The entrance hall greeted Elena with its usual smell of fried potatoes and someone’s cheap chlorine cleaner. She wearily leaned her shoulder against the wall, waiting for the elevator. Her legs were aching as if she had spent the whole day not sorting papers in the district court office, but unloading coal wagons. In a moral sense, though, that was exactly what it felt like: the day had been insane — three hearings in a row, hysterics in the corridor, a lost case file that the whole department searched for and finally found behind the safe.
She wanted only one thing: silence. To take off her shoes, stretch out her legs, and have no one touch her for at least half an hour. But she knew that at home, such luxury was forbidden.
The elevator creaked as it crawled down. The doors opened, and out stepped Zinaida Pavlovna from the third floor — a woman with X-ray eyes and a tongue capable of bringing someone to a heart attack faster than supermarket prices.
“Oh, Lenochka! I was just thinking about you,” Zinaida Pavlovna spread into a smile that promised nothing good. She blocked the elevator exit with her body, placing her wheeled shopping bag right on Elena’s foot. “Coming from work? You must be tired, poor thing.”
“Hello, Zinaida Pavlovna. Yes, there’s a lot of work,” Elena tried to get around the obstacle, but the neighbor did not move.
“Of course there’s a lot. Now you have to try twice as hard. You have to work off that little apartment.”
Elena froze. Her hand, reaching for the floor button, hung in the air.
“What do you mean — work it off? I pay the mortgage on time, if that’s what you mean.”
The neighbor giggled, covering her mouth with her plump hand.
“Oh, come on, don’t play poor with me. Galina Petrovna told us everything. What a saintly woman she is, truly a golden person. She said she let her daughter-in-law live there out of mercy, registered her there, and you, she says, have the nerve to show attitude. She says the apartment is hers, bought with her own blood and sweat, and you’re only there on sufferance until you give her a grandson.”
Something thudded in Elena’s temples. Heavy, dull. As if someone had struck a cast-iron radiator with a hammer.
“What did she say?” Elena’s voice became quiet, and those very notes appeared in it that terrified interns at the courthouse.
“Well, that the apartment is hers. That she bought it before your Oleg’s wedding, and it was registered in your name only fictitiously, to avoid taxes. We women in the courtyard thought you were managing on your own, but it turns out your mother-in-law provided everything. You should take care of her, Lenochka. If she throws you out, where will you go? With your government salary.”
Zinaida Pavlovna clicked her tongue sympathetically and finally freed the passage, rolling her bag toward the exit. The elevator doors closed, cutting Elena off from the world that had just been turned upside down.
Elena stood in the cabin, looking at her reflection in the cloudy mirror. A pale face, tired eyes, a strict bun. She remembered how five years ago she had sold her grandmother’s one-room apartment in the province, added all her savings, got into debt, took night jobs drafting lawsuits, just to buy this spacious two-room apartment. She had loved Oleg madly back then, but she had registered everything in her own name — a professional deformation, a habit of protecting herself in advance. Galina Petrovna hadn’t even come to the housewarming then. She had said, “Your district is full of criminals. I won’t set foot there.”
And six months ago, her mother-in-law had appeared with a suitcase.
“Oh, Lenochka, they’re renovating my bathroom, changing the pipes. It’s impossible to live there — dust, banging. I’ll stay with you for a week.”
The week stretched into a month. Then two. Galina Petrovna quietly occupied the kitchen, rearranged the jars of grains — “it’s more convenient this way” — replaced the curtains in the living room with her own heavy velvet ones that smelled of mothballs. Oleg, soft-hearted and devoted to his mother, only shrugged. “Len, just be patient. She helps, doesn’t she? Look, she made borscht.”
The borscht was oversalted, and Elena’s nerves were stretched tight as a string. But what she had just heard went far beyond ordinary household rudeness. This was war.
Elena opened the door with her key. The smell of fried onions hit her nose — thick and clinging. From the kitchen came her mother-in-law’s voice, loudly talking on the phone.
