I began to suspect that my husband was putting some kind of sleeping pill into my coffee. So, when we sat down to drink coffee with cake, I took advantage of the moment when he stepped away and discreetly poured out the contents of my cup. Then I pretended to fall asleep. However, what happened next shocked me — it was simply impossible to accept.
Welcome, dear readers! Today you will read a tense story about betrayal, greed, and the fight for one’s own home. This is a story about a woman whose intuition and determination helped her uncover a cunning conspiracy by the closest people. Unexpected twists await you, where trust within a family clashes with deception, and the pursuit of justice requires a truly strong heart. Enjoy your reading and good health to you and your loved ones. Don’t forget to subscribe to our channel and like the story — that will help us grow and not miss new tales.
All my life, I was proud that I could make quick decisions. At work, this trait only helped me — while others pondered, I was already acting.
That’s why, while on the train, I decided to return home a day earlier. Negotiations in Yekaterinburg ended even better than I expected, so why waste an extra day at a hotel if my beloved husband is waiting at home?
I always keep the apartment entrance keys in my jacket pocket, so I was able to quietly climb to the fourth floor.
I didn’t even call Vadim intentionally — I wanted to surprise him. The suitcase made almost no sound rolling on the landing floor, and I already imagined hugging my husband and telling him about the deal I had closed. But when I opened the door with my key, the first thing I heard was an unfamiliar male voice coming from the living room.
The total area of the apartment is 57 square meters, the kitchen — 11.5, combined bathroom — 4.8. I froze in the hallway. What’s going on? Who is this man in our home? And why is someone measuring my apartment? Carefully taking off my shoes, I tiptoed toward the living room door.
Through the crack, I saw a scene that took my breath away. Tamara Ivanovna, my mother-in-law, was standing in the middle of the room next to a stranger in a business suit. He was writing something in a notebook, holding an extended tape measure from one wall to the other.
The man looked like a typical realtor — neat hairstyle, business attire, a folder with documents under his arm. “Condition is good,” he said, inspecting the walls. “Recent renovation, plastic windows, new radiators. This apartment can now be sold for 3.8 million rubles, possibly even 4.” It felt like the ground was slipping from beneath me — they’re asking almost four million for my home?
“What’s going on here?” asked Tamara Ivanovna. “How quickly can the deal be made? If the documents are ready, two weeks at most,” the realtor replied. “But are you sure the owner agrees? Usually, people themselves come for the appraisal.” At those words, I nearly suffocated with outrage.
“The owner? I’m standing right here in my own apartment, listening to my mother-in-law inquire about how fast my own property can be sold!” I thought. Tamara Ivanovna hesitated a little and said, “The daughter-in-law is currently on a business trip, but my son and I have already discussed everything. She is basically not against it.” That was simply incredible. What “not against it”? When did Vadim and I discuss selling the apartment? And since when did his mother get the right to decide the fate of my property?
I was so stunned by what was happening that I didn’t immediately notice the front door creak — Vadim had come home. “Mom, how are you?” I heard his voice from the hallway. “Has Oleg Petrovich finished already?” I heard. “So they’re in cahoots.”
“It turns out my own husband brought a realtor to our home to appraise the apartment without even bothering to inform me beforehand.” “Yes, everything’s fine,” Tamara Ivanovna replied. “Oleg Petrovich says we can get good money.”
I stood in the hallway like stone, unable to enter the room. I needed time to understand how to react to such impudence. “Valentina Gennadyevna, you’re home!” the mother-in-law suddenly exclaimed, noticing me in the doorway. Apparently, I was visible from the living room. There was no turning back now — I had to deal with this immediately.
“Yes, I came back earlier,” I said, trying to speak calmly. “What’s going on here?”
Tamara Ivanovna clearly didn’t expect to see me and got flustered. “Ah… we’re just… Oleg Petrovich is an acquaintance, a realtor. I asked him to appraise the apartment out of curiosity. It’s interesting to know the value of real estate in our area.” Out of curiosity? Of course. And the notes in the notebook and questions about the speed of the transaction — were they also just out of curiosity?
Feeling the awkwardness of the situation, Oleg Petrovich quickly rolled up the tape measure and said, “Well, I guess I’ll go. Tamara Ivanovna, everything’s discussed — call if anything.” “Of course, Oleg Petrovich, thank you very much,” the mother-in-law said hurriedly, escorting him to the door. Vadim stood silently nearby, but I noticed some tension in his eyes.
Usually, he would greet me with hugs and questions about the business trip, but now he didn’t even come to kiss me. After the realtor left, I couldn’t hold back: “Can I ask what was happening here? Why was some stranger measuring the area in my apartment?”
