The Underhanded Mathematics of Family Life: Squeezing the Most Out of the Least Investment. Waiting for the Last Mortgage Payment. Getting Rid of Unnecessary Ballast. Claiming One’s Share. But then an Unpredictable Variable Appeared in the Equation.
Lizaveta held in her hand the receipt for the final mortgage payment and could hardly believe it – ten years of debts were behind her. Ten years of credit, endless payments, scrimping on everything just to pay the bank those interest charges.
“Freedom,” she thought as she set the table. She longed to celebrate even just with tea and cake.
Countless nights she had returned home past midnight, her eyes swollen from exhaustion, while he sat in his armchair recounting how he’d been let down again: first the boss turned out to be a tyrant, then the company had been unexpectedly bought by Muscovites who fired everyone, then his partner had deceived him. An endless carousel of reasons and excuses, yet the core was always the same – Oleg never stayed in one place for more than a year.
“Can you imagine, Liza, they’ve delayed my salary again,” he would complain. “For the third month in a row they promise it’ll come next week. Scoundrels…”
And once again she had to dip into her savings to pay the apartment expenses. Then, a month later, Oleg would come back with the news that he had found a promising job – and everything would start over.
She had learned not to get angry. She had built up an immunity to his promises. Oleg didn’t drink or party – he simply didn’t know how or didn’t want to stay in one place for long. A born wanderer, as he called himself. And she was forced to be the workhorse by nature.
Alina, their daughter, was about to come home from school, and Oleg was late. As usual. At his last job, there were frequent emergencies. Or at least, that’s how he explained his late arrivals.
The door burst open with a crash, sending his jacket tumbling off the hook. Lizaveta stepped into the hallway—and froze. Oleg stood in the middle of the entrance.
“What’s happened?” she asked, feeling a chill crawl down her spine.
Oleg fixed her with a look—distant, icy, as if he were staring at a cockroach.
“I’m filing for divorce,” he announced, his voice ringing with a strange mix of triumph and relief. It was as though he had rehearsed that phrase for years and now was finally unleashing it. “I’ve been sick of you for a long time. Leave the apartment.”
His words struck Lizaveta like a slap. She recoiled physically, as if struck. There wasn’t a trace of regret in Oleg’s eyes—only cold calculation and a murky satisfaction, like a man finally ridding himself of a burdensome load.
Lizaveta stared at him in disbelief.
“What—?”
“Don’t act like you don’t understand,” Oleg sneered. “Pack your things and get out of here.”
“Oleg, have you lost your mind?” she laughed nervously, thinking it must be some kind of stupid prank. “We just paid off the mortgage. We spent ten years paying…”
“Exactly,” he interrupted with undisguised sarcasm. “WE paid. And now the apartment is OURS. Which means WE will sell it and split the money. Half for me, half for you. And then we’ll go our separate ways.”
“What nonsense are you spouting?” Lizaveta began to feel anger rising. “We’ve lived in this apartment together for ten years and suddenly…”
“Not suddenly!” Oleg barked. “I was just waiting! Waiting for this draconian mortgage to end! I didn’t want to have to pay a loan after the divorce! When we can sell the apartment and get real money – not pennies!”
She looked at him as if he were crazy. It made no sense – that this man, with whom she had shared so many years, had all this time just been waiting…
“Wait,” Lizaveta raised her hand, trying to process what was happening. “You mean to say you were just waiting for me to finish paying off the mortgage?”
“Exactly,” Oleg suddenly smiled, and the smile turned her stomach. “I was waiting for you to do all the work. So pack your things and get lost. I have another life planned.”
At that moment, Alina appeared in the corridor – a sixteen-year-old replica of her mother. She stopped, her gaze shifting from one parent to the other.
She stood frozen, watching their tense faces.
“What’s going on here?”
“Your father wants a divorce,” Lizaveta said. “And he wants to kick us out of the apartment.”
“What?” Alina looked at her father in disbelief. “Dad, are you serious?”
“Alina, this is an adult matter,” Oleg said irritably. “Don’t meddle.”
“What do you mean ‘don’t meddle’?” Alina raised her voice. “This is my home too! Since when do we have to leave? What in the world are you thinking?”
