“These are my parents, and they’re staying. End of discussion,” Maxim said, folding his arms across his chest and blocking the doorway.
Tanya lowered her eyes to the entryway. Three bulky plaid suitcases and several overstuffed bags were piled on her pale rug. From the living room came the scraping sound of furniture being dragged across the laminate floor.
“What parents?” She looked up at her husband. “We never agreed to this.”
“What is there to agree on?” he said with a careless shrug. “Their pipes burst, their place will be under repair for three or four months. They can’t exactly live on the street. We’re married now, which means we’re one family and the apartment is ours. You and I can camp out in the kitchen. It’s not like we’re aristocrats.”
Tanya walked into the room.
Her father-in-law, grunting with effort, was pushing her sofa against the wall to make space for a sagging folding bed. Her mother-in-law, Valentina Stepanovna, was standing on the windowsill in her outdoor shoes, yanking down Tanya’s cream-colored curtains.
“Oh, Tanya, hello!” she sang out without even climbing down. “Don’t be upset, dear, but these curtains look like something from a clinic. I brought mine instead—burgundy, with a gold shimmer. The room will feel so much cozier.”
Tanya said nothing. She stared at the muddy marks the woman’s boots were leaving on the white plastic windowsill.
“Tanya, what’s wrong?” her father-in-law chimed in, wiping his forehead. “A little crowding never hurt anyone. We already cleared some shelves for our things. Your dresses are in boxes for now, out on the balcony. It’s not like you need all of them right away, do you?”
Her clothes. Boxed up. On the balcony. In her own home.
Tanya took a slow, deep breath.
Three months earlier, before the wedding, Maxim had asked almost casually, “So after we get married, you’ll transfer the apartment into both our names, right?” Tanya had laughed, assuming it was a joke. He laughed too and never brought it up again. She forgot about it.
He didn’t.
That very evening she made an appointment with a lawyer.
“You know,” the lawyer had said then, flipping through her documents, “you should come by more often. I don’t get many clients this farsighted.”
The following week Tanya stopped by the local police outpost in the neighboring building and introduced herself to the district officer. Pavel Sergeyevich was a heavyset man with tired but observant eyes. He listened without interrupting. When she was done, he said only, “If you need me, call me directly.”
Tanya saved his number.
Just in case.
The case had arrived today.
Without a word, she took out her phone.
“Who are you calling?” Maxim mocked. “Your mother to complain? Go ahead. A wife is supposed to listen to her husband, not cause scenes.”
Tanya pressed call.
“Good evening, Pavel Sergeyevich. It’s Tatyana from apartment forty-five. Remember, we spoke? The situation I warned you about is happening now. Yes, right now. I’m waiting.”
She ended the call.
It was as if all the air had left the room. No one moved. No one made a sound. Valentina Stepanovna froze on the windowsill with a bundle of burgundy fabric in her arms. Her husband seemed to stop breathing.
“Who did you call?” Maxim forced out.
“The district officer. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped, taking a step toward her. “These are my parents! We’re family! You’re going to humiliate us in front of the whole building!”
“A real family doesn’t pack someone else’s belongings into boxes,” Tanya replied evenly.
“We came here like decent people!” her mother-in-law burst out, climbing down from the sill. “And this is how she—”
“Mom, stop!” Maxim cut her off, already calculating something in his head. “Tanya, call him back and cancel. I’m your husband. I have the right to bring whoever I want here. The law is on my side.”
“That,” Tanya said, “is exactly what we’re about to find out.”
The doorbell rang four minutes later.
Pavel Sergeyevich looked exactly as she remembered him: unhurried, solid, with the expression of a man who had long since stopped being surprised by anything.
“Good evening. Someone called?”
“I did.” Tanya pointed toward the guests. “These people have occupied my apartment without my permission. I want it officially recorded.”
“Officer,” Maxim stepped forward with a practiced smile, “this is just a misunderstanding. My parents came to stay for a while, my wife and I had a little argument. It’s a family matter. I’m her lawful husband, here’s my passport.”
“All documents,” the officer said with a nod. “And the ownership papers for the apartment.”
Tanya handed him her passport. Inside it was an extract from the property register and a written legal opinion citing Article 36 of the Family Code: property acquired before marriage remains the personal property of its owner. There was also a separate document confirming that Maxim was not registered as living in the apartment.
Pavel Sergeyevich read everything slowly. Then he lifted his eyes to Tanya’s in-laws.
“The apartment was purchased before the marriage and is Tatyana’s personal property. Article 139 of the Criminal Code concerns unlawful entry into a dwelling. I suggest you leave voluntarily while we can still handle this the easy way.”
“But he’s her husband!” Valentina Stepanovna blurted out. “They’re family!”
“A marriage certificate is not a title deed to someone else’s real estate,” the officer replied dryly. “Gather your things.”
Her father-in-law silently reached for a suitcase. Valentina Stepanovna looked at her son, but Maxim stood motionless.
Tanya walked over to the wardrobe. She took out his travel bag and placed it at his feet.
“You’re serious?” he asked quietly.
“Completely. Tomorrow I’m filing for divorce. Leave the keys.”
Maxim looked at her for a long time. Then something shifted on his face—not anger, not confusion, but something close to reluctant respect.
“You prepared for this a long time ago?” he asked in a low voice meant only for her.
“From the moment you asked about putting the apartment in both our names.”
He nodded. Picked up the bag. Walked out.
Pavel Sergeyevich paused at the door.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
The door closed.
Tanya picked up the abandoned burgundy curtains from the sofa and dropped them straight into the trash without a second thought. Then she rehung her cream-colored curtains herself, standing on tiptoe. After that, she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
As the water began to boil, her phone vibrated. Unknown number.
“Tatyana?” The voice on the other end was young and tense. “You don’t know me. My name is Svetlana. I bought my apartment on my own, got married three months ago. Today I came home and found his parents there with suitcases. My husband says the apartment belongs to both of us now. Someone gave me your number. They said you would know what to do.”
Tanya was silent for a moment. She looked at the kettle beginning to steam.
“I do,” she said. “Write this down.”
And she gave her Pavel Sergeyevich’s number.