Natalya ran her palm over the smooth countertop of the new kitchen set and smiled. Three years earlier, when she had inherited this three-room apartment from her grandmother, it had looked completely different: old Soviet wallpaper, creaky parquet, a tiny kitchen with flaking paint on the walls. Now it had a modern renovation—light walls, comfortable furniture.
Andrey came into the kitchen and hugged his wife from behind.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Just remembering what a mess it was when we moved in. Do you remember those green walls in the bedroom?”
“How could I not?” Andrey laughed. “I thought we’d never wash all that paint off our hands after the renovation.”
Natalya turned to her husband. They had been living together for three years, and the whole time it had felt like a fairy tale: rare arguments that ended in quick reconciliation, shared plans, trips, cozy evenings binge-watching TV shows. Their friends called them the perfect couple.
“Andryusha, how about we order pizza tonight? I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Sure. I wanted to watch the new season of that detective show anyway.”
That evening they sat on the couch, eating pizza straight from the box and laughing at the jokes in the series. Natalya rested her head on her husband’s shoulder and thought that life had worked out. Her own apartment, the man she loved beside her, an interesting job. What more could she want?
Andrey’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen; his face tensed for a moment, then relaxed.
“Mom’s texting,” he tossed out and set the phone back on the table.
“What happened?”
“Nothing special. Asking how we are.”
Natalya didn’t think much of it. Elena Petrovna often called and messaged her son, but didn’t really interfere in their relationship. Her mother-in-law was pointedly polite, though sometimes Natalya caught strange, appraising looks aimed her way.
At work, everything was going great for Natalya. She was head of marketing at a large company; they valued her and listened to her opinion. But lately she had been catching herself thinking that something was missing.
Her colleague Irina came into her office with a folder of documents.
“Natalya, could you sign the report for the last campaign?”
Natalya skimmed the papers and signed.
“Ir… have you ever felt like your career is at its peak, and after that it’s just… a plateau?”
“What do you mean?” Irina perched on the edge of the desk.
“Well, I’ve been in this position for three years. There’s nowhere higher to go unless I become director—and that’s unlikely anytime soon. And I started thinking… maybe it’s time to change something in life?”
“Oh, I know that look,” Irina laughed. “You’re thinking about kids, aren’t you?”
Natalya nodded.
“I’m thirty-two. The biological clock is ticking. And in general, I want a child. It just used to feel like I had to build a career first, get the apartment in order… and now I have all that.”
“So what are you waiting for? Have a baby! You and Andrey are doing fine.”
“Yes, we’re happy. I think he won’t be against it either.”
That evening, Natalya kept running through her head how to start the conversation. She set the table and cooked Andrey’s favorite dish—baked fish with vegetables. Andrey came home tired but pleased.
“Wow—what’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. I just felt like spoiling you.”
They ate dinner, and Natalya made herself ask.
“Andrey, I’ve been thinking… how would you feel about having a child?”
Andrey looked up from his plate and met her eyes.
“Oh,” he drew out. “You’re serious about this?”
“Yes. I think now is the perfect time. We have an apartment, a stable income. And I can work remotely if I need to. My boss already agreed—I asked, just in case.”
Andrey leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Well… in principle, why not. Sooner or later it had to happen, right?”
Natalya frowned. His reaction wasn’t quite what she’d expected. There was no joy, no enthusiasm—just calm agreement, as if they were discussing buying a new couch.
“You’re not happy?”
“Of course I’m happy. It’s just a serious step. We need to think it through.”
“I’ve already thought it through. Three years, Andryusha. We’ve been living together for three years, and everything is stable.”
“Yes, you’re right. Let’s try.”
“Let’s try.” The words grated on Natalya’s ear—as if they were talking about a new hobby, not a child. But she decided not to make a scene. Men always take longer to get used to thoughts like that—normal.
The next day, Natalya called her mother-in-law. They weren’t close, but they kept a polite relationship. Elena Petrovna answered on the second ring.
“Natalya, hello!”
“Hello, Elena Petrovna. I wanted to share… Andrey and I decided it’s time to start thinking about a baby.”
Silence hung on the line.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. About what?”
“About a baby. We want to have one.”
“Oh, that…” her mother-in-law’s voice turned somehow strained. “Natalya, dear… are you sure this is the right time?”
“Why not? We’re both over thirty, our jobs are stable, we have an apartment…”
“Exactly—the apartment,” Elena Petrovna cut in. “Financial stability isn’t just having a roof over your head. Children require huge expenses. And the economic situation is unstable…”
Natalya listened, not understanding where this was going.
