Maria stood by the open window. October had been dreary — the wind chased withered leaves across the yard, and heavy clouds blanketed the sky. It seemed as if nature itself was frowning, as though it sensed impending misfortune.
It had been three weeks since Andrey had left. He had simply gathered his things, silently shoved his passport and a ticket to Murmansk into his pocket. On the table remained only a note, just two words: “Forgive. I’ll help.” And that was all — fifteen years of marriage were condensed into two lines. Now every night in their bedroom seemed endless — the familiar objects, the photos on the walls, even Andrey’s favorite throw on the armchair taunted her with their presence, keeping her awake. At forty-two, starting life anew was frightening, but she had no choice.
A sharp ring at the door made Maria start. She knew who it was. Her heart pounded as she went to open the door. Standing on the threshold was Irina Petrovna — upright as a string in her favorite dark blue coat. Her grey hair was meticulously combed, her gaze prickly and alien. It was hard to believe that this woman had been her second mother for fifteen years.
“Come in,” Maria said softly, retreating deeper into the hallway.
Irina Petrovna’s high heels resounded on the parquet — the very same floor that she and Andrey had installed last summer. Every step reverberated with pain in her temples.
“Would you like to sit?” Maria asked out of habit.
“No need,” her mother-in-law snapped, not even unfastening her coat. “This conversation will be brief.”
Maria leaned against the wall, feeling weakness in her knees.
“I suppose you understand why I’m here,” Irina Petrovna’s voice sounded dry and official. “You’re divorced. You’re no longer a part of our family. This house belongs to the Sokolovs, and you are once again Voronina.”
“Not a part of the family” — those words hit her like a blow to the stomach. Memories flashed before her eyes: the first family dinner here, the housewarming, the apple trees they had planted together with the whole family…
“On what grounds are you throwing me out of my home?” Her own voice sounded unexpectedly firm.
Irina Petrovna’s cheeks reddened.
“Yours?” she sneered. “Don’t talk nonsense. Your father and I bought this house for Andrey long before your wedding. You never meant anything here.”
Something in her chest snapped, but along with the pain came determination.
“Fifteen years,” Maria said quietly. “I lived here for fifteen years. Every corner holds memories of our joys and sorrows. I chose these wallpapers, planted the flowers by the windows, painted the ceilings…”
“Enough!” Irina Petrovna cut her off. “I’m giving you a month. Exactly one month to pack. And be thankful that I’m even giving you time.”
Maria slowly straightened up.
“No,” she replied with a single short word that sounded like a challenge. “I won’t leave just like that. If need be, I’ll fight for my rights in court.”
Something flickered in her mother-in-law’s eyes — perhaps respect? But it was quickly replaced by cold anger.
“Well then,” she spat, “we’ll see you in court.”
The high heels resounded on the parquet again, now heading for the exit. The door slammed so hard that the chandelier tinkled. In the ensuing silence, all that could be heard was the drip of water from the kitchen tap.
Maria slowly sank onto a settee. Tears streamed down her cheeks, though she didn’t even notice them. On the dressing table by the mirror stood a photograph in a simple wooden frame: she with Andrey and his parents at their newly purchased home. Everyone was smiling, so happy, so distant. Maria turned the photograph face down. “I’ll manage,” echoed in her mind. “I will definitely manage.”
Outside, the rain drummed in large drops.
First thing, Marina called Andrey. The phone rang with long tones — one, two, five. On the tenth ring she, in annoyance, hung up. In three weeks he hadn’t answered any of her calls.
The next day she went to the multifunctional center. In the queue at the window she had to stand for over an hour. The young woman behind the glass monotonously sifted through the documents.
“Marriage certificate… okay… Divorce certificate…” she frowned, looking at the computer screen. “And the property title documents?”
“No documents,” Marina said, clenching her worn-out handbag. “The house is in my father-in-law’s name.”
“Then there’s nothing I can do to help,” the young woman shrugged. “Without documents confirming your right to the dwelling…”
“But I lived there for fifteen years!” Marina’s voice trembled. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
The young woman looked at her with sympathy: “You need a good lawyer. Family matters are complicated.”
In the corridor of the center, it was stifling. Marina sat on a hard chair, took out her phone. “Family lawyer” — she typed in the search engine. The consultation fees made her wince.
That evening, her friend Sveta called.
“Are you really going to sue?” concern laced her voice. “Marish, maybe you shouldn’t? You could find an apartment, rent one…”
“With what money, Sveta?” Marina looked out the window at the darkening yard. “I earn a salesperson’s wage. Rent would take half of it. And then how do I live?”
