Maria stood motionless by the window, thrown wide open to the autumn wind. October had turned out to be especially cold and damp—dry leaves whirled around the yard, driven by gusts of wind, while the sky was hidden behind thick gray clouds. It seemed as if nature itself reflected her troubled state, as though foretelling the impending misfortune.
It had already been three weeks since Andrey left the house. He had simply gathered his things, slipped his passport and a ticket to Murmansk into his pocket without any explanation. On the table, she had found only a short note: “Sorry. I will help.” That was all. Fifteen years of life together were reduced to these two meager words. Now every night in their bedroom turned into a torturous eternity. Familiar items in the room, photographs on the walls, even Andrey’s favorite blanket, neatly folded on the armchair, seemed to mock Maria with their presence, not allowing her to find any peace. At forty-two, starting over was terrifying, but it seemed there was no other way.
A sudden ring at the door made Maria tense up. She knew who it was. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she made her way to the entrance. Standing on the threshold was Irina Petrovna—strict as always in her favorite dark blue coat. Her gray hair was impeccably styled, and her gaze appeared cold and detached. Maria could hardly believe that for fifteen years this woman had been like a second mother to her.
“Come in,” Maria said in a quiet voice, letting her mother-in-law inside.
Irina Petrovna’s heels clearly clicked on the parquet floor—the same floor that she and Andrey had laid the previous summer. Every step resonated like pain in her temples.
“Would you like to sit?” Maria offered, though she already knew the answer.
“Not necessary,” Irina Petrovna snapped coldly, not even bothering to unbutton her coat. “The conversation will be brief.”
Maria leaned against the wall, feeling her legs weaken.
“I suppose you understand why I’m here,” her mother-in-law began, her voice even and official. “You are divorced. You no longer belong to our family. This house belongs to the Sokolovs, and you are once again Voronina.”
The words “you no longer belong to our family” pinned Maria in place like a blow. Memories flashed before her eyes: the first family dinner in this house, the housewarming party, the planting of apple trees by the whole family…
“On what grounds do you want to kick me out of my home?” Maria asked, amazed at her own resolve.
Irina Petrovna’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“Yours?” she asked mockingly. “Don’t talk nonsense. Your father and I bought this house for Andrey long before your wedding. You never meant anything here.”
Something in her chest snapped, but along with the pain came an understanding.
“Fifteen years,” Maria said quietly. “I’ve spent fifteen years here. Every corner holds our joys and sorrows. These are my wallpapers, my flowers by the window, my work…”
“Enough!” Irina Petrovna abruptly cut her off. “I’m giving you a month. Exactly one month to pack. And consider yourself lucky that I’m giving you any time at all.”
Maria slowly straightened up, meeting her gaze.
“No,” she answered firmly. “I won’t leave so easily. If need be, I’ll defend my rights in court.”
A flicker of something resembling respect crossed Irina Petrovna’s face, but it quickly turned into icy malice.
“Very well,” she hissed, “then we’ll see you in court.”
Her heels began clicking on the parquet again, now heading for the exit. The door slammed shut with a crash, making the chandelier tremble. In the ensuing silence, all that could be heard was the dripping of water from the kitchen tap.
Maria sank onto a bench, her cheeks wet with tears, though she didn’t even notice them. On a small table stood a photograph in a wooden frame: it was her with Andrey and his parents in front of their recently purchased home. Everyone was smiling, so happy, so distant. Maria turned the picture face down. “I’ll manage,” she kept repeating to herself. “I will manage.”
Outside, rain began to fall, large drops drumming on the glass.
First thing, Maria called Andrey. The phone rang for a long time—once, twice, the tenth ring. Finally, in exasperation, she hung up. In three weeks he hadn’t answered a single call.
The next day, she went to the Multifunctional Center (MFC). The line for the service window stretched on for nearly an hour. The young woman behind the glass mechanically checked her documents.
“Marriage certificate… okay… Divorce certificate…” she frowned as she examined the computer screen. “And where are the documents proving ownership?”
“No documents,” Marina said, clutching her worn bag more tightly. “The house is in my father-in-law’s name.”
“In that case, I can’t help you,” the young woman shrugged indifferently. “Without confirmation of your right to the dwelling…”
“But I’ve lived here for fifteen years!” Maria’s voice trembled with emotion. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
The young woman looked at her with sympathy: “You need a good lawyer. Family matters are always complicated.”
In the corridor of the MFC, it was cramped and stuffy. Marina sank onto a hard chair and took out her phone. “Family lawyer” she typed into the search engine. The consultation fees brought a grimace of displeasure to her face.
In the evening, her friend Svetlana called.
