December turned out to be bitterly cold. The snow lay like a heavy blanket, and every morning Olga stared out the window at the white courtyard, unable to force herself to leave the apartment. Two weeks had passed since the funeral, but time seemed to have stopped. The apartment felt too big and too empty—three rooms in which only Olga lived now.
Before, her husband had filled the space with his presence: he’d turn on music, cook something in the kitchen, humming under his breath. Now the silence pressed against her ears. Olga walked barefoot from room to room, trying not to make a sound, as if she were afraid of disturbing someone’s memory.
In the first days after the funeral, neighbors stopped by with little pies and sympathetic looks. Olga thanked them, put the food in the refrigerator, and forgot about it. She didn’t feel like eating. Or sleeping. She simply sat on the living-room sofa, wrapped in a blanket, staring at one spot.
Her mother-in-law—Lyudmila Vasilyevna—arrived the day after the funeral. She brought containers of soup, set the table, and sat down beside Olga.
“You eat, dear,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “You need strength.”
Olga nodded, but never lifted the spoon. Lyudmila Vasilyevna sighed, patted her daughter-in-law’s shoulder, and left—taking the keys to her son’s car with her.
“I’ll drive it over to my place,” she said as she was leaving. “No point in it just sitting here.”
Olga didn’t object. The car, the apartment, the things—none of it seemed to matter anymore. Her husband was dead, and the whole world had shrunk to the size of this empty apartment.
But Lyudmila Vasilyevna started coming more and more often. First once every two days, then every day. She brought food, cleaned, washed dishes. Olga sat off to the side in silence. Sometimes it felt as if her mother-in-law didn’t even notice her—she was so engrossed in going through her son’s belongings.
“This sweater—I gave it to him last New Year,” Lyudmila Vasilyevna said, pressing a gray sweater with reindeer to her chest. “He loved wearing it.”
Olga nodded. Her husband had worn it only once, then said the reindeer looked childish and shoved it onto the far shelf. But there was no point arguing with Lyudmila Vasilyevna.
A week later, her mother-in-law began packing his clothes into boxes.
“We need to sort everything out while it’s still fresh,” she said, standing in the bedroom with bags in her hands. “Otherwise it’ll be even harder later.”
Olga watched as Lyudmila Vasilyevna methodically pulled shirts from the wardrobe, folded trousers, sorted belts. She worked quickly and with focus, as if carrying out an important assignment.
“This I’ll donate to the church,” she said, pointing at one box. “And this I’ll keep as a remembrance.”
Olga stayed silent. Let her take it. Let her do whatever she wanted. The main thing was not to pry with questions or comfort.
But Lyudmila Vasilyevna didn’t stop at clothing. A few days later she moved on to documents. She arrived with a large bag, went into her son’s study, and started opening desk drawers.
“I need to deal with the banks,” she explained without lifting her head. “Accounts, deposits—everything needs to be closed.”
Olga stood in the doorway watching her mother-in-law stack papers into neat piles. Lyudmila Vasilyevna found phone numbers for banks, wrote them down on a sheet, and slipped it into her pocket.
“Tomorrow I’ll call and find out what’s left in there,” she finally looked up at Olga. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Olga shrugged. Let her call. She wouldn’t learn anything without a power of attorney anyway.
Lyudmila Vasilyevna took her silence as agreement and kept rummaging through the papers—insurance policy, old receipts, certificates.
“So much has piled up,” she sighed. “We’ll have to sort it all out and throw away what’s unnecessary.”
Olga turned and left the study. She settled in the kitchen with a cup of tea and stared out the window. The snow kept falling, covering the city with a white quilt. She wanted to sink into that whiteness and disappear.
An hour later Lyudmila Vasilyevna came into the kitchen looking pleased.
“All done—I sorted the documents,” she said, sitting across from Olga and placing her hands on the table. “Tomorrow I’ll start calling the banks. We need to understand what’s left.”
Olga nodded without raising her eyes from the cup. The tea had long gone cold, but she kept wrapping her hands around the mug as if warming herself.