“We’re just going to sell the apartment and split the money,” Oleg said. “It’ll be enough for everyone.”
“Then that’s that,” said Lizaveta, straightening up. “I’m not leaving this apartment, especially not with a child. If you want a divorce, fine. But I won’t vacate until the court decides.”
“As you wish,” Oleg smirked. “Then we’ll settle it in court. I’ve already consulted with a lawyer. The apartment is jointly owned, and by law I’m entitled to my share.”
“So, in court,” Lizaveta nodded. “Did you think I’d run away in tears? Not a chance.”
“If you won’t do it amicably – it’ll be done the hard way,” Oleg said as he pulled out his phone. “I’ve already spoken with my lawyer. The apartment is jointly owned, and by law I have a right to my share. If you refuse to leave willingly, I’ll file for a forced sale.”
“You can’t…”
“I can,” he snapped. “And I will. You’d better start looking for another place to live. You have a month.”
He turned and strode toward the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, and began tossing clothes into a huge suitcase.
“Where are you going now?”
“Where I need to,” Oleg threw over his shoulder. “No time to waste.”
Days dragged on like rubber. Lizaveta could barely sleep at night, her mind running over the same thoughts again and again. Ten years… For ten years she had poured her heart into this apartment, into their future. And he, it turned out, had merely been waiting for the right moment.
Every time she remembered his words – “I’ve been sick of you for a long time” – something inside her broke. How could they have lived together, slept in the same bed, raised a daughter – and meanwhile just waited for the perfect moment?
In the wardrobe she found an album of their wedding photographs. A young Oleg looked into the camera with such a happy face. Could all of that have been a lie? Or had something happened afterward to transform him into the cold, calculating person he now was?
A court summons arrived a week later – Oleg had not hesitated, demanding a division of property. Alina became increasingly silent and pale, locking herself away in her room.
“Where will we move?” she asked at breakfast, prodding her omelet with a fork. “We won’t have enough for a new apartment…”
Lizaveta sighed, gathering herself to say something encouraging, when suddenly the phone rang. The caller ID read “Valentina Petrovna,” and her heart sank.
“Hello?” she answered cautiously.
“Lizaveta, we need to meet,” came the voice of her mother-in-law—dry and businesslike as usual. “I’ll be over today at seven. Will Oleg be there?”
“He hardly ever shows up at home…”
“And that’s fine,” Valentina Petrovna snapped. “Be ready at seven.”
At exactly seven, her mother-in-law was seated in the kitchen. A strange thought flickered through Lizaveta’s mind – her mother-in-law always looked as if she were about to give an interview.
“I know what my son has done,” began Valentina Petrovna without mincing words. “And believe me – it won’t go unpunished.”
Lizaveta looked at her in confusion.
“You… aren’t supporting his decision?”
“And why should I support such behavior?” Valentina Petrovna replied in plain terms. “No, Lizaveta, some things cannot be justified merely because he is my son.”
Lizaveta’s eyes went wide:
“You mean to say…”
“I’m filing for divorce and demanding my share in court,” Valentina Petrovna continued, leaning forward slightly. “The apartment is yours with Alina.”
“How?”
“Because I provided the money for the down payment,” the mother-in-law squinted. “Thirty percent of the total cost came from my hard-earned money. I sold my summer house, remember? And gave you the money for the down payment.”
“But that was so long ago…”
“Ten years,” Valentina Petrovna nodded. “Exactly ten years ago. And by law, I can still prove that part of the apartment is mine. I have all the bank statements and Oleg’s written declaration specifying that these funds were earmarked for that purpose.”
Lizaveta’s eyes grew wide:
“You mean to say…”
“I’m going to file in court and demand recognition of my share. And then I’ll transfer it to Alina,” Valentina Petrovna declared, flaring her nostrils in anger. “Let my son try to kick you out after that!”
“Will you really do that?” Lizaveta asked, stirring her cooling tea with her spoon. “He’s… after all, your son.”
Valentina Petrovna glanced toward the doors where Alina stood. The girl froze with her textbook in hand, too frightened to move.
“You know, dear,” the older woman began slowly, smoothing a napkin on her lap, “I once believed that motherhood meant always siding with your child. But then life turned out differently… My son grew up, and it turned out that his actions cannot always be excused.”
