— Live on your own money, you pauper, and don’t touch mine! — her husband shouted. But five minutes later, he regretted what he had said.
“Live on your own money, you pauper, and don’t touch mine!” her husband shouted.
Viktor slammed a thick folder of documents onto the kitchen table with all his strength. The papers fanned out across the smooth surface, almost brushing against a package of medicine. Marina sat opposite him, upright and calm, looking straight at the man with whom she had shared everyday life for the past thirty-two years.
Just a second earlier, she had simply asked him to add a small amount of money for maintenance medication for her blood vessels, since her modest salary as a medical registrar at the district clinic had barely been enough this month to pay the utilities for their three-room apartment. Her husband’s answer was not merely rude. It became the final point in the story of their marriage.
Her husband was breathing heavily, looming over the table. His new position as deputy manager at a large trading company, which he had received six months earlier, had radically changed his behavior. He had changed his wardrobe, started buying expensive things, and began looking at his wife only with contempt.
“Yes, exactly!” Viktor continued, advancing on her as he paced around the kitchen. “I’m tired of dragging this dead weight around. Your endless pharmacies, your penny-pinching interests, your talk about how hard things are at the clinic. Have you ever brought any serious money into this family? Have you done anything at all for our real prosperity?”
Marina did not look away. Her voice sounded even and firm.
“Viktor, don’t get carried away. Who took care of your mother? For four years I didn’t leave her bedside. Because of that, I left a good position as a senior nurse at a private clinic and transferred to an ordinary registry office so I could work part-time and have time to feed her with a spoon. You were gone from home for days at a time, building your career. I gave this family all my strength and my health. And now you dare call me a pauper?”
“Don’t you dare drag my mother into this!” her husband barked, stopping abruptly. “My mother received this apartment for her years of service. We are the rightful owners here. And you came here from your dormitory. If only you had been useful, but no. Listen to me carefully. I’m tired of these sentimental speeches. I am a man in the prime of life. I earn huge money and I have the right to live the way I want, instead of looking at your gloomy face every evening.”
He pointed at the folder he had just thrown onto the table.
“Study it, if you know how to read complicated texts. This is a preliminary purchase agreement for our apartment. I found a buyer. A serious, tough businessman. He’s taking the place in cash for a complete redevelopment. Fifteen million rubles. To you, those are numbers from a parallel reality. You’ll never earn that kind of money in your whole life.”
Marina lowered her eyes to the top sheet. The text of the agreement stated that the transaction was in its final stage and that the seller undertook to transfer the property free from any rights of third parties.
“You’re selling our home?” she asked without changing her tone. “And where are you planning to move?”
“Not we. I,” Viktor replied, with obvious superiority in his voice. “I’ve already paid a substantial deposit for a modern townhouse in a gated community. Clean air, respectable neighbors. And you can pack your things. You have a sister in the village. Go to her. There’s plenty of space there. You can work in the garden and breathe fresh air. I’m not a greedy man, so I’ll give you one hundred thousand rubles to get started. And that’s where our paths part.”
Viktor went to the wardrobe in the hallway, pulled out an enormous checkered bag, and threw it onto the floor right in front of Marina.
“Start packing your belongings right now. The buyer is coming tomorrow morning with his people to sign the main agreement and hand over the rest of the money. You’d better be gone by evening. You’re free.”
Every word from her husband was supposed to be a crushing blow. Thirty years of married life, all the difficulties they had overcome, sleepless nights, and mutual support had been trampled for the sake of a townhouse and selfishness. Yet instead of despair or tears, Marina felt a startling clarity of mind. The situation appeared before her without embellishment. The man standing in front of her was no longer someone close to her. He had become a threat to her basic safety.
Marina slowly stood up. She went to the chest of drawers, opened the bottom drawer, and took out the folder with her personal documents, which she always kept in perfect order. After flipping through several files, she pulled out an old, slightly yellowed sheet with an official seal. It was the agreement transferring a residential property into citizens’ ownership, drawn up in the year 2000.
She returned to the kitchen and placed the document next to the preliminary purchase agreement.
“Look at this, Viktor,” she said calmly.
“What is this supposed to be?” he said, glancing at the paper with disgust. “The privatization agreement. So what? It clearly says that I am the sole owner of the apartment. After my parents died, I transferred the utility account into my name and privatized the property to myself. Your name isn’t listed among the owners. Legally, you have nothing to do with this apartment. My realtor checked everything. The deal is clean. There are no encumbrances in the real estate registry extract. I can sell this concrete box at any moment.”
“My name really is not listed among the owners,” Marina agreed. “But let’s remember exactly how that procedure took place. In the year 2000, when the privatization was being processed, we had already been married for a long time. I was officially and permanently registered at this address. By law, I had an absolutely equal right with you to become a co-owner of this property.”
Viktor waved her off contemptuously.
“So you had it. And what of it? You yourself wrote an official refusal at the notary’s office, refusing to participate in the privatization in my favor! You voluntarily gave up your share! So the apartment is completely mine.”
“Yes, I signed the refusal,” Marina’s voice remained just as confident. “Back then, you convinced me that it would make the paperwork easier, that we were one family and it was just a formality. I met you halfway. But the law is arranged very wisely. There is Article 19 of the law introducing the Housing Code. According to this provision, citizens who had equal rights to use a residential property at the time of privatization and gave their consent to privatization while refusing a share retain the right of indefinite use of that residential property.”