Tamara Ivanovna laughed nervously: “Valya, why are you so upset? I already explained — just curiosity. A friend was boasting that her apartment increased in value, so I decided to check our price.”
“Our price?” I repeated. “Tamara Ivanovna, this is my apartment. I bought it before marriage with my own money, it’s registered to me.” The mother-in-law blushed but kept justifying herself: “Yes, of course, yours. I’m not arguing, just interested in market prices. Is that not allowed?”
Vadim finally approached me: “Val, don’t get worked up. Mom just asked a realtor she knows. Nobody’s planning to sell anything.”
After that conversation, the atmosphere at home became extremely tense. Vadim was clearly nervous — dropping a fork at dinner, flinching at every sound, frequently glancing at me sideways.
I tried to start a normal conversation about work but felt that my husband was on edge. “How’s work? Any new projects?” I asked. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered without looking up from his plate. “The usual routine.” Usually, he would happily tell me about his affairs, complain about the boss, or boast about successes. But now it felt like there was a wall between us.
In the evening, I read in the bedroom while Vadim wandered around the apartment, looking for something in the cupboards, shuffling papers. He answered my questions briefly: “Oh, just nonsense — looking for a certificate.” Usually, he was more relaxed on weekends, but this time he was on pins and needles. Constantly making calls, nervously pacing rooms, going to another room for conversations.
Tamara Ivanovna came more often than usual, and she and her son whispered in the kitchen. But as soon as I appeared, they fell silent and forced a smile. “What are you whispering about?” I once asked, entering the kitchen where they were discussing something in hushed tones. “Oh, just family matters,” the mother-in-law waved off. “Don’t worry, nothing important.” But their faces betrayed the seriousness of the conversation, and I didn’t believe the chatter for a second.
On Monday, coming home from work, I found Vadim unusually friendly. He kissed me, hugged me, asked about every detail of my workday. “How are you, darling? Not tired? Maybe you’d like to take a bath and relax?” Such care seemed strange to me after several days of coldness and detachment.
“Thanks, but I’m not very tired,” I answered. “Then let’s have dinner and watch TV. By the way, a new series started that you should like.” We had dinner in a warm atmosphere, Vadim was attentive and kind. I even began to think I might have exaggerated the problems and the realtor situation was just a misunderstanding.
In the evening, we watched a movie and discussed it — everything was as usual. I even relaxed a little and thought that maybe I was wrong to suspect my husband of something bad. However, the next day, the atmosphere became tense again.
Vadim was distracted, answered incoherently, caught my gaze several times and quickly looked away. The next day, at work, I received a call from Tamara Ivanovna: “Valya, how are you? Feeling okay?” “Thanks, fine,” I replied, surprised by such sudden concern. The mother-in-law had never called me at work before. “Vadim said you’ve been looking unwell lately. Maybe see a doctor? Health is most important.”
“See a doctor? Where did this sudden concern for my health come from? And why does Vadim discuss my condition with his mother?” I wondered. “No, I’m fine,” I answered. “Just work stress.” “Good. Just take care of yourself. Goodbye, dear.” After this conversation, I was certain — something was wrong here.
The mother-in-law had never cared about my health before but suddenly called and expressed concern. In the evening, Vadim again offered me coffee, but I categorically refused. He tried several times to persuade me, saying it was a new kind, beneficial, and that I needed to relax after work. “Vadim, I said — I don’t want coffee,” I said irritably. “Why are you bothering me?” He got offended and sulked all evening.
At night, I heard him making a phone call in the hallway. He spoke quietly, but I caught some phrases: “No, it’s not working… She refuses. We need to come up with something else.” Who was he talking to? And what wasn’t working out? Why was my husband conducting secret negotiations at night?
By the end of the week, I was completely convinced — something strange was happening in my home. Vadim became nervous and secretive, Tamara Ivanovna showed suspicious care for my health, and that coffee with the unexplained relaxing effect…
Each fact separately could be explained as coincidence, but together they formed a disturbing picture. Intuition told me — they were trying to deceive me. I just didn’t yet understand what the deception was and what they had planned. But one thing I knew for sure — I would no longer stay silent and pretend I noticed nothing. It was time to find out everything to the end.
And so, on Friday evening, when Vadim again went into the hallway for another mysterious phone conversation, I decided to eavesdrop…
Hiding by the door, I heard phrases that sent chills down my spine — my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. “Yes, I understand everything is going slowly. But she has become too attentive, suspects something. Soon everything will be ready — just a little left. The main thing is not to scare her off early.”
