Natasha stroked the wooden wall with her palm, feeling the roughness of the old log. This house had witnessed her first steps, her first tears, her first joys. A sturdy, albeit old, village house with a carved porch and a small, well-kept garden had been her sanctuary since childhood. After the death of her grandmother, Anna Mikhailovna, the house had passed to Natasha — the only granddaughter, who had spent every summer and every weekend here.
«How’s the roof, no leaks?» Natasha knocked on a support beam, carefully inspecting the ceiling. Early May had brought heavy rains, and she needed to check if everything was in order.
«Seems dry,» Leonid, who was sitting on a stool with a mug of tea, replied. «You ask the same thing every year. The house is solid, your grandmother knew a thing or two about construction.»
Natasha smiled, recalling how her grandmother, Anna Mikhailovna, had managed the team of builders when the roof was replaced. Small, frail, but with such a commanding voice that even the most experienced craftsmen didn’t dare to argue.
«Yes, she did…» Natasha ran her hand over the old stove. «Remember when we first got married and came here for the first time? You were surprised at how well the stove held the heat.»
Leonid nodded, but his gaze lacked the warmth it once had. They had been married for seven years. After their wedding, Natasha moved in with her husband in the city, into the apartment he had bought before meeting her. The village house became their weekend getaway — a place to escape the hustle of the city, work in the garden, have barbecues with friends, or simply sit on the porch in the evening watching the sunset.
«How long are we staying today?» Leonid set his mug aside 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 been particularly fond of coming here. At first, he pretended the house suited him, but gradually he found more reasons not to visit or shorten the stay. In the past two years, Natasha had come here more often alone, sometimes with her friend Masha, while her husband stayed in the city.
«I’ll stay until tomorrow, I want to prepare the garden,» Natasha replied. «You can leave if you need to. Masha promised to come by and take me back in the evening.»
Leonid seemed pleased by this proposal and left an hour later, leaving Natasha alone with the house and her memories.
The house was officially in Natasha’s name. It was her only personal asset, which she carefully preserved — both as a memory of her grandmother and as a kind of backup plan, just in case. Sometimes Natasha caught herself thinking of it as her «island of independence.» Not that she didn’t love her husband or didn’t trust him, but sometimes it was good to have something that was entirely her own.
Her mother-in-law, Lyudmila Petrovna, had always looked down on the house with poorly disguised disdain. During her first visit, she pursed her lips as she surveyed the small rooms, old furniture, and simple décor.
«How people lived back then,» Lyudmila Petrovna had said, tracing her finger along the wooden windowsill. «No amenities, no space. And you cling to this shack?»
Natasha had remained silent, though the words stung. Over time, her mother-in-law had become even more outspoken. Every visit was filled with comments and complaints: the stove was a hassle to heat, the well was inconvenient, the mosquitoes were too aggressive.
«You should sell it, Natasha,» her mother-in-law would say. «What’s it worth? You’re just throwing money and energy into it. Leonid has to fix the fence every year, patch the roof. And what’s the point?»
Leonid, to Natasha’s surprise, agreed with his mother. Although, in reality, his contribution to the house’s upkeep was minimal. Natasha had repaired the fence herself last year, hiring a local helper. The roof had been replaced when her grandmother was still alive. Each year, Leonid seemed to treat the house like a neglected asset — no investments, no respect, only irritation when something broke and needed attention.
«Maybe we should sell it?» he suggested one day. «We can buy a proper summer house closer to the city, with gas and plumbing. It’d be more convenient for you.»
«I’m fine here,» Natasha replied firmly. «I grew up in this house. It’s not about convenience.»
Her husband didn’t understand that the house was a whole world to Natasha, 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 papers bore only her name, and that gave her a sense of security. Natasha didn’t like admitting it, but sometimes, during arguments with her husband, she imagined coming back here if she ever had to start life over. It was silly, of course… but the house was her anchor.
All day, Natasha worked in the garden: she dug two beds, planted radishes and onions, and cleared the paths of last year’s leaves. By evening, her back ached, but her soul felt light and at peace. She lit the stove, prepared a simple dinner, and sat on the porch, watching the moon rise over the forest.
«Grandma, it feels 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 sensed a change in the atmosphere. Leonid seemed tense, fidgety, spoke little, but was constantly checking his phone. In the evening, unexpectedly, her mother-in-law stopped by.
«Leonid, I’ve made arrangements!» Lyudmila Petrovna declared from the doorway as she took off her light jacket. «There’s a respectable family, local businessmen. They’re offering good money!»
