Inna sat at the kitchen table, sorting through the utility bills. The two-room apartment, inherited from her grandmother, was entirely registered in her name even before marriage. The documents were kept in a safe — the gift deed, the certificate of ownership, everything clear and transparent. The apartment belonged only to Inna, and no one else.
From the other side of the wall in the living room came the monotonous sound of a computer running. Her husband Dmitry had been sitting at the screen for three hours straight, discussing something on forums and commenting on posts. The man had lost his job five months ago — a production cutback. Since then, the search for a new place had turned into endless browsing of vacancies without sending out resumes and discussions about how hard it was to find a decent job in the crisis.
“Dim, have you updated your resume?” Inna asked, entering the living room.
“I updated it, updated it,” her husband replied without turning his head. “The job market is in terrible shape right now. Everywhere, either the salaries are peanuts or the requirements are sky-high.”
Inna nodded and went on. She heard that answer every day. Sometimes Dmitry showed her vacancies on the screen — indeed, the salaries offered were small, from forty to fifty thousand. But it was something. And Inna’s family of two spent more than seventy thousand a month, not counting utilities.
Inna herself worked at a marketing agency. She earned eighty thousand rubles, but the work was a lot — projects kept piling up, clients demanded constant attention, reports had to be submitted every week. She came home tired, but still had to prepare dinner, do the laundry, clean. Dmitry helped little around the house — at most, he could take out the trash if asked several times.
“Maybe you should try applying for a couple of jobs?” Inna suggested one evening when she was once again recalculating the family budget.
“I am applying,” Dmitry waved his hand. “It’s just times like these. A hundred people are competing for one spot.”
“I see,” Inna kept a calm tone, though irritation was beginning to boil inside.
In mid-summer, calls from her mother-in-law began. Raisa Petrovna called almost every day, asking about things, inquiring about her son’s mood. At first, the conversations were neutral, but gradually accusatory tones crept into her voice.
“How’s Dimochka doing?” Raisa Petrovna asked. “Is he not getting discouraged?”
“He’s looking for work,” Inna answered shortly.
“It’s very hard for him right now,” her mother-in-law continued. “Men have a hard time going through these periods. They need the support of their loved ones.”
Inna nodded into the phone, not understanding where the conversation was heading. She was providing support — financial, moral, and household. What else was needed?
A week later, the tone of the calls changed. Raisa Petrovna began openly expressing her opinion on how Inna treated her husband.
“I think you don’t quite understand what state Dima is in,” the mother-in-law said during another call. “He lost his job, he needs support, not pressure.”
“I’m not pressuring him,” Inna was surprised. “I’m just asking how the search is going.”
“That is pressure. Constant questions about work only increase stress.”
Inna was at a loss. So it turned out she wasn’t even allowed to ask about job hunting? How then was she supposed to understand what was going on?
“You take everything on yourself out of principle,” Raisa Petrovna continued. “You want to show how independent you are. But that just ruins your husband’s life.”
“Excuse me, I don’t understand,” Inna tried to speak politely. “I earn money, I support the family. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong is that you don’t let Dima feel like the head of the family. A man should be the breadwinner, and you’re taking that role away from him.”
After such conversations, Inna felt guilty, even though she logically understood how absurd it all was. So, working and earning money was bad, but sitting idle for five months was normal?
The calls continued. Raisa Petrovna accused Inna of heartlessness, inability to support her husband, selfishness. Every conversation ended with the mother-in-law sighing and saying something like:
“It’s a pity that Dimochka has such a hard time in life, and there’s no understanding person next to him.”
Dmitry didn’t react to his mother’s reproaches. When Inna tried to discuss these phone calls with her husband, he only shrugged:
“Mom is worried. Don’t pay attention.”
“But it turns out I’m to blame for everything,” Inna tried to explain her feelings. “I work, pay for everything, run the household, and I’m to blame that you’re struggling.”
“Well, not really,” Dmitry said distractedly, without looking away from the screen. “Just don’t get hung up on Mom’s opinion.”
But Raisa Petrovna wasn’t going to stop obsessing. In August, the tone of the calls changed dramatically. The mother-in-law began offering specific solutions.
“Innochka, I was thinking,” Raisa Petrovna said during one of their talks. “What if you combined your housing?”
“What do you mean?” Inna didn’t understand.
“Well, look. You have a two-room apartment, I have a one-room. If you sell both apartments, you can buy a good three-room with the money. It would be comfortable for everyone, and it would be easier for Dima — he wouldn’t feel like a freeloader in your apartment.”
Inna was silent, digesting what she had heard. Sell her apartment? The home inherited from her beloved grandmother, where she spent her childhood, where every corner was familiar?
