“Why are the kitchen floors freezing cold? I specifically told Vadim to install underfloor heating when you started renovating! And this layout makes no sense at all. Who puts a sink in a place like that? Water must splash everywhere!”
The voice belonged to a woman. It sounded confident, authoritative, and completely unfamiliar.
Anna froze in the entryway, still holding a heavy cardboard box filled with leftover floral foam and rolls of satin ribbon.
She had just returned from spending three days decorating a countryside wedding. Her back throbbed after assembling dozens of arrangements from hydrangeas and delphiniums. Her hands were covered in tiny cuts from pruning shears, and all she wanted was to take a hot shower and collapse into bed.
Instead, her own apartment smelled of fried fish and someone else’s perfume.
Anna carefully lowered the box onto the small bench by the door and stepped toward the open-plan kitchen and living room.
A heavyset woman with short, eggplant-colored hair was sitting on a tall stool beside Anna’s custom-designed kitchen island. She was wearing Anna’s favorite silk robe.
The stranger stirred tea in a mug while inspecting the countertops with visible disapproval.
Beside her stood Anna’s husband, Vadim, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
“Vadik, why are you just standing there?” the woman continued. “I told you clearly that you should have bought an apartment in a residential district, with proper separate rooms. What is this supposed to be? A student shoebox. There’s no comfort here at all.”
“Mom, we already discussed this…” Vadim muttered.
Then he looked up, noticed Anna, and immediately turned pale.
“Anya? Weren’t you supposed to come back tomorrow morning?”
“The bride turned out to be reasonable, so we finished dismantling everything early,” Anna replied calmly, although a wave of irritation was already beginning to rise inside her. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The woman slowly turned around.
Her sharp, evaluating gaze traveled over Anna’s face, her exhausted posture, her plain jeans, and oversized sweater.
“Well, hello, daughter-in-law,” she said, sounding as though she were granting Anna a great honor. “Margarita Pavlovna. I decided to surprise you. Since the two of you never seem able to visit me, I had to come here myself and see how my son is living.”
Anna and Vadim had been married for a little over a year.
Their wedding had been modest. They had registered the marriage and celebrated with a quiet dinner for two. At the time, Margarita Pavlovna had complained of high blood pressure and refused to travel from her provincial town.
During the entire year, Anna had only spoken to her on the phone. Even then, she usually just handed the receiver to Vadim.
And now her mother-in-law had come to inspect Anna’s apartment before properly meeting Anna herself.
“I see,” Anna said, forcing herself to breathe evenly. “Vadim, why didn’t you tell me your mother was coming?”
“I only found out yesterday evening!” he protested. “She bought the tickets and called when she was already at the station. What was I supposed to do, send her back? I picked her up and brought her here. I gave her the spare keys because I had to go to work.”
“The spare keys,” Anna repeated quietly.
Her eyes moved to her silk robe draped around Margarita Pavlovna’s shoulders.
Then she looked at the frying pan on the stove, where something greasy hissed and spat oil across the pale kitchen backsplash Anna had chosen so carefully.
“Anya, go wash your hands,” Margarita Pavlovna ordered as she climbed down from the stool. “We’re about to eat. I’ve already done a little work around here. Although I couldn’t find any normal food. Just strange leaves and herbs, and some cheese covered in mold. I threw it away before someone got poisoned. That almond milk went in the bin too.”
She nodded proudly toward the stove.
“I bought proper bologna and fried some pollock. A man needs meat and fish, not all these fashionable diets.”
Anna closed her eyes, counted slowly to ten, and walked to the bathroom without saying a word.
The situation was already becoming unbearable.
Anna owned a small floral design studio. The work was physically demanding and stressful, but it provided her with a good income.
She had purchased the spacious two-bedroom apartment in a desirable neighborhood two years before meeting Vadim. She had saved the down payment herself, taken out the mortgage in her own name, and personally financed every stage of the renovation.
She had poured her heart into every detail.
Vadim had moved in not long after they began dating.
