Larisa set her cup of coffee on the windowsill and gazed thoughtfully out the window. She’d saved for this apartment for ten years, working two jobs. Every ruble she put aside, denying herself everything. And now…
“Larochka, I decided to rearrange the furniture a bit,” came her mother-in-law’s voice from the living room. “That sofa is clearly in the wrong place.”
Larisa sighed. Nina Petrovna had once again come without calling, simply opening the door with her own key. Which, by the way, she’d had made herself—“just in case.”
“There’s no need to move anything,” Larisa stepped into the living room. “I’m comfortable as it is.”
“How can you be comfortable?” her mother-in-law threw up her hands. “Everything is wrong here according to feng shui! I watched a program about it yesterday…”
“Nina Petrovna, I’m really against rearranging.”
“Dima!” the mother-in-law raised her voice when she saw her son walk into the room. “Tell your wife that in a family one should listen to the advice of elders.”
Dmitry hesitated, glancing from his mother to his wife.
“Mom, maybe not now?”
“When then? Your father and I aren’t getting any younger. Soon we’ll need someone to look after us. And you have so much space here…”
Larisa clenched her teeth. There it was. What she had feared from the very start of their marriage. Nina Petrovna was methodically testing the ground for a move.
“You have a wonderful three-room apartment,” Larisa reminded her.
“Wonderful, you say!” the mother-in-law waved her off. “Fifth floor with no elevator. At our age that’s already hard. And you’re on the second floor, shops nearby…”
“Mom, we’ll discuss this later,” Dmitry tried to intervene.
“What’s there to discuss? I thought we were a family. And a family should stick together. Your sister took her parents in right away…”
“Tanya’s husband bought their apartment,” Larisa couldn’t hold back. “And I earned this apartment myself. Before the marriage.”
“Oh, here we go!” the mother-in-law flung up her hands again. “Mine, yours… In a family everything should be shared!”
“Larisa is right,” Dmitry said unexpectedly firmly. “This is her apartment.”
“Son, what are you saying?” Nina Petrovna clutched theatrically at her heart. “I spent my whole life for you… And you…”
“Mom, not now, please,” Dmitry took his mother by the elbow. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
When the door closed behind his mother, Larisa sank wearily into an armchair. Three years of marriage, and these conversations never stopped. At first there were hints, then advice about renovations, and now it was in plain language…
“I’m sorry about my mom,” Dmitry sat down beside her. “You know she worries about us.”
“About us?” Larisa gave a mirthless smile. “She just wants to control our every step.”
“Oh, come on…”
“Dima, she comes without calling. She moves things around. She criticizes everything from the curtains to my cooking. And now she also wants to move in!”
“They really aren’t getting younger,” Dmitry sighed. “Maybe we should think about it? They’re still my parents…”
Larisa sprang to her feet as if stung.
“What do you mean, ‘think about it’? Are you seriously suggesting we put them up here?”
“Well, not right now, of course… But down the line…”
“Dima, this apartment is the only thing I earned on my own. Ten years of saving, do you understand? It’s my space, my—”
“Now ours,” Dmitry gently corrected. “We’re a family.”
Larisa fell silent, stunned. A thought flashed through her mind: “You too? You already consider my apartment yours?”
“By the way,” Dmitry continued as if nothing had happened, “since we’re talking about the apartment… I consulted a realtor.”
“What realtor?” Larisa tensed.
“Well, Mom recommended someone she knows. A very competent specialist. He says if we sell your apartment…”
“What?!” Larisa spun toward her husband. “Sell MY apartment?”
“Ours,” Dmitry corrected. “So, if we sell ours and my parents’, we could buy a little house outside the city. There’d be room for everyone, and the air is cleaner…”
Larisa stared at her husband, unable to believe her ears. Had they and his mother already planned everything? Behind her back?
“Dima, do you even understand what you’re saying?” Larisa’s voice trembled. “What house? What sale?”
“Sweetheart, but it’s logical,” Dmitry spoke in the same soothing tone he usually used in arguments with his mother. “Why do we need a city apartment when we could…”
The doorbell rang. On the threshold stood a man in a business suit.
“Good evening. I’m a representative from the real estate agency. I had an appointment with Dmitry Sergeyevich…”
“Come in,” Larisa threw the door open. “Perfect timing.”
Dmitry turned pale.
“Lara, wait…”
“No, darling, you wait,” Larisa turned to the realtor. “Tell me, are you aware that this apartment is solely owned by me? Purchased before the marriage?”
The realtor looked at Dmitry, nonplussed.
