Inna stood silently by the window, watching raindrops trickle down the glass, tracing whimsical, unpredictable patterns. Seventeen years — was that a lifetime or just a fleeting moment? She remembered every single day they had spent together: every anniversary celebrated, every quiet glance shared across a crowded room. And now, all of it was collapsing around her like a fragile house of cards in the wind.

“We need to talk,” Alexey’s voice broke the silence, sounding unusually flat and tired.

She slowly turned to face him, meeting his eyes. In them, she saw a strange mixture of resolve and guilt, a look she had come to know too well — the look of someone ready to deliver a blow that couldn’t be undone.

“I’m leaving, Inna. For Natasha.”

The room fell into heavy silence, broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock — a gift from his mother long ago, now marking the seconds of a dying marriage.

“To the student from your faculty?” Inna’s voice was calm, almost eerily composed.

“Yes. My feelings for you have faded. I need new emotions, fresh experiences. You’re a smart woman — you should understand.”

Inna smiled, a cold, knowing smile. A "smart woman." How many times had he used those words, just to get what he wanted?

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly, and then said nothing more.

“Absolutely,” Alexey replied. “I’ve already packed my things.”

Inna nodded ever so slightly. Then, she moved to the cupboard and pulled out a special bottle — the one they had been saving for a truly special occasion.

“Well, I suppose this is that moment,” she said, uncorking the bottle. “How about a farewell dinner? Invite your friends, your family. After all, seventeen years is no small thing.”

Alexey blinked, confused.

“You want to throw a party for our divorce?”

“Why not?” Inna smiled again, but there was a sharpness in it that made Alexey shiver. “Let’s see off our life together in style. And remember, I am a smart woman.”

She took out her phone and began typing rapidly, her fingers flying across the screen with practiced ease.

“Tomorrow, seven o’clock in the evening. I’ll prepare your favorite dishes. Consider it my farewell gift.”

Alexey stood frozen, speechless. He had expected tears, anger, pleading — anything but this cold, calculated acceptance.

“And tell Natasha she’s invited too,” Inna added without looking up from her phone. “I want to meet the girl who succeeded where I couldn’t — reigniting a new spark in you.”

---

The next day began unusually early for Inna. Methodically, she called banks, consulted with a lawyer, and prepared a stack of documents. Each movement was precise, measured, as if performing delicate surgery on the corpse of their marriage.

By evening, their spacious apartment was filled with the aromas of exquisite dishes. Inna carefully set the table with their finest dinnerware — a wedding gift from his mother — and arranged napkins with a meticulous touch.

“Everything must be perfect,” she whispered to herself.

At seven sharp, the guests began arriving. Alexey’s parents were first. His mother, Vera Pavlovna, embraced Inna awkwardly.

“Innochka, maybe there’s still a chance to fix things?” she asked softly.

“No, Mama. Sometimes the bravest thing is to let go,” Inna replied gently.

Friends began trickling in, filling the room with murmurs and tentative glances. The last arrivals were Alexey and Natasha.

“Please, sit,” Inna directed them to the head of the table. “Tonight, you’re the stars of the evening.”

Once everyone was seated, Inna stood and raised a glass.

“Dear friends, today is a special occasion. We gather to mark the end of one story and the beginning of another.”

She looked at Alexey.

“Lesha, thank you for seventeen years — for the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows. You taught me much. For example, that love can take many forms.”

A murmur swept through the room. Natasha fiddled nervously with her napkin.

“And you also taught me to pay attention to details,” Inna continued, pulling out a thick envelope. “Financial details.”

She began laying out documents.

“Here’s the loan for your car, taken from our joint account. Here are tax arrears for your business. And these — receipts from restaurants and jewelry stores over the past year. I suppose you were trying to impress Natasha?”

Alexey’s face paled. Natasha’s head snapped up.

“But the most interesting part,” Inna said, pulling out the last document, “is the prenuptial agreement you signed without reading. There’s a clause about property division in case of infidelity.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Water dripped from the kitchen faucet like a ticking bomb.

“The house is in my name,” Inna continued. “I’ve frozen the accounts. And the divorce papers were filed last night.”

