Nadezhda stood at the bedroom window, watching the May rain drum against the glass. Three years earlier, when her parents had gifted her this apartment a month before the wedding, she could barely believe her happiness. A three-room place right in the city center—with a fresh renovation, spacious rooms, and a view of the park. Her parents had saved for years, setting aside every spare ruble so their daughter could start married life in worthy conditions.
Back then her father said something important—something Nadia would remember forever. They were sitting in the kitchen of the new apartment. Her dad sipped tea, studying the property papers with careful attention.
“Nadenka, listen to me closely. The apartment will be registered only in your name. Not in yours and Roman’s—only in yours.”
Nadezhda was taken aback.
“Dad, but why? We’re getting married.”
“That’s exactly why,” her father said, placing the documents on the table. “Life is unpredictable. People change. Circumstances change too. I want you to always have a roof over your head, no matter what happens.”
“But Roman will be offended.”
“If Roman is a decent man, he won’t be,” her mother joined in. “We’re buying this with our money. It’s our gift to you—not to both of you. Roman hasn’t contributed anything to the family yet.”
Nadia nodded, accepting their logic. When she told Roman, her fiancé only shrugged.
“Fine. Your parents bought it, so it’s your apartment. I’m not against it.”
The wedding was beautiful. A hundred guests, a restaurant on the river embankment, a white lace dress, live music. Nadezhda’s parents didn’t hold back—they wanted their daughter to have the best memories. Lyudmila Semyonovna, Roman’s mother, sat at the table with a sour expression all evening. She barely smiled when the newlyweds passed by, and she turned away demonstratively whenever Nadezhda tried to speak to her.
After the wedding, the couple moved into the gifted apartment. Roman worked as a mid-level manager at a construction firm, earning about eighty thousand rubles a month. Nadezhda taught English at a private school and made sixty thousand. Together they could afford a decent life—travel once a year, good food, weekend развлечения.
Lyudmila Semyonovna visited her son every week. She came without warning, usually on Saturday morning when Nadezhda was still asleep. She let herself in with the keys Roman had given her, walked to the kitchen, and started making breakfast. Nadezhda would wake up to the smell of frying eggs and her mother-in-law’s voice.
“Roman, son, wake up. I made breakfast.”
Nadezhda would come out of the bedroom, say hello, try to join the conversation. But Lyudmila Semyonovna ignored her every time, speaking only to her son—as if Nadezhda didn’t exist in the room at all.
“Mom, that’s not polite,” Roman said once, after Nadezhda went to the bathroom. “At least say hello to Nadia.”
“I do,” his mother replied shortly. “I just don’t see the point in keeping up a conversation with someone who married my son for an apartment.”
“Mom, stop it. Nadia’s parents gave her the apartment. It was their decision.”
“Of course,” Lyudmila Semyonovna smirked. “A very convenient decision. Now your wife owns property in the center, and you’re just a tenant. If anything happens, she’ll kick you out anytime she wants.”
“Nadia won’t do that,” Roman frowned.
“We’ll see,” his mother said, turning back to the stove.
Nadezhda heard this conversation from behind the bathroom door. She clenched her fists, but stayed silent. Arguing with Lyudmila Semyonovna was useless. Her mother-in-law had already formed an opinion of her and had no intention of changing it.
Every meeting with Roman’s mother became a trial. Lyudmila Semyonovna always found a way to humiliate Nadezhda without raising her voice: cutting remarks about her cooking, cleaning, and appearance; sarcastic comments about her work, salary, and background. Nadezhda endured it for her husband’s sake, forcing herself not to react, to keep her composure.
“Roman, please ask your mom to be more polite,” Nadezhda said one evening when they were alone.
“She doesn’t mean it,” her husband said, hugging her. “That’s just her personality. Mom’s used to controlling everything.”
“But it hurts when I’m constantly being put down.”
“Don’t pay attention. She’ll get used to you soon—you’ll see.”
But Lyudmila Semyonovna never did. Year after year passed, and her attitude toward her daughter-in-law remained cold and contemptuous. Nadia eventually accepted it as a given. In the end, Roman loved her, supported her, cared for her. That was enough.
In their second year of marriage, Lyudmila Semyonovna found a new topic to discuss with her son. Her nephew—a young man around thirty—had launched what he claimed was a very promising business venture. Something involving investments in overseas real estate. He promised staggering returns: thirty percent a year, quick payback, guaranteed income.
