Alla realized she’d forgotten her laptop charger only after she was already in the taxi.
She could’ve asked someone at the office or bought a new charger on the way, but her home was just a seven-minute drive away. There were nearly forty minutes left before her next call, so Alla asked the driver to turn back.
Ten minutes later, she was already heading up to her floor, silently scolding herself for her habit of moving the charger from her work bag to the table by the couch.
The apartment was unexpectedly noisy.
From the kitchen, Alla could hear Nina Fyodorovna’s voice.
“A million and a half for me, the rest for your down payment. That’ll work out fine. Borya, you can do the math yourself.”
Alla stopped in the entryway.
She didn’t even take off her boots.
Her mother-in-law rarely dropped by during the week without warning. And she discussed a million and a half in their kitchen so casually, as if deciding how many potatoes to take to the dacha.
“I am doing the math,” Boris replied. “If we don’t rush the sale, we can get a good price. The metro’s close, it’s a good building. No need to renovate before selling.”
Alla slowly set her bag down on the console table.
Now she was intrigued.
Especially by the word ‘sell’.
“It’s best to list it in spring,” Nina Fyodorovna continued. “People look for apartments more in spring. But you should talk to Alla in advance. She tends to complicate things sometimes.”
Alla almost burst out laughing.
Well, isn’t that something.
Apparently, the financial forum was taking place not only without the apartment’s owner, but the owner had also now been labeled as the one who makes everything more difficult.
In the kitchen, Boris was scrolling through something on his phone.
“I’ve checked the listings. Getting a little over nine for a two-bedroom like this is realistic. If it’s nine-three, for example, that’s one and a half for you. Seven-eight left. Plus our two-four hundred. That would make ten-two hundred for the down payment.”
Now Alla even knew the math.
And unfortunately, it all added up.
Their combined savings really did come to about two million four hundred thousand. They’d been setting money aside for nearly two years: both earning well, never taking out consumer loans, and had long talked about eventually moving to a bigger apartment.
But the plan they discussed was a bit different.
Alla had intended to keep her own two-bedroom.
She had bought it at twenty-eight, four years before meeting Boris. At the time, the place seemed like a huge, very adult decision. She saved up for the down payment herself, then spent six years paying off the mortgage, twice using work bonuses for early repayments, and finally settled everything with the bank before she got married.
There were no family funds invested in this apartment.
When Alla met Boris, she had already owned the place for several years.
They dated for nine months. Then Boris moved in with two suitcases, a computer, a box of tools, and a surprisingly large collection of mugs—which, as he claimed, he used all the time.
A year after living together, they got married.
Alla never kept the apartment’s history a secret.
Boris knew exactly when she’d bought it and when she finished paying off the mortgage.
In fact, it was Boris himself who had first said, a couple of years ago:
“At least we don’t have a mortgage on our apartment. That makes it much easier to keep saving.”
Now, it seemed like not having a loan gave his imagination a bit more freedom.
For the last six months, they had been looking at three-bedroom apartments. But not seriously—mostly just checking the prices. Alla wanted to keep their two-bedroom place and rent it out after they moved. Boris had suggested selling it a few times.
She replied more than once:
“No. I’m not selling this apartment.”
No arguments.
No threats.
No “never in my life.”
She just wasn’t going to sell it.
Usually, Boris would just shrug and change the subject.
That’s why Alla honestly believed her husband understood what she said loud and clear.
Meanwhile, the conversation in the kitchen was getting more intense.
“And what if Alla says it’s not enough?” Nina Fyodorovna asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be enough?” Boris was surprised. “Mom, she’s not just handing the money over. We’re buying an apartment with it.”
“I get that. But I really need at least one and a half. Oksana’s already getting interest charges on her loan.”
Now everything suddenly made sense.
Oksana, Boris’s younger sister, had been living alone for the last two years after her divorce. While she was married, she and her ex-husband had taken out a few consumer loans for renovations and furniture. After the split, some of that debt remained with her. Nina Fyodorovna had been worried about her daughter and had talked a lot these past weeks about how hard things were for Oksana.
