A sharp ring at the door slashed through the mourning silence of my apartment. Forty days hadn’t even passed since Kostya’s funeral; I still hadn’t learned how to breathe without him—yet my mother-in-law, Larisa Grigoryevna, was already standing on the threshold. Not alone. Beside her was a hunched man with a briefcase. She didn’t even glance at my tear-swollen face. Instead of condolences, she used an icy, proprietorial tone:
“Galochka, this is a notary. We’ve come to transfer the apartment. Kostya always said it would go to me. So pack your things.”
Forty days. Galina stared at Kostya’s photograph and couldn’t believe it. Forty days without his laughter, without his warm hands, without that quiet “I’m home.” The apartment they had built together like a little nest had turned into an echoing tomb filled with silence and memories. Every cup in the kitchen, every book on the shelf screamed of him.
A tragic, absurd accident. In a single moment her world collapsed. And in that collapsed world, the only person who didn’t comfort her—who seemed to be waiting for something—was her mother-in-law, Larisa Grigoryevna.
Right after the funeral, she began her attacks. First came the insinuating phone calls.
“Galochka, how are you doing? All alone, are you? Kostyenka worried about me so much… He always said, ‘Mom, you’re all I’ve got—I’ll take care of you.’ Such a golden son, unlike some people…”
Galina stayed silent, gripping the receiver until her knuckles hurt. She knew what her mother-in-law was driving at. Larisa Grigoryevna had been performing this dance on bones for ten years, since the day of Kostya and Galina’s wedding. She had never accepted that her son—her only boy—now belonged to another woman. She always saw Galina as a freeloader, a crafty provincial girl who had “snared” her Moscow prince along with his apartment.
The apartment had been Kostya’s. He’d inherited it from his grandmother before he ever met Galina. But the renovation, the warmth, the soul—those were things they’d poured into it together. Galina remembered how they argued themselves hoarse over the color of the bedroom wallpaper, and then, laughing, smeared paint on each other. This was their home.
The phone rang again. The screen lit up: “Mother-in-law.” Galina took a deep breath and answered.
“Galia, I hope you’re slowly packing your things,” Larisa Grigoryevna began without preamble, her tone cold as ice. “You need to move somewhere, don’t you. You can’t live your whole life in someone else’s apartment.”
Galina’s breath caught.
“What…? Wh-what things? Larisa Grigoryevna, what are you talking about? Kostya’s only been gone a month…”
“So what? Life doesn’t stop!” her mother-in-law snapped. “Kostya always said that if anything happened, the apartment would go to me. That was his will. He was a decent son. So let’s do this without drama. Tomorrow I’m coming with a notary so we can formalize everything properly. Be home.”
The line went dead with short beeps. Galina sank to the floor. A notary? Formalize? She barges into her grief, into her pain, in heavy boots—and demands she vacate the place. No, this wasn’t dancing on bones anymore.
It was a declaration of war.
And in that second Galina understood: she would no longer be the silent, obedient daughter-in-law. She would fight. For her home. For Kostya’s memory.
The next day, exactly at noon, a sharp, demanding ring sounded at the door. Galina knew who it was. She opened it.
Larisa Grigoryevna stood on the threshold dressed in black, but with the expression of someone arriving not for a memorial, but to take possession of an estate. Beside her stood a hunched man in a worn suit, a briefcase in his hands.
“Good afternoon,” her mother-in-law drawled with an icy smirk as she brushed past Galina into the apartment. “This is Andrey Viktorovich, a notary. We’ve come to settle the formalities.”
“What formalities?” Galina asked quietly but firmly, closing the door. “Legal inheritance is processed after six months.”
“Well, aren’t you clever,” Larisa Grigoryevna snorted, running a possessive hand along the dresser. “Dusty, Galochka. You’ve let the place go.” She turned back to Galina. “For some people it’s six months, and for others everything is obvious. I have all the documents. Kostya left the apartment to me.”
