“Irina, we’re getting a divorce. Please pack your things and leave tomorrow.”

“What? Anton, what did you say? We’re getting a divorce?”
“Yes.”
“But why should I leave my own apartment?”
“Your apartment? You’re mistaken, sweetheart. Look at these documents — I’m the sole owner.”

Irina felt the air drain from her lungs. A divorce? Seriously? Today of all days — the very day she had lovingly prepared a celebration for their tenth wedding anniversary. The surprise she had planned with such care collapsed in an instant, replaced by a pain she couldn’t even fully understand. Anton, her life partner, was now a stranger — one who looked at her coldly, as if she were an intruder in her own home.

“Wait, is this a joke?”
“No, it’s not a joke. I’ve already made my decision,” Anton said firmly, not even bothering to meet her eyes.

His words knocked the breath out of her. The cream whisk in her hand suddenly felt heavier, as if the weight of the conversation had transferred into it.

“Anton, what divorce? It’s our anniversary today! My friends are about to arrive!” Irina protested, struggling to keep her composure.

But Anton remained unmoved. He frowned, then gave a cruel smile. His mind was made up. The decision was final. The party she had prepared wasn’t to celebrate their love — it was to mark the end of a chapter.

An hour later, the apartment — once filled with laughter and promises — echoed with the voices of their friends. The laughter, the congratulations, the toasts — they all sounded distant to Irina, muffled by the fog of disbelief. Anton, on the other hand, did his best to appear normal, raising his glass with a calculated smile for the first toast.

“I want to thank my wife Ira for these ten wonderful years of marriage. Everyone knows the difficulties we’ve faced, the ups and downs, but we always had each other,” he said, glass raised, as their friends applauded.

Then, with a dramatic pause, he continued: “Today we celebrate our final anniversary. We’ve decided to get divorced.”
The room fell into an icy silence. Irina, tears welling in her eyes, lifted her glass and, with a broken smile, responded:
“You too, Anton, thank you for being my husband. I wish you the best.”

Their friends were visibly shocked. No one had seen this coming. The couple they thought was perfect had just publicly fallen apart before their eyes.

Unable to bear the weight of the situation, Irina excused herself, saying she had a headache, and hurried to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. There, with a shattered soul, she began packing the essentials — clothes for a few days, her laptop, the cat’s carrier… Nothing else. The rest — the furniture, the memories — didn’t matter anymore.

In the hallway, the guests continued chatting and laughing, oblivious to her pain. Denis, one of Anton’s closest friends, approached him with a mocking grin.
“Well done, Anton, an anti-wedding party, huh?” Denis joked, while Anton laughed in satisfaction.

But Irina was no longer part of the scene. The jokes, the stares, the empty words from people who had never understood the depth of her pain — none of it mattered now.

Thirty minutes later, Irina sat in the back of a taxi, tears clouding her eyes as she headed to her mother Valentina Ivanovna’s house. The uncertainty of the future choked her, but her mother had always been her refuge.

When she arrived, her mother greeted her with a mix of worry and surprise.
“Ira, my love, what happened?” Valentina asked, wrapping her daughter in a hug.

“Mom, it was a mistake. He asked for a divorce. Said the apartment was his and I had to leave.”

Valentina Ivanovna couldn’t hide her shock. Anton — the man she had considered part of the family — now seemed like a stranger.
“Who? Anton?” she whispered, as if the words were too hard to say aloud.
“Yes, Mom. I don’t know why he did it…” Irina could barely speak through her sobs.
“And what did you do?”
“I packed my things and left.”
Valentina sighed deeply, holding Irina close, knowing that some decisions made by others could never be understood. But one thing she did know for certain — a mother’s love would always be a safe place to return to.

Irina settled into her mother’s armchair, the cat curled up on her lap, seeking comfort in the soft creature that had always been by her side. As she stroked its fur, she thought about everything she had lost — and everything she had yet to rebuild.

She had the strength to start again. But that night, all she wanted was to rest. In silence. In peace.