—Have you completely lost it?! Open up right now—I’ll get in anyway!—the mother-in-law’s voice thundered through the stairwell so loudly that neighbors were already peeking out of their apartments. —This is my home, my property! I’ll show you how you dare drive my son away from his family!
Vera pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking, but she wasn’t going to open it. Not now. Not after what had happened last night.
—Open the door, you upstart! I’ve put the apartment up for sale! If you don’t open it, we’ll break the door down or rip the lock off!—the mother-in-law screeched even louder.
“We,” Vera noted to herself. So she hadn’t come alone. Most likely she’d brought Svetka—Igor’s sister—with her. Those two always worked together like a pack of hungry wolves.
—Antonina Fyodorovna, let’s talk tomorrow,—Vera tried to keep her voice calm. —Now isn’t a good time.
—Not a good time?!—her mother-in-law cackled so hard Vera’s ears rang. —It’s never a good time for you! While you’re loafing around here, my son is out there wandering somewhere! Because of you, you filthy wretch!
Vera slowly stepped away from the door and went into the kitchen. She poured herself water from the carafe—her hands were trembling so much that half of it spilled onto the table. Outside, a nasty October drizzle hung in the air, gray and sluggish, like her life over the past three months. Three months ago Igor had left. He’d simply packed his things into a bag, wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. She’s different.”
Different. Vera hadn’t even asked who this “different” woman was. What did it matter? Eight years of marriage—eight years of washing his socks, cooking borscht, listening to him whine about his hard job. And then—she’s different.
The doorbell rang again, this time nonstop, insistent.
—Vera!—That was Svetlana, Igor’s sister-in-law. —What are you barricading yourself in there for?! Mom’s right, we need to sell the place. They won’t leave it to you anyway. The paperwork’s already ready!
Vera snorted. Paperwork. Yes—the apartment was registered in her mother-in-law’s name, that was true. Igor had once explained it: lower taxes, and anyway what difference did it make, they were family. Family. Hilarious.
She grabbed her phone and dialed Olga, her coworker from school. Olga answered on the third ring.
—Vera? What happened?
—Can I come to you? Urgently.
—Of course. Come over. I’m home.
Vera quickly pulled on her jacket, shoved documents, her phone, and her wallet into her bag. Behind the door, her mother-in-law was still yelling about arrogance and ingratitude. Vera went to the window—they lived on the first floor, and below was a little front garden with a low fence. It wasn’t the first time it had come in handy.
Five minutes later she was already on a trolleybus, headed toward Pushkinskaya stop. Olga lived downtown, in an old building with high ceilings and creaky parquet floors.
The rain grew heavier. Drops drummed against the trolleybus window, and Vera stared at the blurred city lights, thinking about how everything had gone wrong. Igor had been good. Had been. Calm, dependable—he even bought flowers sometimes. But then it started: staying late at work, coldness, distance. And then—Kristina.
Kristina. A name Vera learned by accident when she saw a message on her husband’s phone: “Waiting for you, kitty. Missed you.” Vera hadn’t made a scene. She’d simply put the phone back and gone to wash the dishes. Why? Because nothing could be fixed anyway.
Olga opened the door almost immediately—short, plump, eternally tousle-haired, with kind eyes.
—My God, you’re soaked! Hurry, take that off, I’ll put the kettle on.
Vera shrugged off her wet jacket and went into the living room. It smelled of cinnamon and old books—Olga adored reading and kept an entire library at home.
—My mother-in-law showed up,—Vera explained briefly, sinking into a worn armchair. —She wants to sell the apartment.
—What?!—Olga emerged from the kitchen with the kettle. —Don’t you have any rights?
—It’s registered in her name. Igor wanted it that way back then.
—Idiot,—Olga concluded. —Your Igor is a rare breed of idiot. Although wait… didn’t he move in with that girlfriend of his?
Vera nodded. Igor really had moved in with Kristina. Vera even knew the address—she’d overheard him dictating it to his mother on the phone: Sovetskaya Street, building twelve, apartment forty-six.