“I’ll think about it,” Inna answered cautiously.
“Of course, think it over. Just don’t delay. The longer Dima lives with a sense of dependence, the worse for his self-esteem.”
That evening, Inna told her husband about the conversation. Dmitry came alive for the first time in months.
“That’s not a bad idea,” the husband said. “You really can find a good three-room. And I’d feel more comfortable psychologically.”
“But it’s my apartment,” Inna reminded him. “Inherited from grandma.”
“I understand. But now we’re one family. And living in your apartment as a guest feels wrong.”
“You’re not a guest. You’re my husband.”
“Still,” Dmitry shrugged. “Mom’s right. It would be fairer if the property belonged to both of us.”
Inna looked at her husband carefully. Five months without a job, without money, without much effort to look for work. And now he thinks it’s right to sell her apartment to buy a joint one?
“What if I don’t want to sell?”
“Well, if you don’t want to, then you don’t want to,” Dmitry again buried his face in the screen. “That’s your right.”
But the next day, the conversation resumed. Dmitry began telling her what nice three-room apartments were for sale in the city, how much they cost, and in which districts. He showed ads and counted how much money they would get from selling the two existing apartments.
“Look, if yours sells for four million and Mom’s for two, then for six million you can find a great three-room,” the husband explained, tracing his finger across the tablet screen.
“What if I don’t want to sell mine?” Inna repeated.
“Then we’ll live like this,” Dmitry shrugged. “But admit, the situation is uncomfortable. I live in your apartment, you pay for everything. It turns out I’m a freeloader.”
Inna wanted to argue that it was not the apartment making Dmitry a freeloader, but his lack of work and unwillingness to look for it. But she was silent. She didn’t want a quarrel, and there was no way to convince her husband.
Calls from Raisa Petrovna became more frequent. Now the mother-in-law asked every day whether Inna had thought about selling the apartment and how seriously she considered the proposal.
“You see, Innochka,” Raisa Petrovna said persuasively, “it’s very important for a man to feel complete. And when he lives in someone else’s apartment, even if it’s his wife’s, it’s oppressive.”
“But the apartment isn’t someone else’s anymore,” Inna tried to explain. “We’re married.”
“Formally, yes. But psychologically, Dima feels like a temporary tenant. That’s an unhealthy situation for a marriage.”
Each such conversation ended with Inna feeling like a selfish person. So, holding on to the apartment was ruining her husband’s life? Maybe she really should sell it and buy a joint one?
But then, alone, Inna realized something was fundamentally wrong with the situation. Her husband hadn’t worked for half a year, lived on her money, and now she was supposed to sell the apartment so he would feel psychologically comfortable?
On Friday evening, Inna sat in the kitchen sorting through work documents when she heard familiar voices in the hallway. Dmitry was coming up the stairs not alone — Raisa Petrovna was with him. The woman understood that another attempt at pressure was about to happen, only this time in the form of a family meeting.
The door opened with a key, and the husband and mother-in-law entered the apartment. Raisa Petrovna carried a folder with some documents, her face determined.
“Innochka, we came to finally discuss everything,” the mother-in-law said, taking off her jacket. “We have a ready plan of action.”
Inna silently put aside the documents and looked at the guests. Dmitry went to the living room and turned on the computer. Raisa Petrovna settled at the kitchen table and spread out the papers.
“Look what we prepared,” the mother-in-law began, showing printouts. “Here are ads for three-room apartments in good neighborhoods. Here are approximate prices for your two-room, and here — for my one-room. And here’s a calculation of how much money will remain after the purchase.”
Inna listened silently. Raisa Petrovna continued:
“You see, we can’t postpone this decision indefinitely. Dima needs stability, confidence in tomorrow. And while he lives in your apartment as a temporary tenant, what stability can there be?”
“When will he start looking for work?” Inna asked quietly.
“What does work have to do with it?” Raisa Petrovna frowned. “We’re talking about housing. About creating normal conditions for family life.”
Inna got up from the table, went to the hallway. Took the apartment keys from a shelf in the closet and put them in her bag. Then she opened the storage room and took out Dmitry’s large suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Raisa Petrovna asked in surprise, following Inna.
“What I should have done three months ago,” Inna replied calmly, placing the suitcase in the corridor.
Dmitry came out of the living room and saw his luggage.
“Inna, what are you doing?” the husband asked, confused. “We’re just discussing options.”
“The discussion is over,” Inna went to the bedroom and began packing her husband’s things into the suitcase. “Your clothes, your books, your electronics. Pack up.”
