Olga sat in the kitchen, mindlessly poking at a salad with her fork. It had already darkened, turning into some pathetic mix of yesterday’s optimism and today’s exhaustion. Sergey was rushing around the apartment like someone who hadn’t lost his keys, but the meaning of life. Galina Petrovna sat in the armchair by the window, looking like a judge presiding over a particularly serious criminal case.
“Seryozh, you’re rustling around like a rat in a sack of crackers,” Olga said without lifting her eyes. “What are you looking for?”
“The apartment documents,” he grunted. “You said yourself it was time to get everything ready to sell.”
“I said it was time to look at options. And you’re already packing like we’re moving into a barn tomorrow,” Olga rolled her eyes.
“Well, if you want to stay in this concrete box until retirement…” Sergey opened a closet, and a winter jacket and a bag with some mysterious contents tumbled onto him.
“Better a box than your village with no decent internet,” she snapped.
“Olga,” Galina Petrovna cut in, lips pressed tight, “you always dramatize everything. A house outside the city means fresh air, your own land, cucumbers. And an apartment… what’s an apartment? The walls close in.”
“Right,” Olga snorted. “Especially when there’s a mother-in-law behind one of those walls waiting for me to slip up.”
“My girl, I warned you,” Galina Petrovna leaned back in her chair. “You need to listen to a man while he still wants you to listen. Later it’ll be too late.”
“Mom, don’t start,” Sergey tossed out wearily, pulling a folder from the closet.
Olga looked at him through narrowed eyes.
“Sergey, are you sure we’re acting in my interests?” Her voice was calm, but inside everything was already boiling.
“And whose else would we be?” He didn’t even look at her. “You’ll just sign a power of attorney for me, and everything will go faster.”
“Sure,” she smirked. “A power of attorney—so that later I’m left with the loan, and you and your mom are left with the keys to the new house?”
“Olga, what nonsense are you talking?” Sergey spun around sharply. “Do you seriously think I’d trick you?”
“Think?” She set down her fork. “I’m almost certain.”
“This is paranoia,” Galina Petrovna stepped in, rising from her chair. “Men don’t like being suspected of things. Have you tried being his wife instead of his investigator?”
“And have you tried being his mother?” Olga shot back. “Not some advisor in schemes for how to squeeze property out of his wife.”
“Enough!” Sergey raised his hands like he was breaking up two neighborhood dogs. “Both of you are driving me crazy. I want a normal life. A house, a bathhouse, a dog, barbecues…”
“And a thirty-year loan,” Olga cut in.
“So what? It’s an investment in the future,” he shrugged.
“Whose future, Seryozh?” she asked quietly.
He hesitated. Galina Petrovna immediately jumped in:
“The family’s future! Is that really so hard to understand?”
“Yeah, the family… only that family’s last name is Sergeyev, not Sergeyeva and Kovalenko. Because you didn’t include me,” Olga stood up abruptly. “I’m not an idiot, Sergey. And I’m not giving you a general power of attorney.”
“Fine, your choice,” he snapped the folder shut, already irritated. “You’ll regret it later.”
“Maybe,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes, “but at least I’ll regret it because of my own mistake—not yours.”
A heavy silence hung in the air, like an old carpet on the wall in a grandmother’s bedroom. Only the fridge hummed, and Galina Petrovna breathed angrily like a steam engine.
“I’m going to the notary tomorrow,” Sergey said slowly. “You’ll change your mind.”
“Just try signing anything without me,” Olga said coldly. “And it won’t be a move—it’ll be a divorce.”
Galina Petrovna snorted.
“Fine. Then live in this… concrete box.”
Olga gave a thin smile.
“At least it’s not a cage.”
And she walked into the bedroom, leaving the two of them alone.
But one thought was already spinning inside her: I need to check everything. And it looks like I’ll have to play their game—only by my rules.
Olga came home earlier than usual. The project at work had collapsed like a memorial-table setup—quickly, quietly, and with a faint smell of something burnt. Her thoughts kept circling: What if Sergey has already pulled something off behind my back?
She set her bag down by the door, took off her shoes—and suddenly heard familiar laughter from the kitchen. It wasn’t Sergey’s laugh—his was always nervous, breathy. This was Galina Petrovna laughing. Quietly, but with the kind of pleasure people have when they’ve just won the lottery.
Olga froze at the doorway.
“Well, Seryozh, I told you,” her mother-in-law’s voice carried. “The main thing is to register everything in your name first. Then we’ll decide who lives where.”
“Mom, don’t say it like that,” Sergey sounded quiet, almost whispering. “If Olya hears—there goes the plan.”
