Liliya bought an apartment at twenty-six. She’d saved for five years while working as a manager at a trading company. Every kopeck went into savings: she gave up entertainment, wore old clothes, economized on everything. When she finally signed the purchase contract, her hands trembled with happiness. A one-room place on the edge of the city—but her own.
She met Dmitry a year after the purchase. At a colleague’s office party. Tall, charming, knew how to give compliments. He courted her beautifully: flowers, restaurants, evening strolls through the city. After six months he suggested moving in with Liliya.
“Why are you paying for a rental?” Liliya asked. “Move in with me.”
Quality properties for rent
Dmitry agreed. He brought two bags of clothes and a box of books. Settled on the couch and turned on the TV.
“It’s cozy here,” he said. “Feels like home.”
The first months went by peacefully. Dmitry worked as a programmer and came home late, tired. Liliya made dinner, tried to create comfort. Everything felt right, dependable.
A year later Dmitry suggested they get married. Liliya agreed without hesitation. The wedding was modest, just close family. Liliya’s parents came from another city, Dmitry’s parents—from a neighboring district. They celebrated in a café, danced, offered congratulations.
After the wedding Dmitry raised the question of ownership.
“Lilya, let’s put the apartment in both our names,” he said one evening. “We’re a family now. Everything between spouses should be fair.”
Liliya hesitated.
“Why? The apartment is already mine, and you live here.”
Bookshelves
“I understand,” Dmitry nodded. “But legally I’m nobody. What if something happens? Better to be safe.”
“What could happen?”
“Anything can happen. Documents should be done properly. I just want everything to be fair.”
Liliya thought for a long time. On the one hand, she’d bought the apartment before the marriage with her own money. On the other hand, Dmitry was her husband; it felt awkward to refuse. In the end she agreed.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
A week later they went to a notary. They registered a share for Dmitry. Now the apartment belonged to both of them—half each. Dmitry beamed and hugged his wife.
“Thank you, Lilyechka. You can’t imagine how important it is for me to feel like a full-fledged owner.”
Liliya smiled. Something pricked inside, but she chased away the doubt. He was her husband, her own person. Not an enemy.
Several months passed. Dmitry began showing a strange interest in the documents. He might casually ask where the apartment papers were kept. Or ask to see the certificate of ownership.
Family games
“Why do you need it?” Liliya was surprised.
“Just curious,” he would reply. “I want to make sure everything is in order.”
Liliya showed him. Dmitry studied them carefully, nodded, and put them back.
One autumn evening Liliya came home earlier than usual. Classes at school had been canceled due to heating repairs. She opened the door quietly, in case her husband was asleep. But Dmitry wasn’t sleeping. He was talking on the phone in the kitchen, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Liliya stopped in the hallway and listened.
“Yes, we’ll move quickly, the client is reliable, I’ll handle everything,” Dmitry was saying. “It’s a good apartment, decent condition. There’s already a buyer; all that’s left is to sign the contract.”
Liliya froze. What apartment? What deal?
“Does Lilya know anything?” someone on the other end asked. The voice was muffled, but Liliya caught the question.
“No, she doesn’t,” Dmitry said. “And she won’t, not until everything’s ready. I’ll tell her we’re selling to buy something bigger. She’ll agree. She always agrees.”
Liliya stood in the hallway unable to move. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he would hear it. Dmitry went on, discussing details, dates, sums.
Liliya slipped quietly out of the apartment. She went down to the first floor and sat on the bench by the entrance. Her hands trembled; her vision swam. Dmitry was going to sell the apartment. Her apartment. The very one she’d saved for five years to buy. And do it without her knowledge.
She took out her phone and opened Dmitry’s recent calls. They shared a plan, so all calls were visible in their online account. She found the number he had just been talking to. It was unfamiliar, but there was a name next to it: Sergei.
Liliya dialed the number. He answered immediately.
“Hello, real estate agency, how can I help you?” a man’s voice said.
“Good afternoon,” Liliya tried to keep her voice steady. “My name is Svetlana. I’m looking for a one-bedroom apartment. I was told to ask for Sergei.”
“That’s me. How can I help?”
“Do you have any one-bedrooms on the outskirts?”
