Olga opened the apartment door and at first thought that Sergey had finally called in a repairman to look at the crooked kitchen cabinet door.
Standing in the hallway was an unfamiliar woman, around forty-five years old, holding a measuring tape and a notepad. She quickly measured the wall, peeked into the living room, and briskly asked:
“Have the windows been replaced recently?”
Olga set her bag of groceries down on the side table.
“Seven years ago. And who are you?”
The woman glanced over at Sergey.
For some reason, Sergey suddenly became very interested in his own shoelaces.
“Lena. Realtor,” the guest introduced herself. “Sergey asked me to do a preliminary appraisal of the apartment. Nothing serious, just checking the market.”
“Of course,” Olga replied. “Completely normal. I also sometimes come home to find someone appraising my apartment.”
Lena instantly realized this was not quite the family consultation she had been promised.
“Well, I’ll just send Sergey the numbers later then.”
Already by the door, she still managed to ask professionally:
“Will the kitchen set be included in the sale?”
“If Sergey keeps going at this rate,” Olga answered, “Sergey himself will be the first thing left behind.”
The realtor left.
Sergey closed the door and turned to his wife:
“Olga, why are you reacting like this? It’s just an appraisal.”
“Sergey, if I invite someone over tomorrow to appraise your garage, will you also say it’s just being curious?”
He was silent.
The garage comparison turned out to be unexpectedly on point.
It was Sergey himself who brought up the apartment a week ago.
They were having dinner, Olga was serving baked fish onto plates, when Sergey suddenly mentioned that Irina was going through a ‘difficult situation’ at the moment.
His younger sister Irina was expecting her second child. With her husband Pavel and their nine-year-old daughter Masha, she lived in a two-room apartment inherited after their father’s death.
Half of the apartment belonged to Irina, the other half to Sergey.
That’s how it had been for eight years.
Sergey didn’t live there and never asked his sister for money. He and Olga were perfectly settled in Olga’s three-room apartment, which she had inherited from her grandmother before they even got married.
Olga had never interfered in the relationship between her husband and his sister.
If Sergey didn’t want to take money from Irina, that was his business.
If he didn’t want to sell his share, that was also his business.
Up until his business decided to move into her apartment, imaginary moving boxes included.
“They’re getting cramped,” Sergey explained. “Right now Masha has one room, Ira and Pasha have the other. With a new baby on the way, it’ll be even more complicated.”
“Makes sense,” Olga said. “They need a bigger place.”
“Exactly. Mom says the same thing.”
That phrase didn’t sit well with Olga.
Not because Tamara Viktorovna was a terrifying woman whose phone calls could reportedly make pickles spoil. Not at all. Her mother-in-law was an ordinary woman: energetic, caring, and with a rare talent for finding solutions for other people’s lives.
Especially when those solutions didn’t involve her own money.
“Pasha doesn’t want a mortgage,” Sergey continued. “He says the interest rates are insane.”
“Then they should sell your two-room apartment.”
“Irina likes the neighborhood. The school is close, Mom is only three bus stops away.”
“Then they should buy a bigger place in the same area.”
“It’s too expensive there.”
Olga looked at her husband.
“Sergey, I can just sense that there’s a very interesting proposal coming my way soon.”
He even smiled.
— There is one option.
And it turned out to be quite an interesting option.
The idea was to sell Olga’s three-bedroom apartment.
Then buy two smaller apartments.
Olga and Sergey would live in one of them, and the second could help solve Irina’s housing situation.
Sergey spoke carefully. Not “give it to my sister,” of course.
Absolutely not.
He preferred to say “redistribute.”
Or “utilize our assets.”
Or “manage the space rationally.”
Olga especially appreciated the word “rationally.”
With this rational solution, she would have to give up an apartment that solely belonged to her, move into a place nearly half the size, while everyone else kept their apartments, shares, cars, garages, and summer homes.
— And why are we selling my apartment? she asked.
— Because it’s three bedrooms.
— Solid argument.
— Olga, there’s just the two of us. We really don’t need that much space.
— And your half of the apartment, do you and Irina need that?
Sergey frowned.
— What does that have to do with anything?
That was the end of their first conversation.
Olga figured the idea had been brought up, met with a cold reception, and would soon fade away.
But the idea proved surprisingly resilient.
Three days later, Tamara Viktorovna stopped by.
She brought printed-out listings.
— Look here, Olechka, her mother-in-law laid the sheets out on the kitchen table. — This one-bedroom apartment looks very nice. It’s a new building. Why do you and Sergey need three rooms?
— We keep one just in case relatives stop by to divide up the other two, Olga joked.
Tamara Viktorovna chose not to acknowledge the joke.
Turns out Irina had already researched several neighborhoods.
