Sign here, and the apartment will pass into the ownership of Antonina Pavlovna,” the notary held out the documents, but Marina’s hand froze in mid-air when she saw her mother-in-law’s triumphant smile.
The notary’s office was stuffy despite the air conditioner humming away. Marina Sergeevna sat at a massive oak desk, clutching the pen so tightly her fingers had gone white. Opposite her, like a vulture waiting for its prey, sat her mother-in-law—Antonina Pavlovna Krylova, a seventy-year-old woman with an iron grip and an icy gaze.
“Well, what are you hesitating for, my dear?” her mother-in-law sang out in a sickly sweet voice that always sent shivers down Marina’s spine. “We’ve discussed everything. Grandma Liza’s apartment goes to me, as it should. I’m the eldest in the family.”
Marina raised her eyes to her husband. Pavel was standing by the window, turned away, pretending to study the view of the city square. His shoulders were tense, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. He knew. Of course he’d known everything in advance.
Grandma Liza, Marina’s only blood relative, had died a month ago. Ninety-two years old, she had passed away quietly in her sleep. That two-room apartment in the city center was all she had left. And everything she had bequeathed to her beloved granddaughter, Marina. The documents were properly drawn up, the will had been made at a notary’s office five years earlier. But Antonina Pavlovna had decided otherwise.
“Has Pavlusha explained the situation to you?” the mother-in-law went on, steel creeping into her voice. “It’s not good when there’s such inequality in the family. You have a job, a salary. And I’m a pensioner, I need this apartment more. To rent it out, you understand? Additional income.”
Marina remembered how two weeks earlier, Antonina Pavlovna had shown up at their place. She hadn’t just come for a visit—she had moved in with suitcases.
“I’ll stay here for a while,” she had declared, plopping down on the couch. “I’m starting a renovation. I’ll be here a week or two.”
Pavel didn’t even ask his wife’s opinion. He just nodded and dragged his mother’s suitcases into the guest room. And then the hell began.
Antonina Pavlovna would get up at six in the morning and rattle the dishes in the kitchen. She rearranged things as she saw fit. She criticized every dish Marina cooked. She pushed her way in with advice about everything—from choice of shampoo to family planning.
“You and Pavlusha aren’t in any hurry with the children,” she would sigh over dinner. “I’m already seventy, and still no grandchildren. Maybe there are some problems? You should see a doctor.”
Marina would blush and keep quiet. Pavel would look away and try to change the subject. They had been trying to have a baby for three years and had gone through tons of tests. There were no problems with either of them; it just wasn’t happening. And each such remark from her mother-in-law hit a raw nerve.
But the real nightmare began after Grandma Liza’s death. It was as if Antonina Pavlovna smelled money. The day after the funeral, she staged a full-blown interrogation.
“What’s going on with the apartment? Who did she leave it to? Where are the documents?” she fired off questions while Marina still hadn’t recovered from losing the closest person in her life.
When she found out the apartment had been left to Marina, the mother-in-law’s face darkened. And the very next day the “treatment” began.
“Think about it yourself, dear,” she cooed, heaping another portion of her signature salad onto Marina’s plate—a salad Marina couldn’t stand. “Why do you need two apartments? You already have this three-room one. And I have to squeeze into my one-bedroom on the outskirts. It’s unfair.”
Marina tried to explain that Grandma’s apartment was a memory, that she had grown up there, that every corner was dear to her heart. But Antonina Pavlovna just brushed it off.
“Sentimentality! These days you have to think practically. An apartment in the center is a gold mine! You can rent it out for good money. Or sell it and invest in something profitable.”
Pavel stayed silent. Marina hoped for his support, but her husband cowardly kept quiet, burying himself in his phone or the TV. And then, a week ago, that conversation happened.
Marina came home from work earlier than usual—they had let her go after a planning meeting. The key turned silently in the lock. The hallway was quiet, but she could hear voices from the kitchen. Marina froze when she recognized her husband’s voice.
“Mom, I can’t just go and force her,” Pavel was saying tiredly. “It’s her inheritance, her grandmother…”
“Pavlusha, my son,” Antonina interrupted him in that special tone she used to manipulate him. “You understand that I’m doing this not for myself. For you two! Just imagine the income you can get from that apartment. At least fifty thousand a month! That will be useful for your future children.”