“Well, maybe Andrey will help?”
“Yeah, sure,” Marina bitterly laughed. “Three weeks and he won’t pick up the phone.”
The next morning she finally booked a consultation with a lawyer. She had to scrape together her last funds from her card.
The lawyer, a slightly portly man in glasses, listened intently to her story.
“The situation is complex,” he said, tapping his pen on the table. “Without property documents, proving your right to live here will be difficult. But there are angles. Did you invest money in the renovations?”
“Of course!” Marina perked up. “I even kept the receipts, I saved everything.”
“That’s good. And are there any witnesses? Who can confirm that you participated in the home improvements?”
“Neighbors… friends…” Marina hesitated. “But will they testify against the Sokolovs? In our small town, everyone knows everyone.”
“That’s the main problem,” the lawyer sighed. “People don’t like to get involved in other people’s family disputes.”
By the time Marina returned home, it was already dusk. In the hallway she stumbled over a box of old photo albums — she had taken them out yesterday, wanting to find pictures of the family renovating the house. In the kitchen, the tap dripped — the same one Andrey had promised to fix a month ago.
The phone buzzed with a message. Andrey. “Mom said you were going to sue. Don’t, Marin. Find another place. I’ll help with the money.”
Marina stared at the screen for a long moment. Then she slowly typed a reply: “It’s not about the money, Andrey. It’s about justice.”
The message went unanswered.
In the bedroom, she absentmindedly straightened the bedspread and fluffed the pillows. On the bedside table stood an alarm clock — a gift from her mother-in-law at the housewarming. For fifteen years it had reliably awakened them each morning. Marina carefully tucked it away in a drawer.
In the morning, the phone rang. It was Irina Petrovna.
“Let’s talk,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded tired. “Maybe we can come to an amicable agreement?”
They decided to meet at a café on the main street. Marina arrived early, choosing a table in the corner, away from the windows. She didn’t want acquaintances to see her conversation with her mother-in-law.
Irina Petrovna appeared exactly on time. She sat opposite, smoothing out the folds of her skirt — a familiar gesture that pained Marina deeply.
“Coffee?” Irina Petrovna asked unexpectedly gently.
“I will,” Marina replied.
They sat in silence as the waitress arranged the cups. Marina watched as Irina Petrovna stirred sugar — three spoonfuls, as always.
“I spoke with the lawyer,” Irina Petrovna finally said. “He mentioned that the case might drag on for months. Do we really need that?”
“What do you propose?” Marina raised her eyes.
“Let’s do this: I’ll give you time to find a new place. And money for the down payment on an apartment. And Andrey will add his part…”
“Are you trying to buy me out?” Marina felt a hot wave rising within her. “After fifteen years of living here?”
“Don’t twist my words,” Irina Petrovna frowned. “I’m offering a reasonable solution.”
“Reasonable?” Marina bitterly laughed. “Do you remember how you used to tell me I was your daughter? How we picked out the dinner set for the housewarming together? How you sat by my side in the hospital when I broke my leg?”
A shadow crossed her mother-in-law’s face.
“Family is in the past,” she said coldly. “Now the situation is different.”
“How is it different?” Marina leaned forward. “You always said that family lasts forever. Or is that just a stamp in the passport?”
“Stop playing on my emotions!” Irina Petrovna raised her voice, and a few café patrons turned their heads. “You understand perfectly well: the house is ours. It was, and it will be. And you… you were merely living in it. Temporarily.”
“Temporarily?” Marina stood up abruptly, almost spilling her cup. “Fifteen years is temporary? Every step there remembers my footsteps. Every curtain was chosen by me. And in the garden, the apple trees that Andrey and I planted…”
“Sit down!” Irina Petrovna snapped. “People are watching.”
“Let them watch!” Marina couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. “Let everyone see how you are throwing your own flesh and blood out onto the street!”
“Flesh and blood?” Irina Petrovna paled. “You are nothing to us. You were Andrey’s wife — and you ceased to be so.”
Silently, Marina picked up her bag.
“Then so be it,” she tried to speak calmly. “I won’t take your money. And I won’t leave this house. If you want — bring it to court.”
“We will,” Irina Petrovna pursed her lips. “And don’t doubt that we will win.”
“We’ll see,” Marina replied.
Marina walked home on foot, even though it was drizzling. Fragments of the conversation whirled in her head. “You are nothing to us” — the words echoed in her temples. Fifteen years — and nothing. As if those years, the shared celebrations, the tears and joys, had never existed…
Near her home, she paused. The lights were still on in the windows — she had forgotten to turn them off when leaving. Or… Her heart skipped a beat. Andrey was standing on the stoop.
