Are you seriously saying this right now?” Inga set her cup down so abruptly that coffee splashed onto the saucer. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Marina replied. “We’re selling the apartment. I’ve already found a realtor.”
“Did you even think to ask us?” Inga leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “We’re connected to that apartment too, you know!”
“How so?” Marina looked at her sister-in-law calmly. “Legally, you’re not. I bought it before the marriage. It’s in my name.”
“And morally?!” Inga almost shouted that word. “Aren’t you going to consider us, morally? We lived there too, you know! Our family lived there!”
“You lived there for three years,” Marina said. “Rent-free. And you moved out a year and a half ago, when I asked if you could pay for utilities.”
Silence fell at the table. Anna Petrovna, Inga’s mother and Marina’s mother-in-law, sat between them in silence—but it was a heavy, purposeful quiet, like someone about to say something important, just waiting for the right moment.
Marina knew this manner of hers. Seven years of marriage had taught her every detail of it.
She had bought the apartment in 2018. Back then, Marina was working as a purchasing manager at a retail company and earning a pretty decent salary—about 120,000. She was twenty-eight, had been saving for five years, took out a mortgage, paid the down payment, and moved into a one-bedroom on the outskirts, but it was hers. Her very own place. The first thing in her life that belonged solely to her.
Two years later, she married Denis. Just an ordinary guy—a maintenance mechanic at the factory, taking home around fifty thousand. He was calm, soft-spoken, generous. Marina thought he was reliable.
She never told anyone how much she made. Never boasted about her apartment. She just lived her life. Worked, paid the mortgage, sometimes took a vacation. Kept things simple.
Anna Petrovna and Inga entered her life over time.
At first, they just visited. Then they started staying longer. Then Inga—Denis’s younger sister, thirty, divorced, with a child—asked to stay “temporarily, until I find a place.” That “temporary” stretched to three years.
Marina didn’t object. At first. She’d never really learned how. It seemed natural to help out relatives. So she did. Groceries, things for her nephew, money for daycare, for medicine—whatever they asked for.
Inga didn’t pay for anything.
Anna Petrovna came by almost every day. She’d sit in the kitchen, drink tea, and talk about how tough life was. She’d say Inga needed help, that a child was growing up without a father, that Denis should look after his sister. Marina listened. Nodded. Sometimes gave them money.
Three years went by before Marina finally said ‘no’ for the first time.
It happened after the December utility bill—twelve thousand, and Inga hadn’t paid a single ruble. Marina asked to split it. Inga got offended. Anna Petrovna called Denis and said Marina had “forgotten what family means.”
A week later, Inga moved out. She rented a room on the other side of the city. She left in a storm of scandal, in tears, shouting about how ungrateful they were.
Denis was silent. As always.
Anna Petrovna stopped coming over and started calling instead. Each call was full of reproaches.
“You kicked her out,” the mother-in-law would say. “Your own child, your husband’s sister, and her little son, thrown out onto the street.”
“She left on her own.”
“Because you gave her an ultimatum.”
“Because I asked her to help pay the utilities.”
“So what? Are you really that stingy?”
Marina stopped answering. She just listened in silence.
The mortgage was almost paid off. Work was going well—she’d gotten a promotion, and her salary had increased. Marina started thinking about moving to a bigger apartment. Her one-bedroom was nice, but she’d always dreamed of a two-bedroom place with large windows.
The realtor came over on Saturday. Marina didn’t tell Denis. She wanted to find out the price first before saying anything.
She didn’t get the chance.
That very evening, Anna Petrovna called.
“Marina, I heard you’re selling the apartment.”
“Who said that?”
“The neighbor. She saw you with the realtor.”
Marina sighed.
“Yes. I want to exchange it for a two-bedroom.”
“And what about us?” Anna Petrovna’s voice trembled. “Did you even ask us?”
“Anna Petrovna, this is my apartment.”
“It was bought during the marriage! Denis has a right to it too!”
“It was bought before the marriage. It’s in my name.”
“But he lived there! He invested in it!”
“He invested in the renovation,” Marina agreed. “I’m ready to compensate him for that. That’s not a problem.”
“Compensate!” the mother-in-law almost shouted the word. “You don’t consider us people, do you? We’re family! Inga has nowhere to live, my pension is small, and you’re selling the apartment without even thinking, maybe one of us needs it more!”
Marina was silent. She listened and realized this conversation wasn’t really about the apartment. It was about something else, something that had been building up for years.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and hung up.
Two days later, everyone gathered. Inga arrived with her son, Anna Petrovna brought a pie. Denis sat off to the side, looking at his phone.
Marina set the table. Tea, cookies—everything just as usual.
Inga was the first to speak.
“Marina, we can’t just leave things like this.”
“What exactly?”
“The apartment. You want to sell it. Where are we supposed to go?”
“You live separately.”
“I’m renting a room! That’s not a real life! And Mom’s retired, it’s so hard for her!”
Marina set down her teacup.
“Inga,” she said calmly, “I want to sell my apartment to buy a bigger one. For myself and Denis.”
“What about Mom?”
“What does Mom have to do with it?”
“She has rights too! She’s Denis’s mother! She’s done so much for him!”
Marina looked at her mother-in-law. Anna Petrovna sat up straight, her lips pressed together. Her eyes were dry, but there was something in them that Marina had seen many times before.
“Anna Petrovna,” Marina said, “do you want me to give you something?”