There was just one thing Alla didn’t know: what did her apartment have to do with Oksana’s loan?
Turns out, it had everything to do with it.
“We’ll pay off her main loans,” Nina Fyodorovna continued. “Then she can finally breathe. And you were planning to buy a three-bedroom anyway. Boris, you’re right—why just keep an apartment sitting there?”
Alla looked at the clock.
There were twenty-three minutes left before her work call.
Her phone charger was in the other room.
She could have just quietly grabbed it and left.
But she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus at work, picturing how her apartment was already mentally sold, a million and a half given to Oksana, and the rest put into another place.
She took off her jacket, walked into the room, grabbed her charger, and only then showed up in the kitchen.
“Good afternoon.”
Boris jumped so much that his phone nearly slid off the table.
Nina Fyodorovna froze mid-sentence, her mouth open.
Alla put the charger into her bag.
“So you’ve already decided what to do with my pre-marital apartment?”
For a few seconds, no one answered.
Boris was the first to react:
“Why are you back home?”
“I needed my charger. Turns out it was perfect timing—I got the charger and found out the investment plan for my property.”
“Alla, we were just talking,” Nina Fyodorovna blurted out. “No one’s done anything.”
“And the one and a half million?”
Her mother-in-law adjusted her sweater sleeve.
“That was just…talk.”
“Well, go ahead and continue. I’m actually interested now.”
Alla sat down on an empty chair.
Boris frowned.
“We don’t have to make a huge deal out of this right now.”
“I’m not making a scene. You said it yourself—we sell for about nine-three, give one and a half to Mom, put seven-eight into the new apartment, and add our two-four hundred. Did I hear that right?”
Nina Fyodorovna looked over at her son.
Now they both realized that Alla hadn’t just caught the last part of their conversation.
“That was just one of the options,” Boris said.
“A great option. I really like the idea behind it.”
“What idea?”
Alla opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and poured herself a glass.
“Family support—financed by the family member who wasn’t invited into the conversation.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Let me put it another way.”
She took a few sips.
“You had a car before we got married.”
“So what?”
“Nothing, it’s a nice car. You said yourself it’s worth about two million these days?”
Boris still didn’t understand where she was going with this.
“Roughly.”
“Perfect. So, we’ll give a million to my brother—he’s been wanting to buy land. The other million goes to my mom. She’s been wanting a new kitchen for ages.”
“Why on earth would we do that?”
He replied so quickly that Alla even put her glass down.
“There you go. Eight seconds.”
“What’s eight seconds?”
“That’s how long it took you to fully grasp the concept of private property.”
Nina Fyodorovna gave her a disapproving look.
“Alla, why twist things? Boris’s car has nothing to do with this.”
“And what does my apartment have to do with it?”
“But didn’t you want to buy a different one?”
“We wanted to buy a new apartment with shared money. I was planning to keep mine.”
Boris put down his phone.
“Alla, you realize if we sell your apartment, we could get a decent three-bedroom place right away? No need to save up for ten years.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you acting like I’m suggesting we throw the money away?”
Alla looked at him.
“Because you literally suggested giving one and a half million to your mom.”
“Not my mom. To Oksana.”
“Boris, shuffling relatives around doesn’t make my apartment any less valuable.”
Nina Fyodorovna sighed.
“Oksana really is struggling. You know that.”
“I do know. And I feel sorry for her. I have nothing against you helping her.”
Her mother-in-law seemed to relax a little.
“Exactly, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Sell the dacha then.”
Nina Fyodorovna sat up straight immediately.
“Which dacha?”
“Yours—the one outside the city.”
“And why should I sell it?”
“To help Oksana.”
“That’s a whole different thing.”
“Why?”
“Because a dacha is real estate. Prices are only going up. It’s easy to sell, but you’ll never be able to buy another like it.”
Alla was quiet for a few seconds, then finally laughed.
It wasn’t loud, but she couldn’t stop right away.
“Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out the rules. So keeping your property makes sense, because it’s appreciating. Selling mine makes sense, also because it’s appreciating.”