Lyudmila Semyonovna was captivated. She worked as an accountant at a major company and had saved all her life. She had about two million rubles in the bank. She dreamed of increasing her savings and securing a comfortable old age.
Roman grew wary as soon as his mother described the nephew’s offer.
“Mom, that’s a classic pyramid scheme. Thirty percent per year? Seriously? No legal business can guarantee returns like that.”
“You don’t understand anything,” Lyudmila Semyonovna waved him off. “My nephew knows what he’s doing. He has an education, connections, experience.”
“What experience?” Roman frowned. “Mom, three years ago he got his first job. What experience does he have in investing?”
“Enough to start a project,” his mother said, lips tightening. “I trust him.”
“Don’t invest the money,” Roman pleaded. “Please. It’s too risky.”
But Lyudmila Semyonovna wouldn’t listen. She was stubborn—once she decided something, she didn’t change her mind for anything. A week after that conversation, she transferred one and a half million rubles to her nephew. But that didn’t feel like enough.
She took out a bank loan for five hundred thousand rubles. Then another for three hundred thousand. Then a microloan for one hundred thousand at outrageous interest. She poured it all into her nephew’s venture, sincerely believing she would get back twice as much in a year.
Roman found out by accident. His mother mentioned on the phone that she’d taken out a loan. He rushed over, demanding answers.
“Mom, what have you done? Why did you take out loans?”
“To increase the investment amount,” Lyudmila Semyonovna said calmly. “The more you put in, the more you get out.”
“That’s insane!” Roman grabbed his head. “You went into debt for a questionable project!”
“The project isn’t questionable,” she raised her voice. “My nephew already showed the first results. The interest is coming in—everything’s working.”
“Mom, it’s a pyramid scheme! At first they pay ‘profits’ using money from new investors to create the illusion of earnings. Then it collapses and people lose everything!”
“You’re just jealous that I found a way to make money,” Lyudmila Semyonovna crossed her arms. “With your manager salary, you’ll never save for a proper retirement.”
Roman left, slamming the door. At home he told Nadezhda what had happened. She listened and shook her head.
“Your mother is an adult. If she decided to gamble with her money, that’s her choice.”
“But she took loans!” Roman paced the room. “If the pyramid collapses, she’ll be buried in debt.”
“You warned her,” Nadezhda reminded him, shrugging. “There’s nothing else you can do.”
Half a year passed. Lyudmila Semyonovna called Roman regularly, telling him how her investments were “growing.” She was happy, making plans to buy a new car, take a seaside vacation, update her wardrobe. Roman listened silently, hoping his mother might be wrong and the project would turn out to be legitimate.
But then, one day, the pyramid collapsed. The nephew disappeared. The company’s website stopped working. Phones went unanswered. Lyudmila Semyonovna called Roman in hysterics.
“Roman, what do I do? The money is gone! My nephew vanished! The website isn’t working!”
Roman rushed to her apartment. Lyudmila Semyonovna sat in the kitchen with eyes red from crying. On the table were printouts from the website, bank statements, loan contracts. Roman went through the papers and felt cold inside. His mother was nine hundred thousand rubles in debt—on top of losing all her savings, two million.
“Mom… why didn’t you listen to me?” Roman asked quietly.
“I thought it would be fine,” she sobbed. “He showed reports, the profits came in. I didn’t think it was a scam.”
“So what do we do now?” Roman sat beside her.
“I don’t know,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “The banks are already demanding payment. The microloan people too. If I don’t repay it, they’ll take my apartment.”
Roman froze. His mother’s apartment was her only home. If she lost it, she would end up on the street.
“Let’s try to negotiate with the banks,” Roman suggested. “Maybe they’ll agree to installments.”
But the banks refused. They demanded full repayment, threatened lawsuits and seizure of property. The private microloan lenders were even harsher—promising to “handle it their own way” if the money wasn’t returned.
For the next two weeks Roman moved like a man in a fog. He stayed late at work, came home silent and drained. Nadezhda tried to talk, to find out what was going on, but Roman brushed her off.
“It’s fine—just a lot of work.”
But Nadezhda could see something serious was happening. Roman didn’t sleep at night, constantly checked his phone, snapped at the smallest things. She felt it—soon everything would come to light.
