Alina was standing by the window of her two-room apartment, watching the first snow slowly cover the courtyard. The building was old, with high ceilings and creaky parquet floors, but for Alina these walls were the most precious thing she had left from her grandmother. The old woman had passed away two years earlier, leaving her granddaughter not only a home, but also countless warm memories of evenings spent together in this very kitchen.
When Dmitry appeared in Alina’s life, everything happened quickly and unexpectedly. They met at work, started dating a month later, and six months after that they were already talking about marriage. Dmitry was courteous, attentive, knew how to court beautifully. Alina felt protected and needed by his side. But when it came to talking about living together, something inside her clicked.
“Your rented place isn’t bad at all,” Dmitry remarked the first time he came over. “Spacious. How much do you pay?”
Alina stayed silent then, saying only that the landlady was a distant relative and charged her a symbolic amount. Dmitry nodded, accepting the explanation without unnecessary questions. And Alina realized that she didn’t want to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to hear all those talks about who put which place in whose name, who paid for what, who was entitled to what. Her grandmother had left her the apartment, drawing up a deed of gift while still alive, and Alina had inherited the property without any problems. But why talk about it if you can simply live in peace?
After the wedding, Dmitry moved in with Alina. The wedding was modest, without much pomp, but full of genuine joy. Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Borisovna, accepted her daughter-in-law quite warmly, although she never missed a chance to throw in a remark or two about how the young couple ought to think about getting their own place.
“It’s good, of course, that you found such a nice rental,” the mother-in-law would say, looking around the rooms. “But it’s only temporary. You need to save up, take out a mortgage. Having your own place is a different story.”
Alina would listen and nod silently. Dmitry agreed with his mother, talking about the future, about how they would definitely buy a bigger apartment, maybe even a three-room one. Alina didn’t argue. Let them think they’re living in a rented place. Let them feel like temporary tenants who got lucky with the conditions.
A week after moving in, Dmitry brought up the subject of payments.
“Listen, let me pay half the rent,” her husband suggested. “That’s only fair. We live together, we pay together.”
Alina looked at her husband and slowly nodded.
“Okay.”
“How much is it a month? Fifteen? Twenty?”
“Eighteen,” Alina replied, naming the first number that came to mind.
“So that’s nine thousand each,” Dmitry concluded. “Sounds good. I’ll transfer it now.”
Alina opened her banking app and accepted the transfer. Nine thousand rubles appeared in her account. Her husband looked very pleased with himself, as if he had done something noble. Alina didn’t say that there was no rent at all, that this money was just moving from one pocket of the family budget to another. Why ruin his mood?
Lyudmila Borisovna came to visit once a week. She brought pastries, asked about how things were going, gave housekeeping advice. Most often the conversations came down to how lucky the young couple were with their place.
“Just look what an apartment you managed to rent,” the mother-in-law would repeat, scanning the rooms. “Spacious, bright. And probably not too expensive?”
“Quite affordable,” Alina would answer without going into details.
“The landlady must be some old lady, right?” Lyudmila wouldnovna would press on. “They usually take things easier, don’t skin you alive.”
“A distant relative,” Alina explained briefly.
Her mother-in-law would nod, satisfied, and move on to other topics. Dmitry paid no attention to these conversations. He was sure he was living in a rented apartment, honestly paying his half and diligently fulfilling his duties as the head of the family. Alina watched this little performance with mild curiosity. She was interested in seeing how long their confidence in their own generosity would last.
The months went by. Dmitry regularly transferred nine thousand, and Alina accepted the money without comment. Sometimes her husband would muse aloud that it would be nice to start saving up for a down payment on a mortgage, but things never progressed beyond idle talk. Life flowed calmly and evenly, without any major upheavals.
By the end of winter, everything changed. Dmitry was coming home from work when he ran into a neighbor from the third floor in the entranceway — Tamara Ivanovna. The elderly woman had known Alina’s grandmother since Soviet times, and after her death had more than once helped the granddaughter with practical advice.
“Hello, Dmitry,” she greeted him. “How are you? How’s little Alina?”
“Hello. Everything’s fine, thank you.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad you two got married,” the neighbor continued. “Alina needed a good person beside her. After her grandmother died, she was left all alone in this apartment. It’s good that you let her move in, that you didn’t get greedy.”
Dmitry froze on the spot.
“Excuse me, what?”
“Well, it’s your apartment,” Tamara Ivanovna said, looking at him in surprise. “Her grandmother passed it on to Alina while she was still alive. Everyone in the building knows that. Valentina Petrovna was so smart, she arranged everything in advance so that her granddaughter wouldn’t have any trouble later.”
“Her grandmother… passed it on?” Dmitry repeated slowly.
“Well, yes. About three years ago, I think. Or two? I don’t remember exactly. The main thing is that Alina is the owner now. It’s a nice apartment, by the way. Layout like this is rare in our building.”