“No need for sarcasm,” Nina Fyodorovna said, annoyed.
“I’m not being sarcastic. I’m just writing down our family financial strategy.”
Boris ran his hand across the table in frustration.
“Fine. That’s it. We’re done talking about this.”
“No,” Alla said calmly. “You started this without me. Now let’s finish it with me present.”
He glanced at the clock.
“Weren’t you in a hurry for work?”
“Not really anymore.”
Alla messaged her coworker, saying she’d join the call from home.
Then she looked back at her husband.
“Just curious—were you planning to talk to me first, or sort everything out with your mom and then present me with the final plan?”
“Nobody was forcing anything on you.”
“Then why does your mom already know what her share will be?”
Boris didn’t answer.
And this silence was what Alla liked least of all.
If he was just daydreaming, they could have argued about numbers, apartment layouts, mortgage rates, and family support.
But something else happened here.
He had already gotten a ‘no’ from his wife, and instead of accepting it, he started looking for a way around her answer.
“I thought if I explained everything properly, you’d see the benefit,” he finally said.
“You’ve already explained. I said I don’t want to sell my apartment.”
“Because you’re attached to it.”
“I have the right to be.”
“Of course you do.”
“Then why are we sitting here, the three of us, discussing who gets the money after it’s sold?”
Nina Fyodorovna stood up.
“I think I’ll go. Sort it out yourselves. I don’t want it to look like I caused a fight between you.”
Alla didn’t stop her.
Her mother-in-law got dressed quickly. Already in the hallway, she said to her son:
“Call me later.”
And to Alla, she added:
“I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
“I believe you,” Alla replied. “But let’s still leave my apartment out of the family help fund.”
The door closed.
Boris returned to the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to kick Mom out like that.”
“I didn’t kick her out. She left on her own.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Alla put the bottle back in the fridge.
“And you know exactly what I mean.”
There was no point in continuing the conversation between two work calls.
Alla took her laptop to the bedroom, closed the door, and worked until evening.
Boris walked through the hallway several times, but didn’t bring the topic up again.
They had a late dinner that evening.
Normally, Boris would turn on something on the TV while they ate. This time, the screen stayed dark.
“I really didn’t mean to deceive you,” he said.
Alla put down her fork.
“I’m not saying you tried to deceive me.”
“But that’s how it sounds.”
“You did something else. You decided that my ‘no’ wasn’t an answer, but just the start of negotiations.”
Boris was silent.
“I was just looking for an option that would benefit everyone.”
“It’s really a brilliant plan.”
“Here we go again.”
“No, look at it yourself. I give up my apartment. Your mom gets one and a half million for Oksana. The rest of my apartment’s money plus our savings goes toward a new three-room place. Then we pay the mortgage together. You keep your car. Your mom keeps the dacha. Oksana pays off her debts.”
Alla counted off on her fingers.
“It benefits almost everyone.”
“And you get a share in the new apartment.”
“Boris, I have a whole apartment right now, no loan. There’s no reason for me to give it up just to spend years paying for another.”
He frowned.
“If that’s the case, we’ll never move anywhere.”
“We can move, just a bit more slowly.”
“How much longer do we have to save up?”
“As long as it takes.”
Boris leaned back in his chair.
“I’ll be forty soon. I don’t want to live in a two-room apartment until I’m forty-five.”
“You’re thirty-eight.”
“Thanks for the comfort.”
Alla smiled.
“I just gave you two extra years. Enjoy them.”
He almost smiled too, but quickly grew serious again.
“Okay. Suppose I shouldn’t have brought up the apartment.”
“Let’s not suppose. You really shouldn’t have.”
“Alla.”
“I’m not planning to lecture you for a week. I just need one thing: that we agree on this once and never come back to it.”
“Agree on what?”
— I manage my own apartment. You take care of your car. When it comes to our 2.4 million, we make decisions together. If your sister needs help, you can support her with your personal money. I can help my family with mine. If we want to take a large sum from our joint funds, we discuss it together.
Boris nodded.
A little too quickly.
Alla noticed.