“Everything will be ready? Ready for what? And who couldn’t be scared off early?” — raced through my mind. I stood frozen, unable to move a finger.
When Vadim returned to the room, I was sitting on the couch pretending to flip through a magazine. My heart was pounding as if about to jump out of my chest. “Who was calling?” I asked as calmly as possible. “Just a colleague, work stuff,” he lied without hesitation. “We have an important presentation tomorrow.”
“A presentation on Saturday?” I was surprised. “Yeah, their company works weekends,” he made up.
I immediately understood: Vadim was lying. Not just lying, but involved in something bigger — a plan that concerned me personally. But what exactly did they plan? And who was his mysterious interlocutor? I would have to find out for myself. I was no longer going to wait for them to confess.
After that Friday conversation, when I accidentally overheard his mysterious phone call, the weekend passed in tension. Vadim behaved strangely: sometimes overly kind, sometimes shutting down and silent for hours. I pretended not to notice, but inside I was preparing to act on my own.
Monday morning, Vadim hurried to work, clearly nervous. When he left, I noticed some papers left on the table — apparently, he forgot to put them away in a hurry. Approaching closer, my heart stopped. These were photocopies of documents for my apartment.
The certificate of ownership, technical passport, extract from the Unified State Register of Real Estate — everything needed to sell the property. Where did he get them? I never gave him the originals. But that wasn’t all.
Under the documents was a certificate of my income from work. I looked at it, unable to believe my eyes. The certificate was issued last week when I was on a business trip. The signature below looked very much like mine, but I knew for sure: no one asked to issue this certificate. My hands began to shake. This was a clear forgery or someone had obtained it illegally.
I quickly photographed all the papers on my phone and carefully put them back. I had to urgently figure out how these documents ended up with Vadim. And act very cautiously so he wouldn’t guess I knew everything.
At work, I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts revolved only around the found papers. Why did my husband need a certificate of my income? Why was he hiding having access to copies of the apartment documents?
During lunch break, I called the HR department:
— Hello, Alla Petrovna? This is Valentina Borisova. Did anyone request a certificate of my income last week?
— Yes, Valentina Gennadyevna. On Thursday your husband came, said you asked to pick up the certificate for the bank. He had a power of attorney from you.
— Power of attorney? What power of attorney? I did not authorize anyone to get documents on my behalf! Can I see this power of attorney?
— Of course, come after lunch — I will show you a copy.
When I saw this document, it got even worse. The signature was indeed almost an exact copy of mine, but I clearly remembered: I never signed anything like that. So someone skillfully forged my signature, and even the HR person didn’t notice.
In the evening, I returned home nearly in a panic. Vadim met me as if nothing was wrong:
— Hi, dear. How’s work?
— Fine, — I answered shortly, carefully watching his face. No sign of embarrassment or guilt. Either he was a great actor or didn’t consider his actions shameful.
At dinner, I tried several times to carefully start a conversation about the documents:
— Vadim, if we ever needed to sell the apartment — what documents would be required?
He became wary:
— Why do you need that? We’re not going to sell.
— Just curious, — I continued. — A friend is selling, she told me about certificates and extracts.
— Well, probably ownership documents, income certificates, technical papers… — he answered vaguely, but I noticed his voice slightly trembled.
He knew. He knew everything perfectly, what documents were needed and even prepared them in advance.
— Can a power of attorney be made so the husband could do everything himself? — I asked cautiously.
Vadim sharply raised his head. Real fear flashed in his eyes.
— Val, why do you ask such strange questions? Do you have problems?
— No, just curious, — I lied.
But his reaction said a lot. He was afraid I was beginning to suspect something.
All week I watched Vadim, trying to understand the scale of what was happening. He still held secret phone conversations, went somewhere on weekends, assuring me he was meeting friends. But what friends? I knew all his friends by face before, and now he constantly referred to new acquaintances.
Tamara Ivanovna also behaved strangely — came more often than usual but was tense. Several times I noticed how she and Vadim exchanged glances, thinking I didn’t see.
And then on Thursday, an event happened that finally convinced me: a real conspiracy was being woven against me.
Meeting my friend Lyuda in a cafe, I casually asked:
— How is Vadim? Have you seen Tamara Ivanovna recently?
— Recently. At the shopping center, in a travel agency on the second floor. She was arranging something there.
— What exactly? — I became alert.
— Not sure, but she paid money and signed documents. I thought — Tamara Ivanovna is apparently going to travel.
— Really? — I was surprised. — Did you notice what trip she bought?
— Not sure, but the agency specializes in foreign tours, mainly Europe. Expensive destinations.
— Was she alone?
— Seems so. But I heard the manager ask about a second tourist. She said the second person would prepare documents later.