One evening Roman came home earlier than usual. He sat on the couch and dropped his head into his hands. Nadezhda sat down beside him.
“Roma, what’s wrong? Tell me.”
He lifted his head and looked at his wife. In his eyes were exhaustion, despair, and fear.
“Mom’s in trouble. Big trouble.”
Nadezhda listened in silence as Roman explained the pyramid scheme, the lost money, the loans, the threats from the banks. When he finished, she leaned back against the couch.
“Your mother is an adult. She made a decision and got the consequences.”
“But they’ll throw her out of her apartment!” Roman’s voice broke. “She’ll have nowhere to go!”
“You warned her,” Nadezhda reminded him. “You told her it was a pyramid scheme. Lyudmila Semyonovna didn’t listen.”
“I can’t leave my mother on the street,” Roman got up and began pacing. “She’s my mom. I have to help.”
“How exactly are you going to help?” Nadezhda folded her arms. “You don’t have nine hundred thousand rubles.”
Roman stopped and turned to her.
“We can take out a loan secured by our apartment.”
Nadezhda went still. For several seconds she just stared at him, not believing what she’d heard.
“What?”
“We’ll take a loan using the apartment as collateral,” Roman repeated. “We’ll pay off Mom’s debts and save her apartment. Then we’ll slowly pay the loan back ourselves.”
“Are you serious?” Nadezhda rose slowly to her feet. “You want to put my apartment up as collateral to cover your mother’s debts?”
“It’s our apartment,” he objected. “We’re a family.”
“No,” Nadezhda replied coldly. “It’s my apartment. My parents’ gift. Registered in my name. And I’m not putting it up as collateral.”
“Nadia, please understand—this is about my mother!” Roman stepped closer. “They’ll put her on the street!”
“Then let her sell her apartment, pay off the debts, and rent a room,” Nadezhda didn’t budge. “Or let her work, earn money, and pay off her loans gradually. But I won’t let anyone touch my home.”
“You’re heartless,” Roman turned pale. “My mother is in trouble, and you refuse to help.”
“I’m not refusing to help,” Nadezhda corrected him. “I’m refusing to risk my home because of someone else’s mistakes. Your mother chose to invest in a pyramid scheme. Let her deal with it herself.”
Roman spun around and left the room. Nadezhda remained standing in the middle of the living room, feeling everything tremble inside her. Her husband wanted to mortgage her apartment—the place her parents had worked for years to buy, the safety net that was supposed to protect her no matter what.
Over the following days Roman kept trying to persuade her. Every evening began with the same conversation.
“Nadia, it’s temporary. We take the loan, pay Mom’s debts, then we repay it.”
“No,” she answered, short and firm.
“You don’t understand! They’re threatening her! They could take her apartment!”
“Then let her sell it herself and pay what she owes.”
“How will she live afterward? Renting on a pension?”
“That’s her problem,” Nadezhda said, struggling to remain calm. “I’m not obligated to solve someone else’s financial mess.”
“She’s not someone else! She’s my mother!”
“Your mother who never accepted me,” Nadezhda finally raised her voice. “For three years she has humiliated me at every meeting, called me greedy, accused me of marrying you for the apartment. And now she expects me to risk my home to cover her debts? Seriously?”
Roman fell silent. Nadezhda could see him suffering, torn between his mother and his wife. But the choice should have been obvious—shouldn’t it?
For a week Roman pressed her. Every day, every evening, at every opportunity—begging, pleading, demanding. Nadezhda held her ground and refused. Inside, she felt something important collapsing: her trust in her husband, her faith in their marriage, her hope for a shared future.
One evening Nadezhda got home later than usual. A meeting ran long, then traffic crawled. When she opened the apartment door with her key, she heard voices from the hallway. Roman was talking to someone in the kitchen.
She walked quietly, looked in—and froze. Lyudmila Semyonovna sat at the table. She was dressed entirely in black, her face drawn, eyes red. Papers were spread across the table: documents, a pen, stamps.
“Mom, I don’t know if Nadia will understand,” Roman was saying, standing by the window.
“She has to understand,” Lyudmila Semyonovna clenched her fists. “I’m her mother-in-law. Family is supposed to help each other.”
“But the apartment is in her name,” Roman turned toward his mother. “Without her consent, I can’t do anything.”
