“I’m keeping the keys. After the divorce, I’m not planning on moving out.”
Georgiy placed the key ring on the kitchen table and opened the fridge, as if he’d just said something completely ordinary.
Ksenia, who had been standing at the sink, slowly dried her hands with a towel.
“Wait. So you’re ending the marriage, but you still want to live here?”
“And why not?”
He took out some mineral water and poured himself a glass.
“I’ve lived here for almost seven years. It’s my home too.”
Ksenia looked at him more closely. Lately, she often had to check if her husband was being serious. This time, his calm expression left no doubt: he was completely serious.
“This is my apartment, Gosha.”
“On paper, yes.”
“Not just on paper.”
“Well, fine. So what now? Am I supposed to be out on the street tomorrow?”
“You were the one who wanted the divorce.”
“Divorce, not eviction.”
He sat down at the table and continued in a completely businesslike tone:
“Renting a decent place now is at least forty thousand a month, maybe more. Why should I just throw that money away? I’ll stay here, check out my options, and calmly find a place that works.”
“How long do you plan on staying?”
Georgiy shrugged.
“I don’t know. Two months. Maybe three.”
Now Ksenia understood for sure: this was no joke.
A few days ago, it was her husband who said their marriage had run its course. He brought it up one evening in the living room, without drama, almost with a sense of ceremony.
He was clearly preparing for a tough conversation.
But Ksenia simply replied:
“Alright. Let’s get divorced.”
Georgiy fell silent then.
He probably expected at least some questions. Maybe tears, pleading, or an attempt to see if things could be fixed.
None of that happened.
For the past year, even without saying it out loud, they’d pretty much just lived alongside each other. They ate dinner at different times, spent weekends with their own friends, and stopped making plans together. Arguments weren’t about serious things anymore—just petty stuff: who forgot to buy dishwasher soap, who took up the bathroom in the morning, who left an empty package in the fridge again.
Ksenia had long felt that both of them were just tired.
So Georgiy’s suggestion felt more like an admission of the obvious than anything else.
But now it turned out her husband had a rather unique idea of what divorce would look like.
“So let me get this straight,” she clarified. “We get divorced, but you still live here?”
“In a separate room.”
“How convenient.”
“Isn’t it for you too? We split utilities, buy our own groceries. Nobody gets in anyone’s way.”
“And then you’ll start dating someone and just bring them over here too?”
Georgiy frowned.
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m just trying to understand how your new ‘freedom’ is supposed to work.”
He set his glass in the sink.
“Ksyusha, don’t make this into some big confrontation. Normal people can work something out.”
“We can. You find a new place to live and move out.”
“When I find somewhere decent.”
“And you’ll decide how long that takes, all by yourself?”
“And who else should decide?”
Ksenia smirked.
“The owner of the apartment, for example.”
Georgiy laughed.
“You can’t just throw me out, you know.”
She didn’t keep the argument going.
“We’ll see.”
He took that as the end of the discussion.
For the first time that evening, Ksenia found herself thinking about something other than the divorce.
She started thinking about the keys.
She had bought her apartment three years before she even met Georgy.
It hadn’t come from her parents, wasn’t purchased together with her husband, and wasn’t acquired after marrying. It was hers long before Georgy was in her life.
They met eight years ago at a mutual friend’s birthday party.
Back then, Georgy worked at a service company and showed up later than everyone else. Ksenia was sitting at the end of the couch with a plate of fruit when a spot opened up beside her.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Not anymore.”
That was the start of a conversation that lasted well into the night.
He turned out to be easygoing, good at keeping a conversation going, and didn’t try too hard to impress. After the party, he got Ksenia a taxi home and messaged her two days later.
They dated for nine months.
By then, Georgy was renting a one-bedroom apartment quite far from the city center. Ksenia had a spacious two-room place in a nice neighborhood, so it quickly became clear where it made sense to live.
He moved in without making any grand promises.
