“What are you doing? What are you even talking about?” the wife asked, turning pale.

“I’m tired of you,” he waved dismissively. “I’m leaving for another woman — younger, prettier. And you can rot here for all I care. The only thing I needed from this marriage was our son, and he’s already grown. My life is just beginning. Goodbye, darling.”

The day before, the husband had rushed to sign a contract with a friendly notary: he had indeed sold his half of the apartment to the “first person he met” — a homeless man named Viktor, whom he had picked up outside a supermarket and “bought” with a bottle and a handful of cash.