— Just don’t say ‘fine’ just to end the conversation.
— Then what should I say?
— Nothing. Just think about it.
The next few days passed without any loud arguments.
And somehow, that was harder than their usual fights.
Boris went to work, Alla kept busy with her own things. They talked about groceries, utility bills, whether they needed to change the water filter, and why the robot vacuum got stuck under the drying rack again.
But they didn’t bring up the topic of the new apartment.
The listings Boris used to send to his wife in the evenings stopped coming, too.
A week later, he was the one who started the conversation.
Not at the dinner table, and not before bedtime.
They were in the car coming back from the hardware store: Alla had bought a bathroom shelf, and Boris spent about fifteen minutes arguing that the included fasteners must have been designed by someone who’d never mounted anything in their life.
At a red light, he said:
— I talked to Oksana.
Alla turned her head.
— And?
— It’s not as urgent as Mom made it sound.
— What do you mean?
— She’s not in a ‘they’re coming to take away the couch tomorrow’ situation. She’s got an expensive loan and a credit card. For the past few months, she was only making minimum payments and told Mom she couldn’t manage anymore.
— I see.
— I suggested she talk to the bank about refinancing. And I told her I could help cover some payments for a couple of months.
— With what money?
Boris smirked.
— I knew you’d ask that.
— So, with what?
— With my own. I’m supposed to get my quarterly bonus soon.
Alla didn’t respond.
He looked at her.
— What is it?
— Nothing. That actually sounds reasonable.
— You can mark the date down.
— I won’t. You might ruin your stats.
Boris snorted and drove off when the light turned green.
That didn’t mean everything was back to normal yet.
But Alla noticed the difference.
Before, solving Oksana’s problem always started with someone else’s apartment.
This time, Boris talked to Oksana directly, got the real numbers, and offered to use his own money.
No behind-the-scenes family councils without Alla.
No talk of selling anything.
And no pre-divided millions.
Nina Fyodorovna stayed a bit distant for a while.
At their next meeting at the dacha, she said:
— I just wanted to help the kids.
Alla was peeling cucumbers for a salad and didn’t pretend not to know which kids she meant.
— I know. But if helping one child means selling another adult’s property, it’s better to ask that adult first.
— You’re not a child to me.
— Exactly.
Nina Fyodorovna looked at her and then, unexpectedly, chuckled.
— Alright. You got me there.
And that was the end of the conversation.
Of course, mother-in-law didn’t sell the dacha.
And Alla didn’t expect her to.
Oksana refinanced and reviewed her expenses herself. For several months, Boris really did send her part of his bonus, and he always informed his wife in advance—no permission needed, because it was his personal money.
Alla had no objections.
She never questioned whether to help her relatives or not.
The real question was always: who would pay for that help?
They didn’t revisit the idea of a three-room apartment until four months later.
On Saturday, Boris started looking at listings again.
“There’s a possible option,” he said. “But let’s be clear from the start: we aren’t selling your apartment.”
Alla glanced at him over her mug.
“Now that’s progress.”
“We still don’t have enough for the initial payment, though. So, we keep saving.”
“Now that’s the kind of math I like.”
They looked through several options, calculated what future payments might be, and decided not to rush into anything. Alla’s two-room stayed as it was, and they kept adding to their joint savings together.
Sometimes Boris still grumbled about how he could have had a separate office if they’d moved into a three-room place.
Alla suggested he clear out half his closet—get rid of the old wires, boxes, and three broken routers—there’d be enough room in there for a small office.
He refused.
According to him, married life shouldn’t demand such sacrifices from him.
After that whole incident, Alla started keeping her charger right in her bag, even during the workday.
Not because she was afraid she’d stumble onto another secret meeting.
It was just that one forgotten charger had taught her it’s good to discuss not only where you’ll move and how much you’ll save, but also the little things ahead of time.
Some things are just much simpler.
Joint money can be planned together.
Everyone has the right to control their own money.
And when it comes to someone else’s property, the easiest way to divide it is just in your head.
At least that way, there’s less chance the owner will suddenly come home and ruin all your beautiful calculations.