He brought his clothes, computer, a few boxes of books, a coffee machine, and a huge monitor that Ksenia originally thought was totally unnecessary.
A year and a half later, they got married.
Back then, they were both certain it would last a long time.
The first years really were good for them.
Georgy took care of the household chores. Ksenia never tried to control all his purchases, and they discussed big expenses together. He contributed to their shared life, but the apartment always stayed hers.
It was never a secret.
Georgy himself would often say to friends:
“I moved in with Ksusha. She’s got her own place.”
As long as things were good between them, no one minded putting it like that.
But now, almost seven years in, somehow that time became his argument for living there indefinitely.
The next day, Georgy brought up the topic again himself.
Ksenia was getting ready for work when he appeared in the hallway, already dressed.
“I’ll let you have the big room.”
She buttoned up her coat.
“How generous of you.”
“What? The study works for me. The couch in there’s fine.”
“So you’ve already assigned everything?”
“I’m just trying to make it comfortable for everyone.”
“It won’t be comfortable for me to live with my ex-husband.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Ksenia looked up.
“No.”
“We’re not strangers, after all.”
She didn’t say a word.
Georgy stood there for a second, then grabbed his car keys.
“Alright. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
But that night, they didn’t talk about it at all.
Two weeks later, the divorce papers were filed. They didn’t have any underage children together, and there was no need to split up the apartment.
Despite this, Georgy kept living exactly as before.
He’d leave for work in the morning.
Come home in the evening.
Order food.
Sit at the computer.
The only difference was he now openly talked about his future freedom, clearly enjoying it.
He found a new gym to join.
Planned to hang out with his friends more often.
He even bought a ticket to a concert that, for two years, Ksenia had unsuccessfully tried to get him to go to.
Ksenia watched all of this calmly.
One Saturday, he opened the wardrobe and started moving things around.
“I’m clearing out half for you.”
“Why?”
“Well, we’re living separately now, right?”
Ksenia glanced at the pile of his T-shirts.
“Are you looking for an apartment?”
“I’m just checking some out.”
“Found anything?”
“Nothing decent so far.”
“What’s wrong with the ones you’ve seen?”
“One’s too far. Another is tiny. The third doesn’t even have parking.”
“I see.”
“I’m not about to grab the first thing I see.”
“Of course.”
Ksenia closed the closet door and went to the kitchen.
By now, she understood perfectly well: Georgiy could keep looking for the right place for ages.
He was completely fine with his current setup.
A big apartment.
A familiar neighborhood.
No deposit required.
No need to move.
No forty thousand for rent.
Why rush?
On Friday, Georgiy came home in especially high spirits.
He changed, took a shower, pulled out a new shirt from the closet.
“Where are you going?”
“To Lyokha’s. We’re hanging out.”
“What’s the occasion?”
He smiled, fastening his watch.
“You could say we’re celebrating a new beginning.”
“You’re not even officially divorced yet.”
“Just a formality.”
Ksenia looked at him.
“Are you coming back to sleep tonight?”
“Most likely in the morning.”
He grabbed his phone and wallet.
Stopped by the door.
“Just don’t lock the inside latch.”
“Alright.”
Georgiy left.
A few minutes later, Ksenia walked to the window.
Her husband walked out of the building, typed something on his phone, and headed to the parked car.
Ksenia watched him go.
Then she opened the closet in the bedroom.
She didn’t act on impulse.
She didn’t throw things into bags, didn’t toss clothes onto the stairs, and didn’t plan on ruining anything.
Inside the closet were Georgiy’s two travel bags.
She started with those.
She folded the shirts into neat stacks.
Jeans went separately.
Sweaters.
Loungewear.
Belts, watches, chargers, and headphones all went into one box.
Shoes she sorted into boxes she found on the closet shelf.
She took his computer tower, monitor, keyboard, and speakers from the office.
She packed the computer especially carefully.