“Elena Petrovna, our finances are fine. Andrey earns well, and so do I.”
“Natalya, I’m just worried about you. Maybe you should wait another year? Save more money, prepare yourselves mentally…”
“I’m ready. Mentally and physically.”
“Well… of course, you know best. I’m just a mother, I worry.”
After the call, Natalya sat with the phone in her hands, frowning. Such a strange reaction. Usually future grandmothers are over the moon, but Elena Petrovna sounded like she was trying to talk them out of it.
That evening she told Andrey.
“Your mom reacted kind of weirdly. Like she was against it.”
Andrey shrugged.
“That’s just Mom. Overcautious. Remember when we got married and she said we should live together another year to get to know each other better?”
“Yes, but that was different…”
“Lesya, don’t think about it. Mom has her own quirks. The main thing is you and I made a decision.”
Natalya nodded. Andrey was right—you can’t live by your mother-in-law’s opinion. But the тревога didn’t go away. It settled somewhere around her solar plexus and quietly ached, reminding her it was there.
A week passed. Then another. Natalya noticed Andrey had become pensive, often staring at his phone with a worried look. A few times she caught him talking tensely with his parents in another room, lowering his voice.
“Everything okay?” she asked once, when he came out of the bedroom after yet another long conversation.
“Yes, everything’s fine. Mom was asking about renovations in their apartment.”
Natalya didn’t believe him, but she didn’t argue. If her husband didn’t want to share, he had his reasons.
A month flew by. Natalya had almost forgotten her mother-in-law’s strange reaction when one evening Andrey came home looking like the weight of the world had fallen on him. He took off his shoes in silence, walked into the room, sat down on the couch, and buried his face in his hands.
“What happened?” Natalya sat beside him.
“We need to talk.”
That phrase always spelled trouble. Natalya tensed.
“I’m listening.”
“My parents are coming tomorrow. They need to have a serious talk with us.”
“About what?”
“Natalya, I can’t explain right now. You’ll find out tomorrow. Just… be ready that it won’t be an easy conversation.”
“Andrey, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Tomorrow. Please—just listen to them. And to me.”
Natalya didn’t sleep all night. She lay beside her husband—who also kept turning and sighing—and tried to guess what could have happened. Illness? Financial problems? Or something even worse?
In the morning they moved around the apartment like shadows. Andrey tried several times to say something, but each time he just shook his head and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
At six in the evening, the doorbell rang. Natalya opened the door. Elena Petrovna and Sergey Mikhailovich stood on the threshold. Her mother-in-law looked tense but forced a smile. Her father-in-law wouldn’t lift his eyes.
“Hello,” Natalya managed.
“Hello, Natalya dear,” Elena Petrovna stepped in, took off her shoes, and headed for the living room.
They sat at the table. Natalya brought tea, though her hands trembled so much the cups clinked on the saucers. A heavy silence fell. Everyone stared at one another, and no one dared to begin.
Finally, Elena Petrovna cleared her throat.
“Natalya, we’ve come about something very serious. And we want to say right away—we hope for your understanding and support.”
Natalya clenched her hands on her knees.
“I’m listening.”
Her mother-in-law glanced at her husband. He kept staring down at the table. She sighed and began herself.
“We’ve had a disaster. A serious financial problem. Sergey Mikhailovich… a few years ago he took out a loan to develop a business. It seemed promising, but his partner turned out to be a мошенник. In the end, Sergey was left with debts.”
“Big debts?” Natalya asked quietly.
“More than eight million rubles.”
Natalya flinched. Eight million—an amount she could hardly imagine.
“And our apartment is collateral,” Elena Petrovna continued. “The bank is threatening to take it if we don’t pay off the debt. Collectors have already started calling. It’s a nightmare, Natalya. A real nightmare.”
“I’m very sorry,” Natalya forced out. “But I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. I can’t help you. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“We’re not asking for money,” Elena Petrovna leaned forward. “We’re asking for a different kind of help.”
Natalya looked at Andrey. He sat with a stony face.
“Andryusha knew about this?”
“Yes,” her mother-in-law nodded. “He knows the situation.”
“From the beginning?”
“At least the last six months.”
Natalya leaned back in her chair. So when they discussed having a child, when they made plans for the future, Andrey already knew about his father’s debt—and stayed silent. Hid it from her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natalya turned to her husband.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Andrey muttered. “I thought we’d figure it out ourselves somehow.”