Pavel had looked into renovation costs.
Sergey had checked prices.
His mother called a friend who once sold a flat through a good realtor.
The craziest part was, the only person who could actually sell this apartment hadn’t asked anyone to do anything.
Then Lena showed up with a tape measure.
After she left, Olga stopped objecting.
On the contrary, she said to Sergey:
— Let’s invite everyone over on Saturday. If we’re going to deal with this housing situation, let’s do it properly.
Sergey clearly perked up.
He thought his wife had thought things through and was slowly coming around.
On Saturday, Tamara Viktorovna and Irina arrived first. Irina was five months pregnant and tired more easily, so Olga sat her right down at the table.
Pavel showed up a bit later.
He parked his three-year-old crossover in the courtyard and brought in a cake.
Sergey even bought some good ham.
The atmosphere truly felt like a small family celebration.
Olga put the kettle on and placed an ordinary notebook next to her.
— So, she began, I’ve thought it all over. Sergey is right about one thing: if we want to help Ira with housing, we need to use the family’s resources rationally.
Tamara Viktorovna beamed.
— See! I knew you were a sensible woman.
— So I’ve listed all the assets we could use.
Pavel stopped cutting the cake.
Olga started counting on her fingers.
— My three-bedroom apartment. Ira and Sergey’s two-bedroom. Sergey’s garage. Pavel’s car. Your summer cottage, Tamara Viktorovna. And the savings that Ira and Pavel have.
An awkward silence hung over the group.
— Why is my car included? Pavel was first to ask.
— We’ll figure it out.
Olga turned to Irina.
“Let’s start with your apartment. That’s the most obvious asset. Half of it belongs to you, half to Sergey. But only you live there. If you sell it altogether, each owner gets their half.”
Irina tensed up immediately.
“And where would we go?”
“You buy a bigger apartment. You have savings, and you add a loan.”
Pavel pushed his plate away.
“I already said, we’re not considering a mortgage.”
“Perfect. Then we’ll look for other resources.”
Olga looked over at her husband.
“Sergey owns a garage.”
Sergey even choked on his tea.
“Why would we sell the garage?”
“You go there two or three times a month. The car is parked in the yard.”
“But I keep my tires there. My tools.”
“You can store the tires at a seasonal storage. Move the tools.”
“Olga, the garage is a whole separate thing.”
“Of course.”
She marked a check in her notebook.
“Garage is out of the question. Noted.”
Sergey looked at her suspiciously.
Olga turned to Pavel.
“Your car is worth about two million now. You could sell it and buy one for about nine hundred thousand. That would free up over a million.”
Pavel laughed, but quickly realized he was the only one laughing.
“I need it to get to work.”
“You can drive a nine hundred thousand ruble car to work too.”
“I drive a lot.”
“Then for one million two hundred.”
“No, that’s a bit much.”
“Okay. We’ll leave the car alone.”
Tamara Viktorovna was starting to get the drift of the conversation, so when Olga looked at her, she said right away:
“Don’t even look at me.”
“Your dacha.”
“What dacha?!”
“Yours. Six acres, a little house. You’re there in July and August. The rest of the time it sits empty. If you sell it, a part of the money could go to Irina.”
Her mother-in-law straightened up.
“That dacha has been with Viktor and me our whole lives…”
And then she fell silent.
The dacha really was connected to her late husband.
Olga had no intention of taking it away and completely understood why Tamara Viktorovna cherished that place.
That’s exactly why she calmly said:
“So, the dacha is more important to you than making rational use of the property.”
“It’s about memories!”
“I’m not arguing.”
“Viktor planted the apple trees there.”
“I believe you.”
“And honestly, it’s strange comparing a dacha to an apartment.”
“Why? We’re combining family assets for the sake of the kids.”
Tamara Viktorovna looked at her son.
“Sergey, why are you so quiet?”
Sergey sat very still.
He had just almost had his garage sold right out from under him, and for the first time, the housing project started to feel less like a neat plan on paper and more like something unsettlingly real.
Olga closed her notebook.
“Now, here’s the most interesting part. Turns out, Irina’s apartment is off-limits because she’s used to the neighborhood. Sergey’s garage is off-limits because of his tools. Pavel’s car is off-limits because he drives a lot. Your dacha is off-limits because of the memories. But my apartment? That’s apparently fair game.”
“But you have three rooms,” Irina said softly.
“Irina, that’s not an illness.”
Pavel coughed, hiding a smile.
“It’s my apartment,” Olga continued. “I inherited it from my grandmother before I got married. I grew up here. We renovated it, have lived here for ten years. And I don’t see any reason to sell it just because you’ve decided every kid needs their own room and Pavel needs an office.”
“Actually, I do need an office for work,” Pavel pointed out.
