A February morning had turned out brutally cold. Alla stood at the stove making breakfast when she caught Viktor Pavlovich’s voice drifting in from the living room. He was talking to Konstantin—her husband—and the tone immediately struck her as wrong.
“ Kostya, son, let’s speak seriously,” Viktor Pavlovich said, clearing his throat. “You understand I’m not a young man anymore. I’m seventy-two. And I want to feel secure about tomorrow.”
“Dad, what are you talking about?” Konstantin asked, setting his tablet aside.
“Your mother’s apartment. The one on Tverskaya. After she died, it should have gone to me, but in the paperwork… there’s been some kind of mix-up.”
Alla’s shoulders tightened. Her late mother-in-law’s apartment really had been registered in her and Konstantin’s names in equal shares five years earlier, when Maria Sergeyevna fell seriously ill. That had been Maria’s decision—she wanted the young family to have a home of their own.
“What mix-up, Dad? Everything was done correctly,” Konstantin replied cautiously.
“DON’T INTERRUPT!” Viktor Pavlovich snapped. “I’m telling you—there’s a mistake. Your wife was never supposed to get half. This is family property, you understand? FAMILY. And who is she to us? A stranger!”
Alla nearly dropped the frying pan. For eight years of marriage she’d believed she was part of this family. She’d raised two children, and she’d cared for her ill mother-in-law until the very end.
“Dad, Alla is my wife. Mom decided it herself…”
“Your mother was sick! She didn’t understand what she was doing!” Viktor Pavlovich rapped his cane against the floor. “That apartment is worth millions! MILLIONS! And half of it belongs to some… daughter-in-law!”
“Let’s not do this…”
“We will,” the old man cut in, pushing himself up from his chair. “Let your wife sign a waiver of her share. Voluntarily. Better yet—transfer everything into my name. And this apartment you live in, too. I’m your father, I won’t wrong you. But the documents must be correct!”
Alla turned off the burner and walked into the living room. Viktor Pavlovich curled his lip when he saw her.
“Oh, you showed up. Eavesdropping?”
“I was making breakfast, Viktor Pavlovich. You speak loudly.”
“That’s better,” he said sharply, facing her. “So you heard. Good. Tomorrow you go to a notary and sign the waiver. Understood?”
“A waiver of what?” Alla kept her voice calm with effort.
“Don’t play dumb! The apartment! The one you got by ‘some misunderstanding’!”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. Maria Sergeyevna—”
“SILENCE!” her father-in-law roared. “You wormed your way into a sick woman’s trust! You manipulated her! And now you’re acting innocent!”
Konstantin tried to step in.
“Dad, don’t talk to Alla like that…”
“And you’re a doormat,” Viktor Pavlovich spat, poking him with the cane. “You let your wife handle family assets! Your grandfather would be rolling in his grave!”
That same evening Viktor Pavlovich returned with backup—his sister Raisa Pavlovna and his nephew Igor. Alla was putting the children to bed when she heard noise in the entryway.
“Where’s that greedy thief?” Raisa Pavlovna bellowed. “Where’s the woman who robbed our family?”
Alla came out of the kids’ room, closing the door firmly behind her.
“Hello, Raisa Pavlovna.”
“DON’T YOU ‘HELLO’ ME!” Raisa screamed, swinging her handbag. “You stole a sick Masha’s apartment! Shameless!”
“I didn’t steal anything. Maria Sergeyevna decided it herself—”
“Herself, sure,” Igor cut in. “You probably talked the old lady into it. Maybe you even slipped her something so she’d think worse!”
“Are you stupid temporarily, or is it a permanent condition?” Alla said with a cold smile. “I cared for my mother-in-law for three years. I didn’t sleep at night. I changed diapers. I fed her with a spoon.”
“For the apartment,” Raisa hissed, stabbing a finger at her. “You were working for your payoff. Waiting for the old woman to die so it would all be yours!”