With theatrical flair she unfastened her handbag and pulled out a thick folder.
“Here! It’s all here! Kostya’s old will from ten years ago, and the deed of gift we discussed…”
“We won’t discuss anything with you until the will is officially read,” Galina cut in. Her voice trembled, but she held her ground. “And I don’t understand why you brought this man.”
The notary, who had been silent until then, coughed awkwardly.
“Larisa Grigoryevna, I explained… A private consultation is one thing, but official actions can only be taken in the proper legal procedure.”
“Be quiet, Andrey Viktorovich!” the mother-in-law barked at him. “You’re here to arrange paperwork, not give advice! Galina, I don’t want a scandal. Just understand this: you are nobody here. A wife is one today, another tomorrow—but a mother is sacred. Kostya understood that. He wanted me to live here in my old age.”
She spoke as if Galina were empty air. As if ten years of a happy marriage had never existed.
“He loved me!” Galina cried out, unable to hold it in. Tears burst from her eyes. “We were happy! And you… you tried your whole life to break us up! You hated me!”
“Hated you?” Larisa Grigoryevna fluttered her hands theatrically. “Sweetheart, I simply never noticed you. You were an annoying mistake in my son’s life. And now that mistake will be corrected. The apartment is mine. Andrey Viktorovich, draw up the transfer and acceptance act!”
“I won’t draw up anything!” the notary protested. “That’s illegal!”
“Then get out of here!” Galina shouted, pointing to the door. “Both of you! Out of my house!”
“Yours?!” her mother-in-law shrieked, her face twisting with rage. “You vile creature! You dare tell me what to do?! I’ll—”
She raised her hand, but Galina didn’t step back. She looked straight into the eyes of the woman who had poisoned her life for years and felt grief melt into cold, hard resolve.
“I’m giving you a week,” Larisa Grigoryevna hissed, lowering her arm. Her face was purple with fury. “One week to pack your junk and get out of here. Otherwise I’ll call the police and throw you out into the street like a stray dog!”
“On what grounds?” Galina’s voice was strangely calm. All fear had evaporated. “This is my home. I am Konstantin’s wife.”
“Was his wife!” her mother-in-law sneered. “Now you’re a widow. A poor widow. And this is my son’s apartment—and he left it to me! He promised me personally! On the day of your wedding he said, ‘Mom, no matter what happens, you won’t end up on the street.’”
Galina gave a bitter smile. She remembered that day. Larisa Grigoryevna had caused a horrific scene, called her a predator, and then sobbed on Kostya’s shoulder, complaining that he was abandoning her. He probably said something to comfort her—something that manipulative woman twisted to her advantage.
“Promises can’t be stitched into a case file, Larisa Grigoryevna. There’s the law. And there’s a will—which we’ll learn about in due time.”
Larisa Grigoryevna’s face flickered. For a second uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but she smothered it with a fresh wave of anger.
“He didn’t take care of you—because he knew you’d trick him! Rob him! He complained to me, said you only think about money and the apartment!”
It was a lie. A filthy, brazen lie. Kostya would never have said that. They lived in harmony. Yes, they fought sometimes, like anyone—but they always made up. He loved her, and she knew it.
That lie was the last straw.
“Enough,” Galina cut her off. “I don’t want to listen to your lies anymore. I told you: leave. We’ll handle every question with a notary when the time comes. And if you show up at my door again with threats, I’ll call the police.”
“You… you’re threatening me?!” the mother-in-law choked.
“I’m warning you,” Galina answered firmly. “Your little performance is over. You won’t get this apartment. Because Kostya loved me. He lived with me—and he ran from you, because you suffocated him with your ‘love’ his whole life. Now leave.”
Larisa Grigoryevna froze with her mouth open. She hadn’t expected such resistance from her quiet, compliant daughter-in-law. She glared at Galina with hatred, then spun around, grabbed the shocked notary by the arm, and stormed out, slamming the door behind them.