“There’s one that’s just coming available. Dmitry has put his apartment up for sale; he’s ready to close within a week. Would you like to see it?”
Liliya clenched her teeth.
“Yes. Can I have the address?”
The realtor gave the address. The address of Liliya’s apartment.
“Thank you, I’ll think about it and call back,” she said and hung up.
She sat on the bench staring into space. Her husband was selling the apartment. Without her knowledge, without her consent. He’d simply decided and set everything in motion. As if Liliya didn’t exist.
She stood up and started walking. The November wind tugged at her hair, but she didn’t feel the cold. Inside burned a fire of anger and hurt. She had to act. Fast.
When she returned home, Dmitry was on the couch watching TV.
“You’re back already?” he was surprised. “You’re early today.”
“They’re fixing the heating—they let us out early,” Liliya said shortly.
“Got it. Are you making dinner?”
“I am.”
She went into the kitchen and started chopping vegetables. Her hands moved automatically while her thoughts spun. She needed a plan. Clear, quick, effective.
That night, after Dmitry fell asleep, Liliya took all the apartment documents from the safe: the certificate of ownership, the purchase contract, the technical passport. She put them in a folder and hid it in her bag.
The next day after work she didn’t go home—she went to a lawyer she knew. Aleksei Petrovich worked at a private firm, helped with paperwork, and consulted on complicated matters. Liliya had gone to him a year earlier when she transferred a share to Dmitry.
“Liliya Sergeyevna, what brings you here?” he greeted her warmly, ushering her into his office.
“I need help,” Liliya said, taking a seat. “Urgently.”
“I’m listening.”
She told him everything: the overheard conversation, the call to the realtor, her husband’s plans. The lawyer listened attentively, nodding now and then.
“I see,” he said when she finished. “It’s a tricky situation, but solvable. You want the apartment back in your sole name?”
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
“That’s possible. We’ll do a deed of gift. Dmitry will gift you his share, and the apartment will be yours alone again.”
Gift baskets
“But Dmitry won’t agree to that! He’s about to sell!”
Aleksei Petrovich smirked.
“He’ll agree if we pitch it right. Tell him it’s needed for tax benefits. Or to get a loan. We’ll come up with a story. The main thing is to get his signature on the gift deed.”
“And if he doesn’t buy it?”
“Then we go to court. But that takes time. Better to do it amicably.”
Liliya thought. Lying to her husband was repugnant, but she had no choice. Dmitry had already lied first.
“Alright. Let’s try.”
He prepared the documents—a gift deed for Dmitry’s share in favor of Liliya—properly and legally.
“Come with your husband tomorrow at ten in the morning,” the lawyer said. “I’ll explain everything, and he’ll sign.”
The next day Liliya got up early and made breakfast. Dmitry shuffled out of the bedroom, stretching.
“Why are you up so early?” he asked.
“We need to see the lawyer,” Liliya said, pouring coffee. “Aleksei Petrovich called yesterday. Says we need to re-do the apartment documents—for tax benefits.”
Dmitry tensed.
“What benefits?”
“Well, if the apartment is in one name, you can get a bigger deduction. When it’s in two names, the deduction is smaller. He explained it; I didn’t catch everything. Better if you hear it from him.”
He frowned.
“Why do we need a deduction? We’re not selling the apartment.”
Liliya froze. Her heart dropped. He was watching her intently.
“Well, you never know,” she tried to sound calm. “It might come in handy someday. Aleksei says it’s better to set it up in advance.”
Dmitry was silent for a moment, then nodded.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
They arrived at the lawyer’s at ten. Aleksei greeted them pleasantly and seated them at the table.
“So,” he began, “Liliya Sergeyevna, Dmitry—you own the apartment jointly. That’s not always convenient. If one spouse decides to sell a share, the other may not have time to buy it out. Problems start.”
“We’re not planning to sell,” Dmitry said.
“Of course, of course,” Aleksei nodded. “But it’s better to be cautious. I suggest a gift deed. Dmitry gifts his share to Liliya; the apartment becomes her sole property. It’s simpler and safer.”
“Safer for whom?” Dmitry smirked. “For Liliya?”
