Natasha stroked the wooden wall with her palm, feeling the roughness of the old log. This house had witnessed her first steps, first tears, and first joys. A strong, albeit old, village house with a carved porch and a small but well-kept garden had been her sanctuary since childhood. After the death of her grandmother Anna Mikhailovna, the house was left to Natasha — the only granddaughter, who spent every summer and every weekend here.
«How’s the roof? Is it leaking?» Natasha tapped the support beam, carefully inspecting the ceiling. The beginning of May had brought heavy rains, and it was necessary to check if everything was in order.
«Looks dry,» Leonid replied, sitting on a stool with a mug of tea. «You ask the same thing every year. The house is sturdy; your grandmother knew a thing or two about construction.»
Natasha smiled, recalling how Grandma Anna Mikhailovna had commanded a team of builders when they replaced the roof. Small, frail, yet with such a commanding voice that even the most experienced craftsmen dared not argue.
«Yes, she knew…» Natasha ran her hand over the old stove. «Do you remember when we first got married and came here? You were surprised how well the stove kept the heat.»
Leonid nodded, but his gaze lacked the warmth it once held. The couple had been married for seven years. After their wedding, Natasha moved to the city with her husband, into the apartment he had bought before meeting her. The village house became their dacha — a place to escape the city’s hustle and bustle, work on the garden, have barbecues with friends, or simply sit on the porch in the evening, watching the sunset.
«How long are we staying here today?» Leonid set his mug down and stretched. «We should head back to the city by evening, I have a meeting with clients tomorrow.»
Natasha suppressed a sigh. Leonid had never particularly liked being here. At first, he pretended the house was to his liking, but over time, he found more and more reasons not to come or to shorten his visits. For the past two years, Natasha had come more often on her own, sometimes with her friend Masha, while her husband stayed in the city.
«I’ll stay until tomorrow, I want to prepare the beds,» Natasha replied. «You can go if you need to. Masha promised to come by and pick me up tomorrow evening.»
Leonid seemed relieved by this offer, and an hour later, he was gone, leaving Natasha alone with the house and her memories.
The house was officially in Natasha’s name. It was her only personal possession, which she carefully kept — both as a memory of her grandmother and as a kind of backup plan just in case. Sometimes Natasha caught herself thinking of the house as her «island of independence.» Not that she didn’t love her husband or didn’t trust him, just… sometimes it was nice to have something that was solely hers.
Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Petrovna, had always treated the house with barely concealed disdain. On her first visit, she pursed her lips as she surveyed the small rooms, old furniture, and simple decor.
«My, how people lived back then,» Lyudmila Petrovna said as she traced her finger along the wooden windowsill. «No amenities, no space. And you still hold onto this shack?»
Natasha remained silent, though the words stung. Over time, her mother-in-law became even more outspoken. Every visit was accompanied by comments and disgruntled remarks: the stove was troublesome to heat, the well for water was inconvenient, the mosquitoes were too vicious.
«You should sell it, Natasha,» her mother-in-law said. «What’s the point of keeping it? You’re just wasting money and effort on it. Leonid has to repair the fence every year, patch the roof. And for what?»
Leonid, to Natasha’s surprise, agreed with his mother. Though, if one really thought about it, his contribution to maintaining the house was minimal. Last year, Natasha repaired the fence herself, hiring a local helper. The roof had been redone during Grandma’s time. Every year, Leonid increasingly viewed the house as an abandoned asset — no investments, no respect, only irritation when something broke and needed attention.
«Maybe we should sell it after all?» he once suggested. «We can buy a proper dacha closer to the city, with gas and running water. You must be uncomfortable here without modern conveniences.»
«I’m comfortable,» Natasha replied firmly. «I grew up in this house. It’s not about convenience.»
Her husband didn’t understand that for Natasha, the house was a whole world, a repository of memories, a link to the past. And, if she were honest with herself, it was also a kind of guarantee for the future. The property documents were in her name alone, and that gave her a sense of security. Natasha didn’t like admitting it, but sometimes, in moments of quarrels with her husband, she imagined what it would be like to come back here if she had to start her life over. Nonsense, of course… But the house was her support.
The entire day Natasha worked in the garden: she dug up two beds, planted radishes and onions, cleaned the paths of last year’s leaves. By evening, her back ached, but she felt light and peaceful. She heated the stove, prepared a simple dinner, and sat on the porch, watching the moon rise over the forest.
«Grandma, I feel so good here,» Natasha whispered into the darkness. «Thank you for leaving me this house.»
The next day, when Natasha returned to the city, she immediately felt the change in atmosphere. Leonid seemed tense, fidgety, speaking little but constantly checking his phone. In the evening, her mother-in-law unexpectedly dropped by.
«Leonid, I’ve made the arrangements!» Lyudmila Petrovna declared from the doorstep, taking off her light jacket. «There’s a respectable family, local businessmen. They’re offering a good price!»
