— You came for your things? Come in then, see who’s the boss here now!

Irina turned her head slowly toward Masha, her calm expression unbroken.

— I mean exactly what I said. Half of this apartment is mine, by law.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through the air. Masha’s face paled slightly as she looked at Vlad, searching for an explanation.

— You didn’t tell me that, — she whispered, her voice trembling.

Vlad rubbed his forehead. — It’s just a formality. The papers will fix everything.

— A formality? — Irina repeated, her tone cold but steady. — You’ve always had a talent for making betrayal sound civilized.

Masha swallowed hard. — Maybe we should let her take her things and go, Vlad.

Irina let out a short, humorless laugh. — Don’t worry, I don’t plan to stay. But before I go, there’s one more thing I want to make clear.

She set her suitcase down beside the couch and turned toward him. Her eyes, once soft and familiar, were now sharp and calculating.

— When we signed for this apartment, you insisted it be in both our names. You said it was “our dream.” I worked double shifts to help pay for it. I just want what’s mine.

— You’ll get it, — Vlad muttered, his voice rising. — I said you’ll get it!

Masha flinched. She had never heard that tone before. The confident man she thought she knew was cracking.

Irina, however, stood firm. — I’ll take your word for it. But I’ve already talked to a lawyer. The court will make sure of it.

The color drained completely from Vlad’s face. — You… what?

— I didn’t want it to come to this, — she continued, her voice quieter now. — But you made sure it did.

Masha stepped aside, as if wanting to disappear. The air in the apartment was thick, heavy with everything unsaid.

Irina reached for her suitcase, but before leaving, her eyes fell on the espresso machine on the counter. She smiled faintly.

— You kept it, — she said softly. — At least something still works.

Then she walked to the door, heels clicking steadily on the tile.

Vlad followed her instinctively. — Irina, wait—

She turned around. — For what? An apology? You already gave me one — the day you brought her home.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

— Goodbye, Vlad, — she said simply. — And good luck explaining to her what happens when someone builds a future on someone else’s ruins.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

For a long moment, neither Vlad nor Masha moved. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.

Masha finally spoke. — Is it true? The apartment? The lawyer?

He sighed, his shoulders dropping. — She’s bluffing. She has to be.

— Are you sure? — Her voice trembled.

Vlad didn’t answer. His reflection in the glass door showed a man he barely recognized — pale, cornered, stripped of the confidence he once wore like armor.

Masha set her cup down on the table, her hands shaking. — I can’t live like this, Vlad. I thought we were starting fresh. Not… this mess.

— It’s not a mess, — he insisted. — I’ll fix it. You’ll see.

But even as he spoke, the words rang hollow.

Hours later, when Masha finally left the apartment to “clear her head,” Vlad sat alone at the kitchen table. The untouched coffee had gone cold.

He looked around. The walls, once bright, now seemed gray and suffocating. Every object — the furniture, the books, even the faint scent of Irina’s perfume still trapped in the curtains — felt like a silent witness.

He reached for his phone, hesitated, and then opened the message thread with Irina. His fingers hovered above the keyboard.

Finally, he typed two words: I’m sorry.

He stared at the screen, but didn’t press send. Instead, he locked the phone and leaned back, exhaling slowly.

Outside, the city buzzed with life, indifferent to the small disaster unfolding in his kitchen.

For the first time in months, Vlad realized that maybe, just maybe, losing control was the only honest thing he’d done in years.