Raisa Alexandrovna never thought she would have to prove her right to the apartment. She had lived there for thirty-two years. Especially to her husband. And definitely not in a notary’s office, where they had come for a completely different reason.
“Do you want to make a gift deed to your son?” the notary asked businesslike.
“Exactly,” Viktor Stepanovich nodded, stroking his graying beard.
“My wife and I decided it was time to put everything in order legally. Mikhail is already thirty, has his own family, a child.”
Raisa smiled faintly, thinking of her grandson. That was what it was all for — saving so long, setting aside money from every paycheck, working two jobs, counting every penny. Images flashed through her mind: she and Vitya entering the new apartment, painting the walls, buying furniture with their first big bonus.
“There’s just one detail,” Viktor Stepanovich suddenly said, and something in his voice made Raisa uneasy. “I will be the one to make the gift deed. The apartment is registered in my name.”
“What do you mean — in your name?” Raisa Alexandrovna looked at her husband in confusion. “But it’s ours together…”
“No, dear,” Viktor Stepanovich smirked. “If you look carefully at the documents, you’ll see the sole owner is me.”
The notary cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Indeed, according to the ownership certificate, the apartment is registered to Viktor Stepanovich.”
“But we bought it together!” Raisa exclaimed. “I worked two jobs, we saved together!”
“And where’s the proof?” her husband asked, looking at her with a strange triumph. “There is no proof. Now I want to make a gift deed to our son, but only for half the apartment. I’ll keep the other half for myself.”
“What about me?” Raisa felt her hands trembling. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m perfectly sane,” Viktor answered calmly. “I just decided to put everything in order.”
“What order? We lived together for thirty-two years!”
“The documents speak for themselves,” Viktor shrugged. “The apartment is mine. And only I decide what to do with it.”
The room started spinning. Could this really be happening? Could Vitya, her Vitya, with whom she had spent her whole life, just so easily…
“Are you feeling unwell?” the notary asked kindly. “Maybe some water?”
“No,” Raisa straightened up. “I’m not unwell. I’m just curious when my husband became so… enterprising.”
Viktor Stepanovich looked away, but only for a moment. Then he looked back at his wife, now with undisguised superiority.
“Rae-chka, why are you so upset? It’s just a formality. The apartment was always registered to me, I’m the head of the family. Nothing changes.”
“Everything changes,” Raisa said quietly. “It changed a long time ago. I just didn’t notice.”
She suddenly remembered how three months ago Vitya started staying late at work. How strange phone calls began, after which he would leave the room. How he started asking about legal issues, searching for something on the internet in the evenings.
“When were you going to tell me about your decision?” she asked. “Or did you plan to drop this bomb on me right here?”
“Don’t dramatize,” her husband waved it off. “You have a pension, it’ll be enough for you.”
The notary cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Actually, if the apartment was acquired during the marriage, then…”
“It was purchased with my money,” Viktor Stepanovich interrupted. “I signed the purchase contract. All payments went through my account.”
Raisa closed her eyes. Scenes from the past flashed before her: standing in line at the bank to make the next loan payment, giving her salary to her husband so he could add his share and pay the installment…
“Wait,” she suddenly said. “I want to check something.”
She opened her old worn bag and took out a folder. A plain cardboard folder with faded flowers, tied with twine. Viktor Stepanovich looked at her in surprise.
“What’s that?”
“This, Vitenka, is called prudence,” Raisa Alexandrovna said calmly, untying the twine. “My mother always taught me to keep documents. All documents. I never thought I’d need them… like this.”
She pulled out a stack of yellowed papers.
“Here are receipts for the initial payment on the apartment. Notice the payer’s name. Raisa Alexandrovna Korneeva. And the date — two days before signing the purchase contract.”
Viktor Stepanovich leaned forward.
“That means nothing! It’s just…”
“Wait, I’m not finished,” Raisa continued calmly. “Here are statements from my savings book. See these withdrawals? Every month, regularly, the amount is half the monthly loan payment. For fifteen years.”
The notary carefully examined the documents.
“And here’s something else interesting,” Raisa pulled out an envelope with an official stamp. “A certificate from the bank about the loan repayment. Look closely at the account details from which the last payment was made.”
The notary studied the document and looked up at Viktor Stepanovich with surprise.
“This account belongs to…”
“Me,” Raisa Alexandrovna finished. “It’s my personal account where I received my salary from the second job. Vitya was sick then, couldn’t work, and I made the last big payment for the apartment. In full.”
Viktor Stepanovich turned pale. He clearly did not expect this turn of events.
“But the ownership certificate…”
“Yes, the certificate says it’s you,” Raisa nodded. “Because it was easier to register it that way back then. You were in good standing at work, and the loan was approved faster for you. We’re a family, what difference does it make whose name is on the apartment? That’s what I thought for thirty-two years.”
The notary put her pen down and straightened, shifting her gaze from one spouse to the other.
“I must tell you, by law, everything bought during marriage is considered joint property. It doesn’t matter whose name is on the documents. Especially when there is proof that Raisa Alexandrovna also paid for the apartment.”
Viktor Stepanovich nervously drummed his fingers on the table.
“That’s all nonsense! I can bring a bunch of papers too,” he waved irritably. “What difference does it make who paid how much? The main thing is the apartment is registered to me!”
“No, Viktor Stepanovich, that is exactly not the main thing,” the notary calmly objected. “If it comes to a legal dispute, the apartment will be divided equally. That’s common practice.”
“What dispute?” Viktor objected. “I’m not going to complain anywhere!”
“But I might,” Raisa Alexandrovna said suddenly, even surprising herself. “If you insist that the apartment is only yours.”