Konstantin sat on the couch, silent. Alla looked at him, hoping he would defend her, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Kostya, why are you quiet?” she asked.
“Alla… maybe they’re right,” he muttered. “Maybe we should think about it… Dad needs it.”
“What?!” Alla’s voice rose. “You’re telling me to give up what your mother chose for us?”
“She didn’t ‘choose’ it—you tricked her into signing!” Raisa shrieked. “Igoryok, tell her!”
Igor, who worked at some law office, cleared his throat with importance.
“Legally, yes, it’s all filed correctly. But morally… Alla, you understand the apartment should stay in the family.”
“I’ve been in this family for eight years,” Alla said, fists clenched. “I have two children with Konstantin. Or are the kids and I not family to you?”
“The kids are family. You’re an outsider,” Viktor Pavlovich said flatly. “And stop the hysteria. Tomorrow morning you’re going to the notary. Igor will handle everything.”
“No!” Alla stamped her foot. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not signing anything!”
“Oh, is that so?!” Viktor Pavlovich slammed his cane down. “Then we’ll talk differently. Kostya—either her, or me. Choose.”
Konstantin got up, stepped toward his wife.
“Alla, come on, let’s not fight… Just sign the papers and that’s it.”
“Go to hell,” Alla snapped. “You and your precious father.”
The room went dead silent. Raisa gasped, Igor let out a low whistle, and Viktor Pavlovich turned crimson.
“How dare you speak to your husband like that, you trash?!” he shouted. “Kostya, throw her out! Now!”
The next morning Alla woke up in an empty bed. Konstantin had left early without a word. The children ate breakfast quietly—the scandal from last night had reached them, even though Alla had tried to keep her voice down.
“Mom, is Grandpa not coming anymore?” seven-year-old Nastya asked.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“And why did Dad leave so early?”
Alla didn’t get to answer—the doorbell rang. Igor stood on the threshold with a folder of documents.
“Alla, I’ve prepared everything. All you need to do is sign.”
“Are you hard of hearing? I said NO.”
“Listen,” Igor lowered his voice. “Viktor Pavlovich is stubborn. He’ll get his way one way or another. Kostya has practically agreed to divorce you if you keep resisting.”
“Divorce?!” Alla went pale.
“What did you expect? His father threatened to cut him out of the inheritance. Viktor Pavlovich has two more apartments and a dacha. Kostya isn’t stupid enough to lose millions for you.”
“Get out. Leave. NOW.”
“Think about it until evening,” Igor said, setting the folder on the entryway table. “Viktor Pavlovich is giving you until tomorrow. After that, it’ll be too late.”
When the door shut behind him, Alla called Konstantin. Long rings—then voicemail. She tried again—his phone was off.
That evening Konstantin came home half drunk, reeking of cognac.
“Where were you?” Alla asked.
“With Dad and Igor. Discussing… business.”
“What business? My future?”
“Alla, don’t start. Sign the papers and we’ll forget it.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Alla exploded. “That’s our children’s home! Your mother wanted them to have somewhere to live!”
“They’ll have a home. Dad promised.”
“Your father will promise anything to get his hands on property! Can’t you see it? He’s just a greedy old man!”
Konstantin grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Don’t you dare talk about my father like that! He’s right—you’re a stranger. Always have been. You stuck to our family like a burr!”
Alla slapped him. Konstantin staggered back, rubbing his cheek.
“There,” he hissed. “Now you’ve shown your true face. Dad was right—you’re a gold digger.”
“May the devil take you!” Alla shouted. “For eight years I put up with your partying! Your indifference! I gave birth to your children, cared for your mother—and this is my thanks?”
“Tomorrow morning you’ll sign,” Konstantin said, heading to the bedroom. “Or pack your things.”
That night Alla didn’t sleep. She sat in the kitchen with tea, thinking. How had it come to this? Eight years, two children—and she was still “a stranger”? Maria Sergeyevna—may she rest in peace—had been the only person in that family who treated her like a human being. That was exactly why she’d left Alla half the apartment—she’d known the relatives would try to push the daughter-in-law out.
