Everything is going according to plan,» her son-in-law’s voice reached her. «Mother-in-law almost agreed to the exchange.»
«Do you think it will work?» the girl spoke softly, but in the nearly empty hall, every word was clearly heard.
«And where will she go? We’ll exchange, take out a loan or mortgage, pay it off in a couple of years—and that’s it, free!»
The coffee cup clinked against the saucer a little louder than usual. Darya Sergeyevna flinched and looked up at her daughter.
Irina sat opposite, thoughtfully stirring her spoon at the bottom of her cup. The scent of fresh baking wafted from the kitchen—Darya Sergeyevna had gotten up early to treat her family to some vatrushkas.
«Mom,» Irina put down her spoon and looked up resolutely. «Let’s talk.»
Andrey, who had been silently chewing on a vatrushka until then, tensed up. His broad shoulders stiffened as if before a jump.
«About what, my dear?» Darya Sergeyevna dabbed her lips with a napkin, though they were perfectly dry.
«About the apartment. Or rather, about exchanging it.»
The vatrushka in Andrey’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. He cast a quick glance at his wife, then at his mother-in-law.
«Irish, maybe not now?» he said quietly. «Such conversations first thing in the morning…»
«And when then?» Irina’s voice carried stubborn notes. «You’re tired in the evenings, and on weekends we always have some plans. When, Andrey?»
Darya Sergeyevna watched her son-in-law attentively. Tall, well-built, with fine facial features—he was a handsome man, no doubt about it.
Two years ago, when Irina introduced him, she had admired him too.
A guy from Krasnodar, from a simple family, but ambitious—graduated from an institute, moved to Moscow, got a decent job at a reputable firm.
«I just want a child,» Irina said quietly. «And you keep saying—we need our own place, separately.»
So I came up with an idea—let’s exchange our three-room for a smaller one. Mom takes a one-bedroom, and we with you will add some money and get a two-bedroom. What’s wrong with that?
Andrey finally finished his long-suffering vatrushka, meticulously wiped his hands with a napkin.
«That’s not the point, Irish. Just…,» he stumbled, searching for words. «It’s somehow not right. To drive your mom out of the apartment.»
«Why drive her out?» Irina flared up. «Mom, tell him!»
Darya Sergeyevna slowly rose from the table, began to gather the dishes.
«You know, dear,» she mused, «maybe Andrey is right. It’s not the time yet.»
«When will it be time?» Tears glittered in Irina’s eyes. «I’m already twenty-eight! All my friends have children already, I’m the only one…»
She didn’t finish, dashed out of the kitchen. The front door slammed—she ran off to work. Andrey also hurried off, pecked his mother-in-law on the cheek:
«Don’t worry, mom. I’ll talk to her, she’ll understand.»
When the door closed behind him, Darya Sergeyevna heavily sat down on a chair. There was something unsettling about that morning’s conversation. Something…
At the clinic where she worked as a registrar, it was unusually quiet. Interseason—colds were over, and summer injuries were still far away.
«Seriously, Dash?» exclaimed Valentina Petrovna, her coworker. «He really said—no need to exchange now?»
«Imagine?» Darya Sergeyevna shook her head. «And he himself, when we got married, hinted all the time—it’s cramped for three.»
«And you registered him at your apartment?» squinted Valentina.
«I did, of course. How else in Moscow?»
Valentina snorted meaningfully:
«Listen, girlfriend… Take a closer look at your son-in-law. I don’t like this story.»
By evening, those words lodged in her head like a splinter. So much so that Darya Sergeyevna did the unthinkable—asked to leave work early and headed to her son-in-law’s office.
She had never been here—a modern building of glass and concrete, surrounded by expensive cars.
Andrey came out around six, but didn’t head towards the metro, instead crossed to a cafe. And not alone—beside him walked a young woman, a delicate blonde in a blue coat.
Darya Sergeyevna, not understanding why, followed them. The cafe was not crowded, she sat at a neighboring table, shielded by a huge ficus in a pot.
«Everything is going according to plan,» her son-in-law’s voice reached her. «Mother-in-law almost agreed to the exchange.»
«Do you think it will work?» the girl spoke softly, but in the nearly empty hall, every word was clearly heard.
«And where will she go? We’ll exchange, take out a loan or mortgage, pay it off in a couple of years—and that’s it, free! The apartment was bought during the marriage, so by law, it’s split in half.»
Darya Sergeyevna felt her fingers go numb. With a trembling hand, she took out her phone, turned on the voice recorder.
«And Irina?» asked the blonde.