He worked as a manager for a logistics company and earned an average salary, but he was always full of ambition. He constantly spoke about future promotions, promising projects, and opportunities that were supposedly just around the corner.
Anna had never minded. She was accustomed to relying on herself.
They had agreed to split utility bills and groceries equally while Anna continued paying the mortgage on her own.
In reality, most household expenses had gradually shifted onto her shoulders.
Vadim always needed money for something. One month he had to replace the tires on his car. The next, he was helping a cousin. Then he needed to save for some mysterious business venture that never seemed to exist outside his imagination.
Anna had tolerated it.
She believed that married people should not argue over every small expense.
But she had no intention of tolerating a stranger taking over her personal space and establishing new rules in her home.
Dinner passed in a tense atmosphere.
Margarita Pavlovna criticized the apartment without pause.
“These curtains are so gloomy. You need cheerful white lace curtains with flowers. And that enormous sofa takes up half the room. Where will a child run around when you finally have one?” she said, picking apart her fish with a fork. “Vadik, you’ll need to think about remodeling. You could build a wall over there and create a nursery.”
“Margarita Pavlovna,” Anna interrupted gently but firmly, “this apartment does not need to be remodeled. I am perfectly satisfied with it.”
Her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“You are satisfied? Anna, you’re a family now. Why are you behaving so selfishly? Maybe you like it today, but tomorrow Vadik might feel cramped. Everything is shared in a marriage. You have to think about the future.”
Anna looked pointedly at her husband, expecting him to step in and explain whose apartment they were discussing.
Vadim simply continued chewing while staring at his plate.
Several days passed.
The visit Anna had hoped would last for one weekend quietly turned into an extended stay.
Margarita Pavlovna announced that she needed to undergo several examinations at a clinic in the capital and would probably remain with them for a month.
Every evening, Anna returned from work to discover another unpleasant surprise.
Her favorite spices had been poured into old instant-coffee jars.
Her expensive nonstick crepe pan had been scrubbed with a metal sponge until the coating had been stripped away, leaving bare aluminum underneath.
“I could barely clean that frying pan of yours,” her mother-in-law announced proudly that evening. “It was completely black and slippery. How could you cook on something so filthy? Absolutely unsanitary!”
Anna quietly walked into the bedroom and cried for twenty minutes.
The pan had cost nearly half an average monthly salary, but money was not the main issue.
The real problem was the complete disregard for her boundaries.
In the evenings, Margarita Pavlovna enjoyed watching television from the very sofa she had suggested throwing away.
One night, while changing channels, she found an old Soviet film and began speaking without taking her eyes off the screen.
“You know, Anna, the more I look at you, the more you remind me of Katerina from Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears. Always commanding everyone, always carrying everything on your own, always acting like some company director. But that is not how a woman finds happiness. A man needs warmth at home. He needs a gentle, agreeable wife, not your bouquets and instructions. A husband should feel like the master of his own home.”
“To feel like the master, a person should first actually be one,” Anna replied before she could stop herself.
She was collecting dirty cups Margarita Pavlovna had left scattered around the apartment.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” her mother-in-law asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing in particular. Just thinking out loud.”
Anna turned on the faucet and washed away the remains of tea from the cups.
The following day was Anna’s day off.
Vadim went to work, while Margarita Pavlovna left for a medical appointment.
Anna decided to organize the household paperwork. The utility bills were due, and Vadim usually tossed the statements into the top drawer of the desk in the living room.
She opened it and began sorting through the papers.
Electricity. Water. Internet.
Beneath them lay a thick plastic folder Anna had never seen before. The corner of a banking agreement protruded from the side.
Anna did not make a habit of searching through other people’s belongings, but she recognized the bank’s logo. It was the same institution where Vadim received his salary.
She pulled the document out.
It was a personal loan agreement.
Vadim had signed it three weeks earlier.
The amount was seven hundred thousand rubles, borrowed at a high interest rate.
Anna frowned.
Why would he need so much money?
He had not replaced the car or made any expensive purchases.