She paused, staring off as if seeing something in the wall that belonged solely to her.
“What he’s planned is underhanded. Simply plain human underhandedness. I raised him not so that he’d leave his daughter and wife homeless.”
Alina wrinkled her nose. Valentina Petrovna turned, saw her, and extended a hand:
“Come here, you little brat.”
Alina ran up and clung to her grandmother. The older woman awkwardly embraced her with one arm and gently patted her back.
“All right, no more crying… We’ll get through this. We’ve weathered tougher storms than this.”
Outside, the courthouse building was cold and windy. Lizaveta adjusted her scarf, trying not to glance around too much. Alina took her by the arm, gripping her elbow firmly.
“Mom, what if…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence before Oleg emerged from a taxi. When he saw them, something like shame flickered in his eyes.
“Hi,” he grumbled.
Lizaveta merely nodded silently. Alina turned away.
But noticing her mother, she flinched:
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I’m involved in this case too,” Valentina Petrovna replied coldly.
“In what sense?!” Oleg practically jumped. “Are you seriously going to support this…”
“Shut up,” his mother interrupted so sharply that his jaw dropped. “Don’t you dare insult Lizaveta. It’s all your fault, not hers.”
“What’s gotten into you?!” he snapped, grabbing his mother by the elbow. “Get a grip! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Let go of me, Oleg,” Valentina Petrovna shook his hand off. “And remember: I don’t owe anyone anything. Especially not to a scoundrel like you.”
Oleg stared at his mother as if she were insane:
“Have you lost your mind? I’m your son!”
“Unfortunately,” Valentina Petrovna replied coldly as she stepped into the courtroom.
In court, Lizaveta felt as if she were in a dream. The lawyers spoke in dry, formal language about “jointly acquired property,” “equal shares of the spouses,” “legal grounds for division.”
Oleg took his place on the bench in the courtroom, occasionally checking his watch. He didn’t even try to hide a half-smirk, as if victory were already his. Every so often he whispered with his lawyer, nodding at various documents.
Lizaveta caught those glances – confident, almost mocking. “Ten years,” she thought. “Ten years of payments, sleepless nights, extra jobs – and now he’s just going to take half…”
When it was Valentina Petrovna’s turn to speak, silence fell over the room. She rose – short, erect, in a strict dark-blue suit. No longer the caring grandmother who used to bring pies on Sundays, but a completely different person. She adjusted her glasses and began to speak – softly, but with every word audible:
“I wish to declare my share in this apartment. Thirty percent of the cost was paid by me.”
She took documents out of a folder and handed them to the judge:
“Here are the bank statements confirming the transfer of funds for the down payment, and here is my son’s statement indicating the designated purpose of those funds.”
Lizaveta saw Oleg’s expression change. His self-assurance gave way to confusion and then to panic. He whispered something frantically into his lawyer’s ear.
“Mother, what are you doing?” Oleg couldn’t hold back, leaping from his seat. “This is our apartment!”
“No, Oleg,” Valentina Petrovna countered, turning to him. “This isn’t your apartment. This is the apartment that Lizaveta carried on her back while you changed jobs like you change your gloves. I helped you buy it, but not so that you’d later leave your family without a roof.”
“That was a gift!” Oleg roared, his face reddening with exertion.
“And what else could I have hoped for?” retorted Valentina Petrovna. “That you would pull off such a stunt? Abandon your family as soon as there’s a chance to make a quick buck? In our family, men never behaved that way!”
The judge called for order.
After everyone had spoken, the judge stepped out to deliberate.
Lizaveta felt her heart pounding. Her palms grew sweaty.
Finally, the judge returned, and everyone stood.
“After reviewing the case materials and listening to the parties…” the judge monotonously read out phrases that made Lizaveta’s ears ring.
Finally he reached the key point:
“The court recognizes Valentina Petrovna’s share as thirty percent of the apartment’s value. The remaining seventy percent is to be divided equally between the spouses.”
Lizaveta didn’t immediately understand what that meant. Slowly it dawned on her… Thirty percent to the mother-in-law, and thirty-five percent each for her and Oleg. And most importantly – Oleg cannot force them to sell the apartment. She looked at Valentina Petrovna in bewilderment. The older woman only gave a brief nod.
