Marina was going through the students’ notebooks when the phone rang in the kitchen. It was six o’clock on a Saturday evening—not the best time for calls. On the line was Anya’s worried voice, her neighbor from the stairwell.
“Marin, are you sitting down right now?”
“What’s wrong, Anya?”
“I saw Igor today near the real estate agency. He was talking to some woman. Then I heard him say something about your apartment.”
Marina froze. She and Igor had separated three weeks ago after twenty-four years of marriage. He had moved to his mother’s place but before leaving, he said he would come back when she “calmed down.”
“And what exactly did he say?” Marina tried to ask calmly.
“He said he wants to sell the apartment. Claimed it belongs only to him and that you and your daughter would be moving out soon.”
Marina put down the phone, the pen dropping from her hands in shock. The apartment belongs only to him? That can’t be!
The phone rang again.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me, Katya,” her daughter’s tired voice sounded. “Did Dad call you?”
“No. Why?”
“He texted me that he found cheaper housing for us in the Southern district. They want me to convince you—that now we don’t need a three-room place.”
Something inside Marina turned over.
“Katya, we’re not moving anywhere. Did he decide to sell the apartment behind our backs?”
“Seriously?! Has he completely lost his mind?”
“I think so too. After all, we bought this apartment together!”
“Mom, but don’t we have a joint ownership certificate?”
Marina hesitated.
“No, Katya. It’s only in his name. Back then he said, ‘Why waste extra money? We’re family.’ And I, fool that I was, believed him.”
“Did you hit him or what?”
“Yes, just pure anger! Mom, I’m coming home.”
“No, you’re in exams, study. I’ll handle this myself.”
Katya snorted.
“You always say that! And then Dad does whatever he wants.”
“Not this time,” Marina answered firmly, unexpectedly.
She immediately called Igor. The phone rang for a long time, but he didn’t answer. Then she sent a message: “I know about your plans for the apartment. Either we talk now, or in court.” No reply.
The next day Igor showed up at home. Unshaven, in a crumpled shirt, but with the same arrogance.
“What have you been spinning to everyone?” he barged in rudely.
“Is it true that you want to sell it?”
Igor grimaced.
“So what? It’s my apartment—my rules.”
“Yours? We bought it together! I’ve invested money my whole life!”
“Where are the documents?” He shrugged. “Only my name is on paper. I bought it before the wedding.”
“You’re lying! We got married and three years later took out a mortgage!”
“Prove it. Where are the papers? No? Then leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” Marina gasped in anger. “Half of this apartment is mine!”
“Oh, scary,” he laughed. “Marish, if you could see yourself. A teacher with a miserable salary. Who needs you? And by the way, I’m helping—finding a place.”
“Get out of here!” she spat through clenched teeth.
“What?!”
“Out! This is my home! I’m staying here!”
Igor pointed a finger to his temple.
“I’ll come with a realtor in a week. Pack your things.”
After he left, Marina sank to the floor in the hallway and broke down crying. That was it—twenty-four years of marriage, twenty-one years in this house… And now what? Rent a room on her salary?
The phone rang again. Marina wiped her tears and answered.
“Marin, it’s Lena. I heard what’s going on. I’ll be waiting for you in an hour. My brother is a lawyer, he can help.”
“Lena, I don’t have any money…”
“No one asks for money right away. We’ll figure it out. But if you don’t come—I’ll come and drag you by the hand.”
“Okay,” Marina gave in. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
At the lawyer Sergey’s office—Lena’s brother—Marina nervously fiddled with a handkerchief. The room felt too small for all her worries.
“So, the apartment is only in your husband’s name?” Sergey drummed his fingers on the table. “And you contributed money?”
“Of course! I paid half the mortgage all these years!”
“Any proof?”
“What kind? We were a family… were.”
“Receipts, bank statements, contracts?”
“Not sure… Maybe some checks or papers survived somewhere?”
“Look around your home. Maybe old boxes in the attic?”
“I’m ready to search everything!”
“Good. Also, while you’re married, he can’t sell the apartment without your consent. We’ll file a counterclaim for property division.”
At home, Marina turned everything upside down. In an old box, she found yellowed documents—a payment schedule for the loan with the bank’s stamp, her signature on several forms.
That evening Katya called.
“Mom, news. Dad really filed a lawsuit. Grandma let it slip.”
“I know,” Marina replied quietly. “He demands that I vacate the apartment.”
“That bastard! I’m quitting my exams, coming home!”
“No, Katya, study. I have a lawyer. There’s a chance.”
The next day, a court summons arrived. Igor demanded the apartment be declared his sole property.
Calling Sergey, Marina was surprised by his calm.
“It’s even good he filed first. Now we have time to prepare.”
Three weeks flew by like a day. Marina barely slept, looking for documents, verifying every detail. At work, she mechanically conducted lessons, and during breaks ran to the bank or called her lawyer.
One evening Igor came.
“So, decided to move out quietly?”
“No. At court, I’ll prove the apartment is ours jointly.”
Igor laughed.
“You? Prove it? You can’t string two words together!”
“But I have documents.”
“What documents?..” He stopped. “Have you been digging through my things?”
“No. Our things.”
Something like fear flashed in Igor’s eyes, but he quickly recovered.
“Never mind. I have the ownership certificate. And a top lawyer.”
“I have a lawyer too,” Marina replied calmly.
“Who’s that?” Igor sneered.
“Sergey Vasilyevich Klimov.”
Igor choked on his sip of water.
“Klimov?! Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where does a poor teacher get money for such a lawyer?”
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped.
After Igor left, Lena called.
“How are you?”
“Okay, I think I scared him a bit.”