She found his documents in the bottom desk drawer and put them in a plastic folder.
No confusion.
Nothing missing.
By two in the morning, there were seven boxes and three bags waiting in the hallway.
Ksenia took another walk through the apartment.
In the bathroom, his electric razor was left.
In the kitchen—Georgiy’s favorite mug.
In the bedroom—the charger for his watch.
Everything joined the rest of his things.
Last, she took his spare windbreaker off the hook.
Then she called the locksmith she had arranged with earlier.
He arrived in the morning.
He removed the old door lock, installed a new one, checked the mechanism, and handed Ksenia a set of keys.
She opened and closed the door several times.
Everything worked.
Ksenia carried the boxes out into the locked vestibule, where strangers couldn’t get in.
She placed a note with Georgiy’s last name on top.
After that, she sent him a message:
“Your things are packed. Everything is intact, and the documents are in the blue folder. The boxes are in the vestibule. You can pick them up in the morning.”
There was no reply.
Apparently, the start of his new, free life was going quite well.
Ksenia took a shower, went to bed, and for the first time in a long while didn’t listen to see if the door would slam in the middle of the night.
Around ten in the morning, she was woken up by a noise.
First, a metallic clinking.
Then again.
Someone was trying to open the lock.
Ksenia looked at the clock.
From behind the door, she heard an annoyed voice:
“What the hell…”
The key tried the lock again.
But it wouldn’t turn.
A minute later, the doorbell rang.
Ksenia walked over to the door, but didn’t open it.
“Ksyusha!”
“What?”
“Open up.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? I’m home.”
“You celebrated the start of your free life yesterday.”
“Very funny. Open the door.”
“Look to your right.”
Silence fell.
Then there was a rustling sound.
Georgiy, apparently, finally noticed the boxes.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Did you change the lock?”
“The cylinder.”
“Ksenia, open the door.”
“No.”
Now his voice didn’t have the lightness it did yesterday.
“My things are in there.”
“All your things are outside.”
“Not all of them!”
“List them.”
He fell silent.
Ksenia waited.
“Do you even understand what you’re doing?”
“Perfectly.”
“I said I just needed some time!”
“What you said was that you’d live here as long as you wanted. That’s different.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A big one.”
For a few seconds, Georgiy said nothing.
Then he tried a different approach.
“I just need at least two months.”
“No.”
“Ksyusha, it’s impossible to find a decent apartment in a day right now.”
“It’s not like you just suggested the divorce yesterday.”
“So what?”
“So, you had time to think about where you’d live next.”
“I didn’t think you’d do something like this.”
“Like what?”
“Just kick me out.”
“You wanted your own life. That starts with your own address.”
Something heavy thudded down onto a box behind the door.
“You knew perfectly well I wasn’t ready to move.”
“And you knew perfectly well whose apartment this is.”
Georgiy pressed the doorbell again.
“We lived here for seven years.”
“Almost.”
“And that means nothing to you at all?”
Ksenia leaned her hand on the console.
“It means something. That’s why I calmly agreed to the divorce when you brought it up. Seven years doesn’t give you the right to stay here after the marriage is over.”
Somewhere on the landing, the elevator door slammed shut.
Someone walked past Georgiy toward the stairs.
He lowered his voice.
“Fine. Where am I supposed to go tonight?”
“That’s your problem now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Ksenia stepped away from the door.
A minute later, her phone rang.
It was Georgiy.
She declined the call.
Then a message came through.
“At least let me leave my computer with you until I find a place.”
Ksenia looked at the box through the peephole.
She replied:
“Take everything at once.”
Fifteen minutes later, there was movement in the hallway.
Georgiy carried boxes to the elevator, then came back for more.
Ksenia didn’t intervene.
By noon, everything was gone.
In the evening, Georgiy’s father, Sergey Andreevich, called.
Ksenia saw his name on the screen and braced herself for a tough conversation.