Andrey smirked:
«And what about Irina? She’ll cry and calm down. But the apartment stays—a nice compensation for a few years of marriage, right?»
Darya Sergeyevna returned home late. Irina sat in the kitchen, checking some work documents. She looked up, smiled:
«Mom, why so late?»
Darya Sergeyevna looked at her daughter and saw herself at twenty-five—same gray eyes, same trusting smile.
She had been betrayed then, too, but she coped. And Irina would cope.
«I was a bit delayed, dear,» she kissed her daughter on the top of her head. «You’re right, we need to exchange the apartment. I’ll start on it tomorrow.»
Several days passed.
A gloomy dawn was breaking outside. Irina, already dressed for work, stood frozen at the window with a cup of cooled tea.
She had slept poorly at night—thinking about her mother’s sudden agreement to the apartment exchange.
Into the kitchen glided Darya Sergeyevna, unusually composed and businesslike.
«Good morning,» she placed a thick folder of documents on the table. «Is Andrey still asleep?»
«Yes, he has an important meeting today, I decided not to wake him early.»
Darya Sergeyevna nodded, pulled the folder towards her:
«Here’s the thing, dear. Realtors called me this morning, everything’s ready for the deal. We need to deregister from the apartment today—and then we can start the paperwork for the exchange.»
Andrey appeared from the bedroom, hastily buttoning his shirt.
«Good morning,» he pecked his wife on the cheek, nodded to his mother-in-law. «What are these documents so early in the morning?»
«From the realtors,» Darya Sergeyevna replied in a matter-of-fact tone. «We all need to deregister to start the deal. You wanted to sort this out quickly, didn’t you?»
Irina watched in surprise as her husband’s face brightened. He seemed to shed several years all at once.
«Of course I did!» he exclaimed. «Let me go right after work, I’ll deregister.»
«Go at lunch,» Darya Sergeyevna advised. «Otherwise, it’ll be crowded in the evening.»
At work, Irina kept getting distracted by thoughts of the new apartment. Then her mother called:
«Irish, don’t deregister yet and don’t tell Andrey anything. I’ll explain everything in the evening. Trust me, dear.»
Around three, Andrey called, his voice content:
«Imagine, I did it so quickly! Deregistered, no queues. We’ll discuss the details in the evening? We’ll need to organize the move.»
«Of course,» Irina replied, sensing some poorly concealed joy in her husband’s voice.
She got home around eight. The hallway light was on, and two worn suitcases stood by the dresser—the same ones Andrey had brought with him two years ago.
«Mom?» Irina called. «Are you home? Explain what happened.»
Darya Sergeyevna peeked out from the kitchen. Her face was pale but determined.
«Come in, dear.»
On the kitchen table lay a phone, her mother played some recording. Irina listened to the voices—her husband’s and an unfamiliar woman’s—and felt her face go numb.
«That’s how it is, dear,» Darya Sergeyevna spoke softly. «He deregistered himself. And I’ve already changed the locks.»
There was a knock at the door—demanding, insistent. Irina mechanically moved to open it, but her mother held her by the arm:
«Wait. Let me.»
She walked decisively to the hallway. The lock clicked.
«Good evening, Andrey,» Darya Sergeyevna’s voice was calm and firm. «We were expecting you.»
«What the… Why is the lock different?»
«Because you don’t live here anymore. And you no longer have a registration in Moscow. Here are your things—everything you brought to this house two years ago.»
«Have you lost your minds?» Hysteria edged into Andrey’s voice. «Irina! Where’s my wife? Ira, what’s happening?»
Irina slowly walked into the hallway. Seeing her husband made her nauseous.
«I’m filing for divorce,» her own voice seemed foreign to her. «Take your things and leave.»
«What do you mean—divorce?» Andrey tried to wedge his foot in the door, but Darya Sergeyevna skillfully pushed the suitcases out and slammed the door.
«Live with that nice little blonde in the blue coat,» she shouted through the door.
Silence fell beyond the door. Then came cursing and receding footsteps.
Irina slumped onto the bench, exhausted. Darya Sergeyevna sat down next to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
«Cry, dear. Cry, it’ll feel better.»
«How did I not realize sooner?» Irina sobbed. «Why was he so insistent on the exchange? He kept saying—let’s buy the apartment first…»
«You’re still young, trusting,» Darya Sergeyevna sighed. «Just like I was once. But we’ll get through this.»
Half a year later, Irina sat in a cafe near work. Across from her was Mikhail—a new coworker.
His kind brown eyes radiated warmth. Her heart felt light and calm. Life went on—and it promised to be beautiful.
