Irina twirled the keys between her fingers. The keys to the new apartment—their new apartment—burned against her palm. Fifteen years of saving. Fifteen! And now…
“Ir, why are you standing there?” Sergey tapped her shoulder. “Come on, open it already!”
“Maybe you should open it? Technically…”
“Ir, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. Mom’s just listed on the paperwork so we don’t overpay on taxes. What difference does it make whose name is on the documents? It’s our apartment.”
Irina nodded. Yes, of course. Their apartment. Just registered under her mother-in-law’s name. Easier, cheaper, more convenient. Sergey had calculated everything.
“What’s with you?” he smiled and winked. “One day Mom will leave it to us as an inheritance, and then it’ll officially be ours. For now, we’ll live like this.”
Irina exhaled. The lock clicked, the door swung open.
“One hundred and ten square meters of happiness,” she whispered, taking her first step into the empty entryway.
Sergey’s phone burst into a ringing trill.
“Yes, Mom. Yes, we’re here already. Of course. No, you don’t need to, we’ll handle everything… All right, if you want.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Galina Nikolaevna is coming over?”
“Yep. Wants to see her property,” he laughed. “Kidding. She’s just worried whether we’ll like everything.”
Irina suddenly felt a stab of irritation. Her mother-in-law had always treated her well, but sometimes Irina got the feeling she didn’t consider her good enough for her son.
“We should’ve insisted on my option,” she muttered.
“What option?”
“Putting it in both our names.”
Sergey rolled his eyes.
“Ir, how long are we going to do this? Mom’s pension is peanuts, she has utility discounts. If we register it to us—taxes, fees, all that. You don’t trust me or what? Or Mom?”
“I do, Seryozha. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Nothing,” she smiled. “You’re right. I’m paranoid.”
An hour later Galina Nikolaevna arrived. She brought a pie and a bottle of champagne.
“My children!” she exclaimed from the doorway. “Finally! What a wonderful apartment!”
“Mom, you’re seeing it for the first time,” Sergey snorted.
“I mean the price! For that kind of money—it’s a gift from fate. You two got lucky.”
Irina silently nodded. Lucky.
“And I’ve got something here…” Galina Nikolaevna rummaged in her bag. “Some papers. Seryozh, take a look—everything correct? In a couple days I’ll pick them up and put them in the safe.”
Sergey skimmed the documents.
“Yep, all fine, Mom.”
“Ir, why are you so sour?” her mother-in-law studied her. “Not happy?”
“I am, of course. Just tired.”
“Ah, sure. Buying a place takes nerves! But remember—this is your apartment. Mine only on paper.”
“I know, Galina Nikolaevna,” Irina forced a smile.
“Mom, let’s go to the kitchen, open the champagne,” Sergey put an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Ir, coming?”
“One minute, I need the bathroom.”
In the bathroom Irina turned on the water and watched it drain away. It felt like their money was flowing out just as silently. “You idiot, Ira,” she told her reflection. “It’s Seryozha’s mom—not a stranger.”
That evening, after Galina Nikolaevna left, Sergey hugged his wife.
“So, we’ll finally live now,” he murmured into her hair. “We’ll renovate, buy furniture. Are you happy?”
“I am, Seryozha. Truly.”
“But?”
“No ‘but.’ Everything’s fine.”
“You’re lying,” he stroked her back. “Listen—if you’re that uneasy, let’s hire a lawyer? Have them draw up some paper that Mom acknowledges our right to the apartment, or something.”
“No,” Irina shook her head. “I trust your mom. And you.”
A week flew by in dreams and plans. Irina spread wallpaper, tile, and laminate samples all over the apartment. Sergey sketched closet and shelving layouts on paper.
“Seryozh, what if we put the couch here?” Irina pointed at the living room wall. “And the TV opposite.”
“Uh-huh,” her husband answered absently, buried in his phone. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“Mom called. She’s not well.”
Irina tensed.
“What do you mean?”
“Dizzy, she says. Blood pressure’s all over. We should go check on her.”
“Let’s go together,” Irina set the furniture catalog aside. “I’ll sit with her while you run to the pharmacy.”
Sergey nodded gratefully. Half an hour later they were ringing Galina Nikolaevna’s doorbell.
“Mom, why aren’t you picking up?” Sergey burst into the entryway. “Mom?”
Galina Nikolaevna was lying on the hallway floor. Eyes closed, breathing heavy.
“Call an ambulance!” Sergey shouted, rushing to his mother.
At the hospital they diagnosed a stroke. Not critical, but serious. Galina Nikolaevna was placed in intensive care.