Galina was alone. She slid down the wall to the floor and sobbed. But these weren’t tears of grief—they were tears of rage and release.
Six months passed. Six long, agonizing months of waiting. Larisa Grigoryevna didn’t appear again, but Galina felt her invisible presence. Her mother-in-law called mutual acquaintances, complained about the “black widow” who kicked her out of her son’s apartment. She spread dirty rumors. Galina tried not to listen, but it was hard.
Then the day came: the reading of the will.
Galina arrived at the notary’s office half an hour early. She sat in the waiting room, clutching her purse in cold fingers. Her heart pounded so hard it felt ready to jump out of her chest.
The door opened, and Larisa Grigoryevna walked in. She wore an elegant pantsuit; on her face sat a confident, contemptuous smile. She shot Galina a triumphant look and sat opposite, crossing her legs with exaggerated ease.
“Well, Galochka? Ready to be evicted?” she hissed. “Hope your suitcases are packed.”
Galina didn’t answer—she only gripped her purse tighter.
They were invited into the office. The notary, an older, respectable man, asked them to sit and began the official procedure. He spoke in a dry, monotonous voice, reading standard legal language. Larisa Grigoryevna impatiently tapped her fingers on the desk. Galina sat motionless, like a statue.
“…And now we proceed to the reading of the will made by citizen Orlov Konstantin Igorevich,” the notary said, and opened a thick envelope.
He put on his glasses and began to read.
“‘I, Orlov Konstantin Igorevich, being of sound mind and clear memory, hereby decree the following… All my property which at the day of my death belongs to me, whatever it may consist of and wherever it may be located, including but not limited to the apartment located at the address…’”
The notary named the address of the apartment Galina had shared with Kostya. Her heart stopped. Larisa Grigoryevna leaned forward, her eyes shining with greed.
“‘…I bequeath to my beloved and only wife, Orlova Galina Petrovna.’”
The silence in the office became deafening. Galina lifted her eyes to the notary, unable to believe her ears. Larisa Grigoryevna froze, her mouth half open. Color flooded her face.
“What?” she rasped. “This… this is some mistake! I have another will! He couldn’t—”
“Please don’t interrupt,” the notary said sternly, and continued. “‘In a separate clause I wish to make provisions concerning my mother, Orlova Larisa Grigoryevna…’”
Her mother-in-law jumped up.
“There! There! Now he’ll explain everything! That he was just joking!”
The notary fixed her with a heavy gaze and, slowly, clearly, read the next lines.
“‘…concerning my mother, Orlova Larisa Grigoryevna,’” the notary repeated, looking over his glasses at the woman who had gone white. “‘I, Orlov Konstantin Igorevich, fully and unconditionally deprive her of the right to inherit any of my property by law.’”
The blow was so strong Larisa Grigoryevna swayed and collapsed back into the chair.
“How… deprive?”
“That isn’t all,” the notary said, returning to the document. “Konstantin Igorevich left an explanatory letter which he requested be read aloud without exception.”
He cleared his throat and began reading the handwritten text. Galina recognized Kostya’s handwriting immediately.
“Mom. If you’re hearing this now, it means I’m gone. And it means you came to divide up my property, sure it belongs to you by right. I’m writing this not out of anger, but out of deep bitterness. I always loved you, but your love was suffocating. You never saw me as a separate person—only as your possession.
When I met Galya, for the first time in my life I became truly happy. I found my home, my family. And you did everything to destroy it. Your endless manipulation, lies, intrigues, your attempts to turn me against her… You poisoned ten years of our life. You told me she didn’t love me, that she only wanted money and the apartment. But the only person who ever spoke about my apartment was you, Mom.
Galya is my life. She was with me in joy and in sorrow; she supported me when I wanted to give up; she created the warmth in our home that you always called ‘mine.’ She never asked me for anything.
That is why I leave everything I have to her. This isn’t just an inheritance. It is my gratitude, my love, and my attempt to protect her from you even after my death. I know you won’t leave her alone. But this home is her fortress.