Leonid nodded, avoiding eye contact with Natasha, who was confused, shifting her gaze from him to her mother-in-law.
«What are you talking about?» Natasha asked.
«Oh, just that I found buyers for one of the plots,» Leonid replied vaguely.
«Why not just the plot?» Lyudmila Petrovna interrupted. «The house is nice too, wooden. Overall, everything’s neat, just needs a little updating…»
Natasha was struck by an ominous premonition.
«What house are you talking about?»
«The village house, what else?» Lyudmila Petrovna shrugged as she entered the kitchen and started opening cupboards as if she were at her own home. «Leonid said you’ve been thinking about selling this wreck. And here’s the chance! My neighbor, Marina, her son-in-law works at a real estate agency. He found the buyers right away, can you believe it? They’re building a cottage community, and they need a plot like this.»
Natasha felt as though the ground had disappeared beneath her. She turned to Leonid:
«Leonid, did you decide to sell my house? Without asking me?»
«Come on, Natasha, we’ve talked about it,» Leonid grimaced. «How long are we going to keep this shed? You don’t spend time there, and neither do I. It’s just money down the drain.»
«We talked, but we didn’t decide anything!» Natasha protested. «And you don’t spend any money on maintaining it, actually. The last time, I repaired the fence myself and paid for it.»
Her mother-in-law had already taken some papers from the cupboard and spread them on the table.
«Oh, don’t start,» Lyudmila Petrovna waved her hand dismissively. «Counting who spent what is so petty. You’re family! What’s yours is Leonid’s, what’s Leonid’s is yours.»
«This house was mine before I met Leonid,» Natasha said firmly. «And I’m not selling it.»
Lyudmila Petrovna looked at her as if she were a spoiled child.
«Natasha, we’ve already decided. Tomorrow the buyers are coming to look at your village house. We’re selling it,» she said as though it were her own property. «You don’t even live there.»
Natasha stared at the woman who was so brazenly managing her property and couldn’t believe her ears. It was said so matter-of-factly, with no hint of apology. As if they were talking about a pot in the kitchen, not Natasha’s only possession, her memory, her sanctuary.
Natasha slowly turned to her husband. He just shrugged.
«Well, you haven’t been going there for a long time. It’s just sitting there unused.»
Natasha looked at her husband, at his indifferent face, and felt something break inside her. Not a thread — a rope that had tied her to these people. Year after year, Natasha had tried to please them, to fit in. She accepted her mother-in-law’s condescending comments, put up with the fact that her husband was increasingly making decisions without her.
But now they had crossed the line. Natasha didn’t shout, didn’t cause a scene, as her mother-in-law and husband probably expected. Instead, everything inside her became crystal clear: no one would make decisions for her anymore. Especially not when it came to things that only concerned her.
«There will be no sale,» Natasha said, surprised at how calmly her voice sounded. «The house is mine, and I’m not selling it.»
«Why are you being so stubborn!» Lyudmila Petrovna threw her hands up. «They have the money ready. They’ll look at it tomorrow and leave a deposit right away!»
«Let them not waste their time,» Natasha replied, already heading for the bedroom. «No one is going to look at anything.»
«Where are you going?» her mother-in-law shouted after her, but Natasha had already closed the door behind her.
The night was sleepless. Natasha tossed and turned, trying to make sense of what had happened. How could Leonid do this? How could he decide to sell her property without asking her? It had never happened before. Or maybe it had, but Natasha hadn’t noticed? In their seven years of marriage, Natasha had increasingly had to give in, agree, adapt.
«What if they still go and show the house?» A sharp thought pierced Natasha’s mind. Her mother-in-law might use the old key that had always been kept under the porch. Something had to be done, and immediately.
In the morning, without saying a word, Natasha packed a small bag with just the essentials. Leonid watched her pack in silence, a hint of confusion on his face.
«Where are you going?» he finally asked.
«To the village,» Natasha replied shortly. «I need to check the roof after the rains.»
Leonid grunted.
«You should stop being so stubborn and think about us. About our future. A dacha closer to the city would be much more convenient.»
«I didn’t ask you to worry about convenience. And I definitely didn’t ask you to sell my house.»
«Why are you holding on to this junk!» Leonid exclaimed irritably. «No one’s trying to rob you! The money’s going to be shared, family money.»
Natasha zipped up her bag, threw on her coat, and headed for the door.
«Natasha, what’s wrong with you?» Leonid grabbed her by the elbow. «Don’t be silly. We’ve already talked everything over with my mom.»
«You talked about it. Without me. My house — my decisions.»
The road to the village seemed longer than ever to Natasha. On the bus, she stared out the window, lost in thought about how her life would change after today. The decision had already been made, even though just yesterday Natasha couldn’t have imagined doing something like this.
In the village, the first thing Natasha did was go to the hardware store. She bought new locks — reliable ones with multiple secrets. Then she went to her neighbor, Ivan Stepanovich, who was known in the village for his handyman skills.
