Raisa Alexandrovna never thought she would have to prove her right to the apartment. She had lived there for thirty-two years. Especially to her husband. And certainly not in a notary’s office, where they had come for a completely different reason.
“Do you want to make a gift deed for your son?” the notary asked businesslike.
“That’s exactly it,” Viktor Stepanovich nodded, stroking his graying beard. “My wife and I decided it’s time to do everything legally. Mikhail is already thirty, has his own family, a child.”
Raisa smiled faintly, remembering her grandson. That was what was worth saving for so long, putting aside money from every paycheck, working two jobs, counting every kopek. Images flashed before her eyes: she and Vitya entering the new apartment, painting the walls, buying furniture with the first big bonus.
“But there’s one catch,” Viktor Stepanovich suddenly said, and something in his voice made Raisa wary. “I’ll be the one making the gift deed. The apartment is registered in my name.”
“What do you mean — in your name?” Raisa looked at her husband in bewilderment. “It’s ours together…”
“No, dear,” Viktor Stepanovich smirked. “If you look closely at the documents, you’ll see the sole owner is me.”
The notary coughed awkwardly.
“Indeed, according to the certificate of ownership, the apartment is registered to Viktor Stepanovich.”
“But we bought it together!” Raisa exclaimed. “I worked two jobs; we saved up together!”
“And where’s the proof?” her husband asked, looking at her with an unclear triumph. “There’s no proof. Now I want to make a gift deed to our son, but only for half the apartment. I’ll keep the other half.”
“And what about me?” Raisa felt her hands trembling. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m perfectly sane,” Viktor answered calmly. “I just decided to put everything in order.”
“What order? We lived together for thirty-two years!”
“The documents speak for themselves,” Viktor shrugged. “The apartment is mine. I alone decide what to do with it.”
The room began to spin. Could this really be happening? Could Vitya, her Vitya, with whom she had spent her whole life, just so easily…
“Are you feeling unwell?” the notary asked sympathetically. “Would you like some water?”
“No,” Raisa straightened up. “I’m not unwell. I’m just curious when my husband became so… enterprising.”
Viktor looked away, but only for a moment. Then he looked back at his wife with undisguised superiority.
“Raechka, why are you so upset? It’s just a formality. The apartment has always been in my name, I’m the head of the family. Nothing changes.”
“Everything changes,” Raisa said quietly. “It changed a long time ago. And I didn’t notice.”
She suddenly remembered how three months ago Vitya started staying late at work. How strange calls appeared, after which he left the room. How he began to be interested in legal matters, searching something online in the evenings.
“When were you going to tell me about your decision?” she asked. “Or did you plan to surprise me right here?”
“Don’t dramatize,” her husband waved her off. “You have a pension; it’s enough for you.”
The notary coughed awkwardly.
“Actually, if the apartment was bought during the marriage, then…”
“It was bought with my money,” Viktor interrupted. “I signed the purchase agreement. All payments went through my account.”
Raisa closed her eyes. Images from the past flashed before her: standing in line at the bank to make another loan payment, giving her salary to her husband so he could add his part and pay the installment…
“Wait,” she suddenly said. “I want to check something.”
She opened her old worn bag and took out a folder. An ordinary cardboard folder with faded flowers, tied with twine. Viktor looked at her in surprise.
“What’s that?”
“This, Vitenka, is called foresight,” Raisa Alexandrovna calmly replied, untying the twine. “My mother taught me all my life to keep documents. All the documents. I never thought I’d need them… like this.”
She pulled out a stack of yellowed papers.
“Here are receipts for the initial apartment payment. Notice the payer’s name: Raisa Alexandrovna Korneeva. And the date — two days before signing the purchase agreement.”
Viktor leaned forward.
“That means nothing! It’s just…”
“Wait, I’m not finished,” Raisa continued calmly. “And here are statements from my savings book. See these withdrawals? Every month, regularly, an amount equal to half the monthly loan payment. For fifteen years.”
The notary carefully examined the documents.
“And here’s something else interesting,” Raisa pulled out an envelope with an official stamp. “A bank certificate about the loan repayment. Look closely at the account details from which the last payment was made.”
The notary studied the document and looked up at Viktor Stepanovich in surprise.
“That account belongs to…”
“Me,” Raisa Alexandrovna finished. “It’s my personal account where I received salary from my second job. Vitya was sick then, couldn’t work, and I made the last large payment for the apartment. Entirely.”
Viktor Stepanovich turned pale. He clearly hadn’t expected such a turn of events.
“But the ownership certificate…”
“Yes, it’s in your name,” Raisa nodded. “Because it was easier to register it that way back then. You had a good reputation at work; your loan got approved faster. We are family; what difference does it make whose name the apartment is under? That’s what I thought for thirty-two years.”
The notary put her pen aside and straightened up, shifting her gaze from one spouse to the other.
“I must tell you, by law, everything bought during marriage is considered joint property. It doesn’t matter whose name is on the documents. Especially when there’s proof Raisa Alexandrovna also paid for the apartment.”
Viktor Stepanovich nervously drummed his fingers on the table.
“That’s all nonsense! I can bring a bunch of papers too,” he waved irritably. “What difference does it make who paid how much? The main thing is the apartment is registered to me!”
“No, Viktor Stepanovich, that’s exactly not the main thing,” the notary calmly objected. “If it comes to court, the apartment will be divided in half. That’s common practice.”
“What court?” Viktor protested. “I’m not going to sue!”
“But I might,” Raisa Alexandrovna unexpectedly said. “If you insist the apartment is only yours.”