“Are you a man or a rag?” his mother snapped. “She’s your wife! You need to insist!”
Nadezhda stepped into the kitchen. Roman flinched. Lyudmila Semyonovna turned, and something like triumph flickered across her face.
“Nadezhda, hello,” her mother-in-law tried to smile. “We’ve been discussing family matters.”
“I can see that,” Nadezhda came closer and looked at the papers. A mortgage agreement. A loan contract. A bank application. Everything was prepared and filled out—only a signature was missing.
Nadezhda lifted her eyes and looked at her husband.
“Seriously, Roma? You brought your mother here with the paperwork already done?”
“Nadia, let’s talk calmly,” Roman tried to step closer, but she stepped back.
“What is there to talk about?” Nadezhda’s voice was icy. “You’ve already decided everything. The documents are ready. You just need to pressure me into signing.”
“It’s for your own good,” Lyudmila Semyonovna cut in. “If they evict me, I’ll have to move in with you. Is that what you want?”
Nadezhda turned slowly to her.
“Excuse me?”
“Well where am I supposed to go?” her mother-in-law spread her hands. “If they take my apartment, I’ll be on the street. I’ll have to live with my son.”
“In my apartment,” Nadezhda уточнила.
“In yours,” Lyudmila Semyonovna agreed. “We’re family. We’re supposed to help each other.”
Nadezhda stared at the papers, then at Roman, then at her mother-in-law. Everything clicked into place. This wasn’t a conversation—it was an ambush. Roman had spent a week wearing her down, softening her resistance. Now he’d brought his mother with ready-made documents so the two of them could pressure her together. And if Nadezhda refused to mortgage the apartment, Lyudmila Semyonovna would simply move in, turning her life into a living hell.
Nadezhda let out a bitter laugh. Anger rose hot into her face.
“What is this, a circus? Your family decided pretty fast that my apartment is their backup plan!”
Roman turned pale.
“Nadia, don’t.”
“How should I?” she snapped. “You came here with paperwork, without even asking my permission! You decided for me that I’d mortgage my home to pay your mother’s debts!”
“I’m your mother-in-law!” Lyudmila Semyonovna jumped up. “You’re obligated to help me!”
“Obligated?” Nadezhda laughed. “For three years you’ve humiliated me, insulted me, ignored me. You called me greedy and accused me of using your son. And now you’re demanding help?”
“I always knew you were a cold selfish woman!” her mother-in-law shouted. “Roman, do you see? Your wife is ready to throw me onto the street!”
“No one is throwing you anywhere,” Nadezhda answered flatly. “You got yourself into debt. Sell your apartment, pay off the loans, rent a room. But don’t touch my home.”
“Roman!” Lyudmila Semyonovna grabbed his hand. “Are you going to stand there silent? Make her sign!”
Roman stood between his mother and his wife with his head lowered. Nadezhda looked at him, waiting. Would he stand with his wife—or support his mother?
Slowly Roman raised his eyes.
“Nadia… please. She’s my mom. I can’t abandon her.”
“So you’re choosing her,” Nadezhda said quietly.
“I’m not choosing,” he tried to argue. “I’m just asking you to help.”
“Help at the cost of my home,” Nadezhda gathered the documents into a neat pile. “No.”
“You’ll regret this!” Lyudmila Semyonovna screamed. “I curse you! May everything in your life collapse like it did in mine!”
“Mom, stop,” Roman tried to calm her, but she tore away.
“No! Let her see who she is—cold, greedy, heartless! Roman, divorce her! You’ll find another one, a normal one!”
Without a word Nadezhda went to the bedroom, grabbed her bag, and began collecting the apartment documents: ownership certificate, technical паспорт, purchase contract—everything that could matter. Then she took her passport, bank cards, driver’s license.
Roman came into the bedroom.
“Nadia, what are you doing?”
“Taking the documents,” she said calmly. “So you don’t ‘accidentally’ take out a loan without my consent.”
“I would never do that!”
“A week ago I would have believed you,” Nadezhda zipped the bag. “Now I don’t. You brought your mother here with the paperwork ready. You planned to pressure me together.”
“We just wanted to talk,” Roman tried to come closer, but she stepped back.
“To talk—with documents already filled out?” Nadezhda gave a short, humorless smile. “Roma, do you think I’m stupid?”