“Sign here,” the notary instructed, sliding the papers forward.
The three of them – Lizaveta, Alina, and Valentina Petrovna – sat together. A simple office, the smell of coffee and paper. Alina nervously tapped a pencil on the table.
“Well, that’s it,” Valentina Petrovna said as she neatly stacked the papers. They were sitting in the notary’s office, having just completed the procedure of the gift transfer.
“So now it’s mine?” Lizaveta asked in disbelief, staring at the document.
“It’s yours,” the grandmother nodded, signing her name. “But until you turn eighteen, your mother will handle it.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Lizaveta mumbled, still not quite believing what had happened.
“Just don’t get too sappy,” Valentina Petrovna wrinkled her nose. “I’m simply righting the wrong my son has done. I failed to see it in time, and now I’m reaping the consequences.”
They nearly ran into Oleg at the door – he had burst into the apartment without knocking. He looked rumpled and angry.
“Where’s your mother?” he barked, not even glancing at his ex-wife.
“She’s in the kitchen.”
He strode past Lizaveta, bumping her shoulder, and she heard his voice thunder:
“We need to talk!”
“Go ahead,” Valentina Petrovna replied dryly.
“How can you treat me like this?!” Oleg roared, and Lizaveta jumped – she had never heard him speak to his mother like that. “Are you my mother or what?! Why did you betray me?!”
“Betray?” Valentina Petrovna calmly asked, sending a shiver down Lizaveta’s spine. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve deprived me of my money!”
“I deprived you of the chance to kick your daughter out onto the street,” his mother countered. “Or have you forgotten that you have a child?”
“What’s wrong with that child?!” Oleg shrieked. “Alina is sixteen! Not five! She’ll live just fine!”
“Live where?” Valentina Petrovna asked. “In what apartment? With what money?”
“With Liska’s normal job!”
Lizaveta froze in the kitchen doorway:
“Of course – I work one and a half shifts,” she retorted sharply. “And you don’t care about feeding and clothing Alina?”
“I’ll pay child support,” Oleg snapped.
“But your salary is pitiful!” Lizaveta couldn’t hold back. “With your support money you couldn’t even buy a week’s worth of groceries!”
“Yet Natalya Viktorovna’s salary is on fire, isn’t it?” Valentina Petrovna added sarcastically. “Does your boss even know you’re planning to marry her?”
Oleg suddenly blushed.
“Where did you…?”
“Doesn’t matter,” his mother cut in. “What matters is that you’ll never get a single penny from the value of this apartment. You don’t deserve it. And you certainly don’t deserve your daughter. So be so kind as to get out.”
“This isn’t over yet!” Oleg threatened, pointing his finger at his mother. “I’ll climb all the way up – all the way to the Supreme Court!”
“Go ahead,” Valentina Petrovna said serenely. “I have all my documents in order. So you can knock yourself against the wall – nothing will change.”
When Oleg slammed the door, Lizaveta sank into a chair:
“Has he always been like this?” she asked wearily. “Or was I just blind to something?”
Valentina Petrovna stared ahead in silence for a moment.
“He’s always been a bit selfish,” she admitted reluctantly. “But for him to be like this… No, I never expected it. Forgive me, Lizaveta. I should have seen it sooner.”
“And what does that have to do with you?” Lizaveta waved her hand dismissively. “Everyone is responsible for their own actions.”
They fell silent for a long time. Two women from completely different worlds, suddenly united as allies.
“You know what Alina said to me yesterday?” Lizaveta smiled. “‘Mom, why don’t we have Grandma move in with us? What’s the point of her hoarding that whole apartment for herself?’”
“Really now!” Valentina Petrovna snorted, but a spark of warmth flickered in her eyes. “I’ve missed bumping into you all in one apartment! I’ve got my own life, after all.”
“Well, you’re welcome to come over,” Lizaveta offered. “On weekends. You wouldn’t believe it – Alina’s learned to bake a cake!”
“Well now,” Valentina Petrovna raised an eyebrow. “Who would have thought she’d have any talents?”
“Some people do,” Lizaveta smiled, and to her surprise, her mother-in-law smiled back.