Nadezhda stood at the window of their rented apartment, watching the rain wash over the dull gray courtyard. For five years, she and Igor had been renting this tiny one-bedroom on the outskirts. Every month, more than half of their combined income went to the landlady—an elderly woman who arrived on the first like clockwork, always repeating the same complaint about rising utility costs.
Nadezhda worked as an accountant for a small trading firm. Igor was a sales manager. They earned enough to survive, but saving for a place of their own never seemed possible. The balance in their banking app crept up painfully slowly, while housing prices climbed at a ruthless pace.
“Maybe we should talk to a bank about a mortgage?” Nadezhda suggested one night at dinner.
Igor shook his head as he finished his pasta and sausages.
“With our income, they’ll give us a rate so brutal we’ll still be paying it off in retirement. No. We need another solution.”
But no other solution appeared. Owning their own corner of the world felt like a dream meant for someone else.
Nadezhda’s parents, Svetlana Petrovna and Andrey Nikolaevich, lived in a small town two hundred kilometers from the capital. Svetlana taught mathematics at the local school; Andrey worked as a foreman at a factory. Every time their daughter came home, her mother noticed the tiredness in Nadezhda’s eyes and understood that the young couple’s life was an endless fight with money.
“Andryusha,” Svetlana Petrovna said to her husband one evening, “let’s help the kids. How much longer are they supposed to struggle?”
Andrey Nikolaevich put down his newspaper and fell silent for a moment.
“We still have the dacha,” he said at last. “We haven’t been there in three years. My back hurts, and the garden is too much now. What if we sell it?”
They discussed it for weeks, turning the pros and cons over and over. The dacha had come to them from Andrey’s parents, but lately it was more burden than pleasure. The lot was choked with weeds, and the little house needed repairs all the time. In the end, they decided: they would sell it and use the money to help their daughter.
A buyer was found quickly—a young couple wanted land to build on. The price was good, enough to purchase a two-bedroom apartment in the residential district of the regional capital where Nadezhda and Igor lived. Svetlana and Andrey chose carefully: a place with decent renovations, on the third floor of a nine-story panel building. The building was fairly new, the neighborhood calm, with a school and a playground nearby.
“We’ll register it as a gift to Nadya,” Andrey Nikolaevich decided. “That’s the right way. It’s her apartment—let it be in her name.”
Svetlana agreed. A month later, all the paperwork was completed. Officially, the apartment belonged to their daughter.
When her parents called to tell her, Nadezhda didn’t believe them at first.
“Mom… are you serious? You really bought us an apartment?”
“For you, sweetheart,” her mother corrected softly. “It’s in your name. Come this weekend—we’ll give you the keys.”
Nadezhda hung up and cried from happiness. An hour later Igor came home from work and found her overwhelmed with excitement.
“Igoryok, can you imagine? My parents bought us an apartment! Two rooms!”
Igor listened in silence. Nadezhda waited for him to light up, hug her, start talking about their future. Instead, he only nodded.
“That’s good. But we shouldn’t move in right away. There’s work to do, furniture to buy. Let’s not rush.”
Nadezhda was surprised by his flat reaction, but she told herself he was simply tired after a hard day. His arguments sounded reasonable—moving should be planned properly.
A week passed, then another. Nadezhda brought up the apartment again and again, and every time Igor slipped away from the topic.
“I’ve got a crisis at work. Management wants the quarterly reports finished. We’ll talk later.”
A month later his excuse changed.
“Nadya, let’s wait until summer. Moving in spring is inconvenient—cold, mud everywhere.”
When summer arrived, there was yet another reason.
“We need to save for decent furniture. Otherwise we’ll move in and have nothing to sit on.”
Nadezhda began to feel tense. Something wasn’t right. Igor was acting strangely—dodging conversations, changing the subject. When she pressed him, he grew irritated and disappeared from the house, claiming he was meeting friends.
Four months went by after the purchase. One evening Nadezhda sat in the kitchen, scrolling through furniture ads, thinking: why is Igor so stubborn about moving? The apartment was already theirs. The keys were in the dresser drawer. Her parents had given them two sets. She picked up her own keys and decided: tomorrow I’ll go there myself. I’ll see what’s going on.
The next morning, while Igor was at work, Nadezhda took the day off and went to the address in the residential district. The bus ride took about forty minutes. She was nervous, running renovation ideas through her head. The building was easy to find—a typical nine-story block with green balconies. She climbed to the third floor and pulled out the keys.