“For both of you. If a property is in one person’s name, no one can sell it without the owner’s knowledge. When it’s in two names, each can dispose of their share.”
Dmitry thought it over. Liliya sat beside him trying not to show her anxiety. Her fingers clenched the handle of her bag until they hurt.
“What if I don’t want to gift it?” Dmitry asked.
Gift baskets
“That’s your right,” the lawyer said calmly. “But then you might run into complications. For example, if you decide to sell and buy a new place. You’ll need powers of attorney, consents. Extra bureaucracy.”
Gift baskets
“We’re not selling,” Dmitry repeated.
“Alright. Then leave it as is.”
Dmitry looked at Liliya.
“Why are you quiet?”
“I agree with Aleksei Petrovich,” she said softly. “It seems simpler to me.”
“Simpler for you,” Dmitry noted. “For me it makes no difference.”
“Then sign. If it makes no difference.”
He hesitated, then took the pen and signed the gift deed. Aleksei notarized the signature and gathered the papers.
“Excellent. Now we submit it to Rosreestr. In a week everything will be ready.”
They left the office. Dmitry was grim and silent the whole ride home. Liliya was silent too, but inside she exulted. The first step was done.
A week later Aleksei called.
“Liliya Sergeyevna, the documents are ready. The apartment is yours again. Congratulations.”
Liliya exhaled in relief. Now Dmitry wouldn’t be able to sell the home. The apartment belonged only to her.
But Dmitry didn’t know. He kept calling the realtor, discussing details. Liliya listened from the next room, amazed each time at her husband’s gall.
“Yes, everything’s on track,” Dmitry would say. “Next week we’ll meet the buyer, negotiate the price. My wife suspects nothing.”
Liliya clenched her teeth. “My wife suspects nothing.” How wrong he was.
One evening Dmitry announced:
“Lilya, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Liliya set her book aside.
Bookshelves
“About our future. I’ve been thinking… Maybe we should sell the apartment and buy something bigger? A two-bedroom, say. Or a three-bedroom. So the kids have room.”
“What kids? We don’t have kids.”
“We will. Sooner or later. We should think ahead.”
Liliya looked at him and didn’t recognize him. This man could lie to her face without blinking. He talked about children, about the future, while planning to sell the apartment and pocket the money.
“I don’t want to sell,” Liliya said firmly.
“Why not? We could buy something better!”
“I don’t want to. This apartment is mine; I bought it with my own money. I’m not going to sell.”
Dmitry scowled.
“Yours? Lilya, we put it in both our names!”
“We did. Then we put it back.”
He froze.
“What do you mean, put it back?”
“You signed a gift deed. A week ago. At Aleksei Petrovich’s. The apartment is mine again.”
Gift baskets
His face went pale.
“You… You tricked me?”
“You were tricking me. You wanted to sell the apartment behind my back. Thought I wouldn’t find out?”
Dmitry leapt up.
“How do you know?!”
“I heard your conversation with the realtor. Then I called Sergei myself. He told me everything.”
He stood in the middle of the room, mouth open. Then his face twisted in anger.
“You… you set this up on purpose! You forced me to sign that deed!”
“I didn’t force you. You signed it yourself. Aleksei Petrovich is a witness.”
“I signed because you lied! You told me about tax benefits!”
“And you planned to sell the apartment without my consent. Which of us is the bigger liar?”
Dmitry clenched his fists. Liliya stood up, bracing for the worst. But he didn’t hit her. He simply turned and left the room, slamming the door.
Liliya heard him calling someone. His voice was loud and furious.
“Mom, I’ve got a problem. Lilya transferred the apartment back to herself. What should I do?”
She couldn’t hear the answer, but she could guess. His mother always took his side and thought her daughter-in-law unworthy.
Dmitry returned ten minutes later. His face was dark but calm.
“Fine,” he said. “You won this round. But the game isn’t over.”
“What game?” Liliya asked, surprised.
“Life. Marriage. Money. It’s all a game. And I know how to play.”
He went into the bedroom and shut the door. Liliya stood in the living room feeling a rising unease. What was he plotting?
The next day Dmitry behaved oddly. He was polite, even gracious. He made breakfast, washed the dishes, asked about her day. Liliya grew wary. This wasn’t like him.