«Ivan Stepanovich, please help,» Natasha asked the elderly man. «I need to change the locks on the house. And make them stronger.»
The neighbor raised his bushy eyebrows but didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. In the village, people respected privacy.
«Let’s go take a look,» Ivan Stepanovich nodded, wiping his hands on a towel.
He worked quickly and skillfully. Within an hour, a new lock was on the door, and Natasha had installed additional bolts on the windows.
«Thank you,» Natasha handed him some money, but the neighbor waved it off.
«Don’t mention it. We’re neighbors, after all. But tell me, what’s the trouble?»
Natasha sighed.
«No… I just want to make sure that only with my permission can anyone enter my house.»
Ivan Stepanovich nodded understandingly.
«Your husband, is he up to something? I saw him here with his friends last time. They were making a lot of noise, the lights stayed on until morning.»
Natasha looked at the neighbor in surprise.
«Leonid came here? Without me?»
«Yes, about a month ago. He came by car, four men. They were drinking, I think. I even wondered if they were going to start a fire.»
Natasha thanked the neighbor and went back to the house. Her thoughts were confused, but one thing was clear: something had gone wrong in her marriage not long ago, and very seriously. Her husband had come to her house without permission, and with company. Clearly, the spare key that had always been kept under the porch had been used for more than just emergencies.
Natasha bent down to the crooked step and moved it aside. Underneath, in a hidden compartment, was the key, wrapped in oilcloth. Natasha took it and hid it in her pocket. No more free access to her house.
Once inside, Natasha froze. There was an unfamiliar presence in the house. No, not her grandmother’s — she was used to that since childhood. This was new, uncomfortable. Bottles were on the table, someone’s socks were in the corner, a hoodie Natasha had never seen before was hanging on the back of a chair.
Natasha began cleaning. All the unfamiliar items went into a trash bag. Dishes she hadn’t bought, rags, blankets, old men’s clothes that Leonid «just brought» — it all went out. With every minute, Natasha felt her control over her life return. It was as if she were cleaning not just the house, but her soul — from чужих притязаний, from disrespect, from betrayal.
Once the house gleamed with cleanliness, Natasha sat down at the table and took out her phone. Ten missed calls from her husband, three from her mother-in-law. Natasha opened the message window and typed a short text: «The house is mine. Decisions are mine. The sale is canceled.»
She sent it first to Leonid, then copied it and sent it to her mother-in-law. Then she turned off her phone.
The entire evening Natasha spent sorting through old photos. On one of them, a young grandmother stood on the porch, proudly hugging a post. It was the day she received the house documents. Her first real home after years of moving from rented places. Natasha remembered that story.
«Do you know, Natasha,» her grandmother had said, «when a woman has her own roof over her head, she fears nothing. It’s like an anchor in a stormy sea. No matter what happens, you always have somewhere to return.»
Natasha smiled at the memory. Grandma was right.
Late at night, the phone rang, the home landline. Natasha jumped — it was hardly ever used.
«Hello?» Natasha said cautiously into the receiver.
«What do you think you’re doing?!» her mother-in-law’s furious voice exploded. «This is a family matter! We’ve already made all the arrangements with the buyers!»
«Without me?» Natasha asked calmly. «How could you?»
«Leonid said you wouldn’t mind! That this wreck is just a burden to you! We told the buyers everything!»
«Leonid lied. The house is mine, and I decide its fate. There will be no sale.»
«You… do you understand what position you’re putting us in? The people specifically came out here, spent their time! What are we supposed to tell them?»
«You’ll tell them the truth. That you tried to sell someone else’s property. And it didn’t work.»
«God, you’re so ungrateful!» Lyudmila Petrovna sniffled. «After everything we’ve done for you!»
«Family is when you ask first,» Natasha said firmly. «Not when you announce things. My house is not for sale. That’s my final word.»
Natasha hung up the receiver and walked to the window. Outside, the May night was dark, the old apple trees her grandfather had planted rustled in the breeze. The house breathed, lived, held so many memories and so much love within. How could they just take it and sell it without asking the owner?
A week later, Natasha returned to the city apartment. Leonid met her with caution, ready for a confrontation. But Natasha was calm.
«I’m filing for a divorce,» she said, looking him in the eye. «And I’m moving out.»
«Because of some house?» Leonid couldn’t believe his ears. «You must be kidding.»
«Not because of the house. Because of the disrespect. Because you decided for me without asking me.»
Since then, no one dared touch her house. Natasha moved to the village for the whole summer, and in the fall, she returned to the city — but not to her ex-husband’s apartment. She rented a small studio on the outskirts. She started a new life.
And the house remained. Not sold, not given away, not lost. Natasha spent every weekend there, every vacation. She often thought of her grandmother’s words. And she understood the most important thing: as long as she had her own house, her own name, and her own voice — she would not be lost. In anyone’s family.