“Figure it out? Yourselves? Eight million in debt?”
“Natalya, listen,” Elena Petrovna cut in. “We have a plan. And it will work if you help us.”
“What plan?”
Her mother-in-law paused, as if gathering courage.
“Your apartment… it’s large, expensive. If you sign it over to Andrey, he can take out a loan against it. His credit history is excellent, he has a good job. The bank will give the money at a low interest rate.”
Natalya froze. She heard the words but couldn’t process them. Sign the apartment over? Her apartment—the one her grandmother left her? The apartment she and Andrey had poured so much effort and money into?
“Are you joking?”
“No, dear. We’re completely serious. It’s the only way out. If we don’t pay the debt, Sergey will be imprisoned. He’s already been warned. And they’ll evict us from our apartment. We’ll end up on the street.”
“But this is my apartment,” Natalya spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. “My inheritance. I can’t just give it away.”
“No one is giving it away!” Elena Petrovna waved her hand. “You’ll sign it over to Andrey. You’re husband and wife—what difference does it make whose name it’s in? We’ll take the loan, pay off the father’s debts, and then all of us together will pay off the new loan. Andrey has such a good position, he earns well. We’ll manage in ten years, no more.”
“Ten years,” Natalya repeated.
“Well yes. It’s not that long. But the family stays together, Sergey doesn’t go to prison, and everything will be fine.”
Natalya turned to her husband.
“Andrey, tell me this is nonsense. Tell me you don’t agree with this plan.”
Andrey raised his eyes to hers. In them Natalya saw anything but support.
“Natalya, I understand it sounds crazy. But Mom is right. It’s the only way out. Dad will go to jail if we don’t pay the debt. You don’t want him to go to jail, do you?”
“I don’t want to be stripped of my apartment!” Natalya’s voice broke. “Do you understand what they’re asking? They want me to hand over everything I have!”
“You won’t hand it over. The apartment will stay in the family. It’ll just be in my name. But we’re together—what difference does it make?”
“It makes an enormous difference! It’s my inheritance! Mine! And you want me to gift it to you so you can take out an eight-million-ruble loan against it?!”
“Natalya, calm down,” Elena Petrovna tried to take her hand, but Natalya jerked her palm away. “You understand it’s just a formality. You and Andryusha are one family. What’s yours is his. We just want to save his father from prison.”
“And why should I save your father?” Natalya stood up. “Why did you decide I’m obligated to sacrifice my property for someone else’s debts?”
“Someone else’s?” Elena Petrovna stood too. “That’s your husband’s father! That’s family!”
“That’s not my family!” Natalya shouted. “My family is my grandmother who left me this apartment—who saved her whole life so I’d have a roof over my head! And you want me to betray her memory?”
Sergey Mikhailovich finally lifted his head.
“Natalya, I understand how it sounds. But I didn’t get into these debts on purpose. I was deceived. Set up. If I’d known…”
“But you didn’t know. And now you want me to pay for your mistakes.”
Elena Petrovna straightened and crossed her arms.
“Natalya, we considered you a daughter-in-law. We thought you understood what family is. But it turns out you’re an egoist who thinks only of herself.”
“An egoist?” Natalya laughed. “I’m an egoist because I don’t want to give up my home?”
“You’re an egoist because you don’t want to help the family in trouble!”
“This isn’t my trouble! It’s your husband’s trouble—because he got involved in shady schemes!”
“Enough!” Andrey shouted. “Natalya, stop! That’s my father!”
“So what? He’s your father, not mine! Let him deal with his problems himself!”
“That’s not how you talk about family!”
“What family are you talking about?!” Natalya stepped toward her husband. “The family that hid the debt from me for half a year? The family that came here demanding I hand over my only property?”
Andrey jumped up from the couch.
“We’re not demanding! We’re asking! Asking for help!”
“You’re demanding. And you know what’s the worst part? You’re on their side. You—my husband—took the side of the people who want to rob me.”
“No one wants to rob you! The apartment will stay in the family!”
“In the family?” Natalya shook her head. “What family, Andrey? We’re not a family anymore. From the moment you agreed to this insane plan, there is no family for us.”
Elena Petrovna exhaled noisily.
“See, Andryusha? I told you—she’s not ours. A чужая. Only thinks about her own pocket.”