I said goodbye to Lyuda and immediately went to that shopping center. Finding the agency, I introduced myself as a relative of Tamara Ivanovna and asked for information. The manager said:
— A premium tour to Switzerland for two weeks, for two people. Accommodation in a four-star hotel, excursions, transfers — all included. Cost — 450 thousand rubles. Paid in cash.
I felt dizzy. Where did a pensioner, who always complained about lack of money, get such a sum? And why is the departure in a month — just enough time to complete the apartment sale?
It turned out the second tourist had not yet provided documents. But the name was known: Tamara Ivanovna said she would soon bring the missing papers.
“What if the second tourist is Vadim?” I thought. “What if they plan to leave together abroad with the money from selling my apartment?”
Back home, I started checking all possible places where important documents could be. In Vadim’s writing desk, I found printouts of apartment sale ads in our area, realtor business cards, and notes.
One note attracted special attention:
Oleg Petrovich — “Appraisal ready, waiting for documents.”
That was the same man I caught in our apartment. So the appraisal wasn’t just curiosity — it was preparation for a real sale.
But the scariest discovery happened Friday evening. Vadim came home excited and nervous. He paced the apartment all evening, searched his papers, went out to the balcony to smoke several times, though he rarely smoked.
— What’s wrong? — I asked, trying to stay calm.
I asked him about it. He waved it off: “No, it’s work. Problems with a client.” But I saw — it wasn’t work. He was nervous, constantly glancing at the phone. Around ten p.m., the phone rang. Vadim went into the hallway but spoke loudly enough for me to hear fragments: “No, too early,” “She suspects nothing.”
What documents? What papers? When he returned, I asked who called so late. He said — a project colleague. Supposedly, an important meeting with investors tomorrow. Investors at 10 p.m.? Not very believable. The next day, as soon as Vadim left for work, I decided to search his things again — more thoroughly.
In the far drawer of the desk, under folders with work papers, I found something that made me freeze. There lay a fully filled sale contract for my apartment, the price stated — 3.8 million rubles. In the “seller” field — my name. The buyer — some Elena Semyonovna Kotelnikova.
And the scariest — at the bottom was my signature. Or a skillful forgery. So accurate that at first I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hands trembled while I took photos of the contract. They really planned to sell my apartment using forged documents.
Next to it was a power of attorney in Vadim’s name, supposedly at my request. The signature was also forged but masterful — unlikely even a notary would notice. Everything became clear.
Vadim planned to sell my apartment to that Elena Semyonovna with fake documents, get the money, and disappear. Most likely — with Tamara Ivanovna, leaving for their “trip to Switzerland.” And I was supposed to be left with nothing — no home, money, or future. But they thought I knew nothing. That was my only advantage.
I photographed everything and carefully put it back. Then I sat down, trying to gather my thoughts. The first thing was to consult a lawyer — to find out if the sale could be stopped if there was proof of forgery. The second step was to find a safe place to wait out a possible blow. And the third — to prepare valuables and documents in advance. If they really planned to deceive me, they might try to take everything valuable.
In the evening, when Vadim came home, I tried hard to behave naturally: cooked dinner, talked about work, asked about his affairs. Casually asked:
— Remember when you talked about investors? How did the meeting go?
— Fine, they were interested in the project, — he answered after a pause.
— What project?
— IT development. You wouldn’t understand anyway — too specific.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” flashed through my mind. But I kept silent. Let him think I suspect nothing.
When Vadim fell asleep, I quietly got up, took all my important documents from the closet: passport, work record book, diplomas, bank cards, jewelry — everything that might be needed. Packed them into a bag and hid it in the storage behind old things. If I had to leave — I’d be ready.
In the morning, as soon as Vadim left for work, I called Lyuda:
— I need help. Can we meet?
— Of course, Val. What happened? You seem tense.
— I’ll tell you in person. It’s serious.
We met at the same cafe as before. I told Lyuda in detail about the found documents, forged signatures, Vadim and Tamara Ivanovna’s plans.
— Val, this is outright fraud! You need to go to the police immediately!
— But I only have photos. He has the originals. If I take them, he’ll immediately know I know everything.
Lyuda thought:
— I have a lawyer acquaintance. A very good one. Maybe consult him first?
Half an hour later we were in the office of Mikhail Sergeyevich — an experienced lawyer with attentive eyes. He listened and shook his head:
— Serious situation. If your husband intends to sell the apartment with forged documents — that’s a criminal offense. Fraud on a particularly large scale.
— What should I do? How to protect the property?