Andrey stood there with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket — that same old one with worn elbows. Maria had begged him so many times to buy a new one.
“Hello,” he said when she stepped onto the stoop.
Maria silently produced her keys. Her hands trembled treacherously.
“Shall we talk?” he asked hesitantly.
“About what?” she finally managed as she unlocked the door. “About the fact that you didn’t answer your phone for three weeks?”
It was dark in the hallway. Maria flicked the light switch and kicked off her wet shoes. Andrey shuffled by the door.
“Come in already,” she snapped. “Why are you standing? Hurry up while you can.”
He followed her into the kitchen. He sat in his usual spot by the window, running his hand over the countertop — as if greeting an old friend.
“I talked with mom,” he began.
“What did she say?” Maria felt anger rising inside. “And what did she tell you? About how I was yelling at her in the café?”
“Marin…”
“Or how I refused your generous handouts?”
“Stop,” he frowned. “I’m trying to help.”
“Help?” she turned sharply. “And where were you when your mother came to kick me out? When I was running after lawyers? When I couldn’t sleep at night, wondering where to go?”
Andrey stood up and moved to the window. Outside, bare branches of apple trees swayed.
“Do you remember how we planted them?” he suddenly asked. “You were always afraid they wouldn’t take root.”
“They did take root,” Marina choked on a lump in her throat. “But what’s the point now…”
“I sold the apartment in Murmansk,” he said, looking out the window. “We can buy you a one-room apartment. Or a studio…”
“Oh God,” Marina laughed, tears welling in her eyes. “You just don’t understand. I don’t want your one-room apartment. Here —” she swept her hand around the kitchen, “every inch is mine. Every nail, every crack. I built this house with my heart, you know?”
“I understand,” he turned to her. “But it’s mom’s house. Dad’s, too. They bought it for me.”
“And who did I decorate it for?” she wiped her cheeks with her hand. “Who did I plant the flowers for, paste the wallpaper, scrub the floors? I thought it was for the family, for us…”
Andrey was silent. In the quiet, the drip of water from the tap could be heard.
“The tap still isn’t fixed,” Marina suddenly said.
“What?”
“The tap. You promised to fix it a month ago…”
He jerked toward the sink.
“Don’t,” she stopped him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Andrey lowered his head.
“You know,” he slowly said, “when mom said you were going to sue… At first I got angry. I thought — what a fuss over nothing. And then…”
“What then?”
“Then I realized that you were right. You have the right to fight. For your home.”
“Only it’s no longer my home, is it?” Marina asked quietly. “It’s not ours either. It’s just a building that your parents bought for you.”
He looked at her with tired, bewildered eyes.
“Forgive me.”
“Go, Andrey,” she turned toward the window. “Just go.”
When the front door closed, Marina sank onto a chair. Her phone vibrated in her pocket — a message from the lawyer: “We are filing the suit tomorrow at 10:00. Be ready.”
Outside, the rain began again.
The courthouse greeted Marina with the echo of her footsteps on its marble floor. She arrived early and sat on a long wooden bench in the corridor. She took out the documents from her bag — the worn receipts for building materials, photos of the renovations, old bills. Her hands trembled.
Irina Petrovna appeared exactly five minutes before the session began. In a strict grey suit, carrying a folder of documents under her arm. Next to her walked a tall man in an expensive dark jacket — clearly the experienced lawyer. Andrey arrived last, sitting at the edge without looking at anyone.
“Please stand,” the judge announced. “Court is in session!”
The judge, a full-figured middle-aged woman, quickly flipped through the case files.
“Alright, Voronina Maria Sergeyevna versus the Sokolovs… Suit to recognize the right to use the dwelling. Plaintiff, please state your case.”
Marina stood up. Her throat was dry.
“I…” she took a deep breath. “I lived in this house for fifteen years. I invested money, effort, and my soul into it. I have documents proving my expenses on renovations. I have witnesses…”
“Hold on,” the judge interrupted. “You acknowledge that the house is owned by the Sokolov family?”
“Yes, but…”
“And you were married to their son?”
“Yes.”
“Whose marriage has now been dissolved?”
“Yes, but that’s beside the point!” Marina raised her voice. “I have rights…”
“Please, calm down,” the judge raised her hand. “Let’s proceed in order. Counsel for the defense, your position?”
The Sokolovs’ lawyer straightened his jacket.
