Vera had always believed mornings were sacred. They were the time for the warmest, most genuine moments of tenderness. She loved quietly slipping into the bedroom, leaning over her husband Volodya, and feeling him, still half-asleep, pull her close. Her business trip had been short — just five days — but it felt like forever. She missed her little daughter, Sonya, more than anything. While she was away, the girl stayed with a trusted nanny, though Volodya was, of course, “the man of the house.”

In the elevator, Vera caught sight of herself in the mirrored walls and automatically straightened her hair. Not bad at all, she thought. Not a twenty-year-old nymph anymore, but still a woman who could turn heads. The elevator crawled upward, and her heart beat faster with anticipation.

She took out her keys, determined to enter quietly so she could surprise her still-sleeping family. First lock — click. Second lock — click. The door opened softly, and she stepped into the dim hallway.

That’s when she noticed something strange: a pair of high-heeled shoes stood neatly by the coat rack. Elegant, stylish… but completely unfamiliar.

It couldn’t be the nanny — she was older, preferred comfortable sneakers, and certainly wouldn’t be wearing heels like these in Vera’s home. A sharp pang of unease struck her chest.

Vera moved further inside. Suddenly, the door to one of the rooms opened, and out stepped a woman she had never seen before. She was wearing a bathrobe — not just any bathrobe, but Vera’s bathrobe. On her feet were Vera’s soft, fluffy slippers. The woman’s face was well-groomed, her eyes filled with a kind of arrogant confidence that made Vera’s blood run cold.

“Oh, you’re back already…” the stranger said in a voice dripping with casual superiority. Then she turned her head and called out, “Honey, your wife’s here! You didn’t tell her I live here now?”

Vera’s breath caught in her throat. She stepped forward, her mind spinning with questions: What’s happening? Who is she? Where is Sonya?

“Excuse me… who are you?” Vera’s voice trembled despite her effort to keep it steady.

The woman smirked and, ignoring the question, added, “Maybe you could stay in the kid’s room for now. At least until the divorce.”

Those words hit like a blow. Vera froze, but a surge of anger was already rising inside her. The moment felt unreal, as if she were watching someone else’s life fall apart.

Footsteps echoed from the kitchen. Volodya appeared in the doorway — rumpled, wearing a t-shirt, his face a mix of guilt and irritation.

“Vera… I was going to talk to you…” he began.

“Talk?” Vera stepped closer, her hands trembling. “You wanted me to come home and find this?”

Volodya looked away. The stranger, unfazed, poured herself coffee — from the family’s cherished set Vera and Volodya had bought together during their first year of marriage.

In that instant, Vera felt the life she had known collapse beneath her feet. Every memory, every shared year, the birth of their daughter — all erased by this single morning.

She didn’t yet know what she would do. Scream? Walk out? Take her daughter and slam the door forever? Or stay and fight for what was hers? One thing was certain: this woman hadn’t come for a brief visit. And the war had only just begun.