— Contact Rosreestr, impose a ban on any transactions citing loss of documents. Then — with proof of forgery, go to the police. The longer you wait, the higher the risk they’ll carry out their plan.
After the consultation, I felt more confident. I had a plan but understood I had to act very cautiously. If Vadim guessed I knew everything, he might speed up his actions or just disappear. Better to pretend I suspect nothing for now and continue preparing for the decisive moment.
At home, an unexpected surprise awaited me — Vadim came back earlier than usual and fussed in the kitchen.
— Oh, Val, you’re already home? — he asked with a strained smile. — Where were you?
— Meeting with Lyuda. Why are you so early?
— Decided to finish early. Want to treat my beloved wife to a delicious dinner.
“Beloved wife…” those words now sounded like mockery. I smiled back, pretending to be touched by his care. At dinner, he was especially sweet, told jokes, complimented me. But I noticed his tension, trembling hands, frequent glances at the clock.
Suddenly he asked:
— Val, remember how we met?
— Of course. You approached three times before daring to speak.
— I was terribly nervous then. You seemed unattainable… And now? Now you’re my best wife in the world.
“Hypocrite,” I thought, listening to him. “How can you say that knowing you’re going to betray me?”
After dinner he announced:
— Now — my signature coffee. I added something special today.
“Sleeping pill, probably,” flashed through my mind. I knew today he would try to put his plan into action.
— With pleasure, — I answered. — You make coffee so deliciously.
While he fussed in the kitchen, I took a small plastic bag from my pocket and hid it in my sweater sleeve. My heart beat fast, but I forced myself to breathe evenly. Vadim brought beautiful cups of aromatic coffee — with cinnamon, cardamom, and other spices. But I knew: this drink was a threat.
— To us! — he said, raising the cup and looking me straight in the eyes.
— To us… — I repeated, restraining the urge to throw the cup in his face.
We clinked glasses. He drank quickly, big sips. I took small, almost symbolic sips, while secretly pouring the contents into the bag in my sleeve. Fortunately, the sweater sleeves were wide — my maneuver went unnoticed.
The operation required utmost caution. I had to watch every movement: so the bag wouldn’t rustle, so no drop of coffee spilled, so my face remained calm — not a shadow of suspicion.
— Tasty, — I said, putting the empty cup on the table. — Though it has a strange aftertaste.
— That’s cinnamon and nutmeg, — Vadim explained, closely watching my reaction. — Selected especially for you.
“Or zolpidem?” I added mentally but smiled aloud:
— Did you add ginger too? For warmth?
— Of course, — he nodded. — So you’d be comfortable.
I feigned gratitude, though inside I was boiling with hatred. We moved to the living room and turned on the TV. Vadim chose a romantic comedy but didn’t watch it — his gaze kept glancing my way, checking how the drug worked. About fifteen minutes later I began to play my role.
I yawned, rubbed my eyes, pretended I was getting sleepy:
— I’m so tired today…
— You work like a horse, don’t take care of yourself at all, — he said sympathetically, relief in his voice. — Go lie down, rest.
— Yeah, I’ll lie down, — I agreed, slightly swaying, as if dizzy. — Feels like the whole day was too long.
In the bedroom, I lay on the bed fully dressed. I had to convincingly act out the sleeping pill effect. After a few minutes, I began to breathe deeply, evenly, as if asleep. I heard Vadim walking around the apartment — tidying the kitchen, washing dishes. Then footsteps approached the bedroom.
He peeked through the door crack:
— Val, are you sleeping?
I didn’t answer, continuing to breathe evenly and keep a relaxed expression. He came closer, leaned over. I felt his breath, his cologne smell. My hands clenched into fists under the blanket but I didn’t move.
— Valya! — he whispered a little louder, worry in his voice.
I didn’t react. Then he lightly shook my shoulder. I remained motionless, breathing deeply and slowly.
— My God, how quickly it worked… — he muttered to himself. — Hope I didn’t overdose…
“Overdose? So he planned it,” I thought. Scoundrel. Making sure I was unconscious, he returned to the living room. But I heard every step, every sound. He went into the storage room. My heart beat faster — behind an old suitcase in the far corner was my stash: 300 thousand rubles. Money saved for years, “for a rainy day.” And that day had come.
The creak of the floorboards, the rustle of boxes — Vadim was clearly looking for that place. Good thing I hid the documents elsewhere. But the money… I didn’t dare move it — didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Now I was paying the price. For a moment it was quiet. Then his satisfied whisper:
— Here they are, beauties!
My nails dug into my palms.
— Three hundred thousand. A great find.
He continued talking to himself, counting bills:
— Mom’s trip… She dreamed of this. In Switzerland she can finally rest, relax. Poor thing, saved on everything her whole life…
“Mom’s trip… So my money is for his mother’s vacation,” I thought.
