Alla realized she had forgotten her laptop charger only when she was already in the taxi.
She could have asked someone at the office for a charger, or bought a new one on the way, but her place was just a seven-minute drive from where she was. With almost forty minutes until her next call, Alla asked the driver to turn around.
Ten minutes later, she was already walking up to her floor, mentally scolding herself for her habit of moving her charger from her work bag to the table by the couch.
The apartment was a lot noisier than she expected.
She could hear Nina Fyodorovna’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“One and a half million for me, the rest is your down payment. That’ll work out fine. Borya, do the math yourself.”
Alla stopped in the hallway.
She hadn’t even taken off her shoes.
Her mother-in-law rarely came over during the week without warning—and it was even more unusual for her to casually talk about one and a half million like she was just deciding how many potatoes to bring to the dacha.
“I am doing the math,” Boris replied. “If we don’t rush the sale, we might get a good price. The metro’s close, the building’s in good shape. We don’t have to do any renovations before selling.”
Alla slowly set her bag down on the entryway table.
Now things were getting interesting.
Especially the part about ‘selling’.
“It’s better to list in the spring,” Nina Fyodorovna continued. “People are more active about looking for apartments then. Just talk to Alla ahead of time. Sometimes she makes things more complicated than they need to be.”
Alla almost laughed.
So that’s how it is.
Turns out, this whole financial forum was happening not only without the apartment’s owner, but the owner had also been painted as the person who complicates everything.
In the kitchen, Boris was scrolling on his phone.
“I checked the listings. It’s realistic to get just over nine million for this two-bedroom. If we get nine-three, for example, that’s one and a half to you. That leaves seven-eight. Plus our two million four. That’s ten million two hundred thousand for the down payment.”
Now Alla even knew the math behind it.
And unfortunately, it added up.
Their total savings really did come to about two million four hundred thousand. They’d both been putting money away for almost two years—both had good jobs, didn’t have any consumer loans, and had long talked about eventually moving to a bigger place.
Only, they’d been discussing a different scenario.
Alla had been planning to keep her two-bedroom.
She bought it when she was twenty-eight, four years before she met Boris. Back then, that apartment felt like a huge, grown-up decision. She had saved up the down payment on her own, then spent six years paying off the mortgage. She used her work bonuses twice to pay it off early, and finally finished with the bank before she got married.
There wasn’t a dime of family money in that apartment.
When Alla met Boris, she’d already owned the place for several years.
They dated for nine months. Then Boris moved in with two suitcases, his computer, a box of tools, and an unexpectedly large number of mugs—which, according to him, he really did use all the time.
A year after they started living together, they got married.
Alla never kept the apartment’s story a secret.
Boris knew exactly when she bought it and when she finished paying off the mortgage.
In fact, he was the one who, a couple of years ago, first said:
“At least we don’t have a mortgage hanging over us. We can keep saving in peace.”
Now it turned out that not having a mortgage gave his imagination a bit more freedom.
For the past six months, they’d been checking out three-room apartments. Not seriously—more like seeing what was out there. Alla wanted to keep their two-room place and rent it out after they moved. Boris suggested selling it several times.
She replied several times:
“No. I’m not selling this apartment.”
No arguments.
No threats.
No “never in my life.”
She just wasn’t going to sell.
Boris would usually shrug and change the subject.
That’s why Alla really thought her husband had understood her clearly.
Meanwhile, the kitchen conversation was getting more substantial.
“And what if Alla says there won’t be much left?” asked Nina Fyodorovna.
“Why not much?” Boris was surprised. “Mom, she’s not just handing out money. We’re buying an apartment with it.”
“I get that. I just need at least one and a half for sure. Oksana is already getting interest charges.”
Now it all made sense.
Oksana, Boris’s younger sister, had lived alone for the past two years after her divorce. During her marriage, she and her husband took out several consumer loans for renovations and furniture. After the divorce, some of the debt stayed with her. Nina Fyodorovna worried about her daughter and had really been talking a lot these last weeks about how hard things were for Oksana.
There was only one thing Alla didn’t know: what her apartment had to do with Oksana’s debt.