—So what’s it like there? With that Kristina?—Olga set a steaming mug of tea in front of Vera.
—I don’t know,—Vera admitted. —And I don’t want to know. Let them live.
—Oh, come on,—Olga scooted closer. —You’re dying of curiosity. Let’s go see what kind of “fruit” stole your Igor?
Vera wanted to refuse. But something inside—anger, hurt, or just exhaustion from being humiliated—made her nod.
—Let’s go.
They went outside at dusk. The rain had turned into a fine mist; the city glowed under yellow streetlamps. Sovetskaya was about a twenty-minute walk through the park.
—Remember how we used to stroll through this park in college?—Olga asked suddenly. —You were dating Zhenya Morozov then.
Vera remembered. Zhenya had been a good guy—cheerful, easygoing, didn’t burden her with problems. But she’d chosen Igor instead. Serious. Responsible. How wrong she’d been.
Building twelve turned out to be an ordinary nine-story block, peeling and gray. They climbed to the fourth floor and found apartment forty-six. Vera was about to turn around and leave when the door swung open.
Igor stood there. Unshaven, in a wrinkled T-shirt, with dead-looking eyes.
—Vera?—he clearly hadn’t expected to see her. —You… why…
—Just passing by,—Vera replied curtly. —Your mother’s planning to sell the apartment. Thought you should know.
Igor went pale.
—What apartment?
—Ours. The one in your mother’s name. Or did you forget?
From deeper inside the apartment came a female voice:
—Igooor! Who’s there?!
The voice was sharp and annoyed. Vera couldn’t help smirking.
—Is that her? Kristina?
Igor stayed silent, looking away. And then she appeared. Tall, thin, lips painted to excess, with angry eyes.
—Ah. It’s her,—Kristina swept Vera with a contemptuous look. —Came to have a cry?
—No,—Vera answered calmly. —I came to see who stole my husband. Curiosity, you know.
Kristina stepped closer, and Vera caught the cloying, suffocating reek of cheap perfume.
—Stole?—Kristina burst out laughing. —He came running to me himself! Whining that his wife doesn’t understand him, that you’re as boring as a grave!
Vera expected the words to hurt, but instead she felt only cold indifference. Strange. Three months ago she would have burst into tears; now she simply stood there and looked at the woman like she was an annoying fly.
—Igor,—Vera turned to her ex-husband. —Your mother wants to sell the apartment. Realtors are coming tomorrow. Think about where you’re going to live.
—Wait!—Igor grabbed her sleeve. —What realtors? Is she serious?
—More than serious. She screamed through the whole stairwell that it’s her property and I have to get out.
Igor paled even more. Kristina folded her arms across her chest.
—So what? My place is tiny—I didn’t invite him to live here forever. Igor, you promised you’d buy us a place!
—With what money?!—Igor snapped. —I explained everything!
—Then go to your mommy if you’re so broke!—Kristina spun around and slammed the door right in his face.
Igor stood on the landing, lost and pathetic. Vera looked at him and suddenly realized—there was no pity. None at all. Only a strange sense of relief.
—Vera… can I… just stay over for a couple of days?—Igor spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. —Until I sort things out with Mom.
—No,—Vera said. —The apartment isn’t mine anymore. Ask your mother for permission.
She turned and went down the stairs. Olga followed in silence.
Outside, the drizzle had grown heavier. They walked to the bus stop without speaking and got on. Vera stared out the window, thinking that tomorrow she really would have to move out. But where? Renting meant money—a schoolteacher didn’t have much of it.
—You’ll stay with me,—Olga said, as if reading her thoughts. —I’ve got a free room. After my divorce from Petya I never rented it out.
—Thank you,—Vera squeezed her friend’s hand. —I’ll manage somehow.
When they got back to Vera’s building, it was already late. The stairwell was dark and quiet—apparently her mother-in-law had gotten tired of pounding and left. Vera climbed to her floor and froze.
The apartment door was wide open. The light was on inside.