Something inside Natalya clicked. For months she had endured her mother-in-law’s patronizing tone. Endured hints that she wasn’t good enough for their family. Endured constant advice and remarks. And now this.
Natalya turned slowly to her mother-in-law. Her hands trembled, but her voice was steady.
“Did you really think I’d let you sign my home over because of someone else’s debts? No—this bunch of freeloaders can get out of my house!”
Dead silence fell. Elena Petrovna opened her mouth but said nothing. Sergey Mikhailovich shrank in his chair. Andrey stared at his wife as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“What?” her mother-in-law finally squeezed out.
“I said: get out of my house. All of you. Including you, Andrey.”
“Natalya, you can’t kick me out,” Andrey muttered. “This is our apartment.”
“No. This is my apartment. My inheritance. And I have every right to decide who lives here and who doesn’t.”
Elena Petrovna sprang up. Her face flushed with rage.
“How dare you?! We came for help, and you—”
“You came to strip me of everything!” Natalya cut her off. “You wanted to take the only thing I have—and you’re surprised at my reaction?”
“We wanted to save the family!”
“What family? You wanted to save yourselves at my expense! And you know what? Three years. For three years I was a good little girl—endured your remarks, your condescending tone, your advice on how I should live. I endured it because I thought that’s what was right—that a daughter-in-law should be compliant. But really, you were just looking for someone to use!”
“Natalya!” Andrey tried to grab her hand, but she recoiled.
“Don’t touch me. You’re a stranger to me now. Do you understand? A stranger—because someone who was truly close would never demand that I hand over my grandmother’s inheritance.”
“I didn’t demand it, I asked—”
“You supported their plan!” Natalya shouted. “You sat here nodding while they suggested signing my apartment over to you! You knew about this in advance and kept quiet!”
Sergey Mikhailovich finally spoke.
“Natalya, I’m guilty. I understand. But if I don’t pay the debt, I’ll go to prison. Do you want me to go to prison?”
“I want all of you to leave me alone!” Natalya paced the room. “You know, my whole conscious life I was told I had to be good. A good daughter, a good student, a good wife, a good daughter-in-law. And I tried. God, how I tried. I put up with all your jabs, Elena Petrovna—all your hints that I wasn’t good enough for Andrey. I stayed quiet when you handed out advice on how I should run the house. I tolerated your visits when you came without warning and criticized everything—from how clean the apartment was to my hairstyle.”
“That’s not true!” her mother-in-law protested.
“It is true! And you know it!” Natalya pointed at Andrey. “You know perfectly well how your mother treats me. But it was easier for you to ignore it. Easier to pretend everything was fine. And now you brought them here to demand my apartment!”
“Natalya, maybe you should calm down and discuss everything peacefully?” Elena Petrovna tried to interject.
“There’s nothing to discuss. You’ve got your answer. No. I won’t give up my apartment. I won’t sign it over to Andrey. I won’t take on other people’s debts. And I don’t want to see you in my home.”
“You’ll regret this,” her mother-in-law hissed.
“Regret it?” Natalya laughed. “You know what I already regret? That I didn’t understand sooner who you are. That I wasted three years on a man who, the first time something serious happened, sided with manipulators.”
Andrey went pale.
“Natalya, I’m not a manipulator. I was just trying to help my parents…”
“At my expense. You tried to help your parents by sacrificing my interests. My property. My future.”
“But we’re family!” Andrey shouted.
“No. We’re not. Family is when people support each other—not try to strip each other bare. Family is when a husband protects his wife—not leads her to slaughter for his parents.”
Elena Petrovna grabbed her purse.
“Come on, Sergey. There’s nothing for us to do here. This woman has shown her true face.”
“Yes, she has,” Natalya nodded. “The face of someone who won’t allow herself to be used. The face of someone who can say ‘no.’ And you know what? I like that face a lot more than the spineless rag I was all these years.”
Sergey Mikhailovich got up from the couch. He looked beaten, older.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I can’t forgive you. You tried to take the only thing I have—and hid behind the word ‘family’ while you did it.”
He nodded and headed for the door. Elena Petrovna lingered.
“Andrey, are you coming with us?”
Andrey looked at his mother, then at his wife.
“I… Natalya, maybe we can still talk?”
“No. Leave. Right now. Take your things and go.”
“But where will I go?”
“Not my problem. To your parents. To a hotel. Anywhere—just not here.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
Andrey dashed to the bedroom. Ten minutes later he returned with a hastily packed bag. His face was white; his hands were shaking.