“But Marina…”
“What about Marina?” there was steel in her voice now. “She’s your wife or what? She should obey her husband! And you should be able to stand your ground. Or are you not a man? A doormat?”
Marina pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding wildly. She waited for Pavel to protest, to defend her. But all she heard was a heavy sigh.
“Fine, Mom. I’ll talk to her.”
“That’s my good boy. And in the meantime I’ll go to the notary’s office and find everything out. I have a friend working there, she’ll help prepare the papers properly.”
On tiptoe, Marina slipped out of the apartment and sat on a bench in the courtyard for half an hour, trying to pull herself together. When she came back, she made sure to slam the door loudly. Pavel met her in the hallway with a guilty smile.
“Hi, honey. How was your day?”
She looked him in the eyes, searching for any sign of the conspiracy she had just overheard. But Pavel looked as usual—slightly tired, slightly distant.
“Fine,” she replied, walking past him.
At dinner, Antonina Pavlovna was especially sweet. She praised Marina’s work, asked about their vacation plans, even suggested going together to her friend’s dacha. Marina answered in monosyllables, unable to force herself to play along.
And then the real pressure started. Every day the mother-in-law came up with new arguments. She told heartbreaking stories about poor pensioners who couldn’t afford medicine. She sighed about how she dreamed of helping little Pavlusha buy a new car—the old one was practically falling apart. She hinted that with the extra income they could afford expensive fertility treatment abroad.
Pavel joined the offensive three days later. At first carefully, in passing.
“Marina, maybe Mom is right? Why do we need an empty apartment? We could rent it out and save the money.”
“That’s my grandma’s memory, Pasha. I grew up there. I can’t give it away or rent it out to strangers.”
“But that’s not practical…”
“Since when did you become so practical?” Marina snapped. “Or did Mommy teach you that?”
Pavel took offense and clammed up. But the next day he went back to the subject. And the next. And the day after that. His arguments grew more insistent, his tone harsher.
“You’re being selfish,” he threw at her one evening when Marina once again refused to discuss the matter. “You only think about yourself. Did you think about me? About our future?”
“What future are you talking about, Pavel? The one where your mother decides how we live and what we do with MY inheritance?”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that! She only wants what’s best for us!”
“What’s best?” Marina laughed, and the laugh came out hysterical. “She wants to take away the last thing I have left from my grandma! And you’re helping her!”
The fight was massive. Naturally, Antonina Pavlovna heard everything from the next room. The next morning she walked around the apartment with the air of a mortally offended saint, sighing loudly and muttering under her breath about ungrateful daughters-in-law.
And two days later something happened that finally opened Marina’s eyes. She came home and found her mother-in-law in their bedroom. Antonina Pavlovna was rummaging through the documents spread out on the bed.
“What are you doing?” Marina couldn’t believe her eyes.
Her mother-in-law didn’t even look embarrassed.
“Tidying up. You’ve got a complete mess here with the papers. Look at these important documents just lying around anywhere,” she said, waving Grandma Liza’s death certificate.
“These are my personal documents! You have no right!”
“Oh, come on,” Antonina brushed her off. “We’re family. What secrets can there be? By the way, I’ve been thinking. Tomorrow we’re going to the notary to get everything done quickly. Why drag it out?”
“I’m not going anywhere!”
“Oh yes, you are,” her mother-in-law’s voice turned hard. “Pavlusha will talk to you. And if you don’t listen—don’t blame me. Anything can happen to the original will. Fires, theft… things happen.”
That was a direct threat. Marina went cold. She looked into her mother-in-law’s brazen eyes and understood—this woman was capable of anything.
That evening they had the decisive talk with Pavel. Marina told him about his mother’s behavior, about the blackmail, about the threats. Pavel listened, frowned, but in the end said what finished her off completely.
“Marina, maybe it really would be easier just to give her this apartment? Mom won’t calm down otherwise. You know how persistent she is. Why do we need these constant fights?”
“So you’re suggesting I surrender? Hand over my inheritance to her just because she’s ‘persistent’?”
“I just want peace in the family…”
“And I want a husband who will protect me instead of bending to his mommy!” Marina shouted.
But Pavel only shrugged and went to watch TV.