“Minimum five days,” the doctor said. “Then we’ll transfer her to a regular ward. Her condition is stable, but she needs time.”
Irina and Sergey took turns at the hospital. On the third day, Yevgeny—Sergey’s younger brother—joined them. Irina barely knew him; he’d moved to another city long ago and rarely came to family gatherings.
“Zhenya!” Sergey hugged his brother. “How did you find out?”
“Mom called me yesterday. She can barely talk, but she said to come urgently. How is she?”
“Better. They promise to move her to the regular ward tomorrow.”
Yevgeny nodded.
“I need to talk to her. Alone.”
“You can’t right now,” Irina shook her head. “They only let relatives in, and only briefly.”
“I am a relative. Her son, by the way.”
“Zhen, don’t start,” Sergey said tiredly. “We’re all worried.”
“Fine. I’ll go to a hotel, rest after the trip. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He left, and Irina shivered.
“I don’t like this.”
“What exactly?”
“I don’t know. He’s just… tense.”
“Mom had a stroke, Ir. Everyone’s tense.”
The next day Yevgeny came with flowers. By then Galina Nikolaevna had been moved to a regular room. She could speak, though with difficulty.
“Mom, how are you?” Yevgeny sat on the edge of the bed.
“Better,” she smiled weakly. “You came…”
“Of course I did. You called.”
“Yes… we need… to talk.”
“About the documents?” he lowered his voice. “I did everything. The power of attorney is оформed in my name. It’s all legal.”
Irina, standing by the door, froze. What power of attorney?
“You need to rest, Mom,” Yevgeny continued. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of it all.”
“Thank you, my son,” Galina Nikolaevna whispered and closed her eyes.
At home Irina asked Sergey:
“Did you hear what power of attorney Zhenya was talking about?”
“No. Why?”
“I don’t know. It just sounded strange.”
Sergey shrugged.
“Maybe Mom asked him to handle some things while she’s sick—pay bills, something like that.”
“I hope so,” Irina felt an unpleasant chill run down her spine.
A week passed. Galina Nikolaevna was improving but still in the hospital. Yevgeny visited her every day, bringing fruit, juice, vitamins. Sergey came regularly too. And Irina threw herself into renovating the new apartment.
That day she had just finished a meeting with the designer and decided to stop by home for a quick bite when the doorbell rang. A young couple stood on the doorstep.
“Hello,” the woman smiled. “We’re here about the listing. To see the apartment.”
Irina went rigid.
“What apartment?”
“This one,” the man pulled out his phone. “Look—three rooms, 110 square meters. Your representative sent us the address and said we could come today.”
“What representative?” Irina’s mouth went dry.
“Yevgeny Sergeyevich,” the man checked his phone. “He said he’s acting on behalf of the owner, Galina Nikolaevna. Are you her relative?”
Irina gripped the doorframe. The room swam before her eyes.
“I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake. The apartment isn’t for sale.”
“How is it not for sale?” the man frowned. “We already paid a deposit just to view it! Ten thousand!”
“It’s a misunderstanding,” Irina’s mind raced. “I need to contact the… representative. Leave your number—they’ll refund your money.”
When the couple left, Irina lunged for her phone.
“Seryozha! Come home right now! Here…” she sobbed. “Yevgeny is selling our apartment!”
“What?! That can’t be!”
“It can! Buyers just came—Zhenya gave them the address!”
Half an hour later they were racing to the hospital together. Sergey was pale; his knuckles were white as he clenched the steering wheel.
“I’m going to deal with him,” he hissed through his teeth.
Galina Nikolaevna looked at them in surprise when they burst into her room.
“Kids? What happened?”
“Mom,” Sergey sat by the bed. “Zhenya got a power of attorney in his name and is trying to sell our apartment. Do you know about this?”
“Of course I do,” she frowned. “He said it would be better. That the apartment is too expensive to maintain, and we need money for treatment.”
“What treatment?” Sergey blurted out. “You have insurance! And anyway—it’s our apartment! We paid for it!”
“The documents are in my name,” Galina Nikolaevna protested weakly. “Zhenya said it was your scheme to avoid taxes. That it isn’t really your apartment…”
“Mom!” Sergey jumped up. “Have you lost your mind? We saved for fifteen years for that place! You’re just the nominal owner!”
At that moment the door opened and Yevgeny walked in.
“Oh, a family council?” he smiled. “Perfect timing—I was just going to share the good news. There’s a buyer ready to take the apartment for good money.”
“You…” Sergey stepped toward his brother. “What are you doing?”
