“You’re Nobody Here! Pack Your Things!” the Husband Declared. But His Wife Silently Pulled Out the Will
— Are you really that stingy?
Darina didn’t look away from her laptop screen. Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, filling in cells in the project estimate. Her back had already begun to ache after three hours of working at the kitchen table, but she tried not to pay attention to it.
— I’m not stingy, Syoma. I simply don’t have the money.
Semyon noisily pulled back a stool and sat down opposite her. He drummed his fingers on the plastic tabletop.
— What do you mean you don’t have it? You got an advance payment yesterday for that project outside the city. I saw the notification on your phone.
— That advance is set aside for the dentist. I need an implant. I told you about it a month ago. The doctor has already drawn up the treatment plan.
— The implant can wait. It’s a back tooth—you can’t even see it when you smile! And I need to buy winter tires now, before prices shoot up for the season. Don’t you understand that this is about my safety on the road?
Darina stopped working. She slowly closed the laptop and looked at her husband.
— Your safety, Syoma, can be solved very easily. Find a job with a salary that covers the cost of maintaining your car instead of asking your wife for money when she’s been paying for all the groceries and utilities for the last six months.
— I’m not asking! I’m suggesting that we redistribute the family budget. My sales at the dealership are temporarily unstable. That’s the market, Darina! One day you make money, the next day you don’t.
— You haven’t been making money for eight months.
— Don’t start.
Semyon leaned back irritably on the stool.
— We were talking normally. Why do you immediately get defensive? I’m not asking for money to go partying. This is practical. The car feeds both of us.
— The car drives you from home to the dealership and back. It doesn’t feed me at all. I work remotely.
— Exactly! You sit at home where it’s warm, while I’m running around all day. Fine, forget it. Let’s eat. What are we having tonight?
Darina looked at the empty stove.
— Nothing. I didn’t have time to cook. The project is urgent. I have to submit it tomorrow morning.
— What do you mean, nothing? — Semyon exclaimed indignantly. — I come home from work starving, and there’s nothing to eat? You’ve been home all day!
— I was working, Syoma. On the computer. Earning that very advance payment you’ve already planned to spend on your tires. If you’re hungry, cook some pasta. There are sausages in the fridge.
Semyon snorted.
— Pasta. Am I married or living in a student dormitory? Mom always said freelancing isn’t a real job. It’s just an excuse for lazy women who don’t want to take care of the house.
— If Klara Tikhonovna misses domestic life so much, you can go have dinner at her place. I’m sure she’s made a pot of borscht for her exhausted little boy.
— Leave my mother out of this. By the way, she’s coming tomorrow.
Darina froze.
— Why?
— What do you mean, why? Uncle Zhenya died three weeks ago. We haven’t even been to his apartment since then. It’s time to see what condition it’s in. Figure out the scale of the disaster.
— The scale of the disaster? — Darina repeated quietly.
— Well, yes. That place hasn’t been renovated in forty years. Mom wants to invite an appraiser this weekend, but first we need to assess the situation ourselves. See what needs to be thrown away and what can be kept.
— You’re planning to assess Zhenya’s apartment now? Without even waiting forty days after his death?
Semyon waved dismissively.
— What difference does it make—forty days or six months? The paperwork is already underway anyway. At least we won’t waste time. The real estate market is down right now, so we need to move quickly. We’ll sell this wreck, buy me a decent Japanese car at auction, and put the rest in the bank to earn interest.
Darina stared at her husband as a strange numbness slowly spread inside her.
Five years.
For five years, she had traveled across the entire city every single day to that “wreck.”
— So, a Japanese car at auction, — she said without expression.
— Exactly! I’ve already looked at a few options. Mom agrees. She’s the only first-degree heir—she’s his sister, after all. I’m his nephew. It all stays in the family. Oh, and tomorrow, help clean the place up. Mom can’t tolerate dust. It triggers her allergies.
— She can’t tolerate dust, — Darina repeated.
— Darinochka, why are you repeating everything like a parrot? Yes, she can’t tolerate it. That’s why she hasn’t visited Uncle Zhenya for the last few years. Why ruin her health? That’s what caregivers are for. Besides, you volunteered to look after him yourself.
— I volunteered? — Darina’s voice trembled, but she quickly regained control. — Syoma, I asked you to hire a professional caregiver when Zhenya became unable to get out of bed. We were living in a rented studio apartment, and we didn’t have extra money. Your mother said seeing sick people made her blood pressure rise, and you said hiring someone was too expensive.