“And the car needs to be transferred to my name,” Lyudmila Vasilyevna added. “You don’t drive anyway. Why should it just sit?”
“Do whatever you want,” Olga finally looked up. “I don’t care.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna nodded in satisfaction and left, taking the folder with the car documents.
Days went by one after another. Olga kept living in a fog—she’d get up, drink tea, stare out the window, lie down again. Sometimes she turned on the TV, but the sounds blended into a single hum and the meaning of what was happening on the screen slipped away.
Lyudmila Vasilyevna came every day. Now she behaved even more confidently—opening the fridge without asking, cooking whatever she pleased, rearranging things.
“You’ve got a mess here,” she declared one morning, looking around the living room. “We need to clean properly.”
She set to work with enthusiasm—dusting, washing floors, putting things in their places. Olga sat on the sofa and watched in silence. Lyudmila Vasilyevna worked as if it were her home.
“Much better,” she said with satisfaction, surveying the result. “Now it’s livable.”
Olga didn’t answer. She simply got up and went to her bedroom, closed the door, and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts tangled, but one stuck like a splinter: Lyudmila Vasilyevna felt like the rightful mistress here.
The next week her mother-in-law arrived with a big bag and announced:
“I’m going to stay the night here. It’s hard for you alone—I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Olga froze. Lyudmila Vasilyevna had already gone into the room that used to be her son’s study and began making up a bed on the sofa.
“It’s quite comfortable,” she said, glancing around. “It’ll be calmer for both you and me.”
Olga stood in the doorway in silence. She didn’t want to argue. Let her stay if she needed to. Maybe it really would be easier—less scary not to be alone.
But by the end of the first day Olga understood: Lyudmila Vasilyevna had come seriously, and for a long time. She took over the study, unpacked her things, hung her clothes in the wardrobe. In the evening she sat in the kitchen with a notebook and began writing something down.
“I need to make a to-do list,” she explained. “There’s so much to settle—banks, documents, property paperwork.”
Olga drank tea and looked out the window. The snow had stopped, and the moon lit the white drifts in the yard. She wanted to go out there, sink into a snowbank, and forget.
Lyudmila Vasilyevna kept scribbling, muttering to herself now and then. Then she raised her head and looked at Olga.
“Tomorrow I’m going to the bank,” she said. “I’ll find out what’s left in the accounts. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Olga nodded. Let her go. Without a notarized power of attorney they wouldn’t tell her anything.
Another week passed. Lyudmila Vasilyevna lived in the apartment as if it were her own—cooking, cleaning, calling relatives, discussing business matters. Olga stayed quiet and kept to the side. Sometimes it seemed her mother-in-law forgot she existed.
But one evening Lyudmila Vasilyevna came into Olga’s bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her daughter-in-law for a long moment.
“Olya, we need to talk,” she said seriously.
Olga propped herself on an elbow and stared at her. Lyudmila Vasilyevna folded her hands on her knees and paused.
“You understand that this apartment belonged to my son,” she began. “He bought it before the marriage with his own money. I helped him with the down payment.”
Olga said nothing. Lyudmila Vasilyevna continued:
“So legally, the apartment isn’t marital property. And I, as his mother, am entitled to a share of the inheritance.”
Olga sat up and hugged her knees. Lyudmila Vasilyevna spoke confidently, as if reciting a memorized text.
“I’m not going to throw you out,” she softened her tone. “But you have to understand the situation. Now we both have rights to this apartment.”
Olga nodded. Satisfied with the reaction, Lyudmila Vasilyevna rose and headed to the door.
“Good—glad we discussed everything,” she said at parting. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the notary and do it properly.”
The door closed. Olga remained sitting on the bed, arms around her knees. Something inside her shifted, but her face stayed calm. Lyudmila Vasilyevna didn’t know anything. She didn’t know that three months earlier her son had made a will. She didn’t know that the apartment, the car, and the bank accounts were all willed to Olga. She didn’t know that the notary had called several times already, inviting Olga to come in to process the inheritance.