“Selling Mom’s property at her request,” Yevgeny pulled out papers. “Here’s the power of attorney. Completely legal. Mom asked me herself.”
“It’s not her apartment! It’s mine and Irina’s!”
“The documents say otherwise,” Yevgeny shrugged. “Mom, you’ll confirm that, right?”
Galina Nikolaevna looked helplessly from one son to the other.
“I… I don’t understand. Zhenya said…”
“What did I say? The truth,” Yevgeny moved closer to his mother. “Seryozha and Irina used you so they wouldn’t pay taxes. And now they want your signature.”
“Mom, don’t listen to him!” Sergey begged. “Remember—we talked it all through! You agreed to help us with the registration!”
“I… I don’t remember,” Galina Nikolaevna closed her eyes. “My head hurts.”
“Mom, please,” Sergey dropped to his knees by the bed. “You have to remember. It’s our money, our apartment.”
“Exactly, Galina Nikolaevna,” Irina added, taking her hand. “You just helped us with the paperwork. You said yourself—the apartment is ours, and yours only on paper.”
Yevgeny smirked.
“Paper is the law. You wanted to dodge the law and got caught. Stop pressuring Mom! She can’t get upset!”
“Come out,” Sergey growled, grabbing his brother by the sleeve.
In the hallway he slammed Yevgeny against the wall.
“How much do you want?”
“For what?”
“Don’t play dumb. How much do you need to back off our apartment?”
“And how much will you offer?” Yevgeny narrowed his eyes.
“A million.”
“That’s funny. The apartment is worth fifteen.”
“That’s everything we have,” Sergey ground out. “The rest is sunk into that damn apartment!”
“Not my problem,” Yevgeny brushed off his sleeve. “The deal is almost closed. The buyer will bring the earnest money tomorrow.”
They went back into the room. Irina sat beside Galina Nikolaevna, holding her hand.
“Galina Nikolaevna, do you remember how we went to see this apartment together? You even said: ‘Kids, take it—it’s a good investment.’”
“I remember,” her mother-in-law nodded. “But Zhenya says…”
“Zhenya is lying,” Irina cut in. “We have bank statements. We can prove the money for the apartment was ours.”
“I don’t care whose money it is,” Yevgeny interrupted. “What matters is whose name is on the documents. Mom, you need to sign one more paper,” he pulled a sheet from his folder. “Right here. It’s the consent to sell.”
“Don’t you dare!” Sergey snatched the paper away. “Mom, you don’t understand what you’re doing!”
Galina Nikolaevna burst into tears.
“I’m confused… Please don’t fight.”
A week later the apartment was sold. Yevgeny moved fast—found a buyer, completed the paperwork, took the money. Galina Nikolaevna signed everything. Sergey and Irina didn’t even manage to file a lawsuit in time.
“What now?” Irina asked as they sat in a rented place among boxes. “Our money… fifteen years of saving…”
“I talked to a lawyer,” Sergey looked as if he’d aged ten years. “There’s a chance, but it’s small. Zhenya set it up cleverly.”
“I told you,” Irina finally snapped. “I told you we couldn’t register it in your mother’s name!”
“You were right,” he lifted dull eyes to her. “It’s all my fault. I wanted to save on taxes—and I lost everything.”
“No, not everything,” she sat beside him and took his hand. “We still have us. And we’ll have another chance.”
Three months later the court partially granted their claim. The sale was declared invalid, but they managed to recover only part of the money—the new owners had already renovated and invested their own funds.
Galina Nikolaevna fully recovered and cut off all contact with her younger son when she realized how she’d been used. She tried to apologize to Sergey and Irina, but the wound was too fresh.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” she cried. “I believed Zhenya…”
“We all make mistakes,” Irina said, surprised by her own calm. “The main thing is to learn the lesson.”
The money they recovered was enough for a down payment on a small two-bedroom apartment. They took out a mortgage in both names—Sergey’s and Irina’s.
“No schemes,” Sergey said as he signed the contract. “No shortcuts. Only honest and transparent.”
That evening, sitting on the floor of their empty new place, they opened a bottle of drink.
“To a new beginning,” Irina raised a plastic cup. “And to the fact that we learned the most important lesson.”
“Which one?”
“You can’t buy trust inside a family with any amount of money. And no ‘convenient scheme’ is worth risking relationships.”
Sergey hugged his wife.
“You know, I thought you’d never forgive me.”
“And I thought I wouldn’t be able to,” she admitted. “But then I realized—you suffered even more than I did. You lost not just money and a roof over your head. You lost faith in your own brother.”
“But I gained something more important,” he kissed her temple. “The certainty that the most reliable person in the world is right next to me.