She paused, looking her husband straight in the eyes.
“In legal practice, this is called privatization immunity. And that means, Viktor, that I cannot be deregistered from this apartment without my personal consent. Not through court, not at your wish, and not even after the apartment is sold. This right remains for life. Even if you sell the property, the new owner will buy it together with me. I will live in my room, use the common areas, and not a single bailiff will evict me from here. What do you think? Will your businessman buyer pay fifteen million for a property where a strange woman will legally live forever?”
A heavy silence hung in the room. Viktor’s face began to change rapidly, losing its arrogant expression. His confidence evaporated before her eyes.
“You… you’re making this up,” he said hoarsely, taking a step back. “There are no laws like that. The owner is always right.”
“Check it,” Marina replied. “You have your phone. Call your realtor. Ask him directly whether the deal can go through if there is a person registered in the apartment with an indefinite right of residence because of a refusal to participate in privatization.”
Viktor’s fingers trembled as he took out his smartphone. He hurriedly dialed Oleg, the agent handling the transaction. Putting the call on speaker, Viktor tossed the phone onto the table.
“Yes, Viktor Sergeyevich, good evening!” the realtor’s cheerful voice rang out. “Everything is going according to plan. Tomorrow at ten in the morning we meet at the bank. The buyer has already prepared the cash, and the lawyers have given the green light.”
“Oleg… there’s one little nuance,” Viktor said with a dry throat. “My wife… she claims that since she was registered here in 2000 and wrote a refusal to participate in privatization, she has some kind of indefinite right. We can evict her through court after the sale, can’t we?”
There was a long, alarming pause on the other end of the line. The cheerfulness instantly vanished from the agent’s voice.
“Viktor Sergeyevich… are you joking?” Oleg’s tone became tense. “Your wife was registered at the time of privatization and refused her share?”
“Yes,” Viktor forced out. “But I’m the sole owner!”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” the agent’s voice broke into a shout. “Why did you hide this information when preparing the property? Your wife is absolutely right. This is ironclad privatization immunity. She cannot be deregistered. No judge in the country will order the eviction of such a resident.”
“What do I do?” Viktor grabbed his head with both hands.
“The deal is canceled, that’s what!” Oleg answered sharply. “The buyer is an extremely serious man. His business dates back to the nineties. Tomorrow his lawyers will request an archival extract, see your wife, and tear us to shreds. Nobody will buy housing with that kind of encumbrance.”
“Wait, Oleg, we can terminate the preliminary agreement! I’ll just return his deposit of one million rubles!” Viktor shouted in panic.
“Viktor Sergeyevich, did you even read the preliminary agreement?” the realtor’s tone turned icy. “The clause about penalties. If the deal falls through because of the seller’s fault due to concealed material encumbrances, the deposit is returned in double under Article 381 of the Civil Code. You now owe the buyer two million rubles. Cash on the table by tomorrow morning.”
“Two million?! I don’t have that kind of money! I already transferred my million to the townhouse developer!”
“Then you have lost the townhouse deposit because you won’t be able to pay the rest, and you owe two million to an extremely dangerous man,” the realtor stated. “I’m washing my hands of this. Deal with these problems yourself.”
The call ended. Viktor slowly sank onto a chair. His whole house of cards made of ambition, wealth, and a new life collapsed in just ten minutes. He sat there limp, lost, and deathly frightened.
“Marina… Marinochka…” he began to babble, looking at his wife pleadingly. “Please… deregister voluntarily. We’ll go to the passport office tomorrow morning. I’ll give you half the money! I swear! Otherwise this buyer will bury me in asphalt for the debt. You heard Oleg!”
Marina neatly put her document back into the folder.
“You told me yourself to live on my own money, Viktor. I’m staying in my home. This is my only housing, and I’m not going to risk it to save a man who just tried to throw me out onto the street with a bag.”
“But they’ll come tomorrow!” Viktor started shaking with panic. “They’ll come to squeeze two million in penalties out of me! What am I supposed to do?”
And at that moment, something happened that Marina had not expected at all. The man who had so recently been drunk on his own power jumped up from the chair and rushed into the hallway. He grabbed the same checkered bag he had prepared for her, flung open the wardrobe doors, and began feverishly throwing his expensive suits, shoes, and shirts into it in one heap.
“Tell them we had a fight! Tell them I left in an unknown direction!” he muttered, zipping up the bag with trembling hands. “Tell them you have no idea where to look for me! I’ll hide out at my brother’s dacha until everything calms down!”
Marina silently watched as her husband, bending under the weight of the bag, hastily put on his jacket. In his eyes there was only animal fear of creditors and the realization of his own fatal mistake.
He did not say goodbye. He simply flung open the front door and quickly went down the stairs, not even waiting for the elevator.
Marina walked to the door, calmly turned the key twice, and slid the upper bolt into place. Absolute peace settled over the apartment. She returned to the kitchen, poured herself fresh water, and walked over to the window. Ahead of her lay a quiet, measured life in her own apartment, where no one would ever again dare call her a burden. The man who had tried to leave her with nothing had driven himself out of his own home, forever becoming a hostage to his greed.