Olga stayed quiet because it was too early to speak. Let Lyudmila Vasilyevna think she was in control. Let her make plans and discuss dividing the property. Time would show who the real mistress was.
A few more days passed. Lyudmila Vasilyevna hinted more and more often that Olga should consider moving out.
“You’re young,” she said over dinner. “Life goes on. Maybe you’ll meet someone, start over.”
Olga ate in silence. Lyudmila Vasilyevna continued:
“And I’ll stay here. I have nowhere to go, and it’s my son’s apartment. It’s logical I’ll live here.”
Olga put down her fork and looked at her. Lyudmila Vasilyevna held her gaze and added:
“Don’t take offense, but it’ll be the right thing. You’ll get settled, and I’ll live out my days in my son’s apartment.”
Olga got up from the table and took her plate to the sink. Lyudmila Vasilyevna stayed in the kitchen, pleased with herself.
Two days later her mother-in-law came with news. She flung open Olga’s bedroom door and announced:
“I went to the notary. I found everything out. I’m entitled to half the inheritance as the only mother. So get ready—we’ll be dividing the apartment.”
Olga lay on the bed with a book in her hands. She raised her eyes to her mother-in-law and said nothing. Lyudmila Vasilyevna took the silence as agreement and left, slamming the door loudly.
Olga set the book on the nightstand and looked out the window. It had started snowing again. Big flakes drifted slowly down onto the windowsill. Beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful.
And in the next room Lyudmila Vasilyevna was talking on the phone with a friend, discussing how best to formalize her share of the apartment. Her voice sounded triumphant.
The next morning Lyudmila Vasilyevna came to Olga again. This time she didn’t circle around it.
“Listen, Olya,” she stood in the middle of the bedroom with her arms crossed. “Let’s be honest. You have no reason to stay here. It’s my son’s apartment, I have rights to it. So pack your things and get out. If not today, then in a week—either way you’ll have to move.”
Olga sat on the bed and looked at her. Lyudmila Vasilyevna stood in the doorway, tall and rigid, waiting for a reaction. But Olga only smiled slowly—quietly, almost imperceptibly. The corners of her lips lifted, and her gaze became perfectly calm.
Lyudmila Vasilyevna frowned, not understanding what was happening. Olga kept smiling silently, and there was something in that smile that suddenly made the older woman feel uneasy.
“Have you lost your mind?” Lyudmila Vasilyevna raised her voice. “I’m having a serious talk with you, and you’re sitting there smiling!”
Olga didn’t answer. She simply got up, walked past her mother-in-law to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water. Lyudmila Vasilyevna followed, refusing to back down.
“Do you even hear me?” she stood in the doorway, blocking the passage. “I said: pack your things. This apartment belongs to my son, which means it belongs to me!”
Olga took a sip, set the glass on the table, and turned to her mother-in-law with a calm look.
“I hear everything,” Olga said evenly, without emotion.
“Then why are you silent?” Lyudmila Vasilyevna stepped closer. “Think if you keep quiet I’ll go away? No, dear. I know my rights. My son’s apartment is my apartment. And I have every right to live here.”
Olga walked past her mother-in-law back to the bedroom. Lyudmila Vasilyevna followed, growing louder.
“Who are you even?” she stopped in the middle of the room, spreading her arms. “You lived with my son for only five years! And I raised him, made a man of him, got him on his feet! I gave him money for the down payment!”
Olga opened the wardrobe and took out a folder of documents. Lyudmila Vasilyevna fell silent, watching her daughter-in-law’s movements.
“What’s that?” she asked, but her voice was no longer so confident.
Olga set the folder on the table, sat down in the chair, and opened her laptop. Lyudmila Vasilyevna stepped closer, trying to see what was on the screen.
“What are you doing?” she leaned in over Olga’s shoulder.
Olga pressed a few keys, opened a folder, and clicked one file. A scanned document with stamps and signatures appeared on the screen.
“What is that?” Lyudmila Vasilyevna moved even closer, squinting.
Olga silently turned the laptop so her mother-in-law could see better. Lyudmila Vasilyevna bent over and started reading—first quickly, then more slowly. Her eyes widened; her lips parted.