Then she began remembering details from the past few months.
Vadim had stopped contributing toward groceries, claiming his bonuses were delayed. He had also stopped paying his share of the internet, utilities, and parking expenses.
Anna turned the page.
Another document was inside the folder—a preliminary mortgage calculation.
Vadim’s name appeared under the heading “borrower.”
The amount listed as the proposed down payment was suspiciously close to the market value of Anna’s apartment after subtracting the remaining balance on her mortgage.
A chill spread through her chest.
Anna lowered herself onto the chair and stared blankly at the figures.
That evening, she was tending to her plants on the insulated balcony.
She was repotting a large ficus tree, carefully filling a new planter with soil.
The balcony door leading into the living room was slightly open.
Vadim and Margarita Pavlovna returned home without realizing Anna was already there. They settled in the kitchen and began talking loudly.
“Have you spoken to her?” Margarita Pavlovna asked impatiently.
“Mom, give me some time. I can’t just walk up to her and say, ‘Anna, let’s sell your apartment.’ She’s clinging to this place like her life depends on it.”
“Then stop acting like a spineless fool!” his mother snapped. “Why do you think I came here? To help you! Are you a man or not? Tell her you want children. Tell her a child needs a larger three-bedroom apartment in a green neighborhood.”
She lowered her voice slightly, but Anna could still hear every word.
“We’ll sell her apartment and pay off what remains of her mortgage. Then we’ll use the rest as a down payment on a new place. Since it will be purchased during the marriage, it will belong to both of you. Better yet, we can register part of it in my name. I’ll contribute my savings and the money from the country house. Then I’ll move in with you and help raise the baby. I’m wasting away in that provincial town.”
“Mom, I already borrowed seven hundred thousand for repairs to your country house!” Vadim replied nervously. “I have to make monthly payments. Anya is already suspicious because I’m not bringing any money into the household. If she finds out about the loan, she’ll cause a huge scandal.”
“She won’t find out if you behave intelligently,” Margarita Pavlovna answered. “Tell her you invested the money in a project. She earns well from those flowers of hers. Let her support us for a while. It won’t kill her.”
She paused.
“The most important thing is to wear her down until she agrees to sell. Start telling her the apartment is too small and the air is bad.”
Anna stood on the balcony, gripping the plastic gardening scoop so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Soil spilled onto the floor.
Her breath caught as anger and betrayal flooded through her.
Suddenly, everything became perfectly clear.
The insults, the criticism, the arrogant behavior, the attempts to take control of the apartment—it was all part of their ridiculous yet completely genuine plan to gain access to her property.
Anna placed the scoop down and brushed the dirt from her hands.
Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her temples.
She did not cry.
Instead, she felt a cold, controlled anger settling over her.
It was the same kind of anger that had helped her build a business and survive in a competitive industry.
Anna opened the balcony door and walked into the living room.
The conversation in the kitchen stopped immediately.
Vadim nearly choked on his tea.
Margarita Pavlovna froze with a piece of pastry halfway to her mouth.
“Oh, Anya! We thought you were still at work,” her mother-in-law said with an obviously false smile. “We were just having some tea and pastries.”
Anna walked silently to the desk, pulled out the plastic folder, returned to the kitchen, and dropped it onto the table in front of her husband.
“What is this?” Vadim asked, although his face had already lost all color.
“That is exactly what I would like to know, Vadik,” Anna replied in an icy voice. “What is this seven-hundred-thousand-ruble loan? And why does this mortgage calculation include a down payment that almost exactly matches the value of my apartment?”
“You went through my things?” Vadim shouted, attempting to turn the accusation against her. “What gave you the right?”
“I was searching for the utility bills, which, incidentally, you have not paid in four months,” Anna snapped. “You also stopped paying for groceries, internet, parking, and nearly everything else in this household.”
“Do not raise your voice at your husband!” Margarita Pavlovna interrupted as she struggled to her feet. “So he took out a loan. What is the tragedy? He is my son, and he wanted to help repair my country house. Families are supposed to help one another!”