At dawn, pounding started on the door. Alla opened it to find Viktor Pavlovich, Raisa Pavlovna, Igor, and a man in a suit she didn’t recognize.
“This is the notary,” Viktor Pavlovich announced. “You’ll sign right now.”
“And why would I?” Alla blocked the doorway. “Get out of my home.”
“This is OUR home!” Raisa shrieked. “Kostya! Kostya, come out!”
Konstantin appeared from the bedroom, rumpled from last night.
“Alla, stop being stubborn. Sign.”
“No. And NO again.” Alla shoved the notary back. “Go to hell, all of you.”
“You filthy—” Viktor Pavlovich raised his cane.
Alla snatched the cane from his hand and hurled it into the stairwell.
“One more word and I’m calling the police,” she said, voice shaking with rage. “I have all the paperwork. The apartment is in my name legally. And you’re forcing your way in and threatening me.”
“It’s not your home!” Viktor Pavlovich screamed.
“IT IS,” Alla fired back. “Half of it is mine. And it belongs to my children, too.” She grabbed her phone. “I’m dialing emergency services right now and telling them burglars broke into my apartment.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Raisa lunged for the phone.
“Oh, I absolutely would.” Alla was already pressing the numbers. “Hello? Police? There are people in my apartment—”
“Stop!” Konstantin ripped the phone from her hand. “No police!”
“Then get out. All of you—OUT!” Alla shouted so loudly the children woke up. “OUT OF MY HOME. NOW!”
Nastya ran out of the kids’ room in tears.
“Mommy, what’s happening?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” Alla said, forcing herself to soften. “Grandpa and Auntie are leaving.”
“We’ll be back,” Viktor Pavlovich threatened, backing toward the door. “You’ll regret this, you trash!”
“Get lost, you greedy old man,” Alla spat. “And forget the way to this house.”
The notary, who had been silent the whole time, finally cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I must remind you that coercing someone into signing documents is a criminal offense,” he said coolly. “As a notary, I’m obligated to testify if this ends up in court.”
Viktor Pavlovich went white.
“What are you saying? We’re family—we’re doing this the family way.”
“The ‘family way’ is not bursting into an apartment with a crowd and making threats,” the notary replied. Then he turned to Alla. “Mrs. Semyonova, if you need legal help, I can recommend an excellent attorney.”
“Thank you,” Alla said with a short nod. “I’ll think about it.”
The visitors filed out reluctantly. Konstantin was the last to leave.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he said.
“No, Kostya,” Alla answered quietly. “The mistake was eight years ago, when I married you. This is me fixing it.”
A week later Alla filed for divorce. Konstantin was stunned—he’d been sure she would come around, apologize, sign whatever his father wanted. Instead, Alla hired a lawyer and demanded a division of assets.
“Are you out of your mind?!” Konstantin yelled when he received the court papers. “You’re going to ruin us!”
“No,” Alla said evenly. “I’m taking what’s mine by law. Half of your mother’s apartment, half of our joint apartment, and child support.”
“My father will destroy you!”
“Let him try.” Alla’s calm was almost frightening. “I have recordings of your threats. Nastya recorded Grandpa on her phone—him screaming and waving the cane. And I’ll have the notary’s testimony, too.”
Viktor Pavlovich did try to “destroy” her. He hired lawyers and attempted to prove Maria Sergeyevna had been incompetent when she signed the transfer. But nothing worked—the documents were in perfect order, and medical records confirmed the woman had been of sound mind.
The court upheld Alla’s right to half of both apartments. More than that: after learning about the attempt to force her to renounce her property, the judge formally warned Viktor Pavlovich.
But the most interesting twist came a month after the divorce. It turned out Viktor Pavlovich had massive debts to the banks—he’d taken loans secured against his apartments and gambled the money away on betting. That was why he’d been so desperate for his late wife’s apartment: he intended to sell it, cover the debts, and start over.