She herself did not expect to say such a thing. She had never had to threaten her husband in her life. In fact — she rarely raised her voice at all. She always thought a woman should be gentle, yielding, creating comfort and peace at home. And here — this. But something inside her seemed to switch.
“You? Going to complain?” Viktor Stepanovich laughed shortly. “Rae-chka, you’re afraid to speak at meetings at your clinic. What complaints?”
“People change,” Raisa looked him straight in the eyes. “Especially when they are betrayed.”
Viktor Stepanovich looked away first.
“Why are you dramatizing? Nobody’s betraying anyone. We just need to put things in order.”
“Putting things in order means leaving your wife homeless after thirty years of marriage?” Raisa felt a wave of indignation rising inside her. “Why do you want this, Vitya? Be honest.”
A heavy silence hung in the room.
“I need freedom of action,” Viktor Stepanovich finally said, looking away. “The ability to manage the apartment without… unnecessary talks.”
“Who do you need to discuss this with?” Raisa asked quietly. “With her?”
Viktor jerked as if struck, and that was the best answer to her question.
“You know?” he only asked.
“I suspect,” Raisa felt a strange calm. “For how long?”
“Six months,” Viktor reluctantly replied. “She’s… younger.”
“Of course, younger,” Raisa nodded. “Otherwise, what would be the point?”
The notary cleared her throat, clearly feeling uncomfortable.
“Maybe you’d better discuss personal matters alone? I can step out for a few minutes.”
“No need,” Raisa shook her head. “We’re here on business, let’s deal with it. So, the apartment is considered joint property, and I have the same rights as my husband. Correct?”
“Absolutely correct,” the notary confirmed.
“What do I need to do to officially register my share?”
Viktor Stepanovich suddenly turned to her:
“Are you seriously going to divide the apartment?”
“Were you seriously going to leave me with nothing?” Raisa countered.
Suddenly she realized she was not afraid to argue at all. All her life she had avoided conflicts, yielded, smoothed things over. But now inside her was only a clear understanding: she would not let herself be deceived. Not after all these years, not after all the sacrifices and concessions.
“I think you should still talk at home,” the notary suggested gently. “And then decide about the gift deed or whatever else.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Raisa Alexandrovna gathered her documents back into the folder. “We’ve been talking for thirty-two years. Enough.”
Viktor Stepanovich suddenly grabbed her hand:
“Raya, come on! I got carried away. Of course, nobody’s kicking you out of the apartment.”
“Then what?” she pulled her hand free. “Just wanted to see if I could be tricked?”
“Don’t dramatize! I just wanted…” he faltered. “I wanted everything to be legal.”
“You can make a property division agreement,” the notary intervened. “Specify each spouse’s shares.”
“What shares?” Raisa smiled. “Half and half, as it should be. But why do we need this agreement if we lived for thirty years without one?”
She looked at her husband carefully, and suddenly everything became clear.
“You’re planning to divorce, right?” she asked directly. “So you decided to claim the apartment in advance?”
Viktor Stepanovich lowered his eyes.
“No, what are you saying…”
“At least don’t lie now,” Raisa said tiredly. “I believed every word you said for thirty-two years. Thought we had a family, trust, respect.”
“Rae-chka…”
“Don’t call me that!” she sharply interrupted. “Not now.”
A heavy silence fell in the room.
“I love another woman,” Viktor Stepanovich finally said. “I want to start a new life. I have the right.”
“You do,” Raisa agreed calmly. “And I have the right to half our apartment. And I will get it.”
“What will you do with half?” Viktor Stepanovich shrugged. “How will we divide it? Put up a wall in the middle of the room?”
“We’ll sell it,” Raisa said firmly. “And divide the money.”
“Where will you live?”
“Not your concern,” she cut off. “You made your choice.”
Only now did Raisa Alexandrovna realize she felt neither pain nor resentment. Only a strange relief and determination. As if the burden she had carried for years suddenly lifted from her shoulders. In recent years, she often caught herself thinking she was tired of her husband’s endless nitpicking. Of the feeling that she always did everything wrong.
“Does Misha know?” Raisa Alexandrovna asked about their son.
Viktor shook his head.
“I’ll call him today,” Raisa nodded. “He should hear it from me, not by accident.”
“Are you going to turn him against me?” Viktor frowned.
“I’m going to tell him the truth,” Raisa shrugged. “That you found another woman. That you want a divorce and tried to deceitfully keep the apartment. What conclusions he draws is his business. He’s an adult.”
“You’re deliberately trying to make me look like a villain!”
“Aren’t you?” Raisa raised her voice for the first time during the whole conversation. “What else do you call a man who decided to throw his wife out on the street after thirty years of marriage?”
“I’m not throwing anyone out!” Viktor also began to get annoyed. “I just wanted to give my share to our son! So he definitely gets something, if…”
“If what?” Raisa interrupted. “If I start claiming my legal property?”
The notary cautiously intervened again:
“Sorry, but I have to say that gifting property by one spouse without the other’s consent can be challenged in court.”
“See?” Raisa looked triumphantly at her husband. “Even that wouldn’t have worked. They’d still have to ask me.”
Viktor Stepanovich rubbed his forehead.
“I just wanted…” He stopped himself. “Alright, never mind what I wanted. Let’s talk at home. Calmly.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Raisa stood up, carefully closing her bag. “It’s all clear. I’ll file for divorce and property division. I wish you happiness in your new life.”
She said it without irony, just stating a fact. And as she said those words, she suddenly realized she truly meant them. Let him be happy — with anyone, just not with her. Because she deserved better.