“…Yes, Valyusha, can you imagine? I tell her: take those curtains down, they steal the light. And she says to me, ‘This is my design.’ What design? They have no taste. Never mind, I’ll slowly redo everything my way. In the end, who’s the mistress here? I am. And she should be grateful I didn’t throw her out into the cold with nothing but her bare behind, excuse me.”
Elena quietly closed the door. She did not burst into the kitchen screaming. Years of work in the court system had taught her: emotions are the enemy. Cold calculation is your friend. If you want to win a case, you need evidence and witnesses.
She went into the bedroom and changed into home clothes. Her hands were trembling slightly, but her head was clear. On the nightstand lay the folder with the apartment documents — Elena had taken them out a few days earlier to arrange insurance. She opened the folder.
Empty.
Her heart skipped a beat. She rummaged through the desk drawers. The ownership certificate, the purchase agreement, the extracts — everything had disappeared.
Elena stepped into the hallway. Galina Petrovna was just gliding out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of pies before her like a royal regalia.
“Oh, you’ve shown up,” her mother-in-law threw at her instead of a greeting. “Eat while they’re hot. You’re always skinny as a dried fish. Is Oleg coming soon?”
“Galina Petrovna,” Elena tried to speak evenly. “Have you seen my documents? A blue folder. It was lying on the nightstand in the bedroom.”
Her mother-in-law did not even blink. She placed the plate on the small table in the hallway and began fixing her hair in front of the mirror.
“I put them away. They were lying around gathering dust. I was tidying up.”
“Where did you put them?”
“In a safe place.”
“Galina Petrovna, those are my documents for my apartment. Please return them.”
Her mother-in-law turned toward her with her whole body. In her eyes there was genuine, undisguised indignation and some evil spark.
“Yours?” she smirked. “My dear, if it weren’t for my Oleg, you’d still be in your village twisting cows’ tails. My son and I decided it would be better this way. The documents can stay with me for now. A family archive, so to speak. Besides, it was interesting to read how much money you throw around. Quite a sum you put in that contract!”
Elena took a deep breath. She understood the tactic. Her mother-in-law was not merely lying to the neighbors — she had begun to believe her own lie. And she had taken the documents not for “order,” but to find leverage or, God forbid, try to use them somehow. This was a seizure of territory. A creeping annexation of square meters.
“All right,” Elena said. “Let them stay there.”
She turned and went into the bathroom. She turned on the water to create a curtain of noise, but she did not call anyone. Why would she? She was a lawyer herself. Elena took out her smartphone; her fingers quickly moved across the screen. The public services app, then the Rosreestr section. A request for an extract from the Unified State Register of Real Estate. She knew that as the owner, she could get the document electronically within minutes. The state fee payment went through instantly.
“Well then, Galina Petrovna,” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror. “Let’s play by the law.”
She also quickly entered her mother-in-law’s apartment address into the search — the very apartment where the eternal pipe repairs were supposedly taking place. The system’s answer came ten minutes later, when Elena was already drying her hands with a towel. She read the text on the screen, and her eyebrows rose. Her exhaustion vanished as if by magic. In its place came anger — cold, calculating, professional anger, like that of a prosecutor catching a criminal red-handed.
In the evening, Oleg came home. He was, as always, tired and infinitely far from domestic wars. They ate dinner in silence. Galina Petrovna demonstratively put the best pieces of meat onto her son’s plate while ignoring Elena’s.
“Son,” the mother-in-law began when tea had been poured. “I’ve been thinking. We need to rehang wallpaper in the big room. Those gray walls make everything gloomy. I’ve already picked some out — beige, with golden monograms. It will look luxurious.”
“Mom, what wallpaper?” Oleg waved her off weakly. “The renovation is fine. Lena likes it.”
“What does Lena have to do with it?” Galina Petrovna snorted. “We all live here. The eye should be pleased. And in general, I think we should change the locks. The neighbor has keys, who knows what could happen. I’ll install my own, reliable ones.”
Elena slowly stirred sugar in her cup. Clink, clink, clink — the spoon struck the porcelain.
