The scrape of the key in the lock sounded like a gunshot. I had not even managed to finish my morning coffee when Zinaida Pavlovna burst into the entryway. With a dull thud, she dropped two checkered shuttle bags onto the linoleum and, as if she owned the place, shook the snow off her boots. The suffocating smell of her favorite cheap perfume mixed with the cold air immediately filled the room.
“Well, Anechka, you’ve lived in comfort long enough, haven’t you? Everything handed to you on a silver platter, and now that’s enough!” my mother-in-law announced loudly, walking straight into the kitchen without taking off her shoes. “Igoryok told me everything. Thank God, he has a new love now, a real woman. He’s filed for divorce. So come on, pack up your pots and pans and clear out the space.”
I sat at the table, gripping my cold mug so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Everything inside me trembled with resentment and anger. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of carrying the household on my shoulders while her precious little “basket” tried to find himself, changing jobs every six months. And yesterday, I had caught him with a twenty-year-old secretary. Instead of an apology, I heard, “It’s your own fault. You don’t inspire me as a man!” Then he slammed the door and ran off to complain to Mommy.
“Are you out of your mind, Zinaida Pavlovna?” My voice betrayed me and trembled. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Do I look like I care?” My mother-in-law planted her hands on her enormous hips and smirked triumphantly. “Go to your mother in the village! You’ve been living here for ten years with no rights at all. Poor Igoryok broke his back paying the mortgage, while you, you parasite, only took advantage. My daughter Dasha and her husband will move in here. They need more space. And Igoryok will live with me for now. Come on, get moving. I’m not waiting until evening!”
She reached for the cupboard where my expensive dinner set stood, the one my parents had given me, and shamelessly flung the door open.
And at that moment, something inside me seemed to click. Self-pity evaporated, replaced by an icy, crystal-clear calm.
“Put it back,” I said quietly, but there was steel in my voice.
“What?!” My mother-in-law spun around sharply. “How dare you speak to me like that, you ungrateful trash? I’ll call the police right now. They’ll throw you out of my son’s apartment!”
I slowly stood up. I walked over to my bag, took out a blue cardboard folder, and tossed it onto the table right under Zinaida Pavlovna’s nose.
“Call them,” I said with a smirk. “Right now. But while you’re at it, ask your brilliant son why he didn’t tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, though she did not touch the folder.
“Open it. Read it. You’re a literate woman, after all,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
My mother-in-law opened the folder with disgust. Her eyes darted across the lines of the official document with the state seal. I watched with pleasure as the color drained from her plump face, turning it an ashy gray. Zinaida Pavlovna’s breathing quickened.
“What kind of fake paper is this?” she wheezed. “What gift deed?”
“A perfectly ordinary one,” I shrugged. “My parents bought this apartment after selling their three-room flat in the north. They registered it in my name under a deed of gift before your son and I got married. Your Igoryok didn’t pay a single kopeck for it. By law, gifted property is not divided in a divorce. It belongs only to me.”
“You’re lying!” my mother-in-law shrieked, clutching the edge of the tablecloth in her hands. “Igoryok said you took out a mortgage together! He sent me money every month, showed me receipts, said he was paying for the apartment!”
“Ah, so that’s it,” I laughed out loud, though the truth made me feel sick. “He took out loans for his car and gifts for his little underage mistress. And he lied to you about the mortgage so you wouldn’t nag him. And you swallowed it whole.”
My mother-in-law sank heavily onto a stool. She gasped for air like a fish thrown onto the shore. All her arrogance and swagger deflated in a single second.
“You have exactly three minutes, Zinaida Pavlovna, to take your bags and disappear from my apartment,” I said, picking up my phone and dialing 112, keeping my finger above the call button. “And tell little Igoryok he can come collect his television and old microwave. He didn’t earn anything more than that here. Your time starts now.”
She did not say a word. Silently, with trembling hands, she grabbed her checkered bags and, stumbling over the threshold, rushed out into the stairwell.
When the door slammed shut behind her, I turned the key in the lock twice. Then I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee.
It had never tasted so good.