Roman dropped his gaze and said nothing. Nadezhda walked past him into the hallway. Lyudmila Semyonovna was by the door, blocking the way.
“You’re not going anywhere until you sign!”
“Move,” Nadezhda said coldly.
“I won’t! You’re obligated to help the family!”
Nadezhda pulled out her phone and began dialing.
“What are you doing?” her mother-in-law asked warily.
“Calling the police,” Nadezhda lifted the phone. “I’ll report that people are in my apartment and refusing to leave.”
“You’ve lost your mind!” Lyudmila Semyonovna stepped back. “Roman is my son! This is his home!”
“This is my apartment,” Nadezhda corrected her. “Registered in my name. And I decide who is here.”
Roman came out of the bedroom and looked at his wife.
“Nadia, don’t call the police. We’ll go.”
Nadezhda lowered the phone and opened the door.
“Leave. Both of you.”
Lyudmila Semyonovna grabbed her bag and shot Nadezhda a venomous look.
“You’ll regret it. I promise. You’ll be alone in your precious apartment and rot there.”
She stormed out onto the landing. Roman lingered in the doorway.
“Nadia… let’s cool off and talk later.”
“No,” Nadezhda shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about. You made your choice. You chose your mother.”
“I didn’t choose,” Roman’s voice cracked. “I just wanted to help.”
“At my expense,” Nadezhda said, and closed the door.
She spent the rest of the evening sitting on the living room floor. Inside was a strange emptiness. The marriage was over. Three years together had collapsed because of her mother-in-law’s greed—and her husband’s weakness. Roman couldn’t protect his wife, couldn’t take her side, and gave in to his mother’s pressure.
Nadezhda understood there was no going back. Even if Roman apologized, even if he dropped the idea of mortgaging the apartment, the trust was shattered. He had shown that in a crisis he would choose his mother over his wife. You can’t build a future with a man like that.
The next day Nadezhda took a day off and drove to her parents’ home. Her mother met her at the door and immediately knew something had happened.
“Nadenka, what is it?”
Nadezhda told them everything—the pyramid scheme, her mother-in-law’s debts, the attempt to mortgage the apartment. Her parents listened in silence. When she finished, her father let out a heavy sigh.
“I knew it. That’s why I insisted the apartment be in your name only.”
“Dad is right,” her mother hugged her. “Good thing you didn’t give in. The apartment is yours. Don’t let anyone распоряжаться what belongs to you.”
“I want a divorce,” Nadezhda said quietly.
“The right decision,” her father nodded. “This marriage has run its course. Roman showed what side he’s on. No point wasting time on someone who doesn’t value you.”
Nadezhda stayed with her parents for a week—resting, recovering, finding her footing. Roman called every day, asking to meet, to talk. Nadezhda didn’t answer. Everything had already been said; the decision was made.
A month later Nadezhda filed for divorce. The process was straightforward: no jointly acquired property, the apartment had been registered to her before marriage, no children. A waiting period, then a stamp in the passport.
Roman tried to stop it. He wrote long messages, came to the apartment, stood under her windows. Nadezhda didn’t respond. Trust was gone, love had drained away, leaving only bitterness and disappointment.
The divorce was finalized. Nadezhda received the certificate, filed it with her documents. The apartment remained with her. Roman had no rights to it.
Lyudmila Semyonovna lost her apartment two months later. The bank went to court, won, and the property was sold at auction. She moved in with Roman, and the two of them rented a tiny one-bedroom on the outskirts. They lived in cramped quarters, constantly fighting and blaming each other. Roman blamed his mother for ruining his marriage. Lyudmila Semyonovna blamed her бывшую невестку for being heartless.
Nadezhda heard about it from mutual acquaintances. She didn’t care. Her ex-husband and ex-mother-in-law got what they had earned. Greed, foolishness, and weakness led to predictable consequences.
And Nadia was fine. Life went on—without a weak husband, without a toxic mother-in-law, without anyone trying to crawl into her pocket.
Her parents had been right. An apartment registered only in her name saved her from disaster. If the property had been jointly owned, Roman might have tried to mortgage it without her consent—or, in a divorce, there would have been a long, ugly court battle over dividing it.
But now it was simple. The apartment belonged to Nadezhda. Her ex-husband and his mother were left with nothing. Justice had prevailed. She protected her property, her boundaries, her life.
And it was the right kind of victory.