“Families?” Anna gave a humorless laugh. “A family is made up of people who care about one another. You entered my home, ruined my belongings, threw away my food, lived entirely at my expense, and then discussed how to pressure me into selling my property so you could secure a comfortable future for yourself in a new apartment.”
“You misunderstood everything,” Vadim said quickly.
He reached for her wrist, but Anna pulled away in disgust.
“I understood perfectly. I was standing on the balcony for the last ten minutes.”
Red blotches spread across Margarita Pavlovna’s face.
Realizing there was no longer any reason to pretend, she launched into an open attack.
“Who do you think you are, throwing money in our faces? You greedy little parasite! You attached yourself to my son! He has wasted the best years of his life on you while living in this miserable hole! Any normal wife would have transferred everything into her husband’s name so he could feel like the head of the family. But you care about nothing except your money!”
“My miserable hole?” Anna stepped closer to the table. “Excellent. In that case, neither of you has any reason to remain here. Pack your belongings. Both of you.”
“What?” Vadim stared at her. “Anya, have you lost your mind? Where are we supposed to go? It’s already nighttime!”
“I do not care,” Anna said calmly. “You can stay in a hotel. You can go to the railway station. You have one hour. If you are still here after that, I will call the police and report that strangers are refusing to leave my apartment.”
“You have no right!” Margarita Pavlovna shrieked. “Vadik is your lawful husband! He has every right to live here! You paid the mortgage together!”
“The apartment and mortgage were both acquired before the marriage. Every payment during the marriage came from my personal account, where the income from my business is deposited. I have complete bank records,” Anna said, looking down at them. “You did not invest a single ruble in this apartment, Vadim, and a court will establish that very easily.”
She paused before delivering the final blow.
“Tomorrow morning, I am filing for divorce.”
“You’re insane!” Vadim roared, jumping to his feet. “You are destroying our family over an apartment!”
“There was no family, Vadik. There was only a convenient sponsor, and that sponsor was me. Your hour has begun.”
The next sixty minutes were the loudest in the history of the apartment.
Margarita Pavlovna stormed through the rooms, throwing belongings into suitcases and cursing Anna, Anna’s parents, her flowers, and the entire city.
Vadim shifted constantly between threats and pathetic pleading. He promised to change, swore that he would fix everything, and offered to send his mother home immediately.
Anna sat in an armchair with her arms folded, silently watching the performance.
Strangely, she felt completely calm.
When the front door finally slammed behind them, Anna walked to the window and opened it wide, allowing cool, fresh air to pour into the room.
The smell of fried fish and other people’s ambitions needed to disappear as quickly as possible.
Several months later, Anna’s life had settled into an entirely new rhythm.
The divorce was completed surprisingly quickly.
Once Vadim understood that he had no realistic chance of claiming part of the apartment, he attempted to make Anna responsible for half of his personal loan. He insisted that the money had been spent on “family needs.”
However, he had no receipts to prove it.
The workers who had renovated Margarita Pavlovna’s country house confirmed exactly where the money had gone.
Vadim was left alone with his debts.
Anna changed the locks the day after he moved out.
She rearranged the furniture, bought a new and even softer blanket for the sofa, and replaced the ruined crepe pan with one that was better than the original.
Her floral business began to thrive.
Once she was free from constant emotional pressure and no longer forced to finance her husband’s endless needs, she rented the neighboring commercial space and opened professional floristry courses.
Vadim tried to contact her several times.
He sent long messages saying that he had made a terrible mistake and that he missed her. He also complained that living with his mother in her tiny apartment was unbearable.
Margarita Pavlovna criticized every expense and forced him to hand over his entire salary to repay the loan.
Anna rarely finished reading the messages.
She simply moved them to the archive.
Now, after a long day at work, she opened the door to her apartment and breathed in the comforting aroma of eucalyptus and freshly brewed coffee.
Her home was peaceful again.
And no one would ever tell her where to place her sink or what curtains she was allowed to hang.