—You locked it, right?—Olga whispered.
—Of course I did!
They went in and gasped. The place had been trashed. Furniture overturned, things scattered, drawers yanked out. Photos lay on the floor, documents torn, dishes smashed. But the worst part was something else—insults had been scratched onto the walls in red paint.
—Oh God,—Vera crouched down, picking up shards of her favorite mug. —It’s Igor’s mother. She promised she’d get in.
—We need to call the police!—Olga was already pulling out her phone.
—Wait,—Vera suddenly noticed an envelope on the table. Inside was a stack of photographs. She pulled them out and went cold.
The pictures were of her—at different angles, in different places. Near the store, at the bus stop, by the school. Someone had been following her, taking secret shots. And on each one, written in black marker: “Unstable,” “Dangerous to society,” “Crazy.”
—What is this?—Olga snatched the photos. —Vera—was she stalking you?!
—She wants to prove I’m insane,—Vera said slowly. —Lay the groundwork. She’ll claim I’m mentally ill, dangerous, that the apartment must be cleared “for residents’ safety.”
They looked at each other. Vera’s heart hammered. Antonina Fyodorovna had always been vicious, but this…
—She’s planning to call psychiatrists!—Olga clutched her head. —This is pure evil! She’ll say you’re unstable, that you’re causing disturbances, that neighbors are complaining!
Vera rose slowly. Thoughts flashed through her mind, each worse than the last: forced treatment. Being declared incompetent. Losing her job. Shame in front of the entire school.
—We have to act first,—Olga said firmly. —Right now we call the police, document the break-in and the vandalism. Film everything. And we go to a lawyer.
—I don’t have money for a lawyer,—Vera whispered.
—You do,—Olga said, pulling out her phone. —I’ll call my brother. Maksim works at a law firm—he’ll help.
Vera barely remembered Maksim—tall, attentive eyes; she’d met him a couple of times at Olga’s. Calling a near-stranger in the middle of the night felt awkward, but they had no choice.
Maksim arrived half an hour later. He inspected the apartment quickly, studied the photographs carefully.
—Smart,—he said. —Very smart. Create the impression someone is unstable, then have them declared incompetent through the courts. The apartment is cleared, and you end up in forced treatment.
—What do we do?—Vera asked.
—First we document everything. Video, photos, every detail. Then we call the district police officer. You file a report for illegal entry, property damage, and threats.—Maksim paused. —And tomorrow morning you go to a psychiatrist. Voluntarily. Get an evaluation and a certificate saying you’re perfectly healthy.
—But will that help?
—More than you think. When your mother-in-law tries to launch her plan, you’ll already have paperwork. Her accusations will be proven slander.
Vera felt something inside her shift. Not fear. Not despair. Anger—cold, calculated anger. Antonina Fyodorovna wanted to break her, brand her crazy, ruin her. Vera wasn’t going to give in.
—You know what,—she said firmly. —I’m not leaving this apartment. Let her sue if she wants. I worked my fingers to the bone for eight years to make this place clean and cozy. While Igor was off God-knows-where, I plastered walls myself, hung wallpaper, replaced plumbing. And now some old hag wants to throw me out into the street? Not happening.
Maksim smiled.
—That’s the spirit. We’ll fight.
Olga laughed through tears and hugged Vera tightly.
They called the district officer. He arrived an hour later—a tired man near retirement who clearly wasn’t thrilled about a night call. But when he saw the wreckage, his face turned serious.
—The lock’s been forced,—he noted, examining the door. —Clear signs of a break-in. Who do you think did this?
Vera told him about her mother-in-law, about the threats the entire stairwell had heard. The officer nodded and took notes.
—Come to the station tomorrow and file the official statement. For now I’ll record the incident.
For the rest of the night, the three of them cleaned up. Maksim turned out to be surprisingly handy—he fixed a broken chair, nailed a loose shelf back in place. They decided not to scrub the paint off the walls yet—it was evidence.
Around four in the morning they finally sat down to drink tea in the kitchen.