— Three hundred thousand from Val’s stash, plus one hundred fifty from the apartment sale — the first installment.
“Sale? First installment?!”
— That’s enough for tickets and first expenses. Then we’ll manage somehow. Maybe I’ll find a job there, and mom will rest, — he continued, almost aloud planning the escape.
The documents will be handed over to Oleg Petrovich tomorrow. The deal in three days.
— Valya will be sleeping like a log for another day. She won’t suspect a thing. And when she wakes up — we’ll be gone long ago.
Three days. I had only three days left. But I already had enough evidence. He confessed, stole money, confirmed his intentions. I could wait no longer.
I sharply got up from the bed and went to the living room. Vadim stood with his back to me, carefully counting my money. Stacks of bills lay on the table, my wallet nearby — he didn’t even bother to cover the traces of his theft.
— Decided to steal my money? — I asked coldly.
He jumped as if shocked and sharply turned around. His face went pale, eyes widened:
— You… You were asleep!
— Asleep? — I smirked, stepping closer. — And you thought the sleeping pill worked?
— I don’t understand what you’re talking about, — he tried to feign ignorance.
— Don’t understand? — I stepped even closer. — And zolpidem in coffee — what’s that? Vitamins for energy?
His eyes darted to the side.
— How do you know about zolpidem? — he blurted out.
And immediately realized he gave himself away.
— Gotcha, — I said quietly. — You betrayed yourself.
— He still held my money in his hands.
— Val, you misunderstood everything. It’s not what you think.
— Not what? — I barely held myself. — What then?
— You put sleeping pills in my coffee, steal money, prepare forged documents to sell my apartment. Is that care for the family?
— How do you know about the documents? — he was completely confused.
— I know everything, Vadim. About the contract with the forged signature, about the income certificate you got illegally, about the trip to Switzerland for you and your mommy. Did you think I was stupid?
Vadim’s face changed. The confusion disappeared, replaced by anger and resolve:
— So what now? You won’t prove anything. Who will believe you?
— Won’t prove? — I took out my phone. — I have photos of the documents, coffee analysis results, witnesses to the tour purchase. And a recording of your confession.
I showed him the screen.
— You recorded? — he asked stunned.
— Of course. Did you think I was so stupid to rely only on memory?
He clenched his fists, the money in his hand crumpled.
— And yet I took it. And you won’t get it back.
— Won’t get it back? — steel sounded in my voice. — We’ll see.
At that moment, all the accumulated outrage, pain, and hurt — and determination — flared up inside me. I would no longer give him a chance to avoid responsibility.
All the anger, built up over years, burst out — for betrayal, lies, for attempting to steal my life. Years of trust destroyed in one blow. Dreams of family, love, and a shared future turned to ashes. I clenched my fist and hit Vadim with all my might.
The blow was so strong he staggered, fell onto the couch, and dropped the money. The bills scattered around the room like autumn leaves in the wind.
— What are you doing?! Are you crazy? That’s violence! — he shouted, clutching his nose, which was bleeding.
— Violence? — I laughed, feeling a wave of righteous anger rising. — And trying to poison and rob me — is that love?
I rubbed my bruised fist, not hiding my triumph:
— This is justice. You think I will stay silent while you plan to leave me with nothing?
He tried to get up but I pushed him back again:
— Sit down. And explain how you could even decide on this? Where did the idea come from?
— It was her… — he suddenly blurted, pointing toward the door. — Mom! I didn’t want to, but she said there was no other way!
Tamara Ivanovna. Of course. I knew it was all her doing.
— So the initiator is the mother-in-law? — I asked coldly. — Tell me everything. Right now.
Vadim wiped his face with his sleeve, anger burning in his eyes:
— She said we live in poverty while a costly apartment stands nearby. That you’re stingy, never share anything. And if we don’t take what’s ours, we’ll be poor all our lives.
— What’s “ours”? — I asked, barely restraining myself. — My apartment? Are you serious?
— Well yes! I’m your husband. This is our home. We live here. I have a right too.
— A right? — I nearly choked. — To someone else’s property? This apartment was bought before marriage. With my money. You have no relation to it.
— But I live here. Help with the housework, — he mumbled, trying to justify.
— Living — yes, stealing — no. That’s basic. You planned to start a new life? At my expense? Leaving me without home and money?
— You’d manage, — he grumbled. — You’re strong, independent. You said you love challenges.
I froze. The cynicism of his words was incredible.
— Manage? Without a roof over my head? Is that normal for you? How do you even understand that?
