Snezhka, we finally made it!” Marina burst into the new flat, clutching a huge cake box.
Snezhana smiled as she took the gift. Five years of dreaming had at last come true: their own two‑room apartment in a new building. It might be on the edge of town, but it was theirs.
“Come on in! Vasily’s just setting the table,” she said, leading her husband’s sister to the living room, where Vasya was already bustling about.
Her husband was carefully arranging plates and glasses, as though afraid to shatter all that crystal—brand‑new, like their life together within these walls. Vasily nodded to Marina without glancing up.
Snezhana checked the time; the other guests would arrive any minute. At the publishing house where she worked, everyone wondered how such a young couple had scraped together the money for a flat without loans.
“Patience and hard work,” she would answer, though she herself still struggled to believe their luck.
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Konstantin and his wife Olga stood on the threshold.
“Imagine that—we almost didn’t get lost!” Konstantin laughed, hugging his brother. “Brand‑new building. We barely found it.”
Right behind them came her in‑laws, Galina Yegorovna and Pyotr Semyonovich.
“What a bright place you’ve got!” the father‑in‑law exclaimed, looking around. “Well done, kids!”
Galina Yegorovna silently inspected every corner of the flat.
Vasily filled the glasses.
“To the new home!” Pyotr Semyonovich toasted. “May you live long and happily!”
They all clinked glasses. Out of the corner of her eye, Snezhana saw her mother‑in‑law only wet her lips.
“And whose names did you put on the papers?” Galina Yegorovna asked off‑handedly.
“Both of ours, Mum,” Vasily said. “Half and half.”
His mother pursed her lips and shot her son a quick look. Snezhana caught it—silent reproach.
“Quite right,” said Igor, Marina’s husband. “That’s how everyone does it nowadays.”
“In our day…” Galina began, but fell silent at her husband’s glance.
Conversation picked up. Marina shared her kids’ antics, Konstantin boasted of a promotion, and Snezhana kept serving salads and cold cuts.
“Snezhka, you’re amazing,” Pyotr Semyonovich said warmly. “I always knew Vasya would be fine with you.”
Snezhana blushed. She scanned the guests—there they were, her family, her support. Only her mother‑in‑law’s eyes stayed cold.
Why does it bother her so much that the flat’s in both our names? she wondered.
Sensing her tension, Vasily squeezed her hand under the table, calming her.
They all raised their glasses to the hosts. Snezhana smiled, yet a nagging doubt crept in. Something in Galina’s eyes made her uneasy—and she couldn’t forget that look even weeks later.
May breezes tugged at the curtains. Snezhana straightened the house‑warming photo when the phone rang.
“Snezha? It’s Lyuda,” the voice quavered. “Uncle Nikolai passed away last night. His heart…”
Snezhana froze.
“How? I thought he was getting better.”
“The doctors said his heart was weak. It just gave out.”
She hadn’t seen Uncle Nikolai often—three years ago at a birthday, maybe. Still, the news hurt.
The funeral was somber. After the wake, an elderly man in a dark suit approached.
“Snezhana Andreyevna? I’m Ignatyev, your uncle’s notary.”
She nodded, puzzled.
“You’ll need to come to my office. Nikolai Petrovich left a will,” he said, handing her a card. “You’re the sole heir. He’s left you his apartment.”
“Me?” she gasped. “But why?”
“He wanted to help you get ahead. He admired your independence.”
Vasily’s eyebrows shot up. “The one in the city center? A three‑bedroom?”
“Exactly,” the notary confirmed.
They drove home in silence. Snezhana thought about her uncle; Vasily drummed the steering wheel.
“Hard to believe,” he said at last. “Center‑city like that—worth a fortune if we sold it.”
“Vasya. Let’s not go there, okay?”
News of the inheritance spread like wildfire. A week later Marina called, “just to chat.”
“Can you believe our rent went up again?” she whined. “Kids need space. Igor says a year rent‑free and we’d have the down payment.”
Snezhana already sensed where this was going.
Two days later, Konstantin dropped by.
“You can’t imagine this mortgage, Snezhka,” he sighed over tea. “Everything goes to the bank.”
Olga nodded. “Having your own place is a lifelong dream,” she said, eyeing the new furniture.
The showdown came at dinner at her mother‑in‑law’s. Galina spared no effort; the table groaned.
“And our Snezhka’s a rich heiress now,” she announced. “Two flats! Yet she won’t help her husband’s family.”
Snezhana choked on her compote.
“What do you mean? Nobody’s even asked me.”
“Do we have to ask?” Galina narrowed her eyes. “You owe your family.”
“Mum, really…” Marina began, unconvincingly. “Growing kids need rooms. I could rent from you, Snezhka—family rates.”
“And I could pay a little each month,” Konstantin added. “If you signed the flat over to me.”
Snezhana looked around. Vasily stared at his plate.
“Vasya, what do you think?” she asked.
He glanced at his mother, shrugged: “Well, you should help family…”
She’d barely processed the inheritance, and they were already carving it up.
Snezhana set down her fork and straightened. Silence fell; eyes fixed on her like vultures.
“So you thought I’d just hand you the flat?” she scoffed.
Galina’s face reddened with anger. “No one’s forcing you—just basic decency!”
“What do you know about family?” Marina snapped. “My kids live in a rental dump, and you—”
“And we saved five years, kopek by kopek,” Snezhana cut in.
Konstantin narrowed his eyes. “Some people get lucky; rich uncles leave them flats.”
“Enough!” Vasily’s voice rang out. He rarely yelled.
“Mum, you’re out of line,” he said, standing. “It’s Snezhana’s inheritance. She decides.”
“You’d side against your own mother for her?” Galina cried.
“Don’t you dare.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Snezhana’s my wife. I back whatever she chooses.”
Snezhana stared; he’d never defended her so fiercely.
“We’ll rent the apartment,” Vasily said. “We need extra income. We want a child.”
Silence. Pyotr Semyonovich nodded.
“Right, son. Your own family first.”
“A child?” Galina spluttered. “You only just bought a place!”
“Mum, I’m thirty‑two,” Vasily said, taking Snezhana’s hand. “It’s time. Uncle Nikolai’s flat is a gift to our future child.”
“And you—are you…?” Galina looked at Snezhana.
“Not yet,” she answered, squeezing Vasily’s hand. “But we’re planning.”
Marina snorted. Konstantin stared at his plate. Olga fiddled with her hair.
“We should go,” Vasily said. “Thanks for dinner.”
In the doorway Pyotr Semyonovich caught up. “Don’t mind them,” he whispered. “Envy blinds people. It’ll pass.”
At home Snezhana hugged her husband.
“Thank you. I never thought you’d—”
“Sorry I didn’t step in sooner,” he said. “I just couldn’t believe my family could act like that.”
“Do you really want a baby?” she asked softly.
“Of course,” he smiled. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve dreamed of it.”
A year later little Sofia was born. Relations with the relatives cooled but became more honest. Rent from Uncle Nikolai’s flat helped raise their daughter and cover expenses.
One day Galina visited. She lingered in the hall, then held out a bundle.
“Found some baby clothes,” she muttered, eyes averted. “Thought Sofia might need them.”
Their marriage, tested by relatives’ greed, only strengthened. Vasily and Snezhana learned what a real family is—standing together through any storm. As they tucked their daughter in at night, they often exchanged tender smiles, knowing real wealth isn’t measured in apartments, but in protecting their little world. Even Galina Yegorovna eventually admitted: her son’s family was the best thing that ever happened to him.