“A will?” she whispered, as if not believing her own eyes.
Olga nodded. Lyudmila Vasilyevna grabbed the back of the chair and kept reading. On the screen was a clear text, certified with a notary’s seal and her son’s signature.
“I, Andrey Petrovich Sokolov, being of sound mind and memory, bequeath all my property to my spouse, Olga Nikolaevna Sokolova,” Lyudmila Vasilyevna read aloud, stumbling. “Including: the apartment at the address… the automobile… bank accounts…”
She went silent. She sank into a chair beside the desk and stared at the screen as if hoping the words would change.
“This can’t be true,” she muttered. “He couldn’t… He would have told me…”
Olga flipped to the next page. There was the date—three months ago. Her husband’s signature. The notary’s stamp. Everything done according to the law.
“Why did you keep quiet?” Lyudmila Vasilyevna looked up at Olga. “Why were you silent all this time?”
Olga closed the laptop and rested her hands on the table. She looked at her mother-in-law calmly, without anger.
“Because I didn’t want to argue,” Olga answered quietly. “I didn’t care. The car, the apartment, the money—none of it will bring my husband back.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna covered her face with her hands and froze. Her shoulders trembled slightly. Olga sat beside her in silence.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” Lyudmila Vasilyevna finally said in a muffled voice. “I thought… I was sure the apartment would go to me. That I had the right…”
“The right belongs to the one it was willed to,” Olga said, standing and walking to the window. “My husband thought it through in advance. He did the paperwork, certified it with a notary. Everything according to the law.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna slowly stood up. Her face had fallen, her eyes were red. She stood in the middle of the room—confused and crushed.
“So all this time you knew,” she whispered. “You knew the apartment was yours. You knew I’d get nothing. And you kept quiet.”
Olga nodded. Lyudmila Vasilyevna suddenly straightened and stepped toward her daughter-in-law.
“You did it on purpose!” she burst into a scream. “You stayed silent just to watch me walk around here, making plans! Calling banks, gathering documents!”
Olga turned to her. Her face stayed calm, but something hard flashed in her eyes.
“I was silent because I didn’t have the strength for fights,” Olga said, enunciating each word clearly. “My husband died. I didn’t care who managed what. But you decided you could come here and throw me out of my apartment.”
“Your apartment?” Lyudmila Vasilyevna laughed hoarsely. “You lived here five years! And I—”
“And you never moved in here,” Olga cut her off. “This was my husband’s apartment. It was his. Now it’s mine. By will. You won’t be able to contest it.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna stepped back. Her breathing went uneven; her hands clenched into fists.
“I’m his mother!” she shouted. “I have the right to a share!”
“You would have, if there were no will,” Olga said, placing the laptop on a shelf. “But there is a will. And it’s perfectly clear.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard. Olga walked past her to the door and stopped in the doorway.
“Now it’s clear,” Olga said evenly. “Now you really can—get out.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna flinched as if slapped. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Olga went into the hallway, walked to the front door, flung it open, and stood beside it, waiting.
Lyudmila Vasilyevna slowly came out of the room. Her face was pale, her lips trembled. She went to the entryway, grabbed her bag from the hook, and threw on her coat.
“You’ll regret this,” she whispered as she fastened the buttons. “You’ll regret it.”
Olga didn’t answer. She simply stood by the open door, looking at her. Lyudmila Vasilyevna stepped onto the landing, paused, and turned back.
“He was my son,” her voice shook. “My only son.”
“He was my husband,” Olga answered softly. “And he willed everything to me.”
Lyudmila Vasilyevna turned and went toward the elevator. Olga closed the door and leaned her back against it. The apartment became quiet. Completely quiet. It hadn’t been this quiet in weeks.
Olga went into the living room and sank onto the sofa. She looked out the window—the snow was still falling, covering the city with a white blanket. Only now the silence felt different: not crushing and empty, but peaceful.
The apartment belonged to her again. For the first time in all this time, Olga felt she could breathe freely. No need to keep quiet, no need to endure someone else’s presence, no need to listen to orders.