“Are you really planning to go to court?” Svetlana’s voice clearly showed worry. “Maybe you should just give up? Find an apartment, rent…”
“With what money, Sveta?” Marina gazed thoughtfully out the window at the darkening yard. “I earn as a saleswoman. Handing over half my salary for rent? And what about the rest?”
“Maybe Andrey will help?”
“Of course,” Marina bitterly smiled. “He’s been ignoring my calls for three weeks.”
The next morning, she still scheduled a consultation with a lawyer, withdrawing her last funds from the bank card.
A stout man with glasses listened carefully to her story.
“The situation is complicated,” he said, tapping his pen on the desk. “Without documents proving ownership, it will be extremely difficult to prove your right to the dwelling. However, there are some possibilities. Did you invest in repairs?”
“Of course!” Marina brightened. “And I’ve kept the receipts. I always keep everything.”
“That’s a positive point. And are there any witnesses? Who can confirm your participation in the improvement of the house?”
“Neighbors… friends…” Marina pondered. “But will they agree to testify against the Sokolov family? In our small town, everyone knows everyone.”
“That’s exactly the main problem,” the lawyer sighed. “People usually avoid getting involved in family disputes.”
Marina returned home at dusk. In the hallway, she stumbled over a box of old photo albums—she had taken them out yesterday to find pictures of the renovations. In the kitchen, a tap was leaking, which Andrey had promised to fix a month ago.
Her phone notified her of a new message. It was from Andrey. “Mom said you’re planning to go to court. Don’t; just find another place to live. I’ll help with money.”
Marina stared at the screen for a long time before replying: “It’s not about the money, Andrey. It’s about justice.”
The message went unanswered.
In the bedroom, she mechanically straightened the bedspread and pillows. On the small table sat an alarm clock—a gift from her mother-in-law at the housewarming. For fifteen years it had reliably woken them every morning. Maria carefully put it away in a drawer.
The next morning, the phone rang. It was Irina Petrovna.
“Let’s meet and talk,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded tired. “Maybe we can come to an agreement peacefully?”
They decided to meet at a café on the main street. Maria arrived early, choosing a table in the corner, away from the window. She didn’t want acquaintances to see their conversation.
Irina Petrovna appeared right on time. She sat opposite, smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt with a familiar gesture—a gesture so well known to Maria.
“Would you like some coffee?” Irina Petrovna asked unexpectedly gently.
“I will.”
They sat in silence while the waiter set the cups. Maria watched as Irina Petrovna stirred in the sugar—three spoons, as always.
“I consulted with a lawyer,” her mother-in-law began. “He warned me that the court case could drag on for months. Do we really need that?”
“What exactly are you proposing?” Maria raised her eyes.
“Here’s what I propose: I will give you time to find a new place and provide money for a down payment. Andrey will add his part…”
“So you just want to buy me out?” Maria seethed inside. “After fifteen years of life?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Irina Petrovna frowned. “I’m offering a reasonable solution.”
“Reasonable?” Maria bitterly laughed. “And do you remember how you used to say I was like a daughter to you? How we chose the dinner set together for the housewarming? How you sat with me in the hospital when I broke my leg?”
A shadow passed over her mother-in-law’s face.
“The past is the past. Now the situation is different.”
“How is it different?” Maria leaned forward. “You used to say that family is forever. Or does that rule only apply as long as there’s a stamp in the passport?”
“Stop playing on my sympathies!” Irina Petrovna raised her voice, and several patrons turned their heads. “You understand perfectly well: the house belongs to our family. It was, and will always be, ours. And you… you only lived in it temporarily.”
“Temporarily?” Maria suddenly stood up sharply, nearly knocking over her cup. “Fifteen years is temporary? Every step there holds my footprints. Every curtain was chosen by me. And the apple trees in the garden were planted by Andrey and me…”
“Sit down!” hissed Irina Petrovna. “People are watching.”
“Let them watch!” Maria could no longer hold back her tears. “Let everyone see how you are kicking a family member out onto the street!”
“A family member?” Irina Petrovna’s face paled. “You meant nothing to us. You were his wife—and ceased to be.”
Silently, Maria grabbed her bag.
“So be it,” she said, trying to keep calm. “I won’t take your money. And I won’t leave the house. If you want to, then let’s take this to court.”
“Very well,” Irina Petrovna sneered. “And rest assured, we will win.”
“We shall see,” Maria replied, turning toward the exit.
She walked home on foot despite the drizzling rain. The words of their recent conversation echoed in her mind: “You meant nothing to us”—the phrase reverberated in her temples. Fifteen years of life—and now she was a stranger. It was as if all those years had been unreal, as if there had been no shared celebrations, joys, and sorrows…
When she reached the house, she stopped. The lights were still on in the windows—she had forgotten to turn them off before leaving. Or… her heart gave a worried jolt. Andrey was standing on the stoop.