Turned out—it was a direct connection.
“We’ll pay off her main loans,” Nina Fyodorovna continued. “At least she’ll be able to breathe out. And you were planning to buy a three-room place anyway. Boris, you’re totally right. Why just let the real estate sit there?”
Alla glanced at the clock.
Twenty-three minutes till her work call.
Her phone charger was in the other room.
She could just quietly grab it and leave.
But spending the next two hours at work imagining how her apartment had already been mentally sold, a million and a half handed to Oksana, and the rest put towards another home—that, Alla couldn’t do.
She took off her jacket, went into the room, grabbed the charger, and only then came back to the kitchen.
“Good afternoon.”
Boris jumped so hard his phone nearly slid off the table.
Nina Fyodorovna fell silent with her mouth open.
Alla put the charger in her bag.
“So, you’ve already divided up my pre-marital apartment among yourselves?”
For several seconds, no one replied.
Boris was the first to recover:
“Why’d you come back home?”
“For my charger. Turns out that worked out well. I found my charger and at the same time learned about the investment fate of my property.”
“Alla, we were just talking,” Nina Fyodorovna said quickly. “No one was dividing anything.”
“And the one and a half million?”
Her mother-in-law straightened her sweater sleeve.
“That was just… thoughts.”
“Well then, go on. I’m really curious.”
Alla sat down on the empty chair.
Boris frowned.
“No need to make a whole thing out of this right now.”
“I’m not making anything out of it. You said it yourself: we sell for about 9.3, give 1.5 to Mom, put 7.8 towards the new apartment, and add our 2.4. Did I hear everything right?”
Nina Fyodorovna looked at her son.
Now they both realized that Alla had walked in on more than just the last sentence.
“That was just one option,” Boris said.
“It’s a great option. I really like the whole concept.”
“What concept are you talking about?”
Alla opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and poured herself a glass.
“Family support funded by the one family member nobody bothered to invite to the meeting.”
“Why are you saying that?”
“Alright, let’s put it another way.”
She took a few sips.
“You had a car before we were married.”
“So what?”
“Nothing. It was a nice car. You even said yourself that right now it’s worth around two million.”
Boris still wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“About that, yeah.”
“Perfect. So, let’s give a million to my brother—he’s looking to buy a plot of land. Another million to my mom—she’s been wanting to redo her kitchen for ages.”
“Why would we do that?”
He answered so quickly that Alla even set her glass down.
“There you go. Eight seconds.”
“Eight seconds for what?”
“That’s about how long it took you to grasp the concept of private property.”
Nina Fyodorovna gave her a disapproving look.
“Alla, don’t twist things. Boris’s car isn’t even relevant here.”
“But my apartment is?”
“But you both wanted to buy another one.”
“We wanted to buy another place together, with shared money. I planned to keep mine.”
Boris put his phone down.
“Alla, you realize that if we sell your apartment, we could buy a nice three-bedroom right away? No need to save for ten years.”
“I get it.”
“Then why are you acting like I suggested throwing the money away?”
Alla looked at him.
“Because you literally proposed handing a million and a half to your mom.”
“Not to mom. To Oksana.”
“Boris, no matter which family member you give it to, it doesn’t make my apartment any less valuable.”
Nina Fyodorovna sighed.
“Oksana truly is going through a hard time. You know that.”
“I know. And I do feel sorry for her. I really don’t mind if you want to help her.”
Her mother-in-law seemed to relax a little.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Then sell the dacha.”
Nina Fyodorovna immediately straightened up.
“What dacha?”
“Yours. The one outside the city.”
“Why should I have to sell it?”
“To help Oksana.”
“That’s a completely different situation.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the dacha is real estate. Property values keep going up. Sure, selling is easy, but you’ll never be able to get another one like it.”
Alla was silent for a few seconds, then couldn’t help but laugh.
It wasn’t loud, but she couldn’t stop right away.
“Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out the rules. Your real estate should be kept because it’s gaining value. Mine should be sold—also because it’s gaining value.”
“No need to be sarcastic,” Nina Fyodorovna said hurt.