When his plan collapsed, the banks began foreclosure proceedings. First the dacha went to auction, then one apartment, then the second. Viktor Pavlovich was left with nothing.
“Dad… how?” Konstantin couldn’t believe it. “You told me you had millions.”
“I did,” the old man muttered, suddenly hunched. “I did—and then they vanished. I thought I’d sell Masha’s apartment, close the debts, start over…”
“So you wanted Alla to give up our children’s home to pay for your debts?!”
“And what was I supposed to do?!” Viktor Pavlovich snapped. “Family is supposed to help!”
“Family…” Konstantin shook his head. “You’re right, Dad. Only Alla was my family. And I was too stupid to understand it.”
He tried to reconcile with his ex-wife—showed up, begged, promised to change. But Alla didn’t bend.
“You know, Kostya,” she told him, “your father actually helped me—strange as it sounds. He showed me who you really are. Greedy, shameless people willing to rob your own children. So tell him thanks. And goodbye.”
“Alla, give me a second chance!”
“To hell with you, Kostya!” she shouted. “For years all I did was give you chances—every single day. And you chose your father over the mother of your children. So go comfort your daddy and leave me alone.”
Viktor Pavlovich moved in with his sister Raisa Pavlovna—there was nowhere else to go. The proud, domineering man became a pitiful dependent. Raisa nagged him daily, counting every slice of bread.
“This is what your greed got you!” she screamed. “You wanted to grab everything for yourself—and you ended up with nothing!”
Konstantin rented a tiny one-bedroom and worked two jobs to rebuild his life. Igor, who had been so eager to “help,” now avoided the family—he didn’t want anyone asking him for money.
And Alla… Alla started over. She got a good job at a travel agency—something she’d always dreamed of, but Konstantin had never allowed. The kids went to a school near home. On weekends they visited Alla’s parents at their dacha—people who supported their daughter, unlike her husband’s family.
Sometimes, when she ran into her ex-husband at handoffs for the weekends, Alla thought: thank God she hadn’t been scared that February morning. Her anger had saved her and the children from a life of humiliation and dependence.
“Mom, why doesn’t Grandpa Vitya come anymore?” five-year-old Sasha asked one day.
“He made a bad choice, sweetheart,” Alla said. “He chose greed instead of love. And now he’s living with what he chose.”
“And Dad?”
“Dad made a choice too. The wrong one. But that’s his life—his mistakes.”
“And us?”
“You, Nastya, and me—we’re family,” Alla said softly. “A real family. And no one will ever dare hurt us again.”
That evening, putting the children to bed, Alla glanced at Maria Sergeyevna’s photograph on the dresser. The wise woman had seen it all coming and protected her daughter-in-law and grandchildren even after death.
“Thank you, Mom,” Alla thought. She had called her mother-in-law “Mom” for years—Maria had been closer to her than her own mother.
Meanwhile, in Raisa Pavlovna’s cramped apartment, Viktor Pavlovich sat on a folding cot in the corner, thinking about how everything had turned out. He had wanted to snatch millions—and ended up broke. He had wanted to put his daughter-in-law in her place—and she had shown him his.
“Uncle Vitya,” Igor said, leaning into the room, “Aunt Raisa asked me to tell you—if you don’t pay for staying here tomorrow, she’ll kick you out.”
“What the hell? She’s my sister!”
“She said family ties and money are two different things,” Igor smirked. “Twenty thousand a month—or find another bed.”
“Damn you all…” the old man groaned.
“And one more thing,” Igor added, amused. “Konstantin called. Said he can’t help anymore. Child support got raised.”
Viktor Pavlovich covered his face with his hands. That was the price of greed and pride: total loneliness and poverty. He could have been cuddling his grandkids right now, living peacefully with his son’s family. But no—he’d wanted everything at once. And in the end, he’d lost everything.