She turned the key in the lock, opened the door—and stopped cold.
There were чужие shoes in the entryway. Beige women’s pumps with low heels. Dirty men’s sneakers. Children’s slippers. From the kitchen came running water, the smell of fried onions, and a loud female voice talking on the phone.
Nadezhda walked down the corridor slowly. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears. She glanced into the living room.
Two people were sitting on the couch: a woman in her fifties and a young man about twenty. The woman was knitting something with bright red yarn; the young man was absorbed in his phone. A daytime talk show played on the TV. Two cups with unfinished tea stood on the coffee table, along with an open pack of cookies.
Nadezhda recognized them instantly: Galina Ivanovna, Igor’s mother—and Maksim, his younger brother.
Galina Ivanovna looked up, saw Nadezhda, and her eyes widened.
“Nadyusha! What are you doing here?”
Maksim set his phone down and stood up. He looked genuinely thrown.
“This is my apartment,” Nadezhda said slowly. “So I’m the one who should be asking questions. What are you doing here?”
A heavy silence fell. Galina Ivanovna put her knitting aside and folded her hands in her lap.
“Igor didn’t tell you? We’re staying here temporarily. I had problems at work and ended up without housing. And Maksim got into university—he needed somewhere to live.”
Nadezhda felt her mind go blank. The words wouldn’t fit together. Igor had moved his relatives into the apartment her parents bought—without her knowledge—and kept it secret for four months?
“Where is Igor?” was all she managed.
“At work, I guess,” Galina Ivanovna shrugged. “Call him.”
With trembling hands, Nadezhda pulled out her phone, found her husband’s number, and hit call. Igor answered after the third ring.
“Hello? Nadya, what’s wrong?”
“Come to the apartment. Now.”
“What apartment?”
“Our new one. On Sadovaya Street. The one my parents bought. Come right away—or there’s nothing left to talk about.”
Igor went quiet. Then he replied in a muffled voice:
“I’m on my way.”
Nadezhda ended the call and sat down at the dining table. Galina Ivanovna and Maksim exchanged glances but stayed silent. The atmosphere turned suffocating. The minutes stretched out painfully.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Maksim opened it. Igor stood in the doorway—pale, hair messy, as if he had rushed there without thinking.
Nadezhda stood and folded her arms across her chest.
“The apartment was bought for me, and your relatives are living here! How am I supposed to understand that?!”
Igor lowered his eyes and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Nadya, listen…”
“I’m listening. Explain.”
Igor walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. Galina Ivanovna placed a hand on his shoulder, as if steadying him.
“Mom lost her job. The owner shut down the shop and fired everyone. She was renting a room, but without a salary she couldn’t pay. The landlady kicked her out. Mom had nowhere to go.”
“And you decided to move her into my apartment? Without my consent?”
“Nadya, what else could I do? My mother would have been on the street! I couldn’t abandon her!”
“And it never occurred to you to ask me? To discuss it?”
Igor rubbed his face with both hands.
“You wouldn’t have agreed. I knew you’d say no.”
Nadezhda laughed, but it sounded bitter, almost frantic.
“Of course I wouldn’t have agreed! Because it’s my apartment! My parents bought it! They sold their dacha to help us—not your mother!”
Galina Ivanovna stood up, straightening to her full height.
“Nadezhda, how dare you speak that way? I’m your husband’s mother! Family is supposed to help in hard times!”
“My family already helped,” Nadezhda snapped. “My parents sold their dacha. And where was your help for the five years we were paying rent?”
“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that!” Maksim cut in. “What, you can’t even share an apartment? You’re heartless!”
Nadezhda turned toward the young man.
“Maksim, who are you to lecture me? You’re twenty years old, you’re a student. If you came to study, then live in a dorm.”
“There’s a waiting list for dorms for a whole year!” Maksim shot back. “I have to live somewhere!”
“Not in my apartment,” Nadezhda said coldly.
Igor sprang up from the couch and tried to take his wife’s hand.
“Nadyusha, please calm down. It’s only for six months. Mom will find a job, save money, rent something. Maksim will stay until the end of the school year, then go back home. After that we’ll move in here together and set everything up properly.”
Nadezhda yanked her hand away.
“Igor, do you take me for an idiot? You thought I wouldn’t find out? For four months you lied to me—made up excuses! And all that time you decided your mother and brother would live in my apartment while we kept paying rent?”