“She won’t hear,” Galina Petrovna snorted. “Women are like… those… cats. As long as the bowl is full, they purr. The moment they sense the food’s been taken away, they start scratching.”
“Yeah, I know…” Sergey sighed. “I thought she’d agree quickly, without drama. She’d sign the power of attorney, we’d sell the apartment, buy the house…”
“And the loan goes on her, Seryozh. Don’t forget,” steel rang in Galina Petrovna’s voice. “You do understand a man has to be the master of the house. If the house is in your name, no one can throw you out with your things.”
“Mom, well…” he faltered. “Olya put money into it too.”
“Exactly—she put money into it. And she will keep putting money into it,” his mother cut him off. “Do you think I want you ending up with a suitcase in some dorm? Not a chance.”
Something itched behind Olga’s ear, and she barely stopped herself from bursting into the kitchen and applauding. Bravo, family council! A real opera in the genre of “deception for noble reasons.”
Sergey poured tea—the cup sliding across the table made a soft sound.
“Mom, are you sure she doesn’t suspect anything?”
“Seryozh, your wife is naïve like a first-year student on her first scholarship day. If she starts suspecting something—tell her it’s all for her peace of mind.”
Olga smiled. That part was one step too far.
She pushed the door open and walked in like in a bad TV drama—slow motion, the look of someone who wasn’t holding a grocery bag, but an arrest warrant.
“Good evening, family,” she said sweetly, like tea with eight spoons of sugar. “What are we discussing today? Loans, real estate, how to trick the wife?”
Sergey almost spilled his mug.
“Olya… it’s not what you think…”
“Oh, come on,” she set the bag on the table, staring straight at her mother-in-law. “I think you’ve got strategic planning in full swing. Only here’s the problem—I’m not signing up for your script.”
Galina Petrovna lifted her chin.
“Girl, you misunderstood everything.”
“Oh, I love that phrase,” Olga smirked. “It’s usually said by people caught with their hand in someone else’s wallet.”
Sergey stood, stepped closer, and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Olya, listen…”
She pulled away.
“No, Seryozh, now you listen. You wanted to make a fool of me. But you know what’s funniest? I almost agreed. And now…” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “Here’s my statement. Tomorrow I’m going to the bank to revoke the authorization—and I’ll also check if there are already any surprises from you.”
Galina Petrovna scoffed.
“And who needs you with your paranoia?”
“Probably not you,” Olga answered coldly. “But I need me.”
She turned and went to the bedroom, leaving behind a thick, sticky silence in the kitchen—so thick even the tea in the mugs seemed to cool down out of spite.
That’s it. The game has begun. But now—by my rules, she thought.
Sergey packed his things on the third day. Not because Olga kicked him out—he decided on his own that he “needed to wait it out.” He went to his mother’s, and a week later sent a text:
“Let’s talk calmly. I’ll explain everything.”
Olga replied briefly:
“We’ll meet at the notary.”
That day the office was stuffy and smelled like old linoleum. Sergey arrived wearing a tie, like he was heading to a job interview, and Galina Petrovna came in a new coat, clearly bought for the “ceremonial moment.”
“Olya, we’ve been thinking…” Sergey began, making his voice soft. “Maybe we shouldn’t act rashly. A house outside the city—it’s a dream.”
“Yes, and the loan on you,” Galina Petrovna added like it was a compliment. “Your salary is stable.”
“Oh, I see you still believe in my altruism,” Olga smirked, pulling out a folder. “Only there’s one little nuance. The apartment is now registered solely in my name. And—attention—I’ve already sold it.”
Sergey went pale.
“What?! When?!”
“Yesterday,” Olga answered calmly. “At market price. And without your schemes.”
“You… you decided without me?!” His voice started to crack.
“Without you, Seryozh, I decide a lot of things now,” she said coldly. “And yes—here’s your notice of divorce.”
Galina Petrovna gasped.
“How dare you?! We’re family!”
“Family?” Olga leaned in so close she could see every wrinkle. “Family doesn’t sit around planning how to throw each other out on the street.”
Sergey stood, slamming his fist on the table.
“You’ll regret this! You’ll have nothing left!”
“You’re wrong,” Olga smiled. “I’ll have freedom. And money.”
The notary coughed, making it clear the circus had gone on long enough. Olga stood, put the documents back in her bag, and headed for the exit.
On the steps outside, she breathed in the icy air and felt something click inside her—like a lock that had kept her trapped in that marriage had finally snapped.
Sergey ran after her.
“Olya, wait… Can we at least do this without a scandal?”
She turned, looked him straight in the eyes, and said:
“Seryozh, the shop is closed.”
And she walked on—toward a new life where no one sits around plotting how to set her up