— Mom said you’d find a way. You have a good job, a decent salary.
— Your mother is a thief and a fraud. And you’re the same. You betrayed me. Betrayed our marriage.
He completely lost control and tried to push me. I was ready. I stepped aside, he lost balance and fell to the floor.
— That’s how you talk to me?! After all these years of marriage!
— After all these years you decided to rob me! Put sleeping pills, forged documents, stole money. That’s how our relationship ended.
— I thought about our future. About living better.
— Your future. You didn’t even remember me. Otherwise you wouldn’t plan to leave me with nothing.
We yelled at each other, and it was clear the neighbors could hear everything. But I didn’t care. Let them know what kind of man I lived with all these years.
At that moment Vadim’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and turned pale:
— It’s mom.
— Answer, — I said. — Let her know that her “brilliant” plan failed.
He reluctantly picked up:
— Hello, mom… No, it didn’t work. She found out everything. About the documents, the money, and the trip.
He listened a few seconds, then answered:
— Okay, I understand. I’ll come.
Putting down the phone, he looked at me:
— Mom says we need to meet. Discuss the situation.
— Of course, — I smiled. — To see if you managed to rob me or are already planning a new escape?
— Maybe we can still talk calmly? — he tried to soften the situation.
— Do you really think after all this we’ll decide anything together?
— We are husband and wife.
— We were. Now you’re a thief and a fraud. And I’m your victim who fought back.
I started picking up my money from the floor. Vadim silently watched, wiping the blood from his nose from time to time.
— Get out of my house. Now, — I said, counting the bills.
— How “get out”? I have things here, documents. I’m registered here.
— Take only the essentials. I’ll put the rest on the stairway.
— You can’t kick me out. I’ve lived here for five years.
— I can. After what you did, I have all grounds to dissolve the marriage and evict you.
He tried to argue but saw the determination in my eyes — and realized it was useless. He went to the bedroom, started packing things into a bag. I watched to make sure he didn’t take anything important.
Half an hour later, he stood by the door looking like a beaten dog:
— Val… I know you’re angry. But think. We were together for so many years. Didn’t it mean anything?
— That’s why it hurts so much, — I answered, feeling a lump rise in my throat. — If you were just a robber from the street, it would be easier. But you were my husband. I trusted you with my whole life.
— I didn’t want to hurt you. Just circumstances…
— Circumstances? You planned to leave me without a home. That’s not pain?
— Mom said you’re strong. That you’d manage. That you’d find a way.
— Your mother was wrong. And so were you. Choosing her side over mine.
He opened the door:
— I’ll call tomorrow. Maybe we’ll talk when you cool down.
— Don’t call, — I interrupted. — There’s nothing left to talk about. And tell your mother: if I see her near my house — I’ll call the police.
The door slammed.
I was left alone in the apartment I almost lost. The silence after the storm was deafening. I sank onto the couch. Only then did I realize how much my hands were trembling.
But it was too early to rejoice. I knew Tamara Ivanovna would not sit idle. If she already paid for the Switzerland tour, they had an escape plan.
I had to act quickly.
I called the lawyer:
— Mikhail Sergeyevich, I have an emergency. My husband knows I discovered everything. They may try to flee.
— Understood. Need to urgently block possible financial transactions. Is there reason to believe they already transferred money?
— Yes. The mother-in-law bought a tour for 450 thousand. And today Vadim tried to steal 300 thousand from my stash. I have a recording of his confession.
— Good. I’m checking through my contacts whether she opened accounts to transfer funds abroad.
The next morning, I first went to the police. Filed a detailed report on fraud, attached photos of documents, coffee analysis, and Vadim’s audio confession.
The investigator, a middle-aged woman with attentive eyes, studied the materials:
— Serious case. We will open a criminal case under “Fraud on a particularly large scale.” But note: if the money is already abroad, it will be difficult to recover. If not yet gone — there is a chance. We will put them on the wanted list and block exit.
Leaving the department, I called the lawyer:
— Report filed. What news?
— Bad news. Tamara Ivanovna opened an account and transferred a large sum. Tickets for a month ahead but yesterday changed the dates — now flying tonight.
— Tonight? So they decided to flee. Can we block the transfer?
— Already contacted the bank. Account frozen. About tickets — info passed to the debtors’ service. But only if police manage to add them to the list in time.
I rushed to the department again, told the investigator about the escape attempt. She immediately contacted border guards and bailiffs.
— Information passed on. If they try to fly out — they will be detained.
I spent the whole day tense. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t work — just paced the apartment waiting for news. Every phone ring made my heart stop.