“I want fairness,” the mother-in-law replied. “You live for yourself. You have an apartment. You have a good job. And we have nothing.”
“You have your own apartment.”
“A two-bedroom, old, on the first floor. And yours is in the center, renovated.”
“I bought it myself. Before the marriage.”
“So what?” For the first time, Anna Petrovna raised her voice. “What difference does that make? You married into the family! You became one of us! And now you want to sell the apartment and leave us with nothing?”
Marina said nothing.
“Do you understand that Denis is my son?” his mother-in-law insisted. “I raised him. I devoted my whole life to him. And now you’re telling me—this apartment is yours, not his. And not ours.”
“I’m not saying it’s not his. I’m saying it’s mine. There’s a difference.”
“No, there’s not! You’re a family! Everything should be shared!”
“Then why is the only thing we’re sharing mine?”
Anna Petrovna fell silent. Inga exchanged a look with her mother.
“What do you mean by that?” Inga asked.
“I mean,” Marina said slowly, “that over seven years I’ve paid for your medications, your kindergartens, your debts. I offered money, food, things. I never kept track. And now, when I want to sell my own apartment, you’re telling me I owe you.”
“But we’re family,” said Inga.
“Exactly. Family. Not dependents.”
It grew quiet at the table. Even Denis looked up from his phone.
“Are you calling us dependents?” Anna Petrovna asked quietly.
“I’m just calling things by their names.”
“So you think we’ve been using you?”
Marina didn’t answer. She gazed at her mother-in-law, thinking how this conversation should have happened five years ago. But back then, she didn’t know how. Back then, she was afraid.
“We didn’t use you,” Inga said. “We were just living. Like everyone else.”
“‘Like everyone else’ is when each person looks after themselves. We were different.”
“So what? What now?”
“Now, I’m selling the apartment and buying another one. For myself.”
“And us?” Anna Petrovna leaned forward. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Live your own life. Like I live mine.”
“That’s selfish!”
“Maybe so.”
Anna Petrovna stood up, slowly and heavily, steadying herself on the table. She looked at Marina as if seeing her for the first time.
“I always knew,” her mother-in-law said, “that you were never one of us.”
“I’m not a stranger to you. I’m just inconvenient. There’s a difference.”
“You married my son! You were supposed to become family!”
“And I did. But being family doesn’t mean one pays for everyone. Family means supporting each other.”
“We’ve supported you!”
“How?”
Anna Petrovna opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t find the words. Inga stared down at the table. Denis said nothing.
“Exactly,” Marina said. “I can’t remember a single time when any of you asked how I was doing. How I felt. If I was tired. If I needed help. You only asked about money. About things. About what I could give.”
“That’s not true,” Inga whispered.
“It is true.”
Anna Petrovna sat back down. Her face was pale as she looked at her son.
“Denis,” she said. “Say something.”
Denis lifted his head. He looked at his mother. Then his wife. And then his mother again.
“Mom,” he said. “It’s her apartment.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Anna Petrovna almost shouted. “You’re taking her side? Against your own mother?”
“I’m not taking sides.”
“That’s not possible!”
“It is possible.”
Marina looked at her husband, realizing that for the first time in seven years he wasn’t sidestepping. Maybe it didn’t change anything. Maybe it was too late. But somehow, it mattered.
“Denis,” Anna Petrovna said as she stood up. “If you don’t tell her right now that she’s wrong, I will leave. And I won’t come back.”
“Mom, please, no ultimatums.”
“This isn’t an ultimatum. It’s a choice.”
Denis stayed silent. For a long, long time.
Then he said:
“Mom, I love you. But Marina is right.”
Anna Petrovna looked at her son. One second. Two. Then she turned and walked out.
Inga rushed out after her. The door slammed shut.
Marina and Denis were left alone.
“Thank you,” Marina said.
Denis didn’t reply. He stared at the table.
“But it’s not enough,” Marina continued.
“What isn’t?”
“One time. In seven years. I can’t live like this anymore.”
Denis lifted his eyes to her.
“You want a divorce?”
“I want you to understand. I’m tired of being alone. Tired of having to defend myself. Tired of you always choosing them over me.”
“I chose you. Now.”
“Now. But what about next month? Next year? When your mother calls again and says I’m a terrible person?”
Denis stayed silent.
“I’m going to file for divorce,” Marina said. “Not because you’re a bad person. But because I just can’t do this anymore.”
“Give me a chance.”
“I already have. For seven years.”
Marina stood up and went to the bedroom. She closed the door.
The divorce went through quietly. No shouting, no drama. Denis moved in with his mother. Marina sold the apartment—quickly and at a good price. She bought a two-bedroom place with huge windows. She put a table by the kitchen window.
Six months passed.
One day, Inga called.
“Hi Marina. I wanted to say…” She paused. “Mom was wrong.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t understand. She admitted it. Recently. She said she was jealous of you. Her entire life.”
Marina stayed quiet.
“She said you were right back then. She just didn’t want to admit it. And Denis… he regrets it too.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to come back?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
Inga sighed.
“Alright. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you.”
Marina hung up. She looked out the window. Spring. Sunshine. On the windowsill was a plant she had bought a week ago.
She poured herself tea and sat by the window. No one called. No one asked her for anything.
She finally understood—the reason for the divorce wasn’t the apartment. The apartment only revealed the truth she had been trying not to see for too long.
