“If I’m Nothing Without Your Son, Then Why Is He Living in My Apartment and Driving My Car for the Second Year?” the Daughter-in-Law Asked
“Anton, look at you! You finally bought yourself a decent car!” Tamara Pavlovna even moved away from the table so she could get a better look at the dark-colored vehicle parked outside the building.
Marina had not even taken off her jacket yet.
She had only just entered her mother-in-law’s apartment, greeted the relatives, and put her bag on the cabinet in the hallway when Tamara Pavlovna noticed the car through the kitchen window.
“I always said my son would do well for himself,” she continued, now addressing her sister Valentina. “First he got an apartment, and now he’s got himself a proper car. All on his own, with his own hard work.”
Marina slowly unbuttoned her jacket.
Anton was sitting at the table with Uncle Sergey and his cousin Ilya. Hearing his mother, he raised his head, looked at his wife, and immediately lowered his eyes back to his plate.
Marina chose not to correct her mother-in-law.
Not yet.
She had come straight from work. It had been a difficult day: two meetings in a row, urgent changes to a project, and then traffic leaving the business district. The last thing she wanted was to begin the evening by explaining to her husband’s relatives who actually owned the car parked beneath the windows.
Especially because this was not the first time something like this had happened.
“Nice car,” Uncle Sergey said approvingly. “I took a look at it in the courtyard. Anton must have spent a long time choosing it, huh?”
Anton smirked.
“We chose a decent one.”
Once again, he said nothing more.
Marina took off her shoes, walked into the kitchen, and sat beside her husband.
Tamara Pavlovna was beaming.
“I’ve always said the most important thing for a man is to get serious at the right time. Anton changed completely after he got married. A proper home, a good car. Marina got lucky.”
Valentina nodded in agreement.
“It’s hard to find a husband like that these days.”
Marina picked up a napkin, folded it in half, and placed it beside her plate.
Anton nudged her lightly with his knee under the table, as if asking her not to pay attention.
For some reason, that gesture irritated her more than Tamara Pavlovna’s words.
In the past, Marina really had ignored it.
She and Anton had met three years earlier at the birthday party of a mutual acquaintance. Nothing remarkable had happened that evening. He had not tried to impress her, had not talked about grand plans, and had not pretended to be the kind of man who could solve every problem in the world.
They had simply started talking.
Anton turned out to be easygoing, funny, and not pushy at all. A few days later, he messaged her and suggested meeting again. Then came more dates, trips outside the city, movies, and walks through the city center in the evenings.
They dated for almost a year without rushing to move in together.
Marina liked that pace.
She was thirty-two, and by that age she had become used to making decisions for herself. She had a job, her own social circle, an apartment, and plans for the next several years.
She was not desperate to get married at any cost.
Anton did not pressure her either.
About ten months into the relationship, when the subject of living together came up, it happened quite casually.
His apartment lease was ending.
One evening, he was sitting in Marina’s kitchen when he said:
“I can rent another place, of course. But we spend half the week together anyway. Maybe we should try actually living together?”
Marina thought about it.
“Let’s try.”
“If we start getting on each other’s nerves, I’ll move out.”
“Deal.”
Anton moved in with several boxes, a computer chair, a coffee machine, and an enormous cactus that Marina disliked from the very first day because it took up half the windowsill.
A few months later, they realized that they lived together quite comfortably.
That was when they registered their marriage.
By then, the apartment had belonged to Marina for a long time.
She had bought the two-bedroom apartment before she ever met Anton.
Her parents had helped her with the down payment. They had not paid for the whole apartment or simply gifted her a home; they had helped her gather the amount she needed in order to qualify for the mortgage.
Marina paid the rest herself.
For several years, she tried to pay more than the required monthly payment, put bonuses toward the loan, and avoided expensive unnecessary purchases. When the remaining balance became relatively small, she paid off the mortgage early.
She made the final payment about six months before the wedding.
Anton knew all of this perfectly well.
He had even gone to the bank with her when she collected the documents confirming the loan had been closed.
At the time, he had been genuinely happy for her.
“That’s it. Now you can finally breathe.”
“Until I find my next financial problem.”
“You definitely will.”
They had laughed.
Back then, there had been no tension between them over the fact that a man was living in a woman’s apartment.
Anton paid part of their shared expenses, bought groceries, ordered household items, and handled small repairs whenever something broke.
Marina never told him:
“This is my apartment, so only I decide what happens here.”
She liked the fact that her husband treated the apartment as his home.
But gradually, it became clear that Anton’s relatives saw the story very differently.
The first warning sign appeared a few months after the wedding.
Tamara Pavlovna came to visit them and, while looking around the kitchen, said approvingly:
“Anton arranged everything nicely.”
Marina did not understand.
“What exactly?”
“The apartment. Good for him. He didn’t want to spend married life moving from one rental to another.”
Marina was about to explain when Anton shouted from the other room:
“Mom, come here. I want to show you the pictures from our trip.”
The conversation ended there.
But similar comments began appearing again and again.
“My Anton is so practical.”
“Anton did the right thing buying a two-bedroom apartment.”
“Anton really got on his feet quickly after getting married.”
At first Marina assumed Tamara Pavlovna simply did not know the details.
Perhaps her son had told her, “We live in our own apartment,” and she had filled in the rest herself.
Marina saw no reason to organize a family presentation complete with property documents.
Besides, at home Anton never took credit for her achievements.
At least not directly.
The second story involved the car.
Marina bought the vehicle a year after paying off her mortgage.
It was not an impulsive purchase. She had saved for a long time, compared different models, gone on test drives, and eventually chosen the car that suited her needs best.
Anton’s involvement was limited to advice.
“Don’t get that one. Maintenance is expensive.”
“I don’t like the transmission on this one.”
“Take a look at this one. It’s actually pretty good.”
The final decision was Marina’s.
The documents were registered in her name.
She paid for it herself as well.
For the first year, Marina drove the car constantly. Then she was transferred to remote work. She only needed to appear at the office once or twice a week at most.
The car began sitting near the house most of the time.
Anton had an old sedan of his own.
He drove it to work, but it needed repairs more and more often. First the alternator had to be replaced, then there were suspension problems, and after that something started knocking again.
One morning Anton left the house, came back five minutes later, and said:
“Mine won’t start again.”
“Take mine.”
“You don’t need it?”
“Not today.”
That was how the temporary arrangement began.
At first, Anton asked permission every time.
Eventually Marina herself said:
“If I need the car, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, just take it.”
A few months later Anton decided to sell his old car.
“I’m already spending too much money on it,” he explained to his wife. “While it’s still worth something, I’d rather sell it.”