“I’m not being sarcastic. I’m just writing down our family financial strategy.”
Boris dragged his hand irritably across the table.
“Alright. That’s it. Conversation over.”
“No,” Alla said calmly. “You started this without me. Let’s finish it together while I’m here.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Weren’t you in a hurry to get to work?”
“Not so much anymore.”
Alla messaged her colleague that she’d join the meeting from home.
Then she looked at her husband again.
“I just wonder about one thing. Were you planning to talk it through with me first or work everything out with your mom before presenting me with a ready-made plan?”
“No one was trying to force you into anything.”
“So why does your mom already know exactly what she’ll be getting?”
Boris didn’t say a word.
And this silence was what Alla liked the least.
If he had been just daydreaming, they could have debated the numbers, the layouts, the mortgage rates, and how much help they’d get from family.
But that’s not what happened here.
He had already heard a ‘no’ from his wife, but instead of accepting it, he started looking for a way around her answer.
“I thought if I explained everything properly, you’d see the benefits,” he finally said.
“You’ve already explained it to me. I said I don’t want to sell the apartment.”
“Because you’re attached to it.”
“I have that right.”
“Of course you do.”
“Then why are we sitting here, the three of us, talking about who’ll get the money if I do sell it?”
Nina Fyodorovna stood up.
“I think I’ll go. You two sort this out. I don’t want it to look like I’m the one who made you fight.”
Alla didn’t try to stop her.
Her mother-in-law got dressed quickly. Already in the hallway, she said to her son:
“Call me later.”
Then to Alla, she added:
“I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“I believe you,” Alla replied. “But let’s just keep my apartment out of the family support fund.”
The door closed.
Boris went back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to push Mom out like that.”
“I didn’t. She left on her own.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
Alla put the bottle back in the fridge.
“And you know exactly what I mean.”
There was no point in talking more between two work calls.
Alla carried her laptop to the other room, closed the door, and worked until evening.
Boris walked down the hall a few times but didn’t bring up the subject again.
They had dinner late that night.
Usually, Boris would turn something on the TV during dinner. This time, the screen stayed dark.
“I really didn’t mean to deceive you,” he said.
Alla put down her fork.
“I’m not saying you were trying to deceive me.”
“But that’s how it sounds.”
“What you actually did was decide my ‘no’ wasn’t an answer, but the start of a negotiation.”
Boris fell silent.
“I was just looking for an option that would benefit everyone.”
“It really is a great deal.”
“Here we go again.”
“No, seriously, look at it: I give up my apartment. Your mom gets a million and a half for Oksana. Whatever’s left from selling my apartment, together with our savings, goes to the new three-room place. Then we both pay the mortgage together. You get to keep your car. Your mom keeps her dacha. Oksana pays off her debts.”
Alla started counting on her fingers.
“It’s a win for almost everyone.”
“And you get a share in the new apartment.”
“Boris, right now I have an entire apartment, with no loan. I don’t need to give that up just to earn the chance to pay off another place for a few years.”
He frowned.
“If we think like that, we’ll never move anywhere.”
“We can move. Just more slowly.”
“And how long do we keep saving?”
“As long as it takes.”
Boris leaned back in his chair.
“I’ll be forty soon. I don’t want to spend another five years in a two-bedroom apartment.”
“You’re thirty-eight.”
“Thanks, that’s comforting.”
Alla smiled.
“I just gave you two years—enjoy them.”
He almost smiled back, but quickly turned serious again.
“Alright, maybe I was wrong to push about the apartment.”
“Not maybe. You definitely were.”
“Alla.”
“I’m not going to spend a week trying to teach you a lesson. I need something else—I want us to agree once and for all, and never bring this up again.”
“About what?”
— I manage my apartment. You’re in charge of your car. The two million four hundred thousand—that’s ours, and we both make decisions about it. If your sister needs help, you can support her from your own funds, and I can help my family from mine. If we want to take a large amount from our joint savings, we discuss it together.
Boris nodded.
A bit too quickly.
Alla noticed.