Leonid nodded, avoiding Natasha’s gaze, which she was shifting from her husband to her mother-in-law in confusion.
«What are you talking about?» Natasha asked.
«Just that mom found buyers for one of the plots,» Leonid replied vaguely.
«Why not the house?» Lyudmila Petrovna interjected. «The house is also nice, made of logs. In general, it’s tidy, just needs a little updating…»
A bad feeling pricked Natasha’s heart.
«What house are you talking about?»
«The village house, what else?» Lyudmila Petrovna shrugged, walking into the kitchen and opening the cupboards like she was at home. «Leonid said you’ve been thinking about selling this wreck. And here’s such an opportunity! My neighbor, Marina, her son-in-law works in a real estate agency. He found clients right away, can you believe it? They’re building a cottage complex, and a plot like this would be perfect for them.»
Natasha felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet. She turned to her husband:
«Leonid, did you decide to sell my house without asking me?»
«Come on, Natasha, we’ve talked about this,» Leonid grimaced. «How long are we going to hold on to this shack? Neither you nor I really spend time there. It’s just money down the drain.»
«We talked, but we didn’t decide anything!» Natasha exclaimed. «And you’re not spending any money on maintenance, by the way. The last time I fixed the fence, and paid for it myself.»
Lyudmila Petrovna had already pulled out some papers from the cupboard and laid them on the table.
«Oh, don’t start,» she waved her hand dismissively. «Arguing over who spent what, it’s so petty. You’re family! What’s yours is Leonid’s, what’s Leonid’s is yours.»
«This house was mine before I even met Leonid,» Natasha said firmly. «And I’m not selling it.»
Lyudmila Petrovna looked at her as if she were a spoiled child.
«Natasha, but we’ve already agreed on everything. Tomorrow the buyers are coming to see the house. We’re selling it,» she said as if it were her property. «Anyway, you don’t live there.»
Natasha looked at this woman who was brazenly managing her property and couldn’t believe her ears. It was said so casually, with no hint of apology. As if they were talking about a pot in the kitchen, not Natasha’s only possession, her memories, her refuge.
Natasha slowly turned to her husband. He simply shrugged:
«Well, you haven’t been there in a long time. It’s just sitting there.»
Natasha stared at her husband, at his indifferent face, and felt something snap inside her. Not a thread — a rope that had bound her to these people. Year after year, Natasha had tried to please, to adapt. She had accepted her mother-in-law’s condescending comments, put up with her husband making decisions more and more without her.
But now they had crossed a line. Natasha didn’t scream, didn’t throw a tantrum as her mother-in-law and husband probably expected. Instead, everything became crystal clear inside her: no one would make decisions for her anymore. Especially not on matters that only concerned her.
«There’s not going to be any sale,» Natasha said, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. «This is my house, and I’m not selling it.»
«Why are you being so stubborn!» Lyudmila Petrovna threw up her hands. «They’ve got the money ready. They’ll look at it tomorrow and leave a deposit!»
«Let them not waste their time,» Natasha replied, already heading for the bedroom. «No one is looking at anything.»
«Where are you going?» her mother-in-law called after her, but Natasha had already closed the door behind her.
That night was sleepless. Natasha tossed and turned, trying to sort out what had happened. How could Leonid do this? How could he decide to sell her property without asking her opinion? This had never happened before. Or had it, and Natasha hadn’t noticed? Over the seven years of their marriage, Natasha had increasingly had to yield, agree, adapt.
«What if they do go show the house?» The thought struck Natasha’s mind like a sharp needle. Her mother-in-law could easily use the spare key that had always been kept under the porch. She had to do something, and quickly.
In the morning, without saying a word, Natasha packed a small bag with the essentials. Leonid silently watched her pack, a slight confusion on his face.
«Where are you going?» he finally asked.
«To the village,» Natasha replied briefly. «I need to check the roof after the rains.»
Leonid grunted:
«You should stop being stubborn and think about us. Our future. A summer house closer to the city would be much more convenient.»
«I didn’t ask you to care about convenience. And I certainly didn’t ask you to sell my house.»
«Why are you so attached to this old junk!» Leonid snapped. «Nobody’s offering to steal from you! The money will be ours, family money.»
Natasha zipped up her bag, threw on her coat, and headed for the door.
«Natasha, what are you doing?» Leonid grabbed her by the elbow. «Don’t be foolish. We’ve already discussed everything with mom.»
«You discussed it. Without me. My house, my decisions.»
