A sharp ring at the door sliced through the mourning silence of my apartment. Forty days hadn’t even passed since Kostya’s funeral—I still hadn’t learned how to breathe without him—yet my mother-in-law, Larisa Grigoryevna, was already standing on the threshold. And she wasn’t alone. Beside her was a hunched man with a briefcase. She didn’t even look at my tear-streaked face. Instead of condolences, she spoke in an icy, proprietorial tone:
“Galya, this is a notary. We’ve come to process the apartment. Kostya always said it would go to me. So pack your things.”
Forty days. Galina stared at Kostya’s photo and couldn’t believe it. Forty days without his laughter, without his warm hands, without his quiet “I’m home.” The apartment they had built together like a little nest had turned into an echoing crypt filled with silence and memories. Every cup in the kitchen, every book on the shelf screamed of him.
A tragic, absurd accident. In an instant, her world collapsed. And in that collapsed world, the only person who didn’t comfort her—who seemed, if anything, to be waiting for something—was her mother-in-law, Larisa Grigoryevna.
Right after the funeral she started her attacks. First came the silky phone calls.
“Galya, how are you holding up? All alone, aren’t you? Kostyenka worried about me so much… He always said, ‘Mom, you’re the only one I have, I’ll take care of you.’ He was a golden son, not like some people…”
Galina stayed silent, gripping the receiver until her knuckles hurt. She knew where this was going. Larisa Grigoryevna had been dancing on bones for ten years—ever since the day of her and Kostya’s wedding. She never accepted that her son, her only boy, now belonged to another woman. She always considered Galina a freeloader, a cunning provincial girl who had “snared” her Moscow prince and his apartment.
The apartment had been Kostya’s. He’d inherited it from his grandmother before they even met. But the renovation, the coziness, the soul of it—all of that they poured into it together. Galina remembered how they argued themselves hoarse over the color of the bedroom wallpaper, and how afterward, laughing, they smeared each other with paint. This was their home.
The phone rang again. The screen flashed: “Mother-in-law.” Galina took a deep breath and answered.
“Galya, I hope you’re slowly packing your things,” Larisa Grigoryevna began without preamble, her voice cold. “You’ll need to move somewhere. You can’t live in someone else’s apartment forever.”
Galina’s breath caught.
“What?.. W-what things? Larisa Grigoryevna, what are you talking about? Kostya’s been gone only a month…”
“So what? Life doesn’t stop!” her mother-in-law snapped. “Kostya always said that if anything happened, this apartment would go to me. That was his will. He was a decent son. So let’s do this without a scandal. Tomorrow I’m coming with a notary so we can formalize everything properly. Be at home.”
The line went dead with short beeps. Galina sank to the floor. A notary? Formalize? She was stomping into her grief, into her pain, and demanding she vacate the place. No—this was no longer a dance on bones. This was a declaration of war. And in that second, Galina understood she would no longer be the quiet, obedient daughter-in-law. She would fight. For her home. For Kostya’s memory.
The next day, exactly at noon, a sharp, demanding ring sounded at the door. Galina knew who it was. She opened up. Larisa Grigoryevna stood on the threshold dressed all in black, but with the expression of someone who hadn’t come to mourn—she’d come to take possession of an estate. Beside her stood a hunched man in a worn suit, a briefcase in his hands.
“Good afternoon,” her mother-in-law drawled with an icy smirk as she brushed past Galina into the apartment. “This is Andrey Viktorovich, a notary. We’re here to settle the formalities.”
“What formalities?” Galina asked quietly but firmly, closing the door. “Official inheritance happens after six months.”
“So clever,” Larisa Grigoryevna snorted, running her hand over the dresser like a homeowner. “A bit dusty here, Galya. You’ve really let the place go.” She clicked her tongue. “For some people it’s six months, and for others everything is obvious. I have all the documents. Kostya left the apartment to me.”
With theatrical flair she unzipped her bag and pulled out a thick folder.