— And Sergey gets a garage for his tools. I get it now: everyone gets what they need.
Sergey grimaced.
— Olya, you’re just exaggerating everything on purpose now.
— No. I just applied your logic to everyone, not just myself.
Tamara Viktorovna put the flyers back in her purse.
— No one is trying to take your apartment away by force.
— That’s great, then. So, we’re all set.
The guests left much more quietly than they had arrived.
Irina was offended.
As she was leaving, Tamara Viktorovna told her son that she “didn’t expect such indifference toward his sister.”
Pavel took the leftover cake.
That evening, Sergey spent a long time loading the dishwasher.
Olga didn’t rush him.
Finally, he said:
— I honestly didn’t realize it looked like this.
— What did you think it looked like?
— I thought we’d sell this apartment, buy a smaller one for ourselves. It would be ours. The rest would help Irina. That would solve everything.
— Exactly.
— Exactly what?
— Right now, this apartment is mine. Completely. Under your plan, it disappears. Instead, there’s a small apartment in both of our names. And most of its value goes to your sister.
Sergey sat down across from her.
— But we’re husband and wife.
— Yes. That’s why I didn’t charge you rent for ten years or count how many square meters you use.
He smirked:
— Thank you, my gracious benefactor.
— You’re welcome. But there’s a big difference between “living together” and “let’s give half of your inheritance to my sister.”
Sergey fell silent again.
Then Olga suggested:
— Let’s make it simple. Give Irina your half of the two-bedroom apartment.
He looked up.
— What do you mean?
— Literally. You want to help her, right? Give her your share. Then the apartment will be hers. They can sell it, add their savings, and buy a three-bedroom.
— Hold on. Why should I give her half the apartment?
Olga said nothing.
About ten seconds later, Sergey leaned back in his chair.
— Got it.
— Good.
— That’s different.
— Of course it is.
— Don’t start.
— I’m not saying a word.
He rubbed his face with his hands and suddenly started laughing.
— No, wait. It’s actually true. I spent a week telling you that an apartment is just property that should be managed rationally. But as soon as it came to my share, suddenly it became some kind of family heirloom.
— And there aren’t even any apple trees involved.
The next day, Sergey called his sister himself.
The conversation didn’t go well.
He told her that the project with Olga’s apartment was closed and wouldn’t be discussed anymore.
Instead, he offered two options.
First: Irina and Pavel gradually buy out his half.
Second: they sell the apartment, split the money evenly, and each takes care of their own part.
For almost two weeks, Irina barely spoke to her brother.
Tamara Viktorovna managed to stay angry even longer.
She believed that Sergey was obligated to “understand the situation,” although she no longer tried to explain why that situation had to revolve around Olga’s apartment.
Surprisingly, Pavel turned out to be the most practical.
He started searching real estate sites, spent a few evenings running the numbers, and made an unpleasant discovery: a bigger apartment actually costs money, no matter how much someone doesn’t like a mortgage.
A month later, he himself suggested selling the two-bedroom.
It took a while to find a buyer.
The deal finally went through as winter approached. They sold the apartment for 7,600,000 rubles.
Sergey received his share of 3,800,000 rubles. He put his money into a savings account, deciding he no longer wanted to make any rushed decisions with real estate after that experience.
Irina received the same amount.
She and Pavel had also saved up about 1,400,000 rubles. For the rest of the price of their three-room apartment, they decided to take out a mortgage.
They didn’t move to the same courtyard, or even to the next street, but their new place was only fifteen minutes away from Tamara Viktorovna. Masha stayed at her old school—Pavel would drop her off each morning on his way to work.
And he finally got a workspace, too.
Well, for now it was just a desk by the window in the living room.
“It’s all right,” he told Sergey at the housewarming. “Now I understand—having a home office is just a dream, but the mortgage payments are reality. Reality won this time.”
Tamara Viktorovna eventually calmed down as well.
Especially after she saw Irina’s new apartment and the small room they’d set aside for the baby.
Olga’s apartment stayed exactly where it had been for all those years.
Still with its three rooms.
Still with that same kitchen.
And to the realtor Lena’s great surprise, even the kitchen fittings stayed with the owners.
One spring day, Sergey dug into the lower cabinet and pulled out an old pot with a slightly bent handle.
“Olga, maybe we should throw this out? You haven’t used it in two years.”
“Why?”
“We should use the space more efficiently.”
Olga slowly turned her head.
Sergey held the pot for a moment, then put it back.
“Okay, okay. I’ve changed my mind.”
“That’s right.”
“Otherwise we’ll have to start with the garage, too.”
Since then, the phrase “efficient use of property” was used carefully in their family.
And only for things that belonged to the one suggesting it.