The notary said everything is ready. Tomorrow we sign,” Tatyana’s voice sounded far too cheerful for someone talking about a will. She stood in the living-room doorway, her eyes glittering with anticipation.
Marina froze with a mug of tea in her hands. The hot ceramic burned her fingers, but she didn’t feel it. All her attention was fixed on her mother-in-law, who was clearly waiting for a reaction. On the sofa beside them, Andrey was buried in his phone, pretending he couldn’t hear the conversation.
“What will?” Marina asked, though she already had a pretty good idea.
Tatyana sighed theatrically and walked into the room. She moved around their apartment like she owned the place, even though she lived separately. This apartment—a three-bedroom in a nice neighborhood—had been a wedding gift from Marina’s parents. Four years ago, she and Andrey had moved in full of hope for a happy family life.
“Well, darling,” her mother-in-law said, dropping into the armchair opposite, “we talked about this. Andryusha is the only heir, and I want everything done properly. So there won’t be any problems later.”
Marina slowly set the mug on the table. They hadn’t talked about anything—at least, no one had spoken to her. She looked at her husband, but he stubbornly kept studying the screen of his phone.
“And what exactly are you planning to ‘do properly’?” Marina’s voice stayed calm, though inside she was boiling.
“It’s simple,” Tatyana waved a hand. “My apartment, the dacha… and this apartment too. Everything to Andryusha. The way it should be—from mother to son.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken. Marina felt her fingers curl into fists on their own.
“This apartment?” she repeated, hoping she’d misheard.
“Yes,” her mother-in-law raised an eyebrow in surprise. “And what’s the issue? You’re family. What difference does it make whose name it’s in? And you won’t have to pay any taxes later.”
Marina stood up. Her legs barely held her, but she forced herself to straighten.
“My parents gave this apartment to me. As a wedding gift. It’s registered in my name.”
“Oh, come on—what difference does that make!” Tatyana laughed. “You’re not planning to get divorced, are you? Or are you hiding something from us?”
It was her favorite trick—back someone into a corner where any answer sounds suspicious. Marina was used to that kind of manipulation, but something inside her snapped today.
“Andrey,” she turned to her husband. “Did you know about this?”
He finally looked up from his phone. His face showed awkwardness mixed with irritation.
“Mom… maybe we can talk about it later?” he mumbled.
“Later?” Tatyana flared up. “I already arranged everything with the notary! He set aside time just for us. You can’t treat people like this!”
Marina stared at her husband, waiting for him to tell his mother the truth—that the apartment belonged to his wife and no one had any right to include it in someone else’s will. But Andrey stayed silent, studying the pattern on the carpet.
“I’m not signing any documents,” Marina said firmly.
“What do you mean you’re not?” her mother-in-law sprang up from the chair. “So you’re saying you don’t trust your own husband? What kind of person are you? We took you into the family, and you—”
“Mom, enough,” Andrey finally spoke, but too quietly—too uncertainly.
“No, let her explain!” Tatyana was furious. “I’ve spent my whole life doing everything for my son, and now some girl thinks she gets to tell me what to do!”
Marina turned and left the room. Behind her she heard her mother-in-law’s outraged shouting and her husband’s indistinct muttering. She walked into the bedroom, grabbed her phone, and dialed her father.
“Dad, I need a lawyer’s help. Urgently.”
The next two days passed in a cold war. Tatyana made a point of not speaking to her daughter-in-law, but spent hours on the phone with her son, complaining about ingratitude and the coldness of “that woman.” Andrey wavered between two fires, but more often chose his mother’s side—simply because it was easier.
On the evening of the second day, Marina came home with a folder of documents. She went into the kitchen, where Andrey was eating dinner alone.
“We need to talk,” she said, sitting down across from him.
“Listen, Mom just went too far,” he began. “She didn’t mean anything by it. She just wants to do everything properly.”
“Properly means respecting someone else’s property,” Marina opened the folder. “I saw a lawyer today. Here’s the deed of gift.”
Andrey frowned at the papers.
“What is this?”
“I’m transferring the apartment into my mother’s name. Temporarily. Until your mother calms down with her wills.”
The spoon fell from his hand and clattered loudly against the plate.
“Are you out of your mind? This is our apartment!”
“No,” Marina shook her head. “This is my apartment. A gift from my parents. And I won’t let your mother include it in her will.”
“But we’re family!” Andrey jumped up. “How can you do this?”
“And how can your mother demand someone else’s property?” Marina shot back. “Where were you when she said she’d include MY apartment in HER will?”
“She’s not going to die tomorrow!” Andrey yelled. “It’s just a formality!”
“A formality that takes away my right to my own home.”
They stared at each other across the table. Four years of marriage—shared plans, dreams—everything was cracking apart because of one person’s greed.
“If you do this, I’ll go live with Mom,” Andrey tried to pressure her.
“That’s your choice,” Marina slid the documents back into the folder. “But the apartment will remain mine.”
The next morning Marina got up early. Andrey had slept on the couch in the living room—demonstratively refusing to come into the bedroom. She quietly got ready and left the apartment.
At the law office, everything was already prepared. Her father came to support her, and his presence gave her strength.
“Are you sure?” the lawyer asked, checking the documents one more time.
“Absolutely,” Marina nodded.
The process took less than an hour—signatures, stamps, registration—and the apartment officially belonged to her mother. A temporary measure, but a necessary one.