Olga got up and walked through the rooms. She went into the study where Lyudmila Vasilyevna had slept. The bed was sloppily made; her mother-in-law’s things still lay on a chair. Olga gathered them into a bag and placed it by the front door. Let her come and collect them.
Then she opened the window in the study, letting in the frosty air. Snowflakes flew into the room, melting on the windowsill. The cold felt cleansing, driving off the heaviness of the past days.
Olga closed the window and returned to the living room. She sat on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees. Only now did it sink in: it was over. Lyudmila Vasilyevna wouldn’t come back. No more rummaging through documents, no more talks about rights to the apartment, no more commanding tone.
The phone rang. Olga picked up—it was the notary’s number.
“Olga Nikolaevna, good afternoon,” a polite female voice said. “I’m reminding you that three weeks have passed since your spouse’s death. You can come in to process the inheritance.”
“I’ll come tomorrow,” Olga replied.
“Excellent. I’ll be expecting you at ten in the morning. Bring your passport, your marriage certificate, and the death certificate.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
Olga set the phone down and looked out the window again. Tomorrow a new life would begin. Without her husband—but also without anyone else’s claims. The apartment, the car, the accounts—everything would be formalized officially. No one would be able to come in and demand rights anymore.
Olga went to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator—there were the food containers Lyudmila Vasilyevna had brought. Olga took them out and threw them into the trash. She didn’t want anything that reminded her of her mother-in-law.
Then she brewed herself fresh tea, sat at the table, and wrapped her hands around the hot mug. Outside, it was getting dark. The streetlights came on, lighting the snowy yard. Children were sledding, laughing and shouting. Life went on.
Olga took a sip of tea and thought of her husband. She remembered how three months earlier he had come home and said:
“Olya, I made a will. Everything goes to you.”
Back then she’d been surprised and asked why. He smiled and replied:
“Just in case. I want you to be protected.”
It had seemed strange—a young, healthy man suddenly making a will. But he insisted, went to the notary, had it all certified. And a month later, he had a heart attack.
Olga closed her eyes and silently thanked her husband. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for protecting me from other people’s claims. Thank you for this silence.
The phone rang again. Her friend’s name flashed on the screen.
“Olya, how are you?” her friend’s voice sounded worried. “You haven’t been in touch for ages.”
“I’m fine,” Olga answered calmly. “Just had a lot to deal with.”
“Is your mother-in-law still living with you?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“Thank God!” her friend let out a relieved breath. “I was already afraid it would drag on forever.”
Olga gave a small smile. Her friend didn’t know half of what had happened—didn’t know about the will, Lyudmila Vasilyevna’s claims, or how she’d tried to throw Olga out of her own apartment.
“It’s all okay,” Olga repeated. “Tomorrow I’m going to the notary to process the inheritance.”
“Hang in there,” her friend paused. “If anything—call me. I’ll come and support you.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Olga ended the call and finished her tea. She washed the mug and went to the bedroom. She lay down and pulled the blanket over herself. Outside, the snow kept falling, covering the world in white.
For the first time in a long while, Olga fell asleep peacefully—without anxious thoughts, without fear that Lyudmila Vasilyevna would come again tomorrow with demands. The apartment was hers. By will. By law. Forever.
In the morning Olga woke up early, got dressed, gathered the documents, and went outside. The frost hit her face, making her cheeks flush. Snow crunched underfoot; the sun dazzled her eyes.
The notary greeted her warmly, quickly checked the documents, and began the paperwork. An hour later everything was ready. Olga left the notary’s office with a folder containing the certificates of inheritance.
The apartment, the car, the accounts—everything officially belonged to her. No one could contest that right anymore. No one could come and stake a claim.
Olga walked along the snowy streets and, for the first time in a long time, she was smiling. Her husband had taken care of her. He’d left not just property, but protection—protection from those who might have tried to take advantage of her grief.
That evening Olga sat at home on the sofa with a cup of tea and looked out the window. The snow kept falling, covering the city. Quiet. Peaceful. Truly hers
