Vika picked up the grocery bag and unhurriedly climbed to the fifth floor. September rain tapped against the stairwell windows, and her heart felt calm. In the six months since the divorce, life had finally fallen into place. No one demanded explanations about where she’d spent money, no one criticized her cooking or fumed about messes that, truth be told, had never existed.
The apartment had come to Vika from her parents even before she got married. Her mom and dad had spent all their savings to make sure their daughter had a place to live. The papers were in Vika’s name only, because there hadn’t even been a fiancé in the picture then. Two years later, a chance meeting with Andrey at work grew into a relationship and then into a wedding.
The marriage lasted four years. Andrey turned out to be a difficult person: he liked drinking with friends, constantly complained about not having enough money, and yet made no effort to earn any. He worked as a mechanic at a factory but skipped about half his shifts. Vika worked as an engineer at a design institute, earning more than her husband, which he considered an affront to his dignity.
“What kind of man is kept by his wife?” Andrey would grumble whenever his mood soured from another hangover.
“No one’s keeping you,” Vika would answer. “I just work steadily, while you skip work.”
“My job is hard, unlike yours—shuffling papers!”
They divorced through the courts, though there was nothing to divide. Andrey insisted on splitting the apartment, but the documents clearly showed the place belonged to Vika alone. The court dismissed the ex-husband’s claims, and he left for his mother’s village, to Klavdiya Semyonovna.
There Andrey began telling the villagers what a magnanimous act he had performed. Supposedly, he could have won half the apartment in court, but he took pity on his ex-wife and left her everything. Klavdiya Semyonovna listened to her son and grew increasingly indignant. How could it be that her son had sacrificed his rightful housing for an ungrateful daughter-in-law, and the woman hadn’t even said thank you?
As she simmered quince jam, the woman made plans. She needed to go to the city and explain to this Vika whom she owed her roof over her head to. Her son was too kind, unable to stand up for himself—but his mother would know how to put that brazen girl in her place.
Vika was just taking out her keys when she heard footsteps on the landing. Turning around, she saw an older woman in a faded coat and worn-down boots. The face looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it right away.
“Who are you here to see?” Vika asked politely.
“You, dearie,” the stranger answered, then suddenly raised her voice. “Pack your junk and get out! This is my son’s apartment, not yours!”
Vika froze; the keys slipped from her hand and clinked on the floor. Her brain refused to process what she’d heard. Whose son? What was this even about?
“Sorry, who are you?” Vika muttered, bending for the keys.
“Your mother-in-law, Klavdiya Semyonovna!” the woman declared proudly. “Andrey’s mother! And I’m not here for apologies—I’m here for you to vacate someone else’s living space!”
Blood rushed to Vika’s face. The sheer nerve of her former mother-in-law was so stunning that for the first few seconds she was speechless. In the meantime, Klavdiya Semyonovna squeezed past the stunned ex-daughter-in-law and stepped into the entryway.
“Cluttered the place up, haven’t you,” the woman hissed, eyeing the neatly arranged shoes. “Andryusha said you were a slob, but this…”
Vika snapped out of her shock and quickly followed her, slamming the door.
“Klavdiya Semyonovna, leave my apartment right now.”
“What do you mean ‘your’ apartment?” the mother-in-law snorted. “My son generously left you this home even though he could’ve claimed half! And you? Didn’t even say thank you! Think you can treat family like that?”
The mother-in-law walked into the living room and began inspecting the furnishings. She felt the sofa, checked for dust on the nightstand, peered into the wardrobe.
“The furniture’s rubbish, of course, but you can live with it,” the woman concluded. “It’ll suit Andryusha just fine when he finds a new wife.”
Vika followed the uninvited guest, still unable to believe what was happening.
“Are you seriously saying this apartment belongs to Andrey?”
“Who else would it belong to?” Klavdiya Semyonovna was surprised. “You lived together for four years! By law everything acquired in marriage is split fifty-fifty!”
“The apartment was bought before the marriage! With my parents’ money!” Vika’s voice trembled with indignation.
“Bet you forged the papers,” the mother-in-law waved a hand. “Or Andryusha, out of the goodness of his heart, re-registered everything to you. Men are so foolish, they fall for women’s tears.”
Klavdiya Semyonovna opened the fridge and began studying its contents.
“You eat well, don’t you—no penny-pinching. And my son is stuck in the village with no proper job. You think that’s fair?”
Vika grabbed the woman by the sleeve of her coat and pulled her away from the fridge.
“That’s enough! Leave immediately, or I’m calling the police!”
