Marina shoved the dirty plates into the dishwasher and set it to express wash. The Friday dinner had gone well; Igor was wolfing down her signature mushroom pie. Even Nastya—who always wrinkled her nose at anything cooked by “that upstart,” as she called Marina behind her back—ate two slices.
“I’m jumping in the shower,” Igor called from the hallway. “We’ve got soccer with the guys tomorrow. I need some sleep.”
“Go on,” Marina waved a hand and started wiping down the countertop.
Nastya was sitting in the living room, glued to her phone. She’d shown up the night before—as usual without warning, as usual with a bunch of bags, and as usual with a sour face. “Just to stay for the weekend,” supposedly.
“Want tea?” Marina asked, poking her head through the doorway.
“No,” Nastya snapped, not looking up from the screen.
Marina shrugged and went back to the kitchen. She was used to it. Three years of marriage had taught her not to react to her sister-in-law’s jabs. Igor always said, “Nastyukha’s prickly, but she comes around. Don’t take it to heart.”
Water was rushing in the bathroom. Marina turned on the kettle and opened the upper cabinet for her favorite mug. Then she heard Nastya’s voice from the living room:
“Mom, how are you? Yeah, I’m at their place… No, she cooked her awful stuff again… Listen, I talked to the lawyer.”
Marina froze with the mug in her hand. Nastya dropped to a whisper, but in the quiet apartment the words carried clearly to the kitchen.
“Yeah, it can be done through the court… Since the apartment came to Igor from his grandmother, not to both of them… No, that idiot doesn’t even suspect she can be taken off the registration… Igor will sign anything if you ask the right way…”
The mug slipped from Marina’s fingers and crashed to the floor, shattering.
“What’s going on in there?” Nastya’s voice shot up instantly.
“Dropped a mug,” Marina managed, feeling a chill spread inside her.
The apartment… The three-room place in the center where she and Igor had lived for three years. A gift from his grandmother. “For the newlyweds,” the old woman had said. And now this snake wanted to get her thrown out?
“As usual,” Nastya appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Your hands are out of… the wrong place.”
“Sorry, I got distracted,” Marina bent to gather the shards, glad Nastya couldn’t see her face.
“Why are you making a mess? Get a dustpan.”
Marina obediently took out the dustpan and brush. Her hands were shaking.
“Why are you trembling?” Nastya squinted. “You dropped it, big deal.”
“I just… got startled,” Marina lied.
“Uh-huh. Our delicate little flower,” Nastya snorted and went back to the living room.
Marina’s head spun with one thought: “They want to kick me out. Of my home. That’s why Nastya suddenly came…”
Igor came out of the bathroom, whistling some tune.
“Oh, smashed a mug?” he smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll buy ten more.”
“Yeah,” Marina tried to smile back.
Igor kissed the top of her head and went to the bedroom.
That night Marina didn’t sleep a wink. Igor breathed evenly beside her, and she stared at the ceiling, thinking. Tell her husband? But he adored his sister and always defended her. Complain to her mother-in-law? She was in on it with Nastya! She’d always been cool toward her daughter-in-law, however much she tried to hide it.
“I have to do something myself,” Marina decided toward morning. Only—what?
At dawn Marina slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. Her hands shook so much she missed the cup with the spoon twice.
“Okay, breathe,” she whispered to herself. “Think.”
Her eyes fell on a lawyer’s business card that had been stuck on the fridge since last month. Sergey Valentinovich had helped their neighbor divide property. Marina grabbed her phone.
“Hello! Is this Sergey Valentinovich? This is Marina Kotova, Olga Petrovna’s neighbor.”
She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, constantly glancing at the door.
“I urgently need a consultation. Today, if possible? One o’clock? Perfect!”
Igor shuffled into the kitchen, sleepy, a pillow crease on his cheek.
“Morning,” he leaned in for a kiss. “How come you’re up so early?”
“Oh… I slept enough,” Marina looked away. “Igor, I’m going to see a friend today, okay? Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Which friend?”
“Lenka,” she blurted the first name that came to mind.
“Ah, okay,” he yawned. “I’m going to the movies with Nastya. She asked yesterday.”
“Of course she did,” Marina thought, but kept quiet.
The lawyer’s office smelled of coffee and paper. Sergey Valentinovich, a balding man in glasses, listened carefully.
“So. The apartment is from your husband’s grandmother… Are you registered there?”
“Yes, right after the wedding.”
“And how’s the apartment titled?”
“Meaning?”