“Here! Everything’s here! Kostya’s old will from ten years ago, and the deed of gift we discussed…”
“We won’t be discussing anything until the will is officially read,” Galina cut her off. Her voice trembled, but she held steady. “And I don’t understand why you brought this man.”
The notary, who had been silent until then, coughed awkwardly.
“Larisa Grigoryevna, I explained… A private consultation is one thing, but official actions are only possible in the established order.”
“Be quiet, Andrey Viktorovich!” the mother-in-law barked. “You’re here to process things, not to give advice! Galina, I don’t want a scandal. Just understand: you are nobody here. A wife is one today and another tomorrow. But a mother is sacred. Kostya understood that. He wanted me to live here in my old age.”
She spoke as if Galina were empty space—as if their ten years of happy marriage had never existed.
“He loved me!” Galina cried, unable to hold it in any longer. Tears poured from her eyes. “We were happy! And you… you spent your whole life trying to break us up! You hated me!”
“Hated you?” Larisa Grigoryevna flung up her hands theatrically. “Sweetheart, I simply didn’t notice you. You were an annoying misunderstanding in my son’s life. And now that misunderstanding will be corrected. The apartment is mine. Andrey Viktorovich, draw up the transfer act!”
“I’m not drawing up anything!” the notary protested. “That’s illegal!”
“Then get out of here!” Galina shouted, pointing at the door. “Both of you! Out of my house!”
“Yours?!” her mother-in-law shrieked, her face twisting with rage. “You wretch! How dare you tell me what to do?! Why, I’ll—”
She raised her hand, but Galina didn’t flinch. She stared straight into the eyes of the woman who had poisoned her life for years, and felt grief melt into cold, hard resolve.
“I’m giving you a week,” Larisa Grigoryevna hissed, lowering her arm. Her face was purple with fury. “A week to pack your junk and get out of here. Otherwise I’ll call the police and throw you into the street like a stray dog!”
“On what grounds?” Galina’s voice was surprisingly calm. All fear had vanished. “This is my home. I’m Konstantin’s wife.”
“Ex-wife!” her mother-in-law smirked maliciously. “Now you’re a widow. A penniless widow. And this is my son’s apartment, and he left it to me! He promised me personally! On your wedding day he said, ‘Mom, no matter what happens, you won’t be out on the street.’”
Galina gave a bitter smile. She remembered that day. Larisa Grigoryevna had thrown a horrific scene, called her a predator, then sobbed on Kostya’s shoulder, complaining that he was abandoning her. That was probably when he said something to soothe her—something this manipulator twisted to her advantage.
“Promises can’t be sewn onto a case file, Larisa Grigoryevna. There’s the law. And there’s the will, which we’ll learn about in due time.”
“Ah, you mean the will!” the mother-in-law dug into her folder again. “Here it is! Kostya wrote it when he was twenty-five. All property—to his mother, Larisa Grigoryevna. Look!”
She shoved a piece of paper under Galina’s nose. Galina glanced quickly. It really was a will.
“That was before me,” Galina said evenly. “Marriage and a later will отменяют the previous one. You don’t seriously think that in ten years Kostya didn’t take care of his family?”
Larisa Grigoryevna’s face twitched. For a second uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but she instantly drowned it in a new wave of anger.
“He didn’t take care of it! Because he knew you’d trick him! Rob him! He complained to me—said you only think about money!”
It was a lie. A brazen, filthy lie. Kostya would never have said that. They lived in perfect harmony. Yes, there were arguments, like any couple—but they always ended in reconciliation. He loved her, and she knew it. Her mother-in-law’s lie was the last straw.
“Enough,” Galina said sharply. “I don’t want to listen to your lies anymore. I told you: leave. We’ll resolve everything with the notary when the time comes. And if you show up on my doorstep again with threats, I’ll call the police.”
“You… you’re threatening me?!” her mother-in-law gasped.
“I’m warning you,” Galina answered firmly. “Your performance is over. You won’t get this apartment. Because Kostya loved me. He lived with me—and he ran from you, because your ‘love’ suffocated him his whole life. Now go.”