—Tomorrow will be a hard day,—Maksim warned. —Your mother-in-law isn’t stupid. If she went this far, she’s confident.
—What else do I need to do?—Vera asked.
—First, the psychiatrist. Second, get statements from neighbors—they heard the threats. Third, gather apartment documents. We’ll see if there are any angles. Did you do renovations? Put money into the place?
—I did,—Vera nodded. —I kept all the receipts. Materials, plumbing, furniture.
—Perfect. That can matter. If we prove you significantly improved the property at your expense, we can demand compensation.
In the morning, Vera went to the neuropsychiatric clinic. She completed the evaluation, answered the doctor’s questions. Two hours later she received a certificate stating no mental disorders were found.
Then she went door to door. Grandma Klavdiya from apartment forty-two confirmed she’d heard the mother-in-law’s shouting. The neighbor Uncle Grisha from forty-four said he was ready to testify—he’d disliked Antonina Fyodorovna for years because of her nasty character. A young mother, Nastya, from the fifth floor admitted the mother-in-law had recently questioned her about Vera—had she noticed anything “strange” about Vera’s behavior.
—I told her you were normal and calm,—Nastya confessed. —And she looked so disappointed! Now I get why.
By evening, Vera came home completely exhausted. Maksim was already waiting with documents.
—Look what I found,—he said, spreading papers on the table. —The apartment is in your mother-in-law’s name, but there’s a nuance. Igor is registered here, and so are you. By law, she can’t sell it without your consent while you’re registered.
—So she’s bluffing?
—Not entirely. She can sue to evict you. But she needs solid grounds. That’s where her “she’s unstable” story comes in.
Vera thought it over. So the plan really had been calculated.
—What do we do?
—This,—Maksim smiled. —Tomorrow you go to a notary and prepare paperwork related to Igor’s registered rights. He’s registered here, which gives him legal leverage. Let mother and son deal with each other.
—But Igor won’t sign anything for me!
—We won’t ask him. We’ll just hint to your mother-in-law that you have a trump card. And we’ll see how quickly her tune changes.
For the first time in days, Vera genuinely smiled. The game was only beginning—and she wasn’t planning to lose.
The next day Vera woke with a heavy head, but a firm resolve to see it through. Maksim promised to come by around lunch; in the meantime she needed to gather every receipt and renovation document.
She was sorting papers when the doorbell rang—sharp and demanding. Vera glanced through the peephole: Antonina Fyodorovna, this time alone, without Svetlana. Her face was stone.
—Open up. I know you’re home!
Vera swung the door open.
—Come in, Antonina Fyodorovna. I was just about to talk to you.
Her mother-in-law entered, looked over the apartment—now tidied up—and pressed her lips together.
—Cleaned up? Good. But it changes nothing. The realtor comes the day after tomorrow—we’ll start showings.
—You can’t sell it while I’m registered here,—Vera said calmly. —The law is on my side.
—The law!—Antonina Fyodorovna snorted. —We’ll see what the court says when I present proof of your insanity!
—What proof?—Vera pulled out the clinic certificate. —Here’s a medical report: I’m perfectly healthy. And here’s the police report about illegal entry and property damage—with neighbors’ statements.
Her mother-in-law’s face slowly reddened.
—You… you think you’re clever?—she hissed. —I’ll ruin you! My Igoreshka is my boy—he’ll do anything for me!
—Your Igoreshka is sitting at Kristina’s place right now wondering where he’s going to live,—Vera smirked. —She kicked him out last night. Want to call him together?
Antonina Fyodorovna said nothing, breathing heavily.
—You know what I realized?—Vera stepped closer. —For eight years I was afraid of you. I endured insults and humiliation. Igor always said, “Be patient, she’s my mother.” I was patient. Then he left, and you decided to finish me off. But you know what? I’m not afraid anymore.
—Who do you think you are?!—her mother-in-law shrieked. —A broke schoolteacher! I gave you a roof over your head!