“Are you crazy?” Raisa Petrovna loudly protested. “What’s going on?”
Inna continued packing, not answering questions. T-shirts, jeans, socks — everything neatly fit into the luggage. Dmitry stood in the bedroom doorway, blinking.
“Inn, let’s talk normally,” the husband tried to start a dialogue. “Why are you being so abrupt? We’re not forcing you, just suggesting.”
“Out of my apartment,” Inna said without hesitation. “The blackmail didn’t work, and the husband left with his mommy.”
“What blackmail?” Raisa Petrovna was outraged. “We just wanted to help!”
“Help?” Inna raised her voice for the first time that evening. “Pressuring me for six months, demanding I sell my home, accusing me of selfishness — is that help?”
The mother-in-law opened her mouth, but Inna continued:
“For five months, my husband hasn’t worked, lives on my money, and you think the problem is the apartment? The problem is that no one wants to take responsibility for their own life.”
“How dare you say that?” Raisa Petrovna threw up her hands. “Dima is going through a difficult time!”
“A difficult time is when you are sick or there is a tragedy,” Inna zipped the suitcase. “But when you just don’t want to work — that’s called parasitism.”
Dmitry was silent, looking at the packed things. Apparently, it finally dawned on him that the situation was serious.
“Inn, don’t be so categorical,” the husband tried to find a compromise. “Let’s discuss all the options once again.”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Inna opened the front door. “You have been discussing my apartment for six months. Now go discuss where you will live next.”
“You can’t kick me out!” Dmitry protested. “I’m your husband!”
“On paper — yes. In fact — no. A husband works, supports the family, solves problems. And you sit on the internet and plan to sell my property.”
Raisa Petrovna tried to take the initiative:
“Inna, you are acting wrongly! This is betrayal! After all we have done for you!”
“What exactly have you done for me?” Inna calmly asked. “Criticized me for six months, demanded I sell the apartment, and accused me of working?”
“We tried to improve family relations!”
“Relations improve through mutual respect, not through selling property.”
Dmitry took the suitcase, realizing that arguing was useless. Raisa Petrovna continued protesting already in the hallway:
“You’ll regret this! A husband like my Dima is hard to find!”
“I’ll find one,” Inna agreed. “One who works.”
“Ungrateful!” the mother-in-law shouted farewell. “We spent so much effort to accept you into the family!”
“You wasted your efforts,” Inna closed the door.
An hour later, the apartment was quiet again. Inna threw Raisa Petrovna’s documents into the trash, washed the dishes, tidied the bedroom. Then she called a locksmith.
“Can you come today?” Inna asked. “I need to urgently change the locks.”
“I can be there in an hour,” the locksmith answered.
“Great. I’ll wait.”
The next day, Inna went to the registry office to file for divorce. Since Dmitry was against the divorce, the case had to be filed in court. But that did not scare her — there was no shared property or children, so the procedure should go quickly.
A week later, the calls began. At first, Dmitry called — asking to meet, talk, explain that everything could be fixed. Inna did not answer. Then Raisa Petrovna got involved — accusing Inna of cruelty in messages, demanding to return her son.
“You destroyed the family!” the mother-in-law wrote. “Dima now lives with me in my one-room apartment, sleeps on the couch! Aren’t you ashamed?”
Inna read the message and blocked the number. Then blocked Dmitry too.
Life settled into a calm routine. No one told Inna anymore what she should do with her apartment. No one explained how to properly support a husband who doesn’t want to work. Utility bills halved, food lasted a week instead of three days.
In the evenings, Inna read books, watched movies, met friends. At work, she stopped constantly thinking about domestic problems and focused on projects. Her bosses noticed this and offered her a raise.
The divorce was finalized three months later. Dmitry did not come to court, but it didn’t stop the procedure. Inna received the divorce certificate and felt immense relief.
Her friend Lena once asked:
“Don’t you regret it?”
“What?” Inna was surprised.
“That you ended everything so abruptly. Maybe he would have found a job, changed.”
Inna shook her head:
“Lena, when a person sits unemployed for five months and instead of looking for a new job plans to sell someone else’s property — that’s not temporary difficulties. That’s a life position.”
“And if he promised to change?”
“Promises and deeds are different things. In half a year, he could have found at least a temporary job if he wanted. And if there’s no desire, no promises will help.”
Inna no longer received messages from her former relatives. The apartment still belonged only to her, and no one made plans to sell it. Dmitry, according to gossip from mutual acquaintances, found work as a courier but still lived with his mother.
Inna worked, planned a vacation, thought about renovating the kitchen. Life became simple and clear — without strangers’ claims on her property and without having to justify earning money.
