“These are my parents, and they’re staying. End of discussion,” Maksim said, folding his arms across his chest and blocking the doorway.
Tanya lowered her eyes to the entryway. Three plaid suitcases and several overstuffed bags were piled on her pale welcome mat. From the living room came the harsh scraping sound of furniture being dragged across the laminate floor.
“What parents?” she asked, lifting her gaze to him. “We never agreed to this.”
“What’s there to agree on?” he replied with a careless shrug. “Their pipes burst, and the place is under repair for three or four months. They can’t exactly live on the street, can they? We’re married now, which means we’re one family, and this apartment is ours together. You and I can make do in the kitchen for a while. We’re not royalty.”
Tanya walked into the room.
Her father-in-law, grunting with effort, was pushing her sofa toward the wall to make space for a sagging folding bed. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Stepanovna, was standing on the windowsill in her outdoor shoes, yanking Tanya’s cream-colored curtains off the rod.
“Oh, Tanya, hello!” she sang out without even climbing down. “Don’t be upset, dear, but these curtains look like something from a clinic. I brought my own—burgundy, with little golden sparkles. They’ll make the place so much cozier!”
Tanya said nothing. She just stared at the muddy marks her mother-in-law’s boots were leaving on the white plastic sill.
“Tanya, come on now,” her father-in-law chimed in, wiping sweat from his forehead. “A little crowding never hurt anyone. We’ve already cleared off some shelves for our things. Your dresses are packed into boxes and moved to the balcony for now. You don’t need all of them at the moment anyway, right?”
Her things. On the balcony. In boxes. In her own home.
Tanya took a slow, deep breath.
Three months earlier, before the wedding, Maksim had casually asked, “So after we get married, you’ll put the apartment in both our names, right?” Tanya had laughed, thinking he was joking. He laughed too and dropped the subject. She forgot about it.
He hadn’t.
That same evening, she made an appointment with a lawyer.
“You know,” the lawyer had said while flipping through her documents, “you should come by more often. I don’t get many clients this far ahead of the game.”
The following week, Tanya stopped by the local police office in the neighboring building and introduced herself to the precinct officer. Pavel Sergeyevich was a heavyset man with tired but attentive eyes. He listened without interrupting. When she finished, he simply said, “If you need me, call me directly.” Tanya saved his number.
Just in case.
That case had arrived today.
Without a word, she took out her phone.
“Who are you calling?” Maksim sneered. “Your mommy to complain? Go ahead. A wife should listen to her husband, not make scenes.”
Tanya pressed the call button.
“Good evening, Pavel Sergeyevich. This is Tatyana from number forty-five. Do you remember me? The situation I warned you about has happened. Yes, right now. I’m waiting.”
She ended the call.
The air in the room seemed to vanish. No one moved. No one made a sound. Valentina Stepanovna froze on the windowsill, clutching an armful of burgundy fabric. Her father-in-law looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
“Who did you call?” Maksim managed to ask.
“The precinct officer. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Are you insane?” Maksim stepped toward her. “These are my parents! We’re family! You’re going to humiliate us in front of the whole building!”
“Family doesn’t shove someone else’s belongings into boxes,” Tanya replied evenly.
“We came here like decent people!” her mother-in-law burst out, climbing down from the sill. “And this is how she—”
“Mom, stop!” Maksim cut her off, clearly recalculating everything in his head. “Tanya, call him back and cancel this. I’m your husband. I have every right to bring whoever I want here. The law is on my side.”
“That,” Tanya said, “is exactly what we’re about to find out.”
The doorbell rang four minutes later.
Pavel Sergeyevich looked exactly the way she remembered him: unhurried, solid, with the expression of a man who had long ago stopped being surprised by anything.
“Good evening. Someone called?”
“I did,” Tanya said, motioning toward the guests. “These people have occupied my apartment without my consent. I’d like this documented.”
“Officer!” Maksim stepped forward with a ready-made smile. “This is just a misunderstanding. My parents came to stay for a bit, my wife and I had a small disagreement—it’s a family matter. I’m her lawful husband. Here’s my passport.”
“All documents,” the officer said with a nod. “And the paperwork for the apartment too.”
Tanya handed over her passport. Inside it was an official property extract and a written legal opinion citing Article 36 of the Family Code: property acquired before marriage remains the sole property of the owner. On a separate sheet was a certificate confirming that Maksim was not registered as residing in the apartment.
Pavel Sergeyevich read everything slowly. Then he looked up at her in-laws.
“The apartment was purchased before the marriage. It is Tatyana’s personal property. Article 139 of the Criminal Code concerns unlawful entry into a dwelling. I strongly suggest you leave voluntarily while we can still settle this the easy way.”
“But he’s her husband!” Valentina Stepanovna exhaled in disbelief. “They’re family!”
“A marriage certificate is not a title deed to someone else’s property,” the officer said dryly. “Pack your things.”
Her father-in-law silently grabbed a suitcase. Valentina Stepanovna looked at her son. Maksim stood frozen.
Tanya walked over to the wardrobe, took out his travel bag, and set it down at his feet.
“You’re serious?” he asked quietly.
“Completely. Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce. Leave the keys.”
Maksim stared at her for a long moment. Then something shifted in his face—it wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t confusion. It looked more like reluctant respect. Unwanted, perhaps, but real.
“How long have you been preparing for this?” he asked in a low voice so only she could hear.
“Since the night you asked about putting the apartment in your name too.”
He nodded. Picked up the bag. Left.
Pavel Sergeyevich lingered for a moment at the door.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes,” Tanya said. “Everything’s fine. Thank you.”
The door closed.
Tanya picked up the discarded burgundy fabric from the sofa and, without hesitation, dropped it into the trash. Then she rehung her cream-colored curtains, standing on tiptoe to reach the rod. After that, she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
As the water came to a boil, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
“Tatyana?” The voice on the other end was young and strained with panic. “You don’t know me. My name is Svetlana. I bought my apartment myself, and I got married three months ago. Today I came home and found his parents there with suitcases. My husband says the apartment belongs to both of us now. Someone gave me your number. They said you’d know what to do.”
Tanya was silent for a second, looking at the kettle as it began to whistle.
“Yes,” she said. “I do. Get something to write with.”
And she gave her Pavel Sergeyevich’s number.