—You gave your son an apartment. And I spent eight years putting money, work, and soul into it. Here are the receipts for repairs, plumbing, furniture.—Vera placed a stack of papers on the table. —Three hundred and eighty thousand rubles. My lawyer says I’m entitled to compensation.
Antonina Fyodorovna grabbed the receipts, scanned them, and turned pale.
—This… this isn’t true!
—It is. And if you sue to evict me, I’ll countersue. Plus a defamation claim over your photos and “insanity” accusations. And the threats and property-damage report is already at the police station.
Her mother-in-law sank into a chair. For the first time in all these years, Vera saw her rattled.
—What do you want?—she asked dully.
—Nothing. Just leave me alone. Don’t sell the apartment. When I get back on my feet, I’ll rent a place and move out myself. Voluntarily.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Antonina Fyodorovna stood up.
—Fine,—she spat. —But in three months you’d better be gone!
—I’ll try,—Vera nodded.
Antonina Fyodorovna turned and left, slamming the door.
Vera collapsed onto the couch and covered her face with her hands. Her whole body trembled from the tension.
Maksim showed up half an hour later with a bag of meat pies and a thermos of coffee.
—So, how are things?
Vera told him about the visit.
—Excellent work,—Maksim approved. —She backed off. Not for long, but that’s already a win.
—Thank you,—Vera looked at him. —Without you, I wouldn’t have managed.
—You would have,—he smiled. —Just a little later.
They drank coffee, and Vera suddenly caught herself thinking she liked Maksim. Truly liked him. Not the way she’d once liked Igor—calmly, out of habit. But differently—sharp and exciting.
Two weeks passed.
Vera returned to her teaching job and gradually put her life back together. Maksim dropped by almost every day—sometimes to bring documents, sometimes just to talk. One day he invited her to the movies.
—Is this a date?—Vera asked plainly.
—Do you want it to be?—he smiled.
Vera thought for a moment, then nodded.
They watched some comedy, but Vera barely followed the plot. She kept thinking how strangely things had turned. Igor had left and wrecked her life—and yet she suddenly felt free. For the first time in years, truly free.
After the movie they walked along the embankment. The rain had stopped; stars came out.
—Igor called yesterday,—Vera said. —Kristina finally threw him out for good. He asked me to take him back.
—And what did you say?
—That the train has left the station.
Maksim stopped and turned toward her.
—Vera, I know it’s early. I know you need time. But I have to say it—you really, really appeal to me. From the very evening Olga called.
Vera looked at him and understood: this was the new beginning—scary and unknown, but hers.
—You do to me too,—she whispered.
A month later Igor showed up again. He came to the school and caught Vera after class.
—Can we talk?
They went to a café across the street. Igor looked awful—gaunt, unshaven, in a wrinkled jacket.
—Vera, I was wrong,—he began. —Kristina wasn’t who I thought she was. She… she used me.
—And?—Vera stirred her coffee.
—Let’s start over. I understood that you’re my real family.
Vera looked at him for a long moment. She remembered eight years of patience, humiliation, loneliness. She remembered how he’d packed his things without looking her in the eyes.
—You know, Igor,—she said calmly. —I realized something too. I don’t want to be a backup airfield. I deserve more. And our train really has left the station.
—But Vera…
—Goodbye, Igor. Live however you want.
She stood up and walked out. Outside, Maksim was already waiting—they’d agreed to meet. When he saw her, he smiled.
—Everything okay?
—Yes,—Vera slipped her arm through his. —Now everything’s okay.
They walked through the evening city, and Vera thought that sometimes you have to lose everything to find yourself. And the mother-in-law never did get what she wanted—because six months later Vera and Maksim got married and bought that same apartment from Antonina Fyodorovna for half its price. The old woman agreed herself, just to be rid of her “uncomfortable” daughter-in-law.
And when Igor found out, it was already too late. He kept drifting from one rented room to another, remembering the wife he’d once thrown away for a phantom happiness. And Kristina? She found herself a new “kitty” a week after they split.
Life, it turned out, knows how to teach lessons. Cruel—but fair.