But her father-in-law didn’t start the way she expected at all.
“Ksyusha, Gosha is with us.”
“I figured.”
“He brought half the apartment in boxes.”
“Only his stuff.”
“I can see that.”
Sergey Andreevich was quiet for a short while.
“He says you didn’t give him time to find a place to stay.”
“He decided he’d live with me for a few months after the divorce.”
“He already told me that.”
Ksenia waited for him to go on.
“I asked him one question,” her father-in-law said. “Why divorce the owner of an apartment if you still plan to use it?”
Ksenia couldn’t help but smile.
“And what did he say?”
“He got offended.”
“I see.”
“He’ll get over it.”
That was the end of their conversation.
Georgiy settled into his old room at his parents’ place.
Over the years, a lot had changed there. Sergey Andreevich had put in a large wardrobe, Georgy’s mother used part of the room for storage, and the old writing desk had long since been taken to the dacha.
Georgy returned with three bags, boxes of electronics, and a frustration he had nowhere to put.
In the first days, he was sure Ksenia would come to her senses.
Then he started to seriously look for a place to rent.
Now, he was looking at listings with a completely different perspective.
An apartment far from the metro no longer seemed totally unacceptable.
Even a fifth floor with no elevator felt manageable.
The lack of underground parking suddenly stopped feeling like a personal insult.
Three weeks later, Georgy chose a small one-bedroom apartment.
The landlord asked for the first month’s payment and a deposit.
Next, he had to order a moving vehicle.
Some of the furniture had to be bought from scratch.
In the evening, Georgy sat on the only chair he had so far, surrounded by boxes, looking at his list of expenses on his phone.
His phone rang.
Dad.
“Settling in?”
“Almost.”
“Have they delivered the bed?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“I have a couch.”
Sergey Andreevich was silent for a moment.
“So, you’re fine, then.”
“I’m fine.”
“You wanted the freedom, after all.”
Georgy frowned.
“Dad.”
“Alright, I’ll be quiet.”
And he really did fall silent.
Meanwhile, Ksenia was also gradually getting used to the empty apartment.
In the first days, it felt strange to see a free shelf in the bathroom.
Georgy’s laptop was no longer on the table.
His sneakers no longer lay by the door.
No one was in the kitchen late at night.
She didn’t try to make a new life out of this with a mandatory renovation, half the store’s worth of purchases, and a triumphant goodbye to the past.
She just lived.
One evening, while sorting through a drawer in the entryway, Ksenia found an old key.
It was the same set Georgy had made for himself after he moved in.
One key had stayed with him.
The other had been lying as a spare for years.
Ksenia rolled it between her fingers.
Seven years ago, Georgy had gotten it from her himself.
Back then she had said:
“Now you don’t have to call me from downstairs if you come home early.”
He laughed and immediately added the key to his keychain.
Ksenia didn’t even try to recall everything that had happened between that morning and this evening.
She put the old key into the drawer with the other unnecessary little things and closed it.
The next day, Georgy came to pick up the last thing—his set of winter tires that had been stored in Ksenia’s closet on the floor.
She had already brought them out for him.
He stopped in front of the door and looked at the new lock cylinder.
“You really adapted quickly back then.”
“And you made up your mind about the divorce just as fast.”
“So, you’re not angry anymore?”
Ksenia was surprised.
“I wasn’t even angry then.”
Georgy smirked.
“Maybe that was the hardest part.”
He picked up the first tire.
Ksenia held the vestibule door open for him.
There was nothing else left to say.
Georgy carried the tires to the elevator, came back for the second set, and absently pulled out his old keychain.
Ksenia’s key was still on it.
He looked at it, then at the door.
“Should have taken this off a long time ago.”
“Probably.”
Georgy removed the key from his ring and set it on the box by the wall.
Then he called the elevator.
The doors closed.
Ksenia took the old key, tossed it into the hallway drawer with the spare, and turned the new key in the lock.