Watching the last departing guests, Yulia sat in the gazebo of the country house waiting for Kirill to return—now no longer a fiancé, but her lawful husband.
Their modest but homely cozy wedding, attended only by relatives and closest friends, went exactly as Yulia had planned. With one exception: at the height of the celebration, in front of everyone, the in-laws mysteriously handed the newlyweds the keys to an apartment.
“Surprised?” Kirill’s father, Igor Semyonovich, chuckled. “Live in it, live as long as you want!”
This phrasing immediately made Yulia uneasy. Being a lawyer by profession, she habitually looked for any catch in phrases or situations. And now, while waiting for her husband, she pondered the words her father-in-law had said.
“What are you thinking about?” Kirill asked quietly as he approached from behind.
Yulia really wanted to ask him a couple of questions: what did “Live as long as you want” mean exactly, why hadn’t the in-laws directly said they were gifting them the apartment, where were the documents for it, after all? But she understood this was not the right time for such a conversation. She would ask everything tomorrow…
The next day Kirill himself brought up the subject.
“Yul, want to go see the apartment?” he suggested with a laugh.
“I was about to suggest the same!” the girl seized the opportunity. “Only I don’t know where it is… Your parents gave us the keys, but nothing else. No documents, no address.”
“Maybe they just thought a document envelope wouldn’t look festive,” Kirill shrugged. “But I know where the apartment is. My grandmother used to live there.”
This phrase made Yulia even more cautious.
“And who owns that property now?”
“Us, who else?” Kirill smiled.
“And on paper?”
The man pondered:
“Don’t know…”
“I’d like to know!” Yulia shook her head, then sighed and said, “Alright, we’ll deal with issues as they come. Let’s go look at our place.”
A typical, unremarkable nine-story building in a residential district greeted the newlyweds with a sharp nauseating smell in the entrance hall. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, Yulia suddenly stopped: right on the steps lay a body. But Kirill reacted surprisingly calmly to this circumstance:
“Don’t be afraid, that’s Uncle Valera. He lives on the fifth floor.”
“Then what is he doing here?”
“He’s not allowed home drunk,” Kirill explained.
“Oh God…” Yulia murmured, squeezing past the sleeping drunkard sideways and almost running toward the apartment door.
Inside awaited an old but neat renovation, the characteristic smell of an elderly person’s medicines, and layers of dust.
The young couple explored the one-room apartment, discussing it as they went.
“It’s okay, you can live here,” Kirill said inspecting the place.
“Well, definitely not the worst option,” Yulia agreed. “Especially if we renovate.”
Within two weeks, the newlyweds moved from rented housing to the one-room apartment, simultaneously planning improvements. But the very first evening in the new place went completely differently from what they had planned.
Breaking the sleepy peace and silence, loud screams and stomping came from upstairs.
Yulia and Kirill exchanged glances.
“What’s that?” the girl asked confused.
“No idea,” Kirill replied. “There wasn’t anything like this before.”
The shouting escalated into a scandal, someone smashed dishes and cursed loudly.
Half an hour passed, and the neighbors showed no signs of stopping. Yulia sighed:
“I hope this is just a welcome show for us, and it won’t happen again.”
How wrong she was. Not only were the scandals daily, but periodically loud music, dancing, and furniture rearrangement were added. The noisy neighbors, apparently, were located upstairs and in the neighboring entrance, in the apartment sharing a wall.
In general, the only plus in their new home was that they didn’t have to pay rent. And Yulia was not satisfied with that.
In the end, she proposed a quite reasonable solution: to use the money her parents gave them to renovate the apartment, sell it for a higher price, and buy a new two-room apartment in a new building with the proceeds. Then they could start thinking about children.
Kirill was silent at first. He understood his wife’s idea was sensible but one question remained: what about the documents for the apartment? To whom did it officially belong? Of course, he had to deal with this since it was his parents who gave them the keys.
But Yulia insisted, bringing up the topic again and again. She spoke calmly, but Kirill felt: his wife was on edge. And that meant nothing good.
“You do realize we’re wasting time now?” Yulia repeated once again. “The sooner the apartment issue is settled, the better.”
“I understand everything, Yul… I just remember how my father gave me a car when I entered university, then took it back in the third year. Said he just let me drive it.”
“So you yourself realize how bad it is!”
“Yul, calm down. Don’t shout. I’ll talk to my parents.”
That weekend Kirill deliberately chose a time when his father was in the garage and went to his mother, who, when asked who officially owned the apartment, looked away and muttered:
“Well, it’s registered to your father, so what… But you live there, live…”
“So the sale will also be handled through him,” Kirill said as calmly as possible. “And then he’ll just transfer me the money.”
“What sale?” the mother frowned.
“The place is unlivable. Neighbors are very loud, constant screaming, music, and there’s a drunk in the entrance. It’s okay for us adults, but what about the kids? They won’t be able to sleep at least.”
“Son, don’t dramatize. Grandma lived there for so long, you stayed at her place too. Nothing terrible happened.”
“It’s much worse now, Mom. Believe me.”
“But kids should get used to noise right away.”
“Yeah, especially babies. Mom, I’m serious. Yulia’s right. We really want to have children, but not in this apartment.”
“Oh, so it’s Yulia’s plan?” Mom said.
“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”
“Son, she just wants the joint apartment. To take it for herself in case of divorce.”
“What divorce, Mom? The wedding just happened.”
“Kirill, you’re so naive!..”
In the evening Kirill told Yulia this conversation. His wife frowned at first but then laughed:
“I’m quite the bitch, of course. But at work, not at home. We’re family, what divorce?”
“I told her the same. Okay, I’ll try to convince Dad to transfer the apartment to me.”
Yulia snorted:
“You still don’t get it? They just gave keys for the wedding, understand? Not the apartment. And now all we can do is endure and save. We won’t spend my parents’ money yet. The sooner we collect at least a couple million, the better. Of course, no children now. And no renovation either.”
“But everything can change. If these neighbors move somewhere, for example.”
“And if not? What, should I wait until I’m thirty? Think about it yourself!”
“But imagine how much we’ll have to save…”
“So what? Then it will really be our apartment. Do you understand?”
Another six months passed. Evening scandals from neighbors continued, musical parties now happened during the day, and the drunk was kicked out but settled right there in the entrance, where compassionate residents fed him. And Yulia became darker and darker every day.
But one day she came back from work very inspired. It turned out she was offered a managerial position with a good salary—but in another city. With a service apartment in a new building paid for by the company. And she was ready to accept the offer.
Kirill, tired of quarrels with his wife during that time, upon seeing her cheerful and lively as she was before moving into that apartment, immediately supported Yulia. He had his own small business, but his personal presence was rarely needed, and organizational matters could be handled by phone.
Kirill’s parents, hearing the news about their son’s move, congratulated them, smiled… And the very next day asked to return the apartment keys before leaving.
Yulia laughed about this request all day.
“What did they say? ‘Live as long as you want’? Well, you did!” she mocked the mother-in-law’s gesture.
And seven years later, when Yulia, Kirill, and their children were already living in their own apartment, Kirill’s younger brother invited him to his wedding.
“You’ll see, your parents will give him the keys to that apartment!” Yulia laughed.
And she was right.