“Oh, I’m so scared!” Klavdiya Semyonovna laughed. “The police, she says! And what will you tell them? That your mother-in-law came to visit?”
“Ex-mother-in-law! And Andrey and I are divorced!”
“Divorced, sure, but debts remain,” the woman squinted slyly. “You think I don’t know he owes you money?”
Vika was taken aback. Andrey hadn’t left her any debts. On the contrary, he constantly borrowed small sums and never paid them back. But those pennies weren’t worth fighting over.
“What debts are you talking about?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to discuss,” Klavdiya Semyonovna said with satisfaction, settling herself on the sofa. “Sit down, daughter-in-law, let’s have a nice chat.”
Vika paced the room, thinking how to get rid of the pesky visitor as quickly as possible. Calling the police over an elderly woman felt silly, but she wasn’t about to tolerate behavior like this either.
“I’m listening, but make it quick,” Vika said coldly, remaining on her feet.
“Right, we don’t have much time,” the mother-in-law nodded. “Tomorrow Andryusha is coming to pick up his things. By then, you’ll have packed and vacated the premises.”
“I won’t be vacating anything! This is my apartment!”
“Yours, is it?” Klavdiya Semyonovna reached into her handbag and pulled out a crumpled sheet. “Well this says otherwise.”
Vika took the paper and scanned it. It was a photocopy of some bank statement, but the tiny print made it hard to read at first glance.
“What is this?”
“A certificate for a loan your husband took out with the apartment as collateral,” the mother-in-law announced triumphantly. “Two million rubles! And he can’t make payments, he’s got no job. The bank will be taking the apartment soon.”
Vika scrutinized the document more carefully. The paper looked suspicious, the font uneven, the stamp smudged. But Andrey’s name did indeed appear in the borrower field.
“Even if that’s true, the apartment is in my name. No one could use it as collateral without my consent.”
“Who said without your consent?” the mother-in-law smirked. “You were his wife—you signed everything he asked. So you signed consent for the collateral.”
“I never signed anything of the sort!”
“A woman’s memory,” Klavdiya Semyonovna shook her head. “In four years, you shuffled through so much paperwork you can’t remember it all. Bankers are meticulous people; they don’t just hand out loans.”
Vika feverishly tried to recall what documents she might have signed during the marriage. A couple of times Andrey had asked her to sign some papers, saying they were for work. Could one of them have been consent for a lien?
“Show me the original document,” Vika demanded.
“Why do you need the original?” the mother-in-law was surprised. “A photocopy shows the same thing.”
“Photocopies can be faked.”
“Oh, how suspicious you are!” Klavdiya Semyonovna laughed. “You think I’m some swindler? I don’t need your schemes. I’m a simple, honest person.”
Vika paced the room, trying to figure out what to do next. Even if the document was bogus, sorting it out would take time. Meanwhile, the mother-in-law felt like queen of the castle and was mapping out an eviction.
“All right, let’s say the loan exists,” Vika said. “But the one who took the money has to pay it back. That would be Andrey.”
“And how’s he supposed to pay if he has no job?” the mother-in-law spread her hands. “So it turns out the bank will take the apartment. Unless—you don’t want to end up on the street, do you?”
“And what exactly are you proposing?”
“Here’s what I propose,” she said weightily. “You transfer the apartment to Andrey, he sells it, pays off the bank, and whatever’s left—you split fair and square. You’ll get your share and can rent a place.”
Vika stopped and looked closely at her. The plan was so brazen it almost inspired admiration.
“So I’m supposed to hand over an apartment bought with my parents’ money so Andrey can cover his debts?”
“Well, not for free!” the mother-in-law protested. “You’ll get a share! Might even be enough for a room in a communal flat.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the bank will take the apartment anyway, and you’ll get nothing at all. Besides, the debt’ll be yours too, since you lived together during the marriage.”
Vika sat down in an armchair opposite the sofa. Her head was spinning at such audacity. Did people really believe they could show up at someone else’s home and demand the apartment?
“Klavdiya Semyonovna, even if everything is as you say, I am not obligated to solve my ex-husband’s financial problems.”
“Not obligated, you say?” The mother-in-law leaned forward. “And who fed you for four years, clothed you, and put a roof over your head?”
“Excuse me?” Vika couldn’t believe her ears. “Who fed whom?”
“Andrey, of course! A man has to provide for his family!”
“Andrey spent half the time unemployed! I paid for groceries, utilities, clothes!”
“Nonsense,” the mother-in-law waved her off. “A man can’t live off a woman’s back. That’s against nature.”
“But he can come and demand someone else’s apartment?” Vika asked tartly.
