time in many years, she looked in the mirror and thought, “I’m actually not bad.”

But Andrey did not notice. Or didn’t want to notice. He started staying late at work more often, became cold and absent-minded. Then he announced that he had fallen in love with his new secretary, Alina. Twenty-five, bright, ambitious.

“Sorry, Lena,” he said while packing his things, “but I can’t do this anymore. I need new sensations, new emotions. Alina understands me, she’s so… alive.”

Lena was silent, watching her world crumble. Eighteen years of marriage, two children, shared plans, dreams — all of it turned out to be less important than a young body and admiring eyes.

Valentina Petrovna, of course, supported her son:

“What did you expect, Lena? You let yourself go completely. Sitting at home in a robe, not bothering with your appearance. Men love with their eyes. And Andrey needs a woman by his side, not a tired housewife.”

Lena didn’t remind anyone who insisted she stay at home and only take care of the family. She just left and stopped answering her mother-in-law’s calls.

The divorce went quietly. Andrey left her the apartment — apparently, his conscience still worked. He helped the children with money regularly but avoided contact with his ex-wife. Fortunately, the children were already adults and decided for themselves who and how to communicate with.

Lena got a job at a small advertising agency. Life improved slowly but surely. She learned to live alone, got to know herself again. But the pain from betrayal did not pass. It hurt most to think that twenty years of her life were needed by no one.

And then one morning, a notary from Moscow called:

“Elena Mikhailovna Voronova? Please accept my condolences. Your aunt, Anna Mikhailovna Drozdova, has passed away. You are the sole heir according to the will.”

Aunt Anya. Lena vaguely remembered this woman — her father’s sister, who had moved to Moscow many years ago and occasionally sent New Year’s postcards. They had met only a few times in childhood.

“What is included in the inheritance?” Lena asked.

“A three-room apartment in central Moscow, a collection of antiques, and two million rubles in a bank account,” the notary replied.

Lena nearly dropped the phone. Two million rubles… For her, earning forty thousand a month, it was simply fantastic money.

That same day she told her friend Marina about it. Marina was sincerely happy:

“Lena, can you imagine? This is fate! A new life in the capital, new opportunities! I’m so happy for you!”

Lena flew to Moscow to handle the inheritance. The apartment turned out to be a real treasure — an old house in Khamovniki, high ceilings, parquet floors, a tiled stove. The antiques — paintings, porcelain, silver — all worth quite a lot. Aunt Anya, it turned out, was knowledgeable about art and had spent her life collecting the collection.

While Lena was in Moscow, Marina apparently couldn’t resist telling someone from their mutual acquaintances about her friend’s inheritance. And they told others. In a small town, news spreads quickly.

When Lena returned home with the inheritance documents, she was in for a surprise. Literally the next day, a familiar jeep parked near her building — Andrey’s car.

He came up to their former apartment and rang the bell. He looked bad — gaunt, with bags under his eyes.

“Lena, I need to talk to you,” he said.

“What is there to talk about, Andrey? We said everything six months ago.”

“I was wrong. I understand now. The thing with Alina… it was foolish. I need you, our family.”

Lena opened the door but did not invite him in:

“Family? The same family you abandoned for a young mistress?”

“Forgive me. I’m a fool, an idiot. But we have so much in common! Children, years together… I love you.”

“Love?,” Lena smirked. “Strange kind of love you have. It disappears the moment you meet something newer and more attractive.”

“Lena, give me a chance. I’ve changed. Alina… she turned out to be not who I thought. Mercantile, selfish. But you… you are real.”

“Interesting,” Lena thought, “when did you realize this? Before or after you found out about the inheritance?”

The next day Valentina Petrovna showed up. She came with a cake and a bouquet of flowers.

“Lenočka, dear, how are you? I’ve missed you so much!”

“Valentina Petrovna, we haven’t spoken for six months. Why this sudden concern?”

“Oh, Lena, come on! I understand you’re upset with us. But family is sacred! Andryusha told me everything about how he regrets it. He’s my silly, impulsive son. Men sometimes do stupid things, but then they come to their senses.”

“And what are you proposing?”

“Forgive him, Lena. You were together so long, you have children… That secretary — she’s just passing through. Andryusha realized that true happiness is a home, family, a faithful wife.”

Lena listened to these speeches and was amazed. Six months ago, the same woman told her that she herself was to blame for her husband’s departure. And now she begged to forgive the “foolish son.”