— Just don’t say “fine” now just to end the conversation.
— So what should I say?
— Nothing. Just think about it.
The next few days passed without any loud arguments.
And that turned out to be tougher than a regular fight.
Boris went to work, Alla did her own things, and they talked about groceries, utility bills, whether to change the water filter, and why the robot vacuum got stuck under the drying rack again.
But they didn’t touch on the topic of the new apartment.
The apartment listings Boris used to send Alla in the evenings stopped coming too.
A week later, he brought it up himself.
Not at the dinner table, and not before bed.
They were driving home from the hardware store: Alla had bought a bathroom shelf, and Boris had spent about fifteen minutes arguing that the included brackets must have been designed by someone who’d never mounted anything in their life.
At a red light, he said:
— I talked to Oksana.
Alla turned her head.
— And?
— It’s not as urgent as Mom made it seem.
— Meaning?
— She’s not in a situation where someone’s coming tomorrow to take her sofa. She just has a big loan and a maxed-out credit card. For the past few months, she’s only made minimum payments, and she told Mom she can’t keep up.
— I see.
— I suggested she talk to the bank about refinancing. I also said I could help cover some payments for a couple of months.
— Out of what money?
Boris smirked.
— I knew you’d ask that.
— So, where from?
— From my own. I’m supposed to get my quarterly bonus soon.
Alla didn’t reply.
He looked at her.
— What?
— Nothing. That actually sounds reasonable.
— You can mark the date.
— I won’t. Don’t want to mess up your stats.
Boris snorted and drove off when the light turned green.
That didn’t mean everything was fixed just yet.
But Alla noticed a difference.
Before, solving Oksana’s problem started with selling someone else’s apartment.
This time, Boris talked directly to Oksana, found out the real numbers, and offered his own money.
No more decisions made behind Alla’s back.
No need to sell anything.
And no more splitting up their millions in advance.
Nina Fyodorovna stayed somewhat distant for a while.
At their next meeting at the dacha, she said:
— I just wanted to help the kids.
Alla was peeling cucumbers for a salad and didn’t pretend she didn’t know which kids her mother-in-law meant.
— I know. But if helping one child means selling another adult’s property, it’s best to check with that adult first.
— You’re not a child to me.
— Exactly.
Nina Fyodorovna looked at her, then unexpectedly chuckled.
— Alright. You got me there.
That was the end of the conversation.
Of course, mother-in-law didn’t sell the dacha.
Alla hadn’t expected her to, anyway.
Oksana refinanced and started managing her expenses on her own. For a few months, Boris really did send part of his bonus money to help her—after letting Alla know in advance, without asking permission, since it was his personal money.
Alla had no objections.
For her, the question was never whether to help her relatives or not.
The real question was, who would pay for that help?
They only returned to the conversation about the three-room apartment four months later.
On Saturday, Boris was browsing apartment listings again.
“I’ve found an option,” he said. “But let’s be clear: we’re not selling your apartment.”
Alla glanced at him over her mug.
“That’s progress already.”
“We’re still short on the down payment for now. So, we keep saving.”
“Now that’s the kind of math I like.”
They looked at a few listings, calculated their potential future payments, and decided there was no need to rush. Alla’s two-room place stayed as it was. They continued to add to their joint savings together.
Sometimes, Boris still grumbled that if they had a three-room flat, he would have his own study.
Alla would offer to clear out half his wardrobe—get rid of old wires, boxes, and three broken routers. It had just enough space for a small office.
He always refused.
According to him, family life shouldn’t require such sacrifices.
As for the charger Alla came back for in the middle of the workday, ever since then, she kept it right in her bag.
Not because she was afraid of walking in on a secret family meeting again.
It’s just that one accidentally forgotten charger helped her realize it’s important for a family to agree ahead of time not just about where to move and how much to save.
Some things are much simpler.
You can plan joint money together.
When it comes to personal money, everyone should have the right to decide for themselves.
And when it comes to someone else’s property, it’s much easier to just divide it in your mind.
At least that way, there’s less chance the owner will show up unexpectedly and ruin all your beautiful calculations.