“Everyone knows Sergey in town. Of course, you scared him.”
“Lena, thank you. Without you, I’d be lost.”
“Come on! You’re much stronger than you think. And by the way, I’ll be a witness at the trial. I’ll confirm you always paid for the apartment.”
“Do you really remember?”
“Of course! You complained a hundred times about giving your whole salary to the mortgage!”
That evening Katya called.
“Mom, I finished early. Coming tomorrow.”
“Katya…”
“Don’t argue! I’m coming, period. I want to be at the trial.”
For the first time in a long while, Marina smiled—truly, from the heart.
The courtroom was small and stuffy. Marina sat straight, clutching a folder of documents. Sergey sat beside her, focused and confident. Behind them were Lena and Katya, both tense to the max.
Igor entered with a young, neatly dressed lawyer who whispered something in his ear. Both looked confident.
“Don’t pay attention to them,” Sergey whispered. “It’s just a show.”
The judge—a woman around fifty with a tired face—began the session.
“Plaintiff, state the claim.”
Igor’s lawyer stood and spoke. His voice was monotone and emotionless.
“My client demands the apartment be recognized as his sole property. He bought it before marriage. Here are the ownership documents.”
The judge examined the papers and addressed Marina:
“What does the defendant say?”
Sergey stood.
“Your Honor, we disagree. The apartment was bought during the marriage. There is a contract. Moreover, my client regularly made mortgage payments.”
Igor’s lawyer scoffed.
“Where is the proof? We don’t accept words.”
“We have it,” Sergey calmly said, pulling out a folder. “Bank statements, payment schedules signed by my client, and witnesses.”
The judge carefully examined the documents.
“Call the witnesses.”
Lena stepped forward, trembling slightly with nerves.
“I have known Marina for over twenty years. She constantly said she paid for the apartment. We often couldn’t go anywhere— all money went to the mortgage.”
“Are there specific facts?” Igor’s lawyer asked.
“Specific? I went with her to the bank several times. Saw her make payments. Once I even lent her money when she was short for the next installment.”
Igor whispered something angrily to his lawyer.
“Your Honor,” the lawyer interrupted, “the friend’s words mean nothing. My client claims the wife never contributed.”
“She’s lying!” Katya stood up.
“Silence in the court!” the judge hammered. “State your name.”
“Ekaterina Sokolova, daughter. I want to testify too.”
“What can you say?”
“Mom always paid. Dad said it was hard to carry the mortgage alone, and Mom gave him money.”
Igor’s face flushed.
“She’s lying! Katya, how can you?!”
“You’re lying!” the daughter shot back sharply. “You told me yourself: ‘Mom pays half, but we live like in a barn.’ Remember?”
The judge hit the gavel again.
“Silence, please! We continue.”
Sergey presented additional materials: old receipts, bank statements, photos of Marina and Igor together looking at a new apartment.
“Does the plaintiff object?” the judge asked.
Igor’s lawyer looked confused.
“Your Honor, the ownership is registered to my client. It doesn’t matter who paid.”
“If the apartment was bought during the marriage, it is considered joint property,” Sergey objected.
The judge called a recess. Marina felt her legs trembling.
“What do you think?” she whispered to Sergey.
“So far, everything is going in our favor.”
After the break, the judge announced the decision:
“Financial expertise on the mortgage payments is ordered.”
Igor jumped up:
“What expertise?! It’s my apartment! I bought it! She just wants to rob me!”
“Sit down, plaintiff!” the judge said firmly.
“I won’t! It’s a conspiracy! She arranged everything!”
Another gavel strike.
“One more word and you will be removed from the court!”
Igor collapsed into his chair, glaring angrily at Marina. She met his gaze without fear for the first time.
The expertise lasted three weeks. Marina barely slept; every day felt eternal. Igor sent a “generous” offer through his lawyer—he would take the apartment and give her a sum not enough even to rent a room.
“Don’t agree to anything,” Katya insisted. “We’ll break him.”
On the day of the final court hearing, heavy rain poured. Marina arrived soaked to the bone.
“How’s your mood?” Sergey asked, meeting her in the corridor.
“Fine,” she smiled weakly. “Just hope it’s all over.”
In the courtroom were only them, Igor and his lawyer, and the judge with an impassive face.
“According to the expertise results,” the judge began, “Marina Sokolova regularly made mortgage payments. Her share is 47%.”
Igor grimaced as if swallowing something bitter; his lawyer visibly tensed.
“The court rules: Igor’s claim is denied. The apartment is recognized as jointly acquired property. Shares are equal.”
Marina sat in disbelief.
“We… won?”
“Yes, we won,” Sergey smiled. “Congratulations.”
Igor jumped up:
“This is absurd! I will appeal!”
“That is your right,” the judge said indifferently.
In the corridor, Katya screamed with joy and hugged her mother.
“You’re a real hero! Well done!”
“We did it together,” Marina whispered, holding her daughter close.
A month later, they officially divided the property: Igor got the car and the dacha; Marina got the apartment. He no longer shouted and looked subdued.
“Well, satisfied?” he grumbled, signing.
“I just wanted justice,” Marina answered calmly.
Six months passed. The apartment became cozy—new wallpaper, curtains, a comfortable kitchen table. Katya helped with the renovations. Friends came over, they laughed and drank tea.
“You seem to have blossomed,” Lena noticed one day. “You even carry yourself differently.”
“Really?” Marina smiled shyly.
“Seriously. Like a huge weight has lifted off your shoulders.”
Marina thought. It was true. She no longer feared tomorrow. No longer waited for someone to decide for her. Now she was in control of her own life.