The road to the village felt longer than ever to Natasha. On the bus, she stared out the window with unseeing eyes, thinking about how her life would change after today. The decision had already been made, though just yesterday Natasha wouldn’t have even considered doing this.
In the village, the first thing Natasha did was go to the hardware store. She bought new, secure locks — sturdy, with multiple secrets. Then she went to her neighbor, Ivan Stepanovich, who was known in the village as a jack-of-all-trades.
«Ivan Stepanovich, please help,» Natasha asked the elderly man. «I need to change the locks in the house. And make them stronger.»
The neighbor raised his bushy eyebrows but didn’t ask unnecessary questions. In the village, privacy was respected.
«Let’s take a look,» Ivan Stepanovich nodded, wiping his hands on a towel.
The neighbor worked quickly and skillfully. An hour later, the door had a new lock, and Natasha had installed additional bolts on the windows.
«Thank you,» Natasha handed him money, but the neighbor waved it away.
«No need, we’re neighbors. But tell me, what’s going on?»
Natasha sighed:
«No… I just want to make sure that no one enters my house without my permission.»
Ivan Stepanovich nodded in understanding:
«Is your husband causing trouble? I saw him here last time with his friends. They were noisy, the lights stayed on all night.»
Natasha looked at the neighbor in surprise:
«Leonid came here? Without me?»
«Yes, about a month ago. They arrived by car, four men. They were drinking, I think. I even wondered if they’d burn something.»
Natasha thanked her neighbor and returned to the house. Her thoughts were tangled, but one thing was clear: something had gone wrong in her marriage recently, and very seriously. Her husband had come to her house without asking, 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. Beneath it was the key, wrapped in oilcloth. She took it and hid it in her pocket. No more free access to her house.
Once inside, Natasha froze. There was a strange presence in the house. No, not her grandmother’s — she had grown used to that since childhood. This was something new, something unpleasant. On the table were bottles, in the corner lay someone’s socks, and hanging on the back of a chair was a hoodie Natasha had never seen before.
Natasha started cleaning. All the чужие things went into a trash bag. The dishes she hadn’t bought, the rags, blankets, old men’s clothes Leonid had «suddenly brought» — it all went out. With each passing minute, Natasha felt herself gaining control over her life again. It felt as though she wasn’t just cleaning the house, but also her soul — of чужие claims, disrespect, betrayal.
When the house sparkled 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: «This is my house. The decisions are mine. The sale is canceled.»
She sent it to Leonid first, then copied it and sent it to her mother-in-law. And turned off her phone.
The whole evening, Natasha went through old photos. In one of them, a young grandmother stands on the porch, proudly hugging a pillar. It was the day she received the documents for the house. Her first home after many years of living in rented spaces. Natasha remembered the story.
«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. Whatever happens — you always have somewhere to return.»
Natasha smiled at the memory. Her grandmother was right.
Late at night, the phone rang on the home landline. Natasha jumped — hardly anyone used it.
«Hello?» Natasha said cautiously into the receiver.
«What do you think you’re doing?!» her mother-in-law’s furious voice boomed. «This is a family matter! We’ve already made all the arrangements with the buyers!»
«Without me?» Natasha asked calmly. «How can that be?»
«Leonid said you didn’t mind! That this shack has just become a burden!» Lyudmila Petrovna almost yelled into the receiver.
«Leonid lied. This is my house, and I decide its fate. No sale.»
«Do you understand what you’re doing?!» Lyudmila Petrovna wailed. «The people came all the way here, wasted their time! What are we going to say to them?»
«You’ll tell them the truth. That you tried to sell someone else’s property. And it didn’t work.»
«My God, you’re so ungrateful!» Lyudmila Petrovna sobbed. «After everything we’ve done for you!»
«Family is when you ask,» Natasha said firmly. «Not announce. My house isn’t 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 rustled with leaves, planted by her grandfather. The house breathed, lived, kept so many memories and so much love. 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 a wary expression, ready for a fight. But Natasha was calm.
«I’m filing for divorce,» she said, looking her husband in the eyes. «And I’m leaving.»
«Over a house?» Leonid couldn’t believe his ears. «You’re kidding?»
«Not over a house. Over disrespect. Over you deciding for me, without asking.»
Since then, no one else has tried to meddle with 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, but to a small rental studio on the outskirts. She started a new life.
And the house remained. Not sold, not given away, not lost. Natasha spent every weekend, every vacation there. She often thought of her grandmother’s words. And she realized the most important thing: as long as she has her own house, her own name, and her own voice — she will never get lost. Not in anyone’s family.