Tamara Ivanovna smiled and walked farther up the stairs. Dmitry stayed standing by the elevator, trying to process what he had just heard. The apartment… wasn’t rented? Alina… was the owner? Then what was this whole rent performance about?
He went up to their floor and stopped in front of the door. His hand reached for the keys, but he paused. Something heavy and unpleasant was boiling up inside. Dmitry had always been proud that he paid honestly for housing, that he wasn’t living at someone else’s expense. And now it turned out he’d been led by the nose for over a year? That the money he’d been transferring to Alina wasn’t going anywhere at all?
He opened the door and walked into the apartment. Alina was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. She turned at the sound of footsteps and smiled.
“Hi. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Alina,” Dmitry’s voice came out harsher than he’d intended. “We need to talk.”
His wife put down the spoon and turned to him. From his face it was clear that a serious conversation was coming.
“What happened?”
“I met Tamara Ivanovna in the stairwell,” Dmitry began. “The neighbor from the third floor.”
Alina tensed. Everything inside her went cold.
“And?”
“She told me something very interesting,” he went on. “She thanked me for letting you into my apartment. My apartment. Your grandmother’s apartment that she left to you.”
Alina exhaled slowly. So here it was. A whole year of silence ended with one random encounter in the stairwell.
“Dmitry…”
“So the apartment is yours?” he cut her off. “Not a rental, but your own?”
“Yes.”
“And you kept quiet about it for a year?”
“I did.”
“Why?” Dmitry took a step closer. “Why did you take money from me for rent that doesn’t exist? Why did you lie?”
“I didn’t lie,” Alina replied calmly. “You decided on your own that the apartment was rented. I just didn’t argue.”
“You didn’t argue?” her husband gave a sarcastic laugh. “You collected money from me for a year! Nine thousand every month! That’s more than a hundred thousand over the year!”
“That money stayed in the family,” Alina pointed out. “It didn’t go anywhere.”
“That’s not the point!” Dmitry raised his voice. “The point is the deceit! Did you think I was an idiot who’d never figure it out?”
Alina looked him straight in the eye.
“I didn’t think you were an idiot. I just didn’t want those conversations. About who’s more important, who put in more, who owes whom. My grandmother left the apartment to me, it’s my inheritance. And I had every right not to tell anyone about it.”
“We’re husband and wife!” Dmitry protested. “We’re not supposed to have secrets!”
“We don’t have secrets,” Alina replied evenly. “I have personal property acquired before the marriage. By law I wasn’t obliged to report it to you.”
Her husband fell silent. Formally, Alina was right. But that only made things worse.
Dmitry left then, slamming the door. Alina stayed alone in the kitchen, listening to the silence. The pot on the stove had long since gone cold, but she wasn’t hungry anyway. She understood that this conversation was only the beginning.
The next evening Dmitry came back. His face was flushed, his eyes burning with anger. Alina was sitting in the room when her husband burst into the apartment and stopped in the hallway.
“I’ve been thinking all night,” Dmitry began, talking quickly and stumbling over his words. “Thinking how you could do this. A year! A whole year you kept quiet! You made a fool out of me in front of everyone!”
“In front of whom?” Alina asked calmly.
“In front of everyone! The neighbors, my mother! I was paying rent! I was proud I wasn’t living off anyone! And you… you just took the money and said nothing!”
Alina got up and walked to the window. Outside, twilight was settling, tinting the snow a bluish color.
“That’s not how you behave in a family,” Dmitry went on. “Family is about trust. And you lied to me every day!”
“I never lied to anyone,” she objected, without turning around. “You came up with a story and believed in it. I just didn’t argue.”
“It’s the same thing!” Dmitry took a step closer. “You knew the truth and stayed silent! That’s a lie!”
His wife slowly turned and looked him in the eye.
“You want the truth? Here it is.”
Alina went into the bedroom and opened a drawer in the dresser. She took out a folder with documents and came back into the room. She carefully laid the papers on the table in front of Dmitry.
“Certificate of ownership,” Alina explained calmly. “Date of issue — three years ago. Long before we met. Deed of gift from my grandmother. Everything’s legal, everything’s clean.”
Dmitry took the document with trembling hands. His eyes ran over the lines, seeing his wife’s name, the date, the seals. His face went pale. He put the paper back on the table and suddenly laughed — a nervous, angry laugh, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
“So all this time…” Dmitry shook his head. “All this time you were playing with me?”
“I wasn’t playing,” Alina answered evenly. “I was watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Who you really are.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t need your money. I have a job, I have housing, I have everything I need. But I needed to understand who was next to me — a partner or someone for whom this setup is just convenient.”
“What are you talking about?” Dmitry frowned.
“You never once asked what I needed,” Alina continued. “You never wondered if I had enough money, if it was hard for me to handle everything alone. You just decided that paying your half was enough. You felt generous and noble. But in reality you were just living in a ready-made space, not thinking about anything.”
“I transferred money!” her husband protested. “Every month!”