“Lilya, forgive me,” Dmitry said in the evening. “I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have planned a sale without telling you.”
“Are you seriously apologizing?”
“I am. I was wrong. The apartment’s yours; you have every right to do as you wish.”
Liliya didn’t believe a word. Dmitry wasn’t the type to admit mistakes. He was up to something. Something bad.
“Alright,” she said carefully. “I accept your apology.”
“Great. Then let’s forget this and start fresh.”
He hugged her. Liliya went rigid in his arms, sensing the falseness in every gesture.
A week passed. Dmitry kept playing the devoted husband. He helped around the house, bought flowers, paid her compliments. Liliya endured it, but inside her certainty grew: something was coming soon.
And it did.
On Friday evening Dmitry came home wearing a smug smile. His face shone; his step was light, almost dancing. He tossed his jacket on the floor in the entryway, went to the kitchen, and pulled a beer from the fridge.
Liliya was in the living room with a book. She looked up when he flopped onto the couch across from her.
Bookshelves
“Lilya, I’ve got news for you,” Dmitry said, popping the can.
“What news?”
“Excellent news.” He took a swig and smirked. “As of today, you’re a homeless bum.”
Liliya slowly closed her book.
“What did you say?”
“I filed the sale paperwork,” Dmitry leaned back. “The deal’s tomorrow. The apartment is sold. Go wherever you want.”
She stared at him, unable to believe what she’d heard. He kept smiling, sipping his beer.
“You’re joking,” she said at last.
“No, dear. Quite serious.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it in front of her. “Here’s the contract. There’s a buyer, the price is agreed, tomorrow we sign and that’s that. The money has already been wired.”
“Dmitry, the apartment isn’t yours anymore. You signed a gift deed.”
“I did,” he admitted. “But you forgot one detail. I managed to file the sale before the changes were registered in Rosreestr. There’s a loophole like that. My lawyer explained it. So technically the apartment is still mine. And I sold it.”
Gift baskets
Liliya stood.
“You didn’t sell anything. The apartment’s been in my name for a week. Aleksei submitted the paperwork as soon as you signed the deed.”
Dmitry laughed.
“Aleksei Petrovich is a dinosaur. Slow, old. My lawyer is faster. We beat you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Liliya said evenly. “You can check. Call your lawyer and ask him when the changes were actually registered.”
The confidence on Dmitry’s face faltered. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Igor, hi. Listen, can you check when the change for my apartment was entered in the registry?” He listened; his face grew steadily paler. “What do you mean a week ago? You said we’d make it!”
Igor said something on the other end. Dmitry listened, gripping the phone tighter.
“Fine, we’ll sort it out tomorrow,” he snapped and hung up.
Liliya stood by the window with her arms crossed.
“I told you. The apartment is mine.”
Dmitry jumped up.
“No matter! The deal’s tomorrow! The buyer is waiting!”
“There will be no deal. The system won’t register the sale. The owner has changed.”
“We’ll see!” he shouted and left the room.
Liliya heard him calling the realtor, explaining, arguing. His voice was frayed, breaking into a yell.
The next morning Dmitry left early. Liliya watched him go and returned to her breakfast. Two hours later his phone was vibrating nonstop with calls. Liliya didn’t answer, but saw the names on the screen: Sergei, Igor, Mom.
At noon Dmitry burst into the apartment. His face was red; his eyes darted.
“You set this up!” he yelled.
Liliya sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t set anything up. I just took back what was mine.”
“The deal fell through! Rosreestr refused! They said the owner changed!”
“I warned you.”
He grabbed her cup and hurled it at the wall. Shards scattered across the floor. Liliya didn’t even flinch.
“You’ll pay for this!” he hissed. “I’ll take you to court! I’ll say you tricked me into signing the gift deed!”
“Go ahead,” Liliya replied calmly. “Aleksei did everything correctly. You signed voluntarily, with a witness. You don’t have a case.”
Dmitry paced the kitchen, muttering to himself. Then he stopped and stared at her.
“And the buyer? He already paid a 20% deposit! Where am I going to get the money to return it?”