“And why do you need to change the locks, Galina Petrovna?” she asked without raising her eyes. “You’ll be going home soon. Your renovation must be finished by now, surely? Six months have passed.”
Her mother-in-law froze with a piece of pie in her mouth. Oleg tensed, sensing the air growing heavy.
“What do you mean, home?” Galina Petrovna chewed and set the pie aside. “I’m fine here. I help my son. And my apartment… let it stand. It will go to the grandchildren.”
“To the grandchildren?” Elena repeated. “Or perhaps to tenants?”
Galina Petrovna turned red. Crimson blotches spread along her neck and climbed toward her cheeks.
“Don’t you keep track of my property! That is none of your business!”
“Mom, Lena, stop it,” Oleg pleaded. “Let’s live peacefully.”
“We won’t be able to live peacefully, Oleg,” Elena stood up from the table. “Because today your mother announced to the whole courtyard that I am nobody in this apartment. That she bought it, and let me live here out of pity. And that soon she’ll drive me out of here.”
Oleg shifted his bewildered gaze to his mother.
“Mom? Is that true?”
“Why are you listening to her?” Galina Petrovna shrieked, jumping up. The chair fell with a crash. “She makes everything up! She gathers gossip! I try so hard for you, I don’t sleep nights, and she… We warmed a snake at our breast! Yes, I said there should be one mistress here! And that mistress is the husband’s mother! And you, girl, should know your place!”
Elena silently left the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with a tablet on which a file was open.
“Here is how it is,” her voice rang with steel. “Galina Petrovna. Here is a fresh extract from the Unified State Register of Real Estate. I ordered it half an hour ago. The owner of this apartment is me. Me alone. It was purchased before marriage. By law, neither you nor Oleg has any relation to it.”
She placed the tablet on the table. Her mother-in-law did not even look at it.
“Your papers mean nothing! I live here, I’m registered here… I mean, temporarily registered! You won’t throw me out! The court is on the side of pensioners!”
“You are right, I work in court,” Elena nodded. “And I know the laws perfectly well. Your temporary registration expired a week ago. I did not extend it. Right now, you are here illegally.”
“Oleg! Tell her!” Galina Petrovna clutched at her heart. “They’re throwing out their own mother!”
Oleg sat with his head in his hands. He was ashamed. Ashamed of his mother, ashamed before his wife.
“But that’s not all,” Elena continued. “Today I learned something interesting. Your apartment at 45 Lenin Street. You said there was renovation there?”
“Renovation! They’re changing the pipes!” her mother-in-law shouted.
“There is no renovation there. And there are no pipes. And you haven’t been there for a long time. You gifted that apartment to your younger son, Vitalik, three months ago. Signed a deed of gift. And Vitalik, as everyone knows, is a cheerful fellow who loves parties and fast money. He has already pledged it to a microfinance organization, and now some dubious people are living there while he drinks away what’s left.”
A ringing silence hung in the kitchen. Only the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the hallway clock could be heard. Galina Petrovna turned so pale she looked like plaster. She sank onto the stool, gasping for air.
“How… how did you…”
“I told you, my job is to know everything,” Elena cut her off harshly. “You gave away your only home, hoping to settle forever with your ‘stupid’ daughter-in-law, drive me out, and reign here. You told all the neighbors that the apartment was yours to prepare the ground. So that when you threw me out, no one would be surprised.”
Oleg lifted his head. There were tears in his eyes.
“Mom… You gave the apartment to Vitalik? The same Vitalik who nearly gave me and Dad a heart attack five years ago? And you wanted to take Lena’s apartment away?”
“He changed!” Galina Petrovna whispered pitifully. “He needed money… for business… He promised I would live with you, and he would help me…”
“For business,” Oleg smiled bitterly. “For slot machines, Mom. Again.”
Elena went to the table, took a glass of water, and set it before her mother-in-law. Her hand no longer trembled.
“You declared my apartment your property? Well then, Mother-in-law, congratulations — now you’re homeless.”