And now they were sitting in the notary’s office. Antonina Pavlovna had dragged them there early in the morning, apparently hoping to catch Marina off guard. The documents to transfer the apartment into her name were already prepared—clearly she hadn’t been bluffing about knowing someone at the notary’s office.
“Well, Marina dear, we’re waiting,” the mother-in-law sang, though her eyes remained cold.
Marina looked at her, then at Pavel, who stubbornly avoided her gaze. And suddenly everything fell into place. This whole spectacle, this game of the loving family—it had all been a lie. To them, she was an outsider. She always had been and always would be.
Marina slowly set the pen down on the desk.
“No,” she said calmly.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Antonina Pavlovna lifted herself up in her chair.
“It means I’m not going to sign these documents. Not today, not tomorrow, not in a week. Never.”
“Marina,” Pavel finally turned to her, “don’t be stupid. We agreed…”
“You” agreed. Behind my back. You conspired on how to take my inheritance away from me. But you know what? It’s not going to happen.”
Marina stood up. Her legs trembled slightly, but her voice was firm.
“And one more thing, Antonina Pavlovna. I’m giving you three days to pack your things. If in three days you haven’t moved out of our apartment, I’ll go to the police and report the theft of documents and blackmail.”
“How dare you!” her mother-in-law screeched. “Pavlusha, do you hear what she’s saying?”
But Marina was already heading for the door.
“And you, Pavel, I advise you to think,” she threw over her shoulder. “Whose side you’re on—your wife’s or Mommy’s. Because I’m not living as a threesome anymore.”
The notary, who had been silently observing the family drama this whole time, cleared his throat politely.
“If you are not going to sign the documents, then I’m obliged to end the appointment…”
Marina walked out of the office and took a deep breath of fresh air. She felt both heavy and light at the same time. Heavy because she understood that her marriage would most likely fall apart. Light because she no longer had to pretend, endure, or compromise.
Her phone started ringing almost immediately. Pavel. Marina declined the call. Then another. And another. On the tenth attempt she turned her phone off altogether.
Instead of going home, Marina went to her grandmother’s apartment. She took the spare keys out of her bag—she always carried them with her. The apartment greeted her with silence and the scent of her grandmother’s perfume, which still lingered in the air.
Marina walked into the living room and sat down in her grandmother’s favorite armchair by the window. Everything was the same as before—photos on the walls, crocheted doilies on the tables, the old china set in the cabinet. Grandma Liza had been the only person who loved her just as she was, without conditions or demands.
“I won’t give you to them, Grandma,” Marina whispered. “I promise.”
In the evening she had to go back home. Marina was braced for a massive row, but the apartment greeted her with an unusual silence. Antonina Pavlovna had locked herself in the guest room. Pavel was sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of beer.
“Why did you have to do that?” he asked without looking up. “Mom is hysterical now. She had heart pains, she’s taking heart pills.”
“Let her. And let her pack her things.”
“Marina, she’s my mother…”
“And I’m your wife. Or am I not anymore?”
Pavel finally looked at her. Hurt and confusion mixed in his eyes.
“You’re making me choose?”
“No, Pavel. You put yourself in that position when you decided—with your mommy—to strip me of my inheritance.”
“I wasn’t going to strip you of anything! I just wanted…”
“Peace in the family?” she finished for him. “You know what I realized? In your understanding, ‘peace in the family’ is when I silently endure all the humiliation, fulfill all your mother’s whims and hand over everything she wants. But that’s not peace, Pavel. That’s slavery.”
The next two days passed in a suffocating atmosphere. Antonina Pavlovna demonstratively didn’t leave her room, but Marina heard her talking loudly on the phone, complaining to all her acquaintances about the “monster daughter-in-law.” Pavel walked around sullenly, tried to talk several times, but Marina cut him off every time.
“Let your mother move out first. Then we’ll talk.”
On the third day, when Marina came home from work, she discovered that Antonina Pavlovna’s things were gone. But it was too early to celebrate. There was a note from Pavel on the kitchen table: “I went to stay with Mom. I need to think things over.”
Marina sat down on a chair and burst out laughing. Tears broke through the laughter, but she couldn’t stop. The mama’s boy had run back to his mommy. How predictable.
A week passed. Pavel neither called nor showed up. Marina made no attempt to contact him either. She busied herself with finalizing the paperwork for Grandma’s apartment, putting things in order there, and moving some of her belongings.