“Natalya, I…”
“Go.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“Leave, Andrey. Before I call the police.”
He wanted to say something else, but Natalya’s gaze stopped him. Andrey turned and went to the door. Elena Petrovna and Sergey Mikhailovich were already waiting in the entryway.
“You’ll regret it,” her mother-in-law repeated at the threshold. “When you’re alone—you’ll regret it.”
“Being alone is better than having company like you,” Natalya replied and shut the door.
She leaned her back against it and slowly slid down to the floor. Her hands trembled, her heart pounded. But inside there was a strange feeling of relief—as if she’d dropped an enormous burden she’d been carrying all these years.
Natalya sat on the floor and cried. Not from grief, but from release. For three years she had lived in an illusion. She thought she had a happy marriage, an understanding husband, a normal family. But in reality it had all been a lie—beautiful, but a lie.
Her phone vibrated. Andrey was sending long messages, begging for a chance to explain everything. Natalya blocked his number. There was nothing to explain. Everything was already painfully clear.
The next few days she lived in a kind of numbness. She went to work, did her duties, answered colleagues with a routine “I’m fine.” In the evenings she returned to the empty apartment and wandered from room to room, trying to get used to the thought that now she was alone.
Irina noticed something was wrong.
“Natalya, what happened? You look… I don’t know, like you’ve been put through a meat grinder.”
“Andrey and I separated.”
“What?! When?”
“Three days ago.”
“But why? You were such an ideal couple!”
Natalya smirked.
“Ideal on the outside. In reality… you know, I thought I knew him. Three years together. But it turns out I had no idea who he really was.”
She told her friend everything: her father-in-law’s debts, the demand to sign the apartment over, how Andrey took his parents’ side.
“Unbelievable,” Irina shook her head. “So what now?”
“I’ll file for divorce. I’ve already spoken to a lawyer—she said there won’t be problems. The apartment is mine, inherited before marriage. It isn’t divided.”
“And Andrey won’t try to claim it?”
“Let him try. All my documents are in order.”
That evening Natalya met with a lawyer—a woman around fifty—who listened carefully to her story.
“Understood. You’re right: an apartment received by inheritance is not marital property. Even if you invested money into renovations, it doesn’t give your spouse a right to a share—provided you have all the title documents.”
“I do. The will, the certificate of inheritance, the extract from the property register.”
“Excellent. Then we file for divorce. Since there are no children and no property dispute, the process will be quick—at most two months.”
“And if he starts demanding compensation for the renovation?”
“He can demand it. But he’ll have to prove the money was specifically his and not shared. Do you have receipts or contracts with contractors in his name?”
“No. We paid from an account in my name.”
“Then it will be hard to prove. I don’t think he’ll succeed.”
Natalya signed the agreement with the lawyer and went outside. It was cold; snow was falling. She stood watching the snowflakes land on the asphalt and melt immediately. Just like that, her illusion of a happy marriage had melted away.
Andrey called every day. Left voice messages, wrote long texts. Begged to meet, talk, discuss everything. Promised to cut ties with his parents, swore he would never again put their interests above hers.
But Natalya didn’t answer. Words meant nothing. Actions did. And his action was crystal clear—he chose his parents.
A month later, the court summons arrived. Natalya came on time; Andrey was late. When he finally appeared, she barely recognized him. He had lost weight, looked gaunt, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hello.”
“You look good.”
“Thank you.”
An awkward pause. Andrey shifted from foot to foot.
“Natalya… maybe we should still think about it? We don’t need to rush the divorce…”
“We do. I’ve decided.”
“But we loved each other…”
“We did. Past tense.”
“I still love you.”
Natalya looked him in the eyes.
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have brought your parents here demanding my apartment.”
“I didn’t want to take it! Just to sign it over so I could get a loan…”
“Andrey, that’s the same thing. You wanted me to hand you the only thing I have. And you still don’t understand that it was wrong.”
“I do understand! I swear, I understand now! It was a mistake!”
“A mistake that showed your true face.”
“Natalya…”
“Enough. Please. Let’s just get divorced and go our separate ways. No scenes, no hysterics. Just end it.”
Andrey lowered his head.
“Okay. If that’s what you want.”
The court hearing was a formality. The judge asked a few questions, made sure both spouses agreed to the divorce and there was no dispute over property, and issued the decision: the marriage was dissolved.
They walked out of the courthouse together, stood on the steps, and fell silent.
“Well… that’s it,” Andrey said.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“I’m truly sorry, Natalya.”