Andrey waited for her, hands shoved into the pockets of his familiar jacket—the very worn one she had asked him so many times to replace.
“Hello,” he said quietly when she stepped onto the stoop.
Maria fumbled with her keys, feeling her hands betrayingly tremble.
“Shall we talk?” there was uncertainty in her husband’s voice.
“About what?” she finally managed to say after struggling with the lock. “About how you ignored my calls for three weeks?”
Inside the foyer, darkness reigned. Maria turned on the light and shook off her wet shoes. Andrey shifted from foot to foot at the door.
“Come in already,” she snapped. “What are you waiting for? While you can.”
He followed her into the kitchen, took his usual place by the window, and ran his hand over the countertop, as if greeting an old friend.
“I spoke with my mom,” he began.
“Really?” Maria folded her arms across her chest. “And what did she tell you? That I made a scene at the café in front of everyone?”
“Marin…”
“Or that I refused your generous offers?”
“Enough,” he frowned. “I want to help.”
“Help?” she turned sharply to him. “Where were you when your mother came to kick me out? When I was running between lawyers? When I couldn’t sleep at night, wondering where to turn?”
Andrey stepped to the window, looking at the bare branches of the apple trees outside.
“Remember how we planted them?” he suddenly asked. “You were so afraid they wouldn’t take root.”
“They did take root,” Maria’s voice trembled. “But what’s the point now…”
“I sold the apartment in Murmansk,” he continued without turning around. “We can buy you a one-room apartment or a studio…”
“My goodness,” Maria laughed through her tears. “You still don’t understand. I don’t need your one-room apartment. Here—” she swept her hand around the kitchen, “every corner belongs to me. Every nail, every crack. I built this house with my heart, you understand?”
“I understand,” he said slowly, turning to her. “But this house is my mother’s, my father’s. They bought it for me.”
“And for whom did I arrange it?” she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “For whom did I plant flowers, paste the wallpaper, scrub the floors? I thought— for family, for us…”
Andrey was silent. In the quiet, only the sound of water dripping from the unfixed tap could be heard.
“The tap still isn’t fixed,” Maria suddenly said.
“What?”
“The tap. You promised a month ago…”
He stepped toward the sink.
“Don’t,” Maria stopped him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Andrey lowered his head.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “when mom said you were going to sue… At first I got angry. I thought—she made a scene over nothing. And then…”
“And then what?” Maria asked softly.
“Then I realized that you’re right. You have every reason to defend what is important to you. Your home,” Andrey said.
“Only now it isn’t my home, is it?” Her voice trembled. “And not even ours. Just an asset that your parents bought for you.”
Andrey lifted his gaze to her—his eyes full of confusion and fatigue.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Just go, Andrey,” Maria turned toward the window. “Just go.”
When the front door closed softly behind him, Maria slowly sank onto a chair. Her phone vibrated in her pocket—a message from the lawyer: “Tomorrow at 10:00 we are filing the lawsuit. Be prepared.”
Outside, a new downpour began.
The next morning, the courthouse greeted Maria with the cold echo of footsteps on the marble floor. She arrived early and sat on a long wooden bench in the corridor. She took out her documents from her bag—worn receipts for building materials, photos of the renovations, old bills. Her hands trembled treacherously.
Irina Petrovna appeared five minutes before the session began. She was dressed in a strict gray suit and carried a folder of documents under her arm. Accompanying her was a tall man in an expensive dark jacket—the experienced lawyer. Andrey entered last, sitting at the edge with his head down.
“Please stand up! The session is starting!”
The judge, a robust middle-aged woman, quickly flipped through the case files.
“So, Voronina Maria Sergeyevna versus the Sokolov family… A suit to recognize the right to use the dwelling. Plaintiff, please state your claim.”
Maria stood. Her throat was dry.
“I…” she took a deep breath. “I lived in this house for fifteen years. I invested my energy, money, and soul into it. I have documents proving the expenses for repairs. There are witnesses…”
“Just a moment,” the judge interrupted. “Do you acknowledge that the house is owned by the Sokolov family?”
“Yes, but…”
“You were married to their son?”
“Yes.”
“Whose marriage has now been dissolved?”
“Yes, but the issue is not that!” Maria exclaimed, raising her voice.
“Please calm down,” the judge raised her hand. “Let’s be methodical. Defendant’s representative, your position?”
The Sokolovs’ lawyer stood and adjusted his jacket.