She didn’t expect herself to say that. She had never threatened her husband in her life. In fact, she rarely raised her voice at all. She always thought a woman should be gentle, yielding, creating coziness and peace at home. And now — this. But something inside her seemed to switch.
“You? Going to sue?” Viktor Stepanovich laughed shortly. “Raecka, you’re afraid to speak up at your meetings in the clinic. What complaints?”
“People change,” Raisa looked him straight in the eye. “Especially when betrayed.”
Viktor was the first to look away.
“Why are you dramatizing? Nobody’s betraying anyone. We just need to put things in order.”
“Putting things in order means leaving your wife homeless after thirty years of marriage?” Raisa felt a wave of indignation rising inside her. “Why do you want this, Vitya? Honestly.”
A heavy silence hung in the room.
“I need freedom of action,” Viktor Stepanovich finally said, looking somewhere aside. “The ability to manage the apartment without… unnecessary talks.”
“Who do you need to discuss it with?” Raisa asked quietly. “Her?”
Viktor jerked as if struck — the best answer to her question.
“You know?” he only asked.
“I suspect,” Raisa felt a strange calm. “For how long?”
“Six months,” Viktor answered reluctantly. “She… she’s younger.”
“Of course younger,” Raisa nodded. “Otherwise, what would be the point?”
The notary cleared her throat, clearly feeling uncomfortable.
“Maybe it’s better to discuss personal matters in private? I can step out for a few minutes.”
“No need,” Raisa shook her head. “We’re here on business; let’s deal with it. So, the apartment is considered joint property, and I have the same rights as my husband. Right?”
“Exactly right,” the notary confirmed.
“What do I need to do to officially register my share?”
Viktor Stepanovich sharply turned to her:
“Are you seriously going to split the apartment?”
“Were you seriously going to leave me with nothing?” Raisa retorted.
She suddenly realized she wasn’t afraid to argue at all. All her life she avoided conflicts, gave in, smoothed things over. But now she had a clear understanding: she would not let herself be deceived. Not after all these years, after all the sacrifices and compromises.
“I think you should talk at home,” the notary gently suggested. “Then decide about the gift deed or something else.”
“What is there to talk about?” Raisa Alexandrovna gathered her documents back into the folder. “We’ve talked for thirty-two years. Enough.”
Viktor Stepanovich suddenly grabbed her hand:
“Raya, come on! I got carried away. Of course, no one is kicking you out of the apartment.”
“Then what?” she pulled her hand away. “Just wanted to see if I could be fooled?”
“Don’t dramatize! I just wanted…” he hesitated. “Wanted everything to be legal.”
“You can make a property division agreement,” the notary interjected. “Specify each spouse’s share.”
“What shares?” Raisa smiled ironically. “Half and half, as it should be. But why do we need this agreement if we lived thirty years without one?”
She looked at her husband carefully, and suddenly everything fell into place.
“You’re going to divorce, aren’t you?” she asked bluntly. “That’s why you decided to claim the apartment in advance?”
Viktor Stepanovich lowered his eyes.
“No, what are you saying…”
“Don’t lie, at least now,” Raisa said tiredly. “I believed every word you said for thirty-two years. Thought we had family, trust, respect.”
“Raecka…”
“Don’t call me that!” she suddenly cut him off sharply. “Not now.”
A heavy silence hung in the office.
“I love another woman,” Viktor Stepanovich finally said. “I want to start life anew. I have the right.”
“You do,” Raisa agreed calmly. “And I have the right to half our apartment. And I will get it.”
“What will you do with half?” Viktor Stepanovich shrugged. “How do we divide it? Put a wall in the middle of the room?”
“Sell it,” Raisa said firmly. “And split the money.”
“Where will you go to live?”
“Not your concern,” she cut him off. “You made your choice.”
Only now did Raisa Alexandrovna realize she felt neither pain nor resentment. Only a strange relief and determination. As if a weight she had carried for years suddenly lifted from her shoulders. In recent years, she often caught herself thinking she was tired of her husband’s endless nagging. Of feeling that everything she did was wrong.
“Does Misha know?” Raisa Alexandrovna asked about her son.
Viktor shook his head.
“I’ll call him today,” Raisa nodded. “He should hear it from me, not by accident.”
“You’re going to turn him against me?” Viktor frowned.
“I’m going to tell him the truth,” Raisa shrugged. “That you found another woman. Want a divorce, and tried to trick me out of the apartment. What conclusions he draws is his business. He’s an adult.”
“You’ll present everything so I look like a villain!”
“Aren’t you?” Raisa raised her voice for the first time during the conversation. “What else do you call a man who decided to throw his wife out after thirty years of marriage?”
“I’m not throwing anyone out!” Viktor also started to get irritated. “I just wanted to give my share to our son! So he definitely gets something if…”
“If what?” Raisa interrupted. “If I start claiming my rightful property?”
The notary cautiously intervened again:
“Sorry, but I must say that gifting property by one spouse without the consent of the other can be challenged in court.”
“See?” Raisa triumphantly looked at her husband. “Even that wouldn’t work. You’d still have to ask me.”
Viktor Stepanovich rubbed his forehead.
“I just wanted…” he stopped. “Okay, never mind what I wanted. Let’s talk at home. Calmly.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Raisa stood up, carefully fastening her bag. “It’s all clear. I’ll file for divorce and property division. I wish you happiness in your new life.”
She said this without irony, simply stating a fact. And saying these words, she suddenly realized she truly meant it. Let him be happy — with anyone, just not with her. Because she deserved more.