“Not my problem,” Liliya finished her coffee and stood. “You got yourself into this scheme.”
She went to the bedroom and took a neat folder from the closet. Back in the kitchen, she set it on the table in front of him.
“Open it.”
He frowned but opened it. Inside were documents: a fresh extract from Rosreestr, a notarized copy of the gift deed, a certificate of registered ownership.
Gift baskets
“See?” Liliya tapped the extract. “Sole owner—me. Registration date—a week ago. Everything is legal and correct.”
Dmitry flipped through the papers, his face growing paler.
“You… you planned all this…”
“I didn’t start it. You tried to sell my apartment behind my back. I just protected myself.”
He shut the folder and flung it to the floor. Papers scattered across the kitchen.
“Fine,” he grated. “You won. But I won’t forgive you.”
“No need to forgive. Just leave.”
“Leave?” He laughed. “This is my apartment! I live here!”
“You lived here. Not anymore.”
Liliya turned and left the kitchen. She took out her phone and called a locksmith.
“Hello. I need the locks changed urgently. Today, if possible.”
The locksmith agreed to come in two hours. Liliya asked Dmitry to leave the apartment while the work was done.
“I’m not going anywhere!” he declared.
“Stay then. But you won’t get keys.”
He tried to argue, but Liliya didn’t listen. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the water. She needed to be alone and pull herself together.
When the locksmith arrived, Dmitry was still there—sitting on the couch watching TV like nothing was happening. The locksmith changed the locks and handed Liliya two new keys.
“Here you go. And the receipt.”
She paid and walked him to the door. When she returned, Dmitry was staring at her with hatred.
“Are you seriously throwing me out?”
“I am.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your mother’s. Or to friends. Not my concern.”
“This is illegal! I’m your husband!”
“A husband, but not the owner. It’s my apartment; I decide who lives here.”
He sprang up.
“I’ll take you to court! For unlawful eviction!”
“Go ahead,” she shrugged. “But keep in mind: the court will side with me. The apartment was bought before the marriage and is registered to me. You have no rights to it.”
He stood in the middle of the room breathing heavily. Then he swung around, went to the bedroom, and started packing. He flung clothes into a bag without looking.
Twenty minutes later he came out with a stuffed bag.
“You’ll regret this,” he said as he passed her.
“I doubt it.”
He slammed the door and left. Liliya watched him go, then locked the door with all the locks. She leaned against the frame and exhaled. The tension of the past weeks released its grip.
She returned to the kitchen, gathered the scattered documents, and put them neatly back into the folder. She swept up the cup shards and threw them away. Then she sat down and poured herself some tea.
Outside, it was raining. November was drawing to a close; winter was near. Liliya watched the drops slide down the glass and thought about what lay ahead. A divorce, most likely. Dmitry wasn’t one to forgive. There would be demands, disputes, maybe even court.
But Liliya was ready. The apartment was hers, the paperwork in order, the lawyer on call. Everything under control.
An hour later the doorbell rang. Liliya looked through the peephole. Dmitry stood in the hall, trying to put his key in the lock. The key wouldn’t go in. He tried again, then banged on the door.
“Lilya! Open up!”
She didn’t answer. She slipped an envelope under the door. Inside was a copy of the extract from Rosreestr and a short note on a piece of paper:
Now everything’s fair. Just like you wanted.
Dmitry picked up the envelope, opened it, read. Liliya heard him curse and then speak on the phone. His voice was angry, but no longer confident.
“Mom, I need to stay at your place. Lilya kicked me out.”
Liliya stepped away from the door and went back to the kitchen. She made more tea and took some cookies from the fridge. She sat down and put on some music on her phone. Soft, calm.
The apartment was quiet. No shouting, no doors slamming, no scheming. Liliya was alone, and the feeling was incredibly precious.
The next day Dmitry called.
“Lilya, let’s talk,” his voice was quiet, almost pleading.
“About what?”
“About us. About the apartment. Maybe we can come to some agreement?”
“There’s nothing to discuss. The apartment is mine. You’re out. That’s all.”
“But I’m your husband!”
“For now. I’ll be filing for divorce soon.”
He fell silent, then sighed heavily.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, file. But I’ll demand compensation.”