Turning to Natasha:

“Are you sure you want to build a life with someone who has no home, no savings — only debts?”

Frozen, Natasha said nothing.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” she whispered and fled.

Vera Pavlovna shook her head.

“Lesha, how could you? We raised you better than this.”

“Mama, you don’t understand…” Alexey started.

“No, son,” his father interrupted. “You don’t understand. Seventeen years is not a game. And you destroyed it all for what? An affair with a student?”

The friends avoided each other’s eyes. Only Mikhail, Alexey’s lifelong friend, muttered quietly:

“Lesha, you really messed up.”

Inna remained standing, serene, as if discussing the weather rather than breaking a marriage.

“You know what’s most tragic? I believed in us — that our love was special. Like those old couples who stay together forever. I ignored your late nights, your suspicious calls, your new ties and shirts.”

She paused, sipping wine.

“And then the receipts started making sense. The jewelry store, the ‘White Swan’ restaurant, the spa — the same places you once took me.”

Natasha returned, standing silently in the doorway, clutching her purse.

“Alexey Nikolaevich, we need to talk. Alone.”

“Of course, dear,” he said, rising.

Inna raised a hand.

“Wait. I’m not done yet.”

She smiled, recalling:

“Our first apartment — that tiny one-bedroom on the outskirts. You said we needed nothing but each other.”

“And now look at you — expensive suits, a flashy car, a young mistress. But all built on lies and debts.”

“Alexey Nikolaevich,” Natasha’s voice trembled, “you told me you were divorced, living separately, and that you’d buy us a place to live.”

“Natashenka, I’ll explain—”

“Don’t,” Inna interrupted, pulling another envelope.

“These are your card statements. Seems alongside Natasha, you were seeing two other girls. Or should I say, students?”

A crushing silence fell. Natasha fled again, her heels echoing down the stairs.

“Why are you doing this?” Alexey begged, clutching his head.

“Why?” Inna laughed, bitter but clear. “Did you expect me to beg? To break down? To plead at your feet?”

She scanned the room.

“You know what’s most ironic? I truly loved you. Every wrinkle, every gray hair. Even your snoring was endearing. I was ready to grow old with you, raise grandchildren.”

“Mama, maybe it’s not worth it,” Vera Pavlovna whispered.

“No, Mama, it is,” Inna raised her voice for the first time. “Let everyone know how your son took loans for gifts for mistresses, squandered our money, lied to me and to you.”

She pulled out another document.

“Remember when you asked me to sign papers three months ago? You said it was for taxes. It was a loan guarantee. You mortgaged my car, can you believe that?”

Guests quietly rose. Some apologized; others slipped away silently. Only Alexey’s parents and Mikhail stayed.

“Son,” Alexey’s father said as he stood, “we’re leaving too. Call us when… when you come to your senses.”

Vera Pavlovna hugged Inna.

“Forgive us, dear. We never imagined he’d do this.”

“No apologies needed, Mama. You’re not to blame.”

After they left, Mikhail approached Alexey.

“You really screwed it all up. Call if you need help — but don’t expect money from me.”

And he left.

Alexey sat, head bowed. His expensive suit now looked like a ridiculous costume.

“Inna, I could have made a scene a month ago,” she said, packing the documents. “I could have smashed your car, torn your suits, caused a meltdown.”

“But I chose differently.” She pulled out a plane ticket. “I’m flying to the Maldives tomorrow. Always dreamed of going, but you said it was a waste.”

She placed the keys on the table.

“Vacate the apartment by the end of the week. I’m selling it. And the accounts? Frozen until court decides.”

Alexey looked lost.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“That’s not my problem anymore,” she said, throwing on her coat.

“You know the funniest part? I’m grateful. You made me wake up, brush off the dust. I realized life doesn’t end with you.”

She walked to the door, paused, and looked back.

“Goodbye, Lesha. Hope it was worth it.”

The door closed quietly. Alexey was alone amid half-eaten food and unfinished wine. Outside, rain began again — just like that night he decided to destroy everything. Only now, no one was left to watch the raindrops trace their fleeting patterns on the glass.