“I mean, whose name is on the deed? Was it a gift deed? A will?”
Marina blinked, at a loss.
“I don’t know… Igor handled everything.”
The lawyer sighed.
“Here’s what, Marina. First thing, you need to find out who owns the apartment. If it’s just your husband—you’ve got a problem. If it’s both of you—then his sister can’t do anything.”
“How do I find out?”
“Order an extract through the MFC or the state services portal. Today.”
Marina came home with a clear plan. In the hallway she nearly tripped over Nastya’s shoes.
“Oh, look who’s here!” Nastya came out of the kitchen. “Where’ve you been? We lost you.”
“At a friend’s,” Marina tried to keep her voice even.
“We went to the movies, Igor and I,” Nastya leaned against the wall with a smirk. “Little brother never grows up—picked those dumb action flicks again.”
Marina walked past, nodding. In the bedroom she shut the door and pulled out her phone. She quickly found the state services site and ordered an extract from the property registry. She paid. Now it was just waiting.
In the evening, after Igor fell asleep and Nastya shut herself in the guest room, Marina checked her email. The extract had arrived. With trembling fingers she opened the file.
“Owner: Sokolov Igor Alekseevich.”
Marina’s breath caught. So Nastya was right—the apartment was legally his alone. And she was only registered there. Anxiety turned to anger. “Not a chance.”
In the morning, while everyone slept, Marina called the lawyer again.
“Sergey Valentinovich, here’s the situation…”
“Listen carefully,” he cut in. “Have you been registered there for more than three years?”
“Almost three.”
“Good. Then you have a right of use. Plus everything acquired during the marriage—from furniture to appliances—is marital property. And if you can prove you invested in renovations…”
“We did renovations!” Marina remembered the receipts she pedantically saved.
“Then your chances are good. Gather the documents. And most important—don’t sign anything your husband or his family puts in front of you.”
“Thank you!”
“And one more thing, Marina. It would be good to tell your husband everything…”
Marina sighed.
“I’m not sure he’d take my side.”
For the next two days Marina walked as if through a minefield. She smiled, cooked, pretended everything was fine. Meanwhile she gathered evidence: found all the receipts for furniture, appliances, and the renovation. Dug up her bank statements—how much she’d transferred for materials. Scanned the prenuptial agreement, which clearly spelled out jointly acquired property.
On Monday Nastya announced she was staying another week.
“I suddenly got some vacation,” she told her brother sweetly. “You won’t kick out your own sister, will you?”
“Stay as long as you like!” Igor laughed.
Marina clenched her teeth and said nothing.
That evening she overheard Nastya whispering on the phone again:
“Mom, everything’s going according to plan… Yeah, I’ll stay longer… No, that fool suspects nothing… The papers are almost ready… Igor will sign, he has nowhere to go…”
Marina boiled inside. “Oh no, darling, not happening.”
The next day she took a day off and went to a notary. Then to the MFC. By evening she had a full folder of documents and a clear plan of action.
“Honey, how about we invite your parents over this weekend?” she asked casually over dinner. “We haven’t all gotten together in a while.”
Nastya jerked her head up and shot her a suspicious look.
“Great idea!” Igor brightened. “Nastyuk, Mom will be thrilled you’re here too.”
“Of course,” Nastya ground out. “I’m all for it.”
On Saturday Marina cooked from morning on. She fried, steamed, braised—gave it her all. “The last family dinner,” she thought bitterly, chopping vegetables for a salad.
By six the table was groaning with food. Igor’s parents arrived—Alexey Petrovich and Vera Sergeevna. Her mother-in-law, as usual, gave the daughter-in-law a sizing look.
“You look good, Marina,” she said with forced warmth.
“Thank you,” Marina smiled. “Come in, have a seat.”
When everyone had settled and started eating, Igor raised his glass:
“To family! To all of us being together!”
“To family,” Marina echoed and took a sip.
Nastya caught her eye and gave the faintest smirk. “In a moment that smirk will be gone,” Marina thought.
“By the way,” she said loudly, “there’s something I want to discuss.”
All eyes turned to her.
“Igor, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Nastya and your mom a couple of days ago.”
Silence fell. Nastya went pale.
“What are you talking about?” Igor frowned.
“That your sister and your mother are planning to talk you into putting the apartment solely in your name and deregistering me. Throwing me out on the street.”
“What nonsense,” Vera Sergeevna flared. “Igor, your wife has lost her mind!”
“Marina, what?” Igor looked helplessly from his wife to his sister and mother.