“Nadya, I didn’t have a choice…”
“You did—you could have talked to me!” Nadezhda shouted. “We’re husband and wife! We were supposed to decide this together! But you chose everything for me!”
Galina Ivanovna stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward Nadezhda.
“Listen to me, girl. Igor is my son. I raised him alone, without a husband. I worked my whole life for him. And if he decided to help his mother, that is his sacred right!”
“Not with my money!” Nadezhda fired back. “Not with a gift from my parents!”
“Igor is your husband—so everything is shared!”
“This apartment was a gift from my parents, registered in my name. It’s my personal property. And I want you to leave.”
The argument exploded. Galina Ivanovna screamed about ingratitude and cruelty. Maksim backed her up, accusing Nadezhda of selfishness. Igor darted between his wife and his relatives, trying to calm everyone at once—only making it worse.
“I’m giving you one week,” Nadezhda said firmly when the shouting finally faltered. “Seven days to move out. If you don’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have you removed through the court.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Galina Ivanovna gasped. “I have nowhere to go!”
“That’s your problem. I’m not obligated to solve it at my expense.”
Nadezhda turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her. Igor rushed after her and caught up near the elevator.
“Nadya, stop! Let’s talk like normal people!”
“What is there to talk about?” Nadezhda gave a bitter half-smile. “You betrayed me, Igor. You lied for four months. Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”
“I wanted to… I thought later somehow…”
“Somehow?” Nadezhda scoffed. “You wanted me not to know. You wanted your relatives living in my apartment while we kept renting.”
Igor stood there in silence, head lowered.
“That’s it, Igor. I’ve made my decision. Tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer, and I’m filing for divorce.”
“Nadya, no! You can’t!”
“I can. And I will. I can’t trust you anymore.”
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. The doors closed, cutting her off from Igor, who remained in the hallway with a stunned expression.
The next day, Nadezhda did exactly what she said. She booked a consultation with a lawyer. The specialist listened, then shook his head.
“It’s an ugly situation, but the law is on your side. The apartment is registered to you. It’s your personal property, a gift from your parents. Your husband had no right to dispose of it without your consent. File an eviction claim—the court will clearly rule in your favor.”
That same day, Nadezhda filed for divorce. Igor called her ten times a day, sent long messages, begged to meet and talk. Nadezhda didn’t reply. Trust had been completely destroyed, and there was no way to glue the pieces back together.
Galina Ivanovna and Maksim refused to move out voluntarily. When the week ended, Nadezhda filed in court. Igor’s relatives tried to argue they had a right to live there, but legally they had no grounds. The apartment belonged to Nadezhda. There was no lease, and no written permission for them to stay.
The court ruled in Nadezhda’s favor. Galina Ivanovna and Maksim were ordered to vacate the apartment within a week. When the deadline passed, Nadezhda came with a court enforcement officer. Igor’s relatives moved out, slamming doors and promising Nadezhda would regret it.
The first thing she did was call a locksmith and change every lock. Then she brought her belongings from the rented apartment—some clothes, books, dishes. The place was half-empty, but it was hers. Nadezhda stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the bare walls and feeling a strange relief. The divorce wasn’t finalized yet, but that was only paperwork now.
Igor moved back in with his mother. Together they rented a two-bedroom in an older building. Maksim transferred to a university in their hometown, deciding the capital wasn’t for him. Igor tried several times to meet Nadezhda, pleaded for a second chance—but she wouldn’t bend.
A month after filing, the divorce was official. Nadezhda received the certificate, put it in a folder, and closed that chapter of her life.
Her parents, Svetlana Petrovna and Andrey Nikolaevich, came every weekend to help her settle in. Andrey assembled the kitchen cabinets and installed shelves in the living room. Svetlana bought new curtains, bedding, and houseplants. Little by little, the empty apartment turned into a warm home.
Nadezhda learned how to live alone. At first it felt unusual—silence, no arguments, nobody demanding dinner at exactly eight. She started going to the pool in the evenings. She met up with friends she barely saw during her marriage.
Sometimes she thought of Igor and felt something complicated—a mix of bitterness and gratitude. Bitterness for the betrayal, the broken expectations, the five years spent in a relationship that turned out to be an illusion. Gratitude that everything was revealed now, not ten years later, when the pain would have been even worse.
The apartment belonged only to her. No one claimed her space. No one moved relatives in without asking. It was her home, her territory, her new life. And Nadezhda was grateful to her parents for the chance to begin again—somewhere she could finally breathe freely.