“What compensation?”
“For living in your apartment, for what I put into renovations, for utilities.”
Liliya snorted.
“Dmitry, you didn’t put anything into renovations. The renovations were done before you appeared. And we split the utilities fifty-fifty. There will be no compensation.”
“Then I’ll see you in court!”
“See you there.”
She hung up. Dmitry tried to call several more times, but Liliya didn’t pick up. She added his number to the blacklist.
A week later a letter arrived from Dmitry’s lawyer. He demanded compensation for living expenses, moral damages, and half the value of the apartment. Liliya took the letter to Aleksei.
“What do you say?” she asked.
He read it and smirked.
“A waste of time. The apartment was purchased before the marriage and registered to you. Dmitry has no right to it. Compensation for living there? He’s your husband—he lived there lawfully. Moral damages? Ridiculous. We’ll swat all of this away easily.”
“And if he insists?”
“Let him. The court is on your side. We have all the documents and everything is done properly. Dmitry is just wasting money on a lawyer.”
Liliya calmed down. Aleksei prepared a response to the claims and sent it to Dmitry’s lawyer. Two weeks later a new letter arrived: Dmitry was dropping his claims and agreeing to the divorce.
Liliya filed an application at the registry office. A month later the marriage was dissolved. Dmitry didn’t come; he sent a representative. Liliya signed the papers and received the divorce certificate.
Walking out of the building, she paused on the steps and looked up at the sky. December was cold but sunny. Snow crunched underfoot, the air was fresh and clean.
She took out her phone and called a friend.
“Sveta, hi. I’m free.”
“Got divorced?”
“Mm-hmm. Just left the registry office.”
“Congratulations! How do you feel?”
“Great. For the first time in a long while—great.”
“Then let’s celebrate! Come over—we’ll toast it!”
Liliya agreed. She took a bus to her friend’s. Sveta met her with champagne and cake.
“To your freedom!” her friend declared, raising a glass.
“To freedom,” Liliya echoed.
They drank, had a bite, and talked about the future. Liliya spoke of her plans: she wanted to take a small loan for renovations, change the furniture, make the apartment truly her own.
“And you don’t want a new relationship?” Sveta asked.
“Not yet. I need time to recover. To understand what I want from life.”
“Right. No need to rush.”
Liliya nodded. Her friend was right. There was no need to hurry. A whole life stretched ahead—free, without lies and deceit.
That evening Liliya went home. She opened the door and stepped inside. It was quiet, clean, peaceful. No one shouting, no one scheming behind her back, no one trying to take her home away.
She went to the bedroom, changed, and lay down on the bed. She stared at the ceiling and thought about how much had changed over the past months. She had trusted Dmitry, loved him, believed in him. And he had betrayed her, deceived her, tried to steal her apartment.
But Liliya turned out to be smarter. She managed to re-register the documents and protect her property. Now everything was in order. The apartment belonged only to her; no one could lay claim to it.
She got up and walked to the window. Snow was falling outside, covering the city with a white blanket. Beautiful, calm. Winter ahead, New Year, a new life.
Liliya smiled. For the first time in a long time, the smile was genuine, without a shadow of doubt. Everything would be alright. It surely would.
Dmitry tried a couple more times to get in touch. He sent messages, asked to meet, said he wanted to make things right. But Liliya didn’t respond. She blocked the numbers, deleted the emails. That chapter was closed. Forever.
A month later Liliya learned that Dmitry had left town. He’d moved to another region, to distant relatives. Apparently, he couldn’t accept defeat and decided to start over somewhere else.
Liliya felt neither pity nor triumph. She simply noted the information and went on with her life. She worked, met friends, and renovated the apartment. Life was getting back on track—better with each passing day.
Winter flew by. Spring came warm and sunny. Liliya stood on the balcony, watched the trees leaf out, and thought how good it was that everything had ended just like this. The apartment remained with her, the documents were in order, life went on.
Dmitry had tried to make Liliya homeless. Instead, he lost everything himself—his apartment, his wife, and respect. He was left with nothing.
And Liliya was left with what she had earned herself: the apartment she’d bought with her own money, and a life built without lies or deceit.
And that was the most important thing of all.