“Not someone else’s—rightfully his!” the mother-in-law raised her voice. “You lived together, so everything’s shared!”
Vika stood and walked to the window. It had grown dark outside, and the streetlights were reflected in puddles. She wanted to throw the intruder out, but the woman clearly wasn’t going to leave of her own accord.
“You know what, Klavdiya Semyonovna,” Vika turned back, “let’s end this farce.”
She went to the desk and took out a folder of documents. The mother-in-law watched her every move, clearly on guard.
“Here is the certificate of ownership for the apartment,” Vika placed the document right in front of her. “Date of registration—one and a half years before I met Andrey. Buyer—me. Seller—the developer. There have been no other owners.”
Klavdiya Semyonovna took the paper and began studying the seals. Her face gradually darkened.
“Here is a statement that the apartment was purchased with funds gifted by my parents,” Vika continued, laying out the next document. “Here are bank statements showing the money credited to my account. Everything is honest, everything is legal.”
“So what?” the mother-in-law tried to snap back, but her voice wavered. “Andrey could have put in money later—made improvements, something…”
“In four years of marriage Andrey didn’t spend a kopeck on this apartment,” Vika said firmly. “On the contrary: utilities, renovations, furniture—I paid for it all. Would you like to see the receipts?”
The mother-in-law cast around the room like a trapped animal, searching for a new angle of attack.
“And the loan?” the woman remembered. “It was taken against the apartment!”
“Show me the original loan agreement,” Vika suggested calmly.
“Why would I carry it around? It’s at home…”
“Then name the bank where the loan was issued.”
The mother-in-law blinked rapidly, realizing she’d been cornered.
“I… don’t remember exactly… Andrey told me, and I forgot…”
“The contract number? The date it was signed?” Vika pressed.
“Why are you interrogating me?!” Klavdiya Semyonovna exploded. “You kicked my son out, and now you want to kick me out?!”
“Andrey left on his own after the divorce. And I’m asking you to leave my apartment immediately.”
“I won’t!” the mother-in-law shouted. “I’ll sit here until justice is restored! My son worked all his life, and some upstart gets the apartment!”
Vika took out her phone and dialed emergency services.
“Hello, police? A stranger entered my home, refuses to leave, is making threats…”
Klavdiya Semyonovna fell silent at once. The word “police” had a magical effect on her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Why are you calling the cops?”
“Because you’re breaking the law,” Vika replied, not interrupting her call with the dispatcher. “Yes, I’m at home, I’ll wait for the officers.”
The mother-in-law jumped up from the sofa and began rushing around the room.
“I’m not a thief! I came to visit my daughter-in-law!”
“Ex-daughter-in-law,” Vika corrected her. “And without an invitation.”
“Cancel the call!” the mother-in-law demanded. “What will people say if they see me with the police?”
“You should have thought of that earlier.”
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Vika opened the door and saw two local officers—a middle-aged man and a young woman.
“Did you call?” the senior sergeant asked.
“Yes, come in. This woman entered my apartment without permission and refuses to leave.”
Klavdiya Semyonovna hunched on the sofa, staring at the police with frightened eyes.
“Please show us the apartment documents,” the sergeant requested.
Vika handed over the ownership certificate. The policewoman scrutinized the seals and signatures.
“And who are you?” they asked the mother-in-law.
“I… the ex-husband’s mother…” Klavdiya Semyonovna mumbled.
“Do you have the right to be in this apartment?”
“Well… we’re family…”
“Ex-family,” Vika corrected. “After the divorce we have no family ties.”
“Do you have keys to this apartment?” the sergeant asked the mother-in-law.
The woman rummaged in her purse and produced a key ring.
“How did you get keys to someone else’s apartment?” the policewoman was surprised.
“My son gave them to me… when he was married…”
“After a divorce, keys must be returned,” the sergeant said sternly. “Hand them to the owner.”
Reluctantly, the mother-in-law passed the keys to Vika, who put them in her pocket.
“Now please leave the apartment,” the policeman ordered. “And don’t show up here again without the owner’s permission.”
“And what about justice?” the mother-in-law whimpered. “My son worked for her for four years, and the apartment goes to her!”
“Your son worked for himself and his family,” Vika replied coolly. “And the apartment is mine because my parents bought it.”
“Family squabbles aren’t our jurisdiction,” the sergeant said. “If there are property disputes, take them to court. For now, we’ll escort you out.”
Klavdiya Semyonovna grudgingly got up and headed for the door, muttering curses at the ungrateful daughter-in-law under her breath. In the entryway, she turned for one last try:
“Andrey will come tomorrow and sort everything out himself!”
