Irina twirled the keys between her fingers. The keys to the new apartment—their new apartment—burned her palm. Fifteen years of saving. Fifteen! And now…
“Ir, why are you frozen?” Sergey touched her shoulder. “Come on, open it already!”
“Maybe you open it? Technically, after all…”
“Ir, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. Mom is just listed on the paperwork so we don’t pay extra taxes. What difference does it make whose name is on the papers? It’s our apartment.”
Irina nodded. Yes, of course. Their apartment. Just registered in her mother-in-law’s name. Easier, cheaper, more convenient. Sergey had calculated everything.
“Come on,” he smiled and winked. “Someday 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 opened.
“One hundred and ten square meters of happiness,” she whispered, taking her first step into the empty entryway.
Sergey’s phone erupted with a ringtone.
“Yes, Mom. Yes, we’re here already. Of course. No, you don’t have to, we’ll do everything ourselves… Fine, if you want.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Galina Nikolaevna is coming over?”
“Yeah. She wants to take a look at her property,” he chuckled. “Kidding. She’s just worried whether we’ll like everything.”
Irina suddenly felt a sting of irritation. Her mother-in-law had always treated her well, but sometimes it seemed she thought Irina wasn’t good enough for her son.
“We should’ve insisted on my option,” Irina muttered.
“What option?”
“Registering it in both our names.”
Sergey rolled his eyes.
“Ir, how many times do we have to go over this? Mom’s pension is pennies—she has utility benefits. But if we register it under us, there’ll be 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. “At last! What a wonderful apartment!”
“Mom, you’re seeing it for the first time,” Sergey snorted.
“I’m talking about the price!” she said. “For that kind of money—it’s a gift from fate. You got lucky.”
Irina nodded silently. Lucky.
“And I’ve got something here…” Galina Nikolaevna rummaged in her bag. “All sorts of papers. Seryozha, take a look—everything correct? I’ll pick them up in a couple days and put them in the safe.”
Sergey skimmed the documents.
“Yep, all good, Mom.”
“Ir, why do you look so sour?” her mother-in-law studied her. “Not happy?”
“I am, of course. I’m just tired.”
“Ah, I see. Buying a place takes so many 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 and open the champagne,” Sergey put an arm around her shoulders. “Ir, you coming?”
“One second, I need the bathroom.”
In the bathroom Irina turned on the water and watched it run into the drain. It felt like their money was flowing away just as silently. “You’re such a fool, Irka,” she told her reflection. “It’s Seryozha’s mom—not some stranger.”
That evening, after Galina Nikolaevna left, Sergey hugged his wife.
“Well, now we’ll finally live,” he whispered into her hair. “We’ll do renovations, buy furniture. Are you happy?”
“I am, Seryozha. I really am.”
“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 saying Mom recognizes 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 samples, tile, and laminate all over the apartment. Sergey sketched designs for cabinets and shelves.
“Seryozha, what if we put the couch here?” Irina pointed to the living room wall. “And the TV opposite.”
“Uh-huh,” her husband replied distractedly, buried in his phone. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“Mom called. She’s not doing well.”
Irina tensed.
“What do you mean?”
“Dizzy, she says. Blood pressure jumping. We need to 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 rushed into the entryway. “Mom?”
Galina Nikolaevna was lying on the hallway floor. Eyes closed, breathing heavy.
“Call an ambulance!” Sergey shouted, dropping to his knees beside her.
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 staying at the hospital. On the third day, Evgeny—Sergey’s younger brother—joined them. Irina barely knew him. He’d moved to another city long ago and rarely showed up for family gatherings.
“Zhenya!” Sergey hugged him. “How did you find out?”
“Mom called me herself yesterday. She can barely speak, but she told me to come urgently. How is she?”
“Better. They promise to move her to a regular ward tomorrow.”
Evgeny 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.”
“Zhenya, don’t start,” Sergey said wearily. “We’re all worried.”
“Fine. I’ll go to the hotel and 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 Evgeny came with flowers. By then Galina Nikolaevna had been moved to a regular ward. She could talk, though with difficulty.
“Mom, how are you?” Evgeny sat on the edge of the bed.
“Better,” she smiled weakly. “You came…”
“Of course I came. You called.”
“Yes… We need… to talk.”
“About the documents?” he lowered his voice. “I did everything. The power of attorney is made out to me. Everything’s legal.”
Irina, standing by the door, froze. What power of attorney?
“You need rest, Mom,” Evgeny 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. What?”
“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 crawl down her spine.
A week passed. Galina Nikolaevna was recovering, but still in the hospital. Evgeny visited every day, bringing fruit, juice, vitamins. Sergey came regularly too. And Irina buried herself in the renovation of the new apartment.