— Well, we saved money!
— You saved money. And I emptied his bedpan for five years.
— Oh, don’t start acting like Mother Teresa! — Semyon raised his voice. — You looked after him, so what? We’re family. That’s what families do. Besides, you stayed there three days a week. You got a break from me.
Darina slowly rose from the table.
— A break.
— Yes! Uncle Zhenya had a three-bedroom apartment downtown. You could sit there and draw your projects. Sounds pretty nice to me! Fine, enough arguing. Tomorrow at ten, Mom and I will be there. Get there earlier, air out the rooms, and put the old junk into garbage bags.
— I’m not going there tomorrow to throw out his belongings, Syoma.
— And why not?
— Because I have work. And because it isn’t your apartment, so you don’t get to decide what happens there.
Semyon laughed.
— Then whose is it? Yours? Darinochka, you know absolutely nothing about the law. Mom is the direct heir. So tomorrow, be a good girl and show up to help. Otherwise Mom will be offended, and you know how much of a headache she can become.
Semyon stood up, stretched, and headed toward the bathroom.
— I’m not cooking the sausages. Order pizza with your dental money if you’re too lazy to cook.
Darina remained standing in the middle of the kitchen.
The next day, exactly at ten in the morning, Semyon and Klara Tikhonovna stood in the spacious living room of the late Uncle Zhenya’s apartment.
Klara Tikhonovna moved the red beam of a laser measuring device across the walls, making notes in a thick notebook.
— We won’t touch the load-bearing wall here. We’ll simply widen the opening, — she told her son without interrupting her measurements. — Naturally, all the furniture goes to the dump. Nobody would take this old cabinet even for free online.
Semyon lazily nudged the old carpet with the toe of his shoe.
— Mom, why widen anything? Buyers don’t care about door openings. Location is what matters. This neighborhood is excellent. Let’s just sell it as is. Why waste money on renovations?
— You know nothing about real estate, — Klara Tikhonovna said, making another note. — If we remove all the junk and do some light cosmetic renovations, the price will increase by fifteen percent.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Darina didn’t immediately remove her shoes. She simply walked into the room. She was wearing the same clothes as the day before.
Her mother-in-law stopped aiming the laser at the ceiling and turned around.
— Ah, Darinochka. You finally decided to show up. We’ve already been working here for an hour. I told Syoma to tell you to come earlier and pack up my brother’s personal belongings.
— Good morning, Klara Tikhonovna, — Darina said, stopping at the entrance to the living room. — I came when I was able to.
— Irresponsible, — her mother-in-law snapped, putting the measuring device into her bag. — But that’s nothing new. Fine, take the garbage bags. They’re in the hallway. Start with the dresser. It’s full of old underwear and medication. Everything needs to be thrown away today.
— I’m not throwing anything away.
Klara Tikhonovna froze.
Slowly, she adjusted the collar of her immaculate blouse.
— Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?
— You did. Evgeny’s things will remain exactly where they are. At least until I decide to sort through them myself. Slowly. And without garbage bags.
Semyon rolled his eyes.
— Here we go again. Darinochka, is it PMS? Spare us the drama. We’re busy. Mom came to evaluate the apartment.
— There’s nothing for her to evaluate, — Darina said, taking a step forward. — This apartment is not being sold.
Her mother-in-law smirked. It was a short, barking laugh.
— Sweetheart, who exactly is asking you? You’re nobody here. You don’t even have proper permanent registration, only temporary registration at your studio apartment. Legally, you’re a complete stranger who merely provided services to my brother. And, incidentally, you got to live here for free in exchange.
— For free, — Darina nodded. — Is that really what you think?
— Absolutely! — Klara Tikhonovna declared. — It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. You looked after him, and he gave you a roof over your head downtown. We’re even. In fact, after the sale, I’m even prepared to give you a small amount of compensation from my own money for the time you spent.
— How generous. Yet when he needed a pressure-relief mattress costing forty thousand rubles, for some reason your generosity disappeared.
— I didn’t have any spare money! — her mother-in-law snapped.
— But Syoma did. For new alloy wheels.
Semyon bristled.
— Again with those wheels! Yes, I bought them! I’m a man. I need status. And you paid for the mattress yourself, so what’s the big deal?
— Yes, I did. With the very same advance payment that had been intended for my medical treatment.
Klara Tikhonovna slapped her palm against the table.