My last request to you, Mom: leave her in peace. Let her live. Goodbye.”
When the notary finished, a dead silence hung in the room for several seconds. Galina cried openly. These were tears of gratitude, love, and endless longing for a husband who had understood her so deeply.
And then the silence was torn apart by a wild, animal scream.
“LIES! IT’S ALL LIES!” Larisa Grigoryevna shrieked, springing out of the chair. Her face was twisted with furious disbelief. “She set this up! That witch! She drugged him, bewitched him! He couldn’t have written this! He loved me!”
She lunged for the notary’s desk, trying to snatch the papers from him.
“You’re all in on it! How much did she pay you?! I’ll file complaints! I’ll take you to court! I’ll prove it’s a forgery!”
“Calm down, citizen Orlova!” the notary said sharply, pushing her hand away. “The will is certified according to all legal requirements. The authenticity of Konstantin Igorevich’s signature has been confirmed. Your actions may be deemed disorderly conduct.”
“Disorderly conduct?!” Larisa Grigoryevna screeched, turning on Galina, her eyes flashing. “This is all your fault! You stole my son from me, and now you’ve stolen his apartment! Curse you! May you never have peace in that house! May every corner remind you of him, may your heart tear itself apart!”
Galina stood. She wiped her tears and looked her mother-in-law straight in the eyes.
“It already does. Every corner. And I’m grateful for that,” she said quietly but firmly. “And you… I feel sorry for you. You lost your son twice. First—when you tried to destroy his happiness. And now—finally. You’re left with nothing not because I stole anything, but because there is nothing in your heart except greed and spite.”
Those words struck Larisa Grigoryevna harder than any scream. She froze, her face turning ash-gray. She stared at Galina with such fierce hatred that Galina felt a chill.
“I’ll destroy you,” she whispered. “I swear…”
She turned sharply and, swaying, walked to the exit. The office door slammed with a crash.
Galina slowly sank into her chair. It was over. The war that had lasted ten years had ended. She had won.
But there was no joy—only a ringing emptiness, and boundless gratitude to her husband, who had managed to protect her even from beyond the grave.
“Orlova Galina Petrovna,” the notary called gently, bringing her out of her stupor. “My condolences… and my congratulations. You’ll need to sign the documents to enter into the inheritance.”
Galina took the pen. Her hand no longer trembled.
Almost a year had passed since that day at the notary’s office. Galina was slowly returning to life. She rearranged the furniture, changed the curtains, bought a new couch. She needed the apartment to stop being a mausoleum and become a living home again. Kostya’s photo still stood in the most prominent place, but now she looked at it with a bright sadness rather than raw pain.
Larisa Grigoryevna kept her “promise.” She tried to sue, contesting the will; she hired lawyers; she sent complaints to every possible authority. But it was all futile. The law was on Galina’s side. After several failed attempts, her mother-in-law went quiet. Galina heard from mutual acquaintances that she’d sold her tiny apartment on the outskirts and moved to some distant relative in another city. She never appeared in Galina’s life again.
One evening Galina was sorting through Kostya’s old papers, and in one of the boxes she found a notebook. It was his diary, kept during the first year they lived together. With her heart pounding, Galina opened it.
On one page she read:
“Today Mom caused another scandal. She says Galya is using me. How can she not understand? Before Galya, I wasn’t living at all. I existed. And now I live. I breathe. And if I ever have to choose between Mom’s peace and happiness with Galya, I’ll choose Galya. Always. I have to protect her. From everyone. And first of all—from my own mother.”
Tears rose again, but they were warm, bright tears. He understood. He had always understood.
Galina closed the diary and went to the window. Beyond it the evening city hummed—lights burned, life flowed. She was alone, but she no longer felt lonely. Love lived in her heart, and behind her stood an unbreakable wall her husband had built for her.
She took a deep breath. A new life lay ahead.
Her life.
And she knew she would manage. For herself. And in his memory.