“So am I. Sorry for the three years wasted.”
She turned and walked away without looking back.
The next few months were strange. Natalya learned how to live alone—not just physically alone in the apartment, but alone in general. Without a husband, without illusions, without plans for a shared future.
At first it was hard. In the evenings she caught herself waiting for the sound of a key in the lock. She woke at night and reached for the other half of the bed where Andrey used to sleep. She cooked dinner for two, then realized with surprise that no one was waiting for her.
But gradually she got used to it. More than that—she started enjoying being alone. She could watch whatever she wanted, eat whatever she wanted, go to bed whenever she felt like it. Invite friends over without asking permission.
At work she got promoted. The new position meant more responsibility, but her salary increased significantly. Natalya threw herself into projects, finding an outlet in work.
“You’re glowing,” Irina said one day. “Seriously. After the divorce you became… different. More confident.”
“I became myself,” Natalya replied. “Do you understand? All those years I played a role—the perfect wife, the compliant daughter-in-law. And now I’m just Natalya. And I like it.”
She signed up for yoga, started going to the pool, and took a vacation alone—for the first time in her life. She traveled around Europe for three weeks, reporting to no one and asking no one’s permission. The feeling of freedom was incredible.
Half a year after the divorce, an unfamiliar woman messaged Natalya on social media. She introduced herself as Olga—Andrey’s new girlfriend.
“Hello, Natalya. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to ask—are you and Andrey really divorced? He told such strange things about you that I started to doubt it.”
Natalya smiled and replied briefly: “Yes, we’ve been officially divorced for half a year. Good luck.”
Curiosity got the better of her, and Natalya asked:
“And what exactly did he say?”
The answer came quickly:
“That you kicked him out of the apartment over something trivial. That you refused to help his family in a difficult moment. That you were greedy and cold.”
Natalya laughed. Of course. Andrey would never admit he was wrong. It was much easier to make his ex-wife look like a monster.
“Olga, I’ll tell you just one thing. If he asks you to sign an apartment over to him or take out a loan for his parents—run. And don’t look back.”
“Thank you for being honest.”
Natalya blocked the woman and closed social media. She wasn’t interested in what was happening in her ex-husband’s life. She was building a new one.
Her mother called on the weekend.
“Natalya, how are you? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Mom. Everything’s great.”
“You don’t regret it?”
“The divorce? No. It was the best decision of my life.”
“I’m proud of you. Not every woman can stand up for what’s hers. Many would have given in to the pressure, signed the apartment over, and then regretted it.”
“I almost gave in. There in the living room, when they were all staring at me… for a second I hesitated. I thought—what if I’m wrong? What if it really is selfishness? But then I remembered Grandma. How she worked her whole life, how she saved for this apartment. And I understood I have no right to throw away her legacy.”
“Your grandmother would be proud of you.”
After the call, Natalya took out an old photo album and found a picture of her grandmother. The elderly woman with kind eyes looked out from the photo and smiled.
“Thank you, Grandma,” Natalya whispered. “For everything.”
Another year passed. Natalya sat in her living room—the very one where the drama with Andrey’s parents had unfolded. But now the room looked different. She had done a small cosmetic renovation, changed the furniture, added live plants.
Spring sun shone outside. Natalya sipped coffee and flipped through an interior design magazine, thinking about whether to redo the bedroom—she wanted something more modern.
The phone rang. An unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Sberbank. Andrey Kovalev listed you as a guarantor on a loan. We wanted to уточнить…”
“Stop,” Natalya interrupted. “I have never been and am not a guarantor on any loans for Andrey Kovalev. We’ve been divorced for more than a year.”
“But there’s your signature here…”
“That’s a forgery. I recommend you contact him directly and stop bothering me.”
She hung up and blocked the number. Smiled. Andrey hadn’t changed at all—the same attempts to solve problems at someone else’s expense.
But it had nothing to do with her anymore.
Natalya returned to the magazine. She decided yes—she would redo the bedroom. And also buy a new couch for the living room. And maybe get a cat. She’d always wanted one, but Andrey had been against it.
She looked around her apartment—spacious, bright, entirely hers. No one could take it away from her. Not debts, not manipulation, not “family circumstances.”
It was her fortress. Her safe place. Her home.
And she had protected it.
Natalya finished her coffee and stretched. A whole day lay ahead, full of possibilities. She no longer looked back at the past or feared the future.
She was free. And happy. And that was what mattered most