Galina Petrovna raised eyes full of horror to her.
“You… you can’t… Where will I go? It’s nighttime!”
“That is not my problem,” Elena answered calmly. “You have your beloved son Vitalik. Go to him. Or go to the apartment you gifted him and sort things out with his creditors. But you will not stay here another minute.”
“Oleg!” her mother-in-law howled.
Oleg stood up. He approached his mother, but he did not embrace her. He took her by the elbow.
“Pack your things, Mom. Lena is right.”
“You’re throwing out your mother? For this… this…”
“I’m not throwing you out. I’m calling you a taxi to Vitalik’s. You made your choice. You wanted to take my wife’s home away from her. You lied to me for six months. Pack.”
The packing was short and stormy. Her mother-in-law cursed, cried, clung to doorframes, shouted out the window, calling the neighbors as witnesses. But Elena was unyielding. She stood in the bedroom doorway with her arms crossed and watched as Galina Petrovna stuffed her velvet curtains into bags.
When Oleg led his mother with her suitcase onto the stair landing, they ran into Zinaida Pavlovna again — apparently, she had been on duty at the peephole.
“Galina Petrovna? Where are you going at this hour?” curiosity was bursting out of the neighbor.
Elena stepped out after them and said loudly, so the whole floor could hear:
“Galina Petrovna is moving to her own grand estate, Zinaida Pavlovna. She did tell you she was a wealthy property owner, didn’t she? So now she’s going to inspect her holdings. After all, simple ‘tenants’ like us can’t afford such grandeur.”
The neighbor looked in confusion from the red-faced mother-in-law to the calm daughter-in-law.
The elevator closed. Elena returned to the apartment. Oleg came back twenty minutes later. He silently sat down on the sofa, staring at one point, and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
“I carried her suitcases downstairs and put her in a taxi,” he said dully. “She went to Vitalik’s. She called him in front of me. He shouted, but said she could come.”
“Good,” Elena said simply.
“Len… it’s not even about the apartment,” Oleg’s voice trembled. “It’s about the fact that she knew everything. She knew Vitalik would squander it all. She knew she would be left with nothing. And she cold-bloodedly decided to use us as her eternal fallback airfield, driving you out of your own home. She chose him, the gambling addict, and we were supposed to pay for it. That’s what I can’t wrap my head around.”
Elena sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. Exhaustion returned with renewed force, but this was a different kind of exhaustion — pleasant. Like after a deep cleaning, when all the junk has been thrown out.
“It’s all right, Oleg. We’ll get through it. The main thing is that now we know the truth. And you know what?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow we’ll change the locks. And I’ll order that wallpaper. Only not beige with monograms, but light green. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”
The next day at work, Elena was again buried in cases. But she worked lightly, with a smile. At lunch, she ran into Zinaida Pavlovna at the courthouse — the neighbor had come to pay some state fee. Seeing Elena, she pursed her lips, then looked around, came closer, and whispered:
“Lenochka, it really is true… The district police officer came to our courtyard today, looking for Vitalik. They say there are some schemes with the apartment. Oh, how clever you were not to let yourself be mistreated. And your mother-in-law… she turned out to be quite the swindler.”
Elena merely smiled at the corners of her lips.
“Everything hidden becomes clear, Zinaida Pavlovna. Have a good day.”
She walked down the courthouse corridor, her heels clicking. In her handbag lay the receipt for the installation of a new armored door. Now it truly was her fortress. And no invader, even one armed with pies and “the best intentions,” would ever get through again.
A week later, Elena learned from Oleg that Galina Petrovna was living in Vitalik’s kitchen, sleeping on a folding cot because her son’s “friends” occupied the rooms. She called Oleg, begged to come back, promised to be quieter than water and lower than grass. But Oleg, for the first time in his life showing firmness, said, “Sort out your property yourself, Mom.”
Elena did not gloat. She no longer cared. She simply enjoyed coming home and smelling her own coffee, not someone else’s mothballs. And the silence.
Her own, legal, honestly earned silence.