When Marina returned home, a family council was waiting for her. Tatyana sat enthroned on the sofa, Andrey beside her, grim.
“Well? Happy now?” her mother-in-law glared at her with undisguised hatred. “You ruined the family!”
“I protected my property,” Marina answered calmly.
“From whom—your own husband?” Tatyana threw up her hands theatrically. “I’ve never seen such disgrace in my life!”
“Mom, maybe that’s enough?” Andrey looked exhausted.
“No, it’s not enough!” Tatyana jumped up. “I warned you she wasn’t a match for you! Greedy, calculating—only thinks about money!”
“You’re the one thinking about someone else’s money and someone else’s property,” Marina didn’t raise her voice, but her words landed like a slap.
Tatyana’s face turned purple.
“How dare you! I’ve lived my whole life for my son!”
“And that’s why you decided to get your hands on your son’s wife’s apartment?”
“You don’t understand anything about a mother’s love!” Tatyana teetered on the edge of hysteria. “I want my son to have everything! So he never needs anything!”
“He has everything,” Marina turned to her husband. “He has a loving wife, a home, a job. What is he missing?”
Andrey said nothing, avoiding her gaze.
“He’s missing a normal wife!” Tatyana screamed. “One who thinks about family, not her own benefit!”
“You know what,” Marina was tired of this performance. “I’m going to my parents’ for a few days. You both need time to think.”
She went into the bedroom and started packing. Andrey appeared in the doorway.
“Marin… what are you doing? Why make it so complicated?”
“I’m not making anything complicated,” she folded clothes neatly into her bag. “Your mother decided she had a right to someone else’s property. You supported her. Draw your own conclusions.”
“But she’s my mother!”
“And I’m your wife. Or does that mean nothing?”
He didn’t answer. Marina zipped the bag and walked past him. In the living room, Tatyana was shouting after her, but Marina didn’t listen.
Three days at her parents’ house flew by like one. Her mother didn’t ask unnecessary questions—she just hugged her and cooked her favorite dishes. Her father was more direct.
“Maybe you should think about the future of this marriage,” he said over dinner.
“Dad, I love Andrey. It’s just his mother…”
“His mother is part of him,” her father shook his head. “And the fact that he can’t put her in her place says a lot about him as a man.”
Marina knew he was right. But her heart didn’t want to accept the obvious.
On the fourth day, Andrey called.
“Marin, come home. Mom went back to her place. We need to talk.”
She returned that evening. The apartment felt oddly empty without her mother-in-law’s constant presence. Andrey was waiting in the living room with a bouquet of her favorite chrysanthemums.
“I’m sorry,” he began. “I should’ve supported you. You were right—Mom went too far.”
Marina sat down in the armchair, not taking the flowers.
“It’s not about her going too far. It’s about you letting her think she had the right to control my property.”
“I talked to her. She won’t bring it up again.”
“Until next time,” Marina gave a sad smile. “Andrey, your mother will never change. And you will always choose her.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is. And you know what? I don’t blame you. She’s your mother—you love her. But I can’t live in a constant fight for my own husband.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think we need to live separately for a while. I need time to understand whether I’m ready to spend my whole life battling your mother for a place in your heart.”
Andrey went pale.
“You want a divorce?”
“I want to think. And you should, too. Because sooner or later you’ll have to choose. And I’m afraid we both know who you’ll choose.”
The following weeks were the hardest in Marina’s life. Andrey moved in with his mother; they only spoke on the phone. When Tatyana found out about the rift, she launched a full campaign—calling mutual acquaintances, complaining about the ungrateful daughter-in-law, spreading her version of events, where Marina was painted as a greedy schemer.
But Marina didn’t respond to the provocation. She worked, met friends, went to the gym. Life went on—even without Andrey.
A month later, he called.
“Marin, let’s meet. We need to make a decision.”
They met at the café where they’d had their first date. Andrey looked thinner and exhausted.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said. “You were right. Mom really does cross boundaries often. But she does it out of love for me.”
“Andrey,” Marina shook her head. “Love doesn’t give anyone the right to violate other people’s boundaries.”
“I know. And I’m ready to change things. If you come back, I’ll set clear rules. Mom won’t interfere in our life.”
“And can you follow them?” Marina asked. “Can you tell her ‘no’ when she decides again that she knows better how we should live?”
Andrey hesitated—and in that pause was the whole answer.
“I think it’s better if we get divorced,” Marina said quietly. “I’ll transfer the apartment back into my name. You can live there until you find something of your own. I don’t want scandals or a fight over property.”
“But I love you,” despair trembled in his voice.
“And I love you,” Marina said. “But sometimes love isn’t enough. You also need respect, support, a willingness to protect each other. And we don’t have that.”
The divorce went quietly, without scandals. Marina kept her word and gave Andrey time to find housing. Tatyana tried to start a scene, demanded compensation for “moral damages,” but Andrey stopped her.
Half a year later, Marina received a message from her ex-husband. He wrote that he’d rented an apartment, found a new job, and was trying to start over. And that he’d understood she was right: you can’t spend your whole life torn between your mother and your wife—you have to know how to set priorities.
Marina didn’t reply. Some lessons come too late.
She sat in her apartment—now truly hers—and thought that she’d done the right thing. Yes, it hurt. Yes, she’d lost someone she loved. But she had preserved herself—her dignity and her property.
And Tatyana never got someone else’s apartment added to her will. Justice sometimes wins—though the price can be broken hearts.