“But your husband said…”
“My husband says a lot of things,” Larisa pulled a folder of documents from the closet. “Here, take a look. The ownership certificate. And the date of the marriage registration. See the difference?”
“I… understand,” the realtor frowned. “In that case, the deal is impossible without your consent.”
“Exactly. And I am not giving it.”
“Larisa, we had an agreement!” the mother-in-law cut in.
“No, you had an agreement. Behind my back.”
The realtor excused himself, promising to return Dmitry’s deposit. Larisa methodically packed her husband’s things into a suitcase.
“You can’t do this to us,” the mother-in-law sobbed. “We’re family!”
“We were a family,” Larisa zipped the suitcase. “Until you decided you could run my life.”
Dmitry grabbed his wife’s hand.
“Lara, let’s talk!”
“About what? About how you tried to sell my apartment? Or about how you already took out a loan?”
“I wanted what’s best…”
“For whom?” Larisa pulled her hand free. “For your mother? For yourself? Certainly not for me.”
At that moment Larisa’s phone chimed. A message from the bank—notification that the apartment had been pledged as collateral for a loan. That she needed to confirm the application and bring the original documents. Darkness swam before Larisa’s eyes.
“What is this?” she turned the phone toward her husband. “When did you manage that?”
Dmitry looked away.
“It’s for the down payment on the house… I thought we’d come to an agreement…”
“An agreement?” Larisa laughed. “Did you forge my signature?”
“They needed the prepayment urgently,” the mother-in-law interjected. “And you’re always complicating everything…”
“I’m complicating things?” Larisa felt a wave of anger rising inside. “You take out a loan behind my back using my apartment as collateral, and I’m the one complicating things?”
“Dear girl…”
“Don’t call me that!” Larisa recoiled. “Get out of my home. Both of you.”
“Lara…”
“Out! And tomorrow I’m going to the bank. And to the police. We’ll sort this out.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Nina Petrovna blanched. “He’s your husband!”
“Not anymore,” Larisa took off her wedding ring and set it on the table. “And never again.”
“Larisa, please,” Dmitry stepped toward his wife. “Let’s talk it through…”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Leave your keys and go.”
“You’ll regret this!” Nina Petrovna shouted after her.
Larisa walked down the stairs feeling an extraordinary lightness. As if she had shrugged off a heavy load she’d been dragging all these years. Her phone vibrated in her pocket—Dmitry. She declined the call and blocked the number.
Her friend greeted her with open arms.
“Tell me everything.”
Larisa talked for a long time. About how her mother-in-law had imperceptibly been taking over territory. How Dmitry always yielded to his mother. How Larisa herself had tried to keep the peace in the family, sacrificing her own boundaries.
“And now this loan,” Larisa shook her head. “How could he?”
“Are you going to the police?” her friend asked.
“I am. And to the bank, too. Let them know I didn’t give consent.”
Her phone wouldn’t stop—now the mother-in-law was texting, threatening lawsuits and scandals. Larisa silently deleted the messages.
“And what next?” her friend poured more wine.
“Next I’m going to live. For myself, not for those who think I’m just an attachment to an apartment.”
For the first time in a long while, Larisa felt truly free. Plans buzzed in her head—to do the renovation she’d long dreamed of, take a vacation, sign up for yoga…
In the morning came a message from her mother-in-law: “We and your father will never forgive you for this!” Dmitry wrote right after: “I’ll fix everything, just come back.”
Larisa smirked. There was nothing to come back to. Or rather, no reason. Back to a past where she wasn’t respected, wasn’t heard, where her opinion didn’t count? No way.
At the bank they listened carefully and took her statement. The police opened a case on the forged signature. Dmitry called from different numbers, begged her not to take it to court. But Larisa was unbending.
“You know,” she told her friend, “I almost caved. When he started again about ‘family’…”
“And now what?”
“Now I understand—family is where your boundaries are respected. Where no one tries to run your life. And certainly doesn’t try to steal your property.”
In the evening Larisa returned to her apartment. She changed the locks, threw out her mother-in-law’s gifts, and rearranged the furniture. It was her space again—hers alone. And no one would ever dare tell her how to live.
The next day a court summons arrived—Dmitry had filed for division of property. Larisa just laughed. Let him try—her apartment documents were airtight. But he would have to explain that forged signature at the bank…
Her phone chimed—another message from the mother-in-law: “Come to your senses! You can’t treat family like this!” Larisa calmly pressed “delete.” In her new life there was no longer any place for those who couldn’t respect other people’s boundaries.