Larisa Grigoryevna froze with her mouth open. She hadn’t expected that kind of resistance from her quiet, accommodating daughter-in-law. She glared at Galina with hatred, then spun around and, grabbing the stunned notary by the arm, stormed out, slamming the door.
Galina was left alone. She slid down the wall onto the floor and burst into tears. But these weren’t tears of grief—they were tears of rage and release.
Six months passed. Six long, painful months of waiting. Larisa Grigoryevna didn’t show up again, but Galina felt her invisible presence. She called mutual acquaintances and complained about the “black widow” who had thrown her out of her son’s apartment. She spread filthy rumors. Galina tried not to pay attention, but it was hard.
And then the day of the will reading came. Galina arrived at the notary office half an hour early. She sat in the waiting room, clutching her purse in cold fingers. Her heart pounded so hard it felt as if it might leap out of her chest.
The door opened, and Larisa Grigoryevna walked in. She wore an elegant pantsuit, and on her face was a confident, contemptuous smile. She threw Galina a triumphant look and sat opposite her, ostentatiously crossing one leg over the other.
“Well, Galya? Ready to be evicted?” she hissed. “I hope your suitcases are already packed.”
Galina said nothing, only gripped her purse tighter.
They were invited into the office. The notary, an older, solid man, asked them to sit and began the official procedure. He spoke in a dry, monotone voice, reading out standard wording. Larisa Grigoryevna tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk. Galina sat motionless, like a statue.
“…And now we proceed to the reading of the will made by citizen Orlov Konstantin Igorevich,” the notary said, and opened a thick envelope.
He put on his glasses and began to read.
“‘I, Orlov Konstantin Igorevich, being of sound mind and clear memory, by this will make the following disposition… All my property which at the day of my death shall belong to me, whatever it may consist of and wherever it may be located, including but not limited to the apartment located at the address…’”
The notary named the address of the apartment Kostya and Galina had shared. Galina’s heart stopped. Larisa Grigoryevna leaned forward, her eyes shining with greed.
“…‘I bequeath to my beloved and only wife, Orlova Galina Petrovna.’”
The silence in the office became deafening. Galina looked up at the notary, not believing her ears. Larisa Grigoryevna froze with her mouth half-open. Her face slowly began to flood red.
“What?” she rasped. “This… this is some kind of mistake! I have another will! He couldn’t!”
“Please do not interrupt,” the notary said sternly and continued. “‘In a separate clause I wish to dispose in regard to my mother, Orlova Larisa Grigoryevna…’”
Her mother-in-law jumped to her feet.
“There! There! Now he’ll explain everything—how it was just a joke!”
The notary gave her a heavy look and slowly, with deliberate emphasis, read the next lines.
“‘…in regard to my mother, Orlova Larisa Grigoryevna,’” the notary repeated, looking over his glasses at the woman who had gone pale. “‘I, Orlov Konstantin Igorevich, fully and unconditionally deprive her of the right to inherit any of my property by law.’”
The blow was so strong that Larisa Grigoryevna swayed and collapsed back into her chair.
“How… deprive?..”
“That’s not all,” the notary said, returning to the document. “Konstantin Igorevich left an explanatory letter which he asked to have read as a mandatory part of the procedure.”
He cleared his throat and began reading text written by hand. Galina recognized Kostya’s handwriting at once.
“Mom. If you’re hearing this now, it means I’m gone. And it means you came to divide up my property, certain that it rightfully belongs to you. I’m writing this not out of anger, but out of deep bitterness. I always loved you, but your love was suffocating. You never saw me as a separate person—only as your property.
When I met Galya, for the first time in my life I became truly happy. I found my home, my family. And you did everything you could to destroy it. Your endless manipulations, lies, intrigues, your attempts to turn me against her… You poisoned ten years of our life. You told me she didn’t love me, that she only wanted money and the apartment. But the only person who ever talked about my apartment was you, Mom.
Galya is my life. She was with me in joy and in sorrow; she supported me when I wanted to give up; she created warmth in our home, which you always called ‘mine.’ She never asked me for anything.