“Your Honor, the situation is perfectly clear. The house belongs to my clients on the basis of a purchase agreement from 2008. The plaintiff lived there solely as the wife of their son. After the divorce, all rights…”
Marina listened to his smooth speech as if through a haze. Everything she had planned to say suddenly seemed petty, insignificant. Fifteen years of life reduced to dry legal formulations.
“Plaintiff, do you have anything to add?” the judge’s voice brought her back to reality.
Marina slowly stood up. She looked at Irina Petrovna — who sat there as straight as a string. At Andrey — he was studying his shoes. At the lawyer, with his perfectly organized documents.
“You know,” she suddenly said, “I have changed my mind.”
A murmur ran through the courtroom.
“Excuse me?” the judge raised an eyebrow.
“I withdraw the suit.”
Irina Petrovna flinched. Andrey lifted his head.
“Do you understand the consequences of your statement?” the judge clarified.
“I do,” Marina replied, shrugging her shoulders. “You can’t sue over love. Over memories. Over fifteen years of happiness. You’re right — legally I have no rights to this house. But no one can take away what I’ve invested in it.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. In the distance, a door was heard slamming.
“Well then,” the judge noted as she scribbled on her papers. “I accept the withdrawal of the suit. Court is adjourned.”
Marina was the first to leave the courtroom. By the exit, Irina Petrovna caught up with her.
“Wait.”
Marina turned. Her mother-in-law stood, clutching a folder of documents to her chest, looking confused, suddenly diminished.
“Why did you do it?” she asked softly.
“Because you won,” Irina Petrovna replied sadly. “The house is yours. But along with it, you lose your daughter. Forever.”
She turned and walked toward the exit.
Maria didn’t remember how she got home. The words of Irina Petrovna still rang in her ears, and the phrase “I must pack, I must do something, I must…” kept echoing in her mind. She sat in the kitchen, mechanically sorting through old photographs, when the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Irina Petrovna — now without the strict suit, in a simple dark dress.
“May I come in?”
Maria silently stepped aside. Her mother-in-law entered the kitchen and stopped by the window.
“Remember how we chose the curtains here?” Irina Petrovna suddenly asked. “You always wanted blue, and I insisted on beige.”
“They ended up hanging blue,” Maria answered quietly.
“Yes. And they turned out to be better,” Irina Petrovna turned around. “You know, it was the first time I thought: the boy has good taste. He chose the right wife.”
Maria remained silent. Outside, the dusk deepened slowly.
“I was thinking all the way back from the courthouse,” continued Irina Petrovna, “about what you said. About the house. About the family.” She paused. “You’re right. You can’t sue over love.”
“What’s the point of this conversation?” Marina asked wearily. “I’ve already started packing.”
“Don’t,” Irina Petrovna stepped closer. “Don’t leave.”
“What?”
“Stay. This is your home too. Now I understand that.”
Maria felt tears threatening to spill over.
“And what about ‘not a family member’? ‘Temporary lodging’?”
“Those were foolish words,” Irina Petrovna lowered her eyes. “I was angry. Angry about the divorce, about Andrey, about the whole world. And I took it out on you. Forgive me.”
She pulled out some papers from her bag.
“Here,” she handed them to Marina. “I’ll arrange today to transfer part of the house to you. Officially, through a notary.”
“No,” Marina shook her head. “It’s not about the documents.”
“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”
At that moment, Andrey appeared in the doorway — apparently, he had been waiting in the hallway all along.
“Mom,” he said. “Marin. I’ve been thinking… maybe we should try to start over?”
“What exactly?” asked Marina.
“Everything. The family. Life.” He hesitated. “I know I’m at fault. I ran away back then. But I’ve realized…”
“What did you realize?”
“That a home isn’t just walls. A home is the people. The family. What we built together all these years.”
Irina Petrovna quietly left the kitchen, leaving them alone. A minute later, the front door slammed.
Marina moved to the window. In the garden, the apple trees they once planted together darkened. On the windowsill stood the old photograph in the wooden frame — the very one she had turned over on the day her mother-in-law arrived. Maria carefully set it right.
“You know what’s the hardest part?” she asked without turning around.
“What?”
“Believing that everything can start anew.”
Andrey came up and stood beside her.
“Shall we try?” he asked softly. “Day by day. Step by step.”
Maria remained silent for a long time, gazing at the darkening garden. Then she slowly nodded:
“Let’s try.”
Outside, the last glimmers of sunset faded slowly. Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked. Inside the house, it was quiet and calm — for the first time in many weeks.
Tomorrow a new day would begin. And a new life — in the old house that held their history in every corner, in every crack, in every creak of the floorboards. In a house that had become home not by documents — but by the right of love.