— Enough! Counting other people’s money is bad manners. The apartment is mine. I’m his biological sister. I’m inheriting it. You can pack up your little drawings and go back to your studio apartment.
— She won’t be going back to the studio, — Semyon added spitefully. — She’ll make my life hell there with all her resentment. Let her go stay with her mother outside the city. She can cool down there.
Darina pulled a sheet of paper folded in half from her jacket pocket.
Just an ordinary piece of paper, without any fancy folder.
— I’m not going outside the city, Syoma. And I’m not going back to the studio.
She handed the paper to her mother-in-law.
— What is this? — Klara Tikhonovna asked, taking the sheet between two fingers with obvious disgust.
— Read it.
Her mother-in-law put on her glasses and began reading.
With every passing second, her perfect posture became increasingly rigid.
Semyon couldn’t stand the suspense. He walked over and peered over his mother’s shoulder.
— What is it? Utility bills? I told you she should pay those herself!
— Shut up, — Klara Tikhonovna rasped.
She looked up at her daughter-in-law.
Her expression was no longer authoritative.
It was bewildered.
— This… this is fake.
— It’s a will, — Darina replied evenly. — A genuine one. It was certified by a notary a year ago. Evgeny had the notary come here to the apartment.
— What will?! — Semyon snatched the paper away. His eyes darted across the lines. — To whom?! You?! You were nobody to him! You’re a stranger!
— A stranger, — Darina agreed. — And his biological sister came here twice in five years. Once for his birthday to eat salad, and the second time the day before yesterday to measure the walls with a laser.
— He had no right! — Klara Tikhonovna shouted. — He was sick! He didn’t know what he was doing! You drugged him with pills and forced him to sign it!
— He knew perfectly well what he was doing, Klara Tikhonovna. His legs stopped working, not his mind. And he saw everything. He saw who sat beside him through the night and who hid behind an allergy to dust.
— We’ll challenge it! — Semyon shrieked. — I’ll hire the best lawyers! We’ll prove he wasn’t mentally competent!
— Good luck, — Darina said with a shrug. — The will comes with a medical report. He underwent a full medical evaluation that same day. Specifically so that you wouldn’t have a chance of overturning it.
Semyon stared blankly at the document.
His mind simply couldn’t process the fact that his brand-new SUV had just vanished, leaving nothing behind but this stupid sheet of paper.
— Darinochka… — Semyon suddenly tried to change his tone, making his voice soft and ingratiating. — Come on. Why are you being so harsh? We’re family. Fine, he left it to you. Good for Uncle Zhenya. Fair enough. We’ll sell it together. Buy me a car, and for you… well, we’ll buy you some clothes. We’ll even fix your tooth!
Darina looked at her husband with disgust and made no attempt to hide it.
— Syoma. Take your mother. Take her measuring device. And get out.
— What do you mean, get out?! — Semyon exclaimed. — I’m your lawful husband! I have the right to live here! This is marital property!
— It’s inherited property. You have no claim to it.
— You’re throwing your husband out onto the street?! — Klara Tikhonovna clutched her chest. — Over a few square meters?! Where is your conscience?!
— In the same place as your brother’s pressure-relief mattress. Get out.
Semyon clenched his fists.
— When we divorce, I’ll take everything from you! You’ll walk out of that studio apartment with nothing but the underwear you’re wearing!
— You can keep the studio, — Darina replied calmly. — I don’t need it anymore. I’ll file for divorce tomorrow.
She stepped aside, clearing the way toward the hallway.
— Out.
Her mother-in-law opened her mouth, preparing another tirade about lawsuits and justice, but then met Darina’s gaze.
There was neither fear nor doubt in it.
Klara Tikhonovna grabbed her bag and headed toward the door.
Semyon followed behind her, muttering threats under his breath.
Two months later, Darina stood in the living room.
The room smelled of primer and fresh paint. In the end, she had decided to remove the old cabinet, but she left the structural openings untouched.
New construction tools lay in the corner.
Darina ran her hand over the smooth, freshly plastered wall.
Mutual acquaintances occasionally brought her gossip.
Semyon was living with his mother. Klara Tikhonovna had quickly brought her son under control and made him pay exactly half of all utility bills.
Now Semyon complained to anyone who would listen that his life was unbearable and that all the women around him were greedy creatures who cared only about money.
Darina paid no attention to any of it.
She needed to finish the renovations before winter.
She took out her phone and called the contractor to discuss the delivery of construction materials for the following day.
For the first time in a very long while, she genuinely did not care what anyone thought of her.