“Let him come,” Vika answered calmly. “He just won’t get into the apartment. I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”
“You have no right!” the mother-in-law squealed.
“I do. It’s my property.”
The officers led Klavdiya Semyonovna out to the landing. Vika shut the door and turned the key. Finally, silence reigned in the house.
The next morning a locksmith replaced the lock. Vika specifically chose a model with protection against picking and forced entry. The old keys no longer worked.
At noon her cell phone rang. Andrey’s name flashed on the screen.
“What’s going on?” her ex-husband’s indignant voice blared. “My mother came to you in good faith, and you called the police!”
“Your mother broke into my apartment and demanded that I move out,” Vika replied. “That’s called vigilantism.”
“That’s not your apartment! We lived together for four years!”
“So what? The home is mine; the documents are in my name.”
“You lied to me! You said your parents gifted it, but you probably bought it on credit!”
“Andrey, you saw those documents yourself when we got married. Or is your memory really that bad?”
“I don’t remember any documents! And anyway, by law everything acquired in marriage is split!”
“The apartment was bought before the marriage. With my parents’ money. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Liar!” Andrey shouted. “I’ll hire a lawyer and take you to court!”
“Go ahead,” Vika said indifferently. “Just have money ready for the court fee. If you lose, you’ll also reimburse my legal costs.”
“We’ll see who beats whom!” the ex-husband threatened and hung up.
Vika put the phone away and smiled. Andrey, of course, wouldn’t find anyone. First, he had no money for a lawyer. Second, any attorney would immediately explain that his claims were baseless.
That evening Vika cooked pilaf and savored how good it felt to live alone. No one criticized the food, demanded she do things “the right way,” or caused scenes over money spent. She could watch her favorite films, read late into the night, meet friends.
At last the apartment had become a home again rather than a battlefield. Klavdiya Semyonovna and Andrey were part of her past now, along with all the unpleasant memories. No one would dare show up and demand someone else’s property again.
The intercom buzzed. Vika picked up the receiver, but when she asked who it was, there was no answer. A minute later, it buzzed again.
“Who’s there?” Vika asked more sharply.
“Open up, police,” came the familiar voice of the sergeant.
Vika pressed the button. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. On the threshold stood yesterday’s local officer with his partner.
“Good evening. May we come in?”
“Of course,” Vika let them into the hallway. “Has something happened?”
“We received a statement from Klavdiya Semyonovna,” the policewoman explained. “She alleges that you unlawfully appropriated her property.”
Vika snorted with laughter.
“What property?”
“The apartment keys,” the sergeant said seriously. “And that you evicted the rightful owner.”
“You saw the apartment documents yourselves. And you told her to hand over the keys.”
“We did. But we’re obliged to review the complaint,” the policeman spread his hands. “Could you show your ownership certificate again?”
Vika brought the folder of documents. The sergeant carefully leafed through them all.
“Everything is in order here,” the policeman concluded. “The apartment is indeed yours. Klavdiya Semyonovna’s complaint is groundless.”
“And what will happen to her for filing a false report?” Vika asked.
“Most likely a warning. She’s an elderly woman—might not have understood the legal nuances.”
After the police left, Vika locked the door with every lock. Apparently, the mother-in-law had decided to wage war to the bitter end. But the documents spoke for themselves, and no complaints could change the truth.
A week later the story took an unexpected turn. Vika was coming home from work when she saw Andrey by the entrance. Her ex-husband looked rumpled and tipsy.
“What do you want?” Vika asked coolly.
“We need to talk,” Andrey muttered. “Nicely.”
“What is there to talk about? Everything’s been decided.”
“My mother’s gone completely off the deep end,” Andrey complained. “Goes on about the apartment all day. The neighbors are giving us looks.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Listen, could you maybe help?” the ex-husband asked unexpectedly. “Not with money—some other way…”
“How?”
“I don’t know… Give me some kind of certificate, something that proves the apartment is yours. So my mother calms down.”
Vika thought about it. The idea sounded reasonable. Maybe then Klavdiya Semyonovna would finally leave her alone.
“Fine. Tomorrow I’ll bring a copy of the ownership certificate. Show it to your mother and explain.”
“Thank you,” Andrey exhaled in relief. “It’s become impossible to live.”
The next day Vika photocopied the documents and gave them to Andrey. No one else called, knocked, or threatened. Apparently, Klavdiya Semyonovna finally understood the scheme had failed.
Vika gladly struck her former in-laws from her life. The apartment stayed right where it belonged—with the lawful owner. And the brazen attempt to seize someone else’s property ended in complete failure.