On Saturday morning the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Pavel, Marina opened the door without asking who it was. On the threshold stood an unfamiliar woman of about fifty.
“Marina Sergeevna? I’m Valentina, Pavel’s cousin. May I come in?”
Marina let her in and made some tea. Valentina turned out to be a pleasant woman with a tired face and kind eyes.
“I know the whole situation,” she began without preamble. “Antonina told me. Of course, in her own interpretation, where you’re practically a monster. But I’ve known her for many years.”
“And why did you come?”
“I want to tell you a story. Twenty years ago I was married to Pavel’s cousin, Igor. Back then, Antonina lived with us too—temporarily, after divorcing her husband. She promised to stay for a couple of months and ended up staying two years.”
Valentina took a sip of tea and continued:
“She turned my life into hell. Nagging, fights, manipulation. And when my aunt died and left me her dacha, Antonina launched a full-scale campaign. Said it was unfair that the young got such wealth. Naturally, Igor took his mommy’s side. His beloved aunt.”
“And how did it end?”
“With a divorce. I couldn’t take it and left. I held on to the dacha, though, even though Antonina spent another year trying to take it from me through the courts. And Igor stayed living with his aunt. He’s fifty now, still not married. Antonina chases away every woman he meets.”
Marina looked at Valentina and saw herself twenty years into the future. If she stayed. If she gave in.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I just want you to know—it’s not about you. You’re not the first, and I’m afraid you won’t be the last. Antonina can’t stand competition. For her, only she and her children exist. Everyone else is an enemy to be either subdued or destroyed.”
After Valentina left, Marina sat in silence for a long time. Then she took out her phone and sent Pavel a message: “Come tomorrow to pick up your things. I’ll be home from 10 to 12.”
He showed up at exactly ten. Gaunt, unshaven, but with the same stubborn look on his face.
“Marina, let’s talk. Maybe we can still fix everything…”
“Fix what, Pavel? The fact that you betrayed me? The fact that you chose your mommy? The fact that you were ready to hand over my inheritance to her just so she wouldn’t sulk?”
“I was thinking about us! About our future!”
“No, you were thinking about how to please Mommy. As always. And you always will. Do you know what your cousin Valentina said?”
Pavel flinched.
“Valya came here?”
“Yes. And she told me an interesting story about your cousin Igor. Who also chose Mommy. And now, at fifty, still lives with her. That’s your future, Pavel. Enjoy.”
Pavel was silent, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he blurted out:
“Have you thought about how I feel? Being torn between you two? My mother is crying, you’re making threats…”
“I wasn’t making threats. I set boundaries. Boundaries that your mother, with your silent consent, crossed again and again. And you know what? I don’t care how you feel. Because when I felt humiliated, insulted, robbed—you didn’t care.”
“Marina…”
“Take your things and leave, Pavel. I’ll file for divorce next week. We’ll split the marital property in court. And tell your mother—she’s not getting Grandma’s apartment. Even if I have to hire a security guard.”
Pavel left an hour later, carrying boxes of his things. At the door he turned back:
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe. But it’s better to regret what you’ve done than what you were too afraid to do.”
The door closed. Marina exhaled and felt a strange lightness. Yes, she was facing a divorce. Yes, she would have to start her life over. But it would be HER life. Without a toxic mother-in-law, without a spineless husband, without humiliation and manipulation.
She walked over to the window. Outside, the sun was shining and children were playing in the yard. Life was going on. And for the first time in a long time, Marina felt that everything would be alright. Not right away, not easily, but it would.
Her phone rang. An unknown number. Marina answered.
“Marina Sergeevna?” a man’s voice asked. “This is Andrey Valentinovich, the notary. Do you remember, you visited me last week? I’m calling to warn you. Today your mother-in-law came to me with some forged documents. She tried to contest your grandmother’s will. Of course I refused to do anything and informed her that I would report the attempted fraud to the police. But please be careful. It looks like she’s not going to stop.”
Marina thanked the notary and hung up. So the war was still on. Well, she was ready. Grandma Liza had always said, “Sweetheart, in life you have to be able to stand up for yourself. There are no kind aunties who’ll do it for you.”
And Marina would stand up. For herself, for her memories, for her right to live the way she wanted. And as for Antonina Pavlovna—let her look for another victim. This one was too tough for her