That day she had just finished a meeting with the designer and decided to stop by home for a bite when the doorbell rang. A young couple stood on the threshold.
“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.”
“Representative?” Irina’s mouth went dry.
“Evgeny Sergeevich,” the man checked his phone. “He said he’s acting on behalf of the owner, Galina Nikolaevna. Are you a relative?”
Irina gripped the doorframe. The room swam before her eyes.
“Sorry, there’s been a mistake. The apartment isn’t for sale.”
“How is it not for sale?” the man frowned. “We already paid an advance to view it! Ten thousand!”
“This is a misunderstanding,” Irina forced herself to think. “I need to contact the… representative. Leave your number—you’ll get your money back.”
When the couple left, Irina grabbed her phone.
“Seryozha! Come home now! Here—” she choked. “Evgeny is selling our apartment!”
“What?! That can’t be!”
“It can! Buyers just came—Zhenya gave them our address!”
Half an hour later they were racing to the hospital. Sergey was pale, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
“I’ll deal with him,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Galina Nikolaevna looked at them in surprise when they burst into the ward.
“Children? What happened?”
“Mom,” Sergey sat beside the bed, “Zhenya got a power of attorney made out to himself and is trying to sell our apartment. Do you know about that?”
“Of course I know,” 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!”
“It’s in my name,” Galina Nikolaevna objected weakly. “Zhenya said this was your tax-avoidance scheme. That in reality it isn’t your apartment…”
“Mom!” Sergey jumped up. “Are you out of your mind? We saved for fifteen years! You’re just the nominal owner!”
At that moment the door opened and Evgeny walked in.
“Oh, a family council?” he smiled. “And I was just about to share 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,” Evgeny pulled out papers. “Here’s the power of attorney. Everything’s legal. Mom asked me herself.”
“It’s not her apartment! It’s mine and Irina’s!”
“The documents say otherwise,” Evgeny shrugged. “Mom, you’ll confirm that, right?”
Galina Nikolaevna shifted her gaze from one son to the other, confused.
“I… I don’t understand. Zhenya said…”
“What did I say? The truth,” Evgeny moved closer to their mother. “Seryozha and Irina just used you so they wouldn’t pay taxes. And now they need your signature.”
“Mom, don’t listen to him!” Sergey begged. “Remember—we discussed everything! You agreed to help us with the paperwork!”
“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. “You simply helped us with the documents. You yourself said—the apartment is ours, and yours only on paper.”
Evgeny smirked.
“Paper is the law. You wanted to get around the law and got caught. Stop pressuring Mom! She can’t get upset!”
“Let’s step out,” Sergey hissed, grabbing his brother by the sleeve.
In the corridor he shoved Evgeny 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?” Evgeny narrowed his eyes.
“A million.”
“Funny. The apartment’s worth fifteen.”
“That’s all we have,” Sergey said through his teeth. “The rest is in that damn apartment!”
“Not my problem,” Evgeny brushed off his sleeve. “The deal’s almost done. The buyer will bring the deposit tomorrow.”
They went back into the ward. Irina sat beside Galina Nikolaevna, holding her hand.
“Galina Nikolaevna, do you remember when we went to see this apartment together? You said, ‘Kids, take it—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 was,” Evgeny interrupted. “What matters is whose name is on the documents. Mom, you need to sign one more paper,” he pulled a sheet from the folder. “Right here. It’s consent to the sale.”
“Don’t you dare!” Sergey snatched the paper away. “Mom, you don’t understand what you’re doing!”
Galina Nikolaevna began to cry.
“I’m confused… Please don’t fight.”
A week later the apartment was sold. Evgeny moved fast—found a buyer, finalized the paperwork, got 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 apartment among boxes of their belongings. “Our money—fifteen years of saving…”
“I talked to a lawyer,” Sergey looked ten years older. “There’s a chance, but it’s small. Zhenya did everything properly.”
“I told you,” Irina couldn’t hold it in. “I told you we shouldn’t put it in your mother’s name!”
“You were right,” he lifted dull eyes to her. “It’s my fault. I wanted to save on taxes, and I lost everything.”
“No, not everything,” she sat beside him and took his hand. “We have each other. And we’ll get another chance.”
Three months later, the court partially upheld their claim. The deal was declared invalid, but they managed to recover only part of the funds—the new owners had already renovated and invested their own money.
Galina Nikolaevna recovered completely and cut all ties with her younger son when she realized how she’d been used. She tried to apologize to Sergey and Irina, but the wound was still too fresh.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” she sobbed. “I believed Zhenya…”
“We all make mistakes,” Irina replied, surprised at her own calm. “The important thing is to learn the lesson.”
The court money was enough for a down payment on a small two-room apartment. The mortgage was taken out in both their 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 apartment, they opened a bottle of something to 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 didn’t just lose 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 beside me.”