“Your Honor, the situation is quite clear. The house belongs to my clients as per the purchase agreement from 2008. The plaintiff resided there solely as the wife of their son. After the divorce, all rights…”
Maria listened to his smooth speech as if through a haze. Everything she wanted to say now seemed insignificant. Fifteen years of life turned into dry legal phrases.
“Plaintiff, would you like to add anything?” the judge interrupted the silence.
Maria slowly stood again. She looked at Irina Petrovna, who sat as upright as ever. At Andrey, who was examining his shoes. At the lawyer with his impeccably arranged documents.
“You know what,” she suddenly said, “I’ve changed my mind.”
A murmur ran through the courtroom.
“Excuse me?” the judge raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I withdraw my claim.”
Irina Petrovna startled. Andrey lifted his head.
“Do you understand the consequences of your decision?” the judge inquired.
“I do,” Maria straightened her shoulders. “You can’t sue over love, over memories, over fifteen years of happiness. Legally, the house belongs to you. But no one can take away what I have invested in it.”
Silence filled the room. Only the echo of a distant door slam could be heard.
“Very well,” the judge wrote something on her papers. “I accept the withdrawal of the claim. The session is adjourned.”
Maria was the first to leave the hall. Near the exit, Irina Petrovna caught up with her.
“Wait,” she called out.
Maria turned. Her mother-in-law was standing there, clutching her folder of documents, looking confused, suddenly appearing small and fragile.
“Why did you do that?” Irina Petrovna asked softly.
“Because you won,” Maria replied sadly with a weak smile. “The house is yours. But with it, you lose a daughter. Forever.”
She turned and walked toward the exit, leaving behind the echo of her high heels striking the marble floor.
Later, at home, Maria sat in the kitchen, absentmindedly sorting through old photographs, when the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Irina Petrovna—now no longer in her strict suit, but in a simple dark dress.
“May I come in?” Irina Petrovna asked.
Maria silently stepped aside, letting her mother-in-law pass. Irina Petrovna walked into the kitchen and stopped by the window.
“Do you remember how we chose the curtains for this room?” she began unexpectedly. “You insisted on blue ones, and I wanted beige.”
“In the end, we hung blue,” Maria answered quietly.
“Yes, and they turned out to be better,” Irina Petrovna said thoughtfully, turning toward her. “That was the first time I thought: my son has great taste. He chose a worthy wife.”
Maria remained silent. Outside, dusk was settling.
“On the way home from court, I did a lot of thinking,” her mother-in-law continued. “About what you said. About the house, about family… You’re right. You can’t sue over love.”
“What is this conversation about?” Maria asked wearily. “I’ve already started packing.”
“No,” Irina Petrovna said decisively, stepping forward. “Don’t leave.”
“What?”
“Stay. This house belongs to you too. Now I realize that.”
Maria felt her eyes well up with tears.
“And what about your words: ‘not a member of the family,’ ‘temporary lodging’?”
“Those were foolish,” Irina Petrovna lowered her eyes. “I was angry—about the divorce, about Andrey, about the whole world. And I took my frustration out on you. I’m sorry.”
She took some documents out of her bag and handed them to Maria:
“Today I’ll arrange a part of the house in your name. Officially, through a notary.”
“No need,” Maria shook her head. “It’s not about the papers.”
“I know. But it will be the right thing to do.”
At that moment, Andrey appeared in the doorway—it seemed he had been standing in the hall all this time.
“Mom, Marin,” he addressed her. “I’ve been thinking… Maybe we can try to start over?”
“Start over? In what sense?” Maria asked in surprise.
“Everything. Family. Life,” he stammered. “I know I was wrong. That I got scared and ran away. But now I realize…”
“What do you realize?” she asked.
“That a house isn’t just walls. A house is the people who make up a family. It’s what we built together all these years.”
Irina Petrovna quietly left the kitchen, leaving them alone. A minute later, the sound of the front door slamming was heard.
Maria approached the window. Outside, the apple trees they once planted together were darkening in the fading light. On the windowsill stood an old photograph in a wooden frame—the same one she had turned upside down the day her mother-in-law arrived. She gently righted the picture.
“You know what’s the hardest part?” she asked without turning around.
“What?”
“Believing that everything can begin anew.”
Andrey came up and stood beside her.
“Shall we try?” he suggested quietly. “Step by step, day by day.”
Maria was silent for a long moment, gazing at the darkening garden. Then she slowly nodded:
“Let’s try.”
Outside, the last rays of the sunset faded away. Somewhere in the distance, the voices of dogs could be heard. In the house, silence settled—a long-awaited quiet after many weeks of anxiety.
Tomorrow a new day would begin. And a new life—in the old house that held their history in every corner, every crack, every creak of the floorboards. A house that became home through love, not legal documents.