“You transferred nine thousand that you thought was rent,” Alina corrected him. “And who paid the utility bills? Who dealt with the repairs when the pipe burst in the bathroom? Who bought the new fridge? I did. I handled it all. But you didn’t even notice, because you were sure you’d already done your part.”
Dmitry was silent. Her words were settling in his head like a heavy weight. The utilities… Alina had always said they were included in the rent. The repair… He remembered the burst pipe, but Alina had told him the landlady would cover it. The fridge… Yes, the old one broke, a new one appeared, but Dmitry had never wondered how.
“I thought…” he began, then trailed off.
“You thought everything was conveniently arranged,” she finished for him. “And that was enough for you. And when you learned the truth, the first thing that came to your mind was to accuse me of deceiving you. You didn’t think why I kept quiet. You didn’t try to understand. You just decided you’d been wronged.”
“And isn’t that what happened?” Dmitry was still trying to cling to his sense of being right.
“No,” Alina replied calmly. “It’s not. I gave you a chance to show who you are. And you did. You chose the role of the generous benefactor helping a poor girl with her rent. And when you found out there was no rent, you got angry not because I kept quiet, but because your role turned out to be unnecessary.”
Her husband stood silently, digesting her words. Everything inside him was boiling, but he couldn’t find the right things to say. Alina, meanwhile, was calmer than ever. Calm and sure of herself. And Dmitry suddenly felt small, foolish, caught in something ugly.
“I won’t stay here,” he finally forced out. “I’m not going to live with someone who doesn’t respect me.”
“I’m not keeping you,” Alina replied.
Dmitry turned and went into the bedroom. He took a large bag out of the wardrobe and started packing his things. Alina stood in the doorway, watching him pack. Her husband was silent, angry, shoving clothes into the bag, but he didn’t try even once to start the conversation over.
When he was finished, Dmitry took out his phone and called his mother.
“Mom, I’m coming to you,” he said. “I’ll explain now… No, it’s bad. Yes, with Alina… Okay, I’ll wait.”
Lyudmila Borisovna arrived an hour later. She walked into the apartment like someone coming into battle. She saw her son with a bag in his hand and immediately understood that something serious had happened.
“Dima, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Mom, let’s go,” Dmitry answered shortly. “I’ll explain on the way.”
His mother looked over at Alina. Her daughter-in-law was standing by the window, calm and detached.
“What did you do?” the mother-in-law couldn’t hold back. “Dima is all worked up!”
“Everything’s fine, Lyudmila Borisovna,” Alina said evenly. “Your son just found out that the apartment is mine, not rented. And he’s very offended.”
Her mother-in-law froze.
“Yours?”
“Mine. From my grandmother. Long ago.”
“And you… kept quiet?”
“I did,” Alina confirmed.
Lyudmila looked at her son, then back at her daughter-in-law. Her face slowly flushed with anger.
“So you laughed at us all year?” her voice trembled with indignation. “My son was paying for your apartment, and you said nothing?!”
“Your son was paying for the illusion of his own generosity,” Alina replied calmly. “And I just didn’t talk him out of it.”
“Let’s go, Mom,” Dmitry picked up his bag and headed to the door. “Didn’t I always say she deserved better? I always said it.”
His mother followed him. At the door she turned and threw:
“You’ll regret this. You’ve just lost a husband like him.”
Alina didn’t answer. The door closed, cutting off their voices in the stairwell. She went into the hallway, slid the deadbolt and turned off the light. She stood for a while in the dark, listening to the silence.
The apartment was the same — high ceilings, creaky parquet, wide windows. But now it felt somehow easier to breathe. For the first time in a long while, Alina’s home was truly quiet again. Quiet and peaceful. No tension, no need to watch every word, no more playing roles.
She went back into the room and picked up the certificate of ownership from the table. Her grandmother had done the deed of gift when Alina was still at university. Back then it had seemed like a mere formality, just a document. And now that document had spared her endless arguments, claims, and attempts to split something that had never been shared to begin with.
She put the papers back in the drawer and went into the kitchen. She sat down at the table and poured herself some water. Outside, the snow was falling, covering the city with a soft white blanket. Alina watched the scene and thought about how sometimes silence is the best way to find out the truth about a person. Dmitry had shown who he really was, without embellishment or illusions. He’d shown it — and then left, unable to bear the collision with reality.
Her phone buzzed. A message from a friend: “How are you? We haven’t texted in ages!”
Alina smiled and started typing a reply. She was doing fine. Maybe, for the first time in a long while, truly fine. She was no longer playing anyone else’s games, no longer bending to other people’s expectations, no longer keeping quiet just to keep the peace. She was simply living in her own home, which had been hers from beginning to end.
The snow outside kept falling, covering the courtyards and rooftops. The apartment was warm and quiet. Alina finished her water, turned off the light in the kitchen, and went to the bedroom. She lay down, pulled the blanket over herself, and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would be a new day. A day without unnecessary roles, without fake gratitude, without having to justify what rightfully belonged to her. Just a day. Just life. And that was enough