That is why I leave everything I have to her. This is not just an inheritance. It is my gratitude, my love, and my attempt to protect her from you even after my death. I know you won’t leave her alone. But this home is her fortress. My last request to you, Mom: leave her alone. Let her live. Goodbye.”
When the notary finished, there was dead silence in the room for several seconds. Galina cried openly. These were tears of gratitude, love, and endless longing for her husband, who understood her so deeply.
And then the silence was torn apart by a wild, animal scream.
“LIES! IT’S ALL LIES!” Larisa Grigoryevna shrieked, springing from her chair. Her face was twisted with rage and disbelief. “She set it all up! That witch! She drugged him, bewitched him! He couldn’t have written that! He loved me!”
She lunged toward the notary’s desk, trying to snatch the papers from him.
“You’re in cahoots! How much did she pay you?! I’ll file complaints! I’ll sue! I’ll prove it’s a forgery!”
“Calm down, citizen Orlova!” the notary said sternly, pushing her hand away. “The will is certified according to all regulations. The authenticity of Konstantin Igorevich’s signature has been confirmed. Your actions may be regarded as disorderly conduct.”
“Disorderly conduct?!” Larisa Grigoryevna screeched, turning on Galina. Her eyes shot sparks. “This is all your fault! You stole my son from me—and now you stole his apartment! Curse you! May you never have peace in that house! May every corner remind you of him and tear your heart to pieces!”
Galina stood up. She wiped her tears and looked her mother-in-law straight in the eyes.
“It already does. Every corner. And I’m grateful to him for that,” she said quietly but firmly. “As for you… I pity you. You lost your son twice. First when you tried to destroy his happiness. And now—finally. You ended up with nothing not because I stole anything, but because there is nothing in your heart except greed and spite.”
Those words hit Larisa Grigoryevna harder than any scream. She froze, her face turning ash-gray. She stared at Galina with such savage hatred that Galina felt uneasy.
“I’ll destroy you,” she whispered. “I swear…”
She spun around and, staggering, walked toward the exit. The office door slammed with a crash.
Galina sank back into her chair. It was over. The war that had lasted ten years had ended. She had won. But there was no joy—only a ringing emptiness and endless gratitude to a husband who, even from beyond the grave, had managed to protect her.
“Orlova Galina Petrovna,” the notary called gently, pulling her out of her stupor. “My condolences… and congratulations. You’ll need to sign the documents to enter into the inheritance.”
Galina took the pen. Her hand no longer trembled.
Almost a year had passed since that day at the notary’s office. Galina was slowly returning to life. She rearranged the apartment, changed the curtains, bought a new sofa. She needed the home to stop being a mausoleum and become alive again. Kostya’s photo still stood in the most prominent place, but now Galina looked at it with a bright sadness rather than tearing anguish.
Larisa Grigoryevna kept her “promise.” She tried to sue, contesting the will; hired lawyers; wrote complaints to every office she could think of. But it was all futile. The law was on Galina’s side. After several failed attempts, her mother-in-law went quiet. From mutual acquaintances Galina heard that she sold her small apartment on the outskirts and moved to some distant relative in another city. She never appeared in Galina’s life again.
One evening Galina was sorting through Kostya’s old papers. In one of the boxes she found a notebook. It was his diary from the first year they lived together. Galina opened it with a pounding heart.
On one page she read:
“Mom caused another scandal today. Says Galya is using me. How can she not understand? Before Galya, I wasn’t living at all. I existed. And now I live. I breathe. And if I ever have to choose between Mom’s peace and happiness with Galya, I will choose Galya. Always. I have to protect her. From everyone. And first of all—from my own mother.”
Tears rose again, but they were warm, bright tears. He understood everything. He always had.
Galina closed the diary and went to the window. Outside, the evening city hummed, lights burned, life flowed on. She was alone, but she no longer felt lonely. Love lived in her heart, and behind her was an unbreakable wall her husband had built for her.
She took a deep breath. A new life lay ahead. Her life. And she knew she would manage. For her own sake. And in his memory