“I heard everything,” Marina said firmly. “Word for word. Nastya said ‘that fool doesn’t even suspect she can be taken off the registration,’ and that Igor ‘will sign anything if you ask the right way.’”
Nastya jumped up:
“You were eavesdropping on my conversations?!”
“I heard it by accident while I was cleaning in the kitchen,” Marina shot back. “But that’s not the point. The point is you want to kick me out of my home.”
“Your home?” the mother-in-law cut in. “The apartment belongs to Igor! His grandmother gave it to him!”
“Marinka, this is nonsense,” Igor took his wife’s hand. “No one’s going to kick you out.”
Nastya and Vera exchanged looks.
“Here’s a folder,” Marina pulled out the documents she’d prepared. “This has everything you need to know.”
Igor opened the folder and began flipping through.
“What is all this?” he asked, bewildered.
“These are receipts for all the furniture, appliances, and the renovation in our apartment,” Marina pointed to the first stack. “Here are my bank statements—half the expenses are on me. And this,” she took out a document in a separate sleeve, “is a legal opinion on my housing rights.”
Nastya blanched.
“You went to a lawyer?” she hissed.
“Of course. As soon as I heard your plans,” Marina straightened. “I won’t let you throw me out of a home I’ve considered mine for three years, that I’ve put money and effort into.”
Igor looked up from the papers.
“Wait… Nastya, Mom, is this true? You were really planning this?”
Vera Sergeevna let out a nervous laugh.
“Igoryok, don’t be silly! We were just discussing…”
“Discussing what exactly?” Marina cut her off. “Maybe how best to trick your son?”
“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that!” Nastya exploded.
“And don’t you dare plan how to toss me out of my home!” Marina raised her voice too.
“Enough!” Igor slammed his fist on the table. “Nastya, is it true?”
Nastya pressed her lips together.
“We just wanted to protect your interests. You never know…”
“You never know what?” Igor flushed with anger. “I’ve been married to Marina for three years! We did the renovation together, bought the furniture together!”
“Son, but the apartment is your grandmother’s,” Vera tried again. “She gave it to you, not to both of you.”
“So what?!” Igor stood up. “Does that give you the right to decide behind my back how I should dispose of my property?”
Alexey Petrovich, who had been silent till then, shook his head.
“Vera, Nastya, what are you doing? The boy’s right. This is shameful.”
“Dad, you don’t understand!” Nastya threw up her hands. “What if they get divorced? She’ll sue for half the apartment!”
“So you were laying the groundwork for our divorce?” Igor asked quietly, looking at his sister.
Nastya bit her tongue. Silence descended.
“You know what,” Marina gathered the documents back into the folder. “I’ve already filed the paperwork. I’ve submitted a claim to establish my share in this apartment as jointly acquired property. Taking all the investments into account—that’s at least thirty percent. If you want a war, fine, but I won’t give up what’s mine.”
“Marinka…” Igor rubbed his temples. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“Would you have believed me?” she smiled sadly. “You always say Nastya would never lie to you.”
Igor looked at his sister and mother with new eyes.
“I’m asking you to leave,” he said quietly. “Both of you. Right now.”
“Igoryok!” Vera gasped.
“Leave!” he repeated, louder. “I need to speak with my wife.”
Nastya grabbed her bag and bolted from the apartment. Vera rose slowly, shot her daughter-in-law a scorching look, and headed for the door. Alexey Petrovich lingered on the threshold:
“I’m sorry, son. I didn’t know what they were up to.”
When they were gone, Igor sat down across from Marina.
“Forgive me… I didn’t think they were capable of that.”
“And I didn’t think I’d have to defend myself from your family,” she answered softly.
A month later everything was officially settled. Marina became a co-owner of the apartment—her share was forty percent. Igor insisted it be more than the lawyer had asked for.
Nastya stopped visiting. She called rarely, only her brother, and never asked about Marina. Vera was pointedly polite when they met, but cold. Family dinners were tense now.
One evening Igor hugged Marina.
“You know, I’m glad you turned out stronger and smarter than all of them. And that you didn’t let them fool you.”
“I just realized no one would fight for me but me,” she smiled. “Not even you.”
“It won’t happen again,” he kissed her forehead. “I promise.”
Marina nodded. She was no longer afraid of losing the roof over her head. And she knew for sure: she wouldn’t let anyone decide her fate behind her back. Not her mother-in-law, not her sister-in-law. Not even her husband. From now on—she would decide for herself.