At eight p.m. the phone rang from Mikhail Sergeyevich:
— Valentina Gennadyevna, good news. They were detained at Domodedovo airport trying to fly to Zurich.
Tamara Ivanovna was detained at the airport with a large sum of cash and a package of forged apartment documents. Vadim was also taken into custody. Both gave testimonies. He confessed everything — and immediately started blaming his mother. I felt such relief I almost cried: they didn’t manage to escape. Justice will prevail after all.
The next day I was told the details. Tamara Ivanovna confessed everything. The plan to steal my apartment had been hatched since spring. She found the realtor, convinced Vadim to forge documents and get the income certificate. Even the zolpidem in coffee was her idea.
She wanted me to sleep soundly while formalities for the sale were done. She got the drug through a nurse acquaintance, inventing a story about insomnia. It turned out Elena Semyonovna Kotelnikova — the buyer in the contract — was a front. The real owner lived in Germany and planned to buy the apartment for her daughter, a student. The deal was arranged by Tamara Ivanovna, who contacted her online.
The money from the frozen account was fully returned to me — plus the 300 thousand from the stash. They managed to steal and transfer almost everything, but thanks to the quick actions of police and lawyer, the money came back.
A month later, I officially filed for divorce. Vadim didn’t object — he understood it was over between us. He didn’t even come to court, sending written consent. In the end, both were convicted of fraud on a large scale. Tamara Ivanovna got three years of penal colony settlement, Vadim — two years probation. The court considered that he acted under his mother’s influence and tried to retreat. Though what retreat? He already stole my money and planned to disappear. Just unlucky — I revealed their plan in time.
I was left alone in my apartment — the very one I almost lost because of the greed and cunning of the closest people. The first time was unbearably hard. My heart ached, I couldn’t sleep at night. How could I be so wrong about a person? How didn’t I notice I was living with a crook?
Every look, every word of his now seemed fake. Did he even love me? Or just used me? The most tormenting question was: “What if I hadn’t checked the documents? If I hadn’t searched his things?”
Lyuda helped. She came often, listened, said not all men are like that. Vadim is the exception, not the rule.
— Val, you can’t lose faith in people because of one scoundrel. Look at my Seryozha — he would never do that. Or Uncle Vasya — the most honest man.
I nodded but understood: trusting again would be very difficult. The lesson was too painful.
Over time, the pain began to subside. I realized I avoided a much greater misfortune. If not for my intuition and determination, I could have been left without home, money, and future. Vadim with his mother would live in Switzerland on my money.
People willing to ruin others’ lives for profit are better known by face — and discarded as soon as possible, not clinging to past years. Work helped distract. I dove into projects, started traveling more on business trips. Colleagues were surprised, then got used to it. The boss even offered a promotion:
— Valentina Gennadyevna, you show excellent results. How about the head of the department position?
I agreed. The new job demanded full dedication — just what I needed then. No time to think about the past when every day brought new challenges.
Six months after the divorce, I met Igor. He worked as an engineer in a construction company — calm, reliable, honest. We met at a corporate event, collaborated on a project. He was the complete opposite of Vadim — straightforward, responsible, never lied even about small things. He wasn’t interested in my finances, never asked for anything. When I told him my story, he only shook his head:
— How can you betray someone you trusted?
— You can, — I answered sadly. — Very much so.
I liked Igor but couldn’t fully trust him. The past taught me to be cautious. I moved the apartment documents to a bank safe. The stash was put in a separate account, about which no one — not even him — knew.
When he suggested moving in with me, I refused:
— My apartment is my safety. I won’t let anyone else in.
He was offended but didn’t insist. Later tried to bring up the topic again:
— We could make a prenuptial agreement. Specify the apartment stays yours.
— No, — I answered. — Documents can be forged. Trust is a luxury I can’t afford anymore.
Some think I’m too distrustful. Lyuda says:
— Val, you’re too focused on what happened. Not everyone is like Vadim.
Maybe she’s right. But I know one thing: better be cautious than become a victim again.
Two years passed since the divorce. Vadim married a woman from the internet, lives in her apartment, works as a courier. Tamara Ivanovna serves time in a penal colony settlement, expects to be released in a year. I don’t feel sorry for them. Everyone got what they deserved.
And I live my life. Work, travel, meet friends. Igor and I are still together — he no longer insists on living together. Maybe with time I’ll trust him. Or maybe not.
The main thing — I no longer let anyone control my life. My home, my money, my future — all belong only to me. And if someone thinks I’m too independent or distrustful — I know for sure: no one will betray me again, because I won’t give them the chance.
Trust is a luxury I can no longer afford. But confidence in tomorrow and a roof over my head — that’s what really matters.