The crisp jingle of keys against her palm was the sound of a dream realized. Nina pressed them to her chest, a smile stretching so wide it made her cheeks ache with a pleasant soreness. This two-room apartment, nestled in a pristine new building, was hers. Entirely hers. No suffocating loans, no lingering debts—just the tangible, beautiful result of years of relentless work, careful saving, and unwavering persistence. It was a monument to her independence.
“Congratulations on your purchase!” the real estate agency manager said, his voice warm as he handed over the final stack of papers. “Wishing you a smooth move-in.”
Nina could only manage a nod, her throat tight with an overwhelming surge of emotion. She didn’t trust her voice. Joy, pure and effervescent, swelled in her chest, a pressure so immense she felt she might just burst into a triumphant shout right there in the sterile office. She had done it.
Stepping into the empty apartment was like entering a sacred space. Every footstep echoed against the bare walls and unadorned floors, a percussive announcement of her arrival. The air smelled of fresh paint and possibility. Nina walked slowly, reverently, through the rooms, her mind already a whirlwind of plans. This wasn’t just an apartment; it was a blank canvas, and she was the artist. The walls, currently a sterile builder’s white, cried out for a fresh coat of paint. The concrete floors begged for the warmth of laminate. And the kitchen, a basic shell of cabinets and a sink, was destined for a complete transformation.
“We’ll start small,” Nina whispered to the empty space, her voice soft but resolute. She pulled a fresh notebook and a pen from her bag, the first of many lists about to be born. This was her sanctuary, her fortress, her future.
The following weeks dissolved into a delightful, chaotic blur of activity. Nina found a new rhythm to her life, one that revolved around tile samples, furniture catalogs, and spirited debates with salespeople over the subtle differences between eggshell and satin paint finishes. She spent hours poring over design magazines, creating mood boards, and imagining the life she would build within these walls. Soft, creamy beige for the bedroom to create a cocoon of tranquility; a light, airy blue for the living room to evoke a sense of peace and openness. Each choice was deliberate, a brushstroke of her personality onto the canvas of her home.
“This sofa would be perfect,” she’d muse aloud in a furniture showroom, tracing the lines of a plush sectional with her fingertips, oblivious to the other shoppers around her. The clerks in her local hardware and home goods stores came to know her by name, recognizing the determined glint in her eye. They saw a woman who wasn’t just decorating a space but carefully curating her happiness. Nina was in no hurry. The apartment had to be perfect, a true reflection of the stability and beauty she had worked so hard to achieve.
Her transformation was not lost on her colleagues at the bank where she worked. The quiet, focused Nina they had known was blossoming. Her eyes, once perpetually tired from long hours, now shone with an inner light. There was a new confidence in her stride, a spring in her step. A smile was now her default expression, rarely leaving her face.
One afternoon, during a break, she brought in a homemade cake to share. Svetlana, her closest work friend, took a large slice. “Nina, this cake is delicious!” she exclaimed, her mouth full. “What’s the occasion? Did you finally pick a grout color?”
Nina laughed, a sound full of genuine pride as she poured hot tea into paper cups. “Even better. I finished the renovation,” she announced. “The last piece of furniture was delivered yesterday. Now I can finally live in peace without the construction mess.”
“Oh, congratulations!” Svetlana clapped her hands together, genuinely thrilled for her friend. “That’s amazing! You have to have us over. By the way,” she added, her tone shifting conspiratorially, “Petya wants to meet you. He works in my department, the sweet guy I was telling you about. Would you agree to go out with him?”
Nina hesitated, just for a moment. Her personal life had been on the back burner for so long, relegated to a distant second place behind her career and the all-consuming goal of buying the apartment. But now? Now that her main goal was achieved, the foundation of her life securely laid, perhaps it was time to build something else.
“All right,” Nina nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. “Why not.”
The next six months flew by in a romantic haze. Petya was everything Svetlana had promised and more—a kind, gentle, and attentive man who seemed genuinely interested in her life and her dreams. He admired the home she had built for herself, appreciating the care and thought she had put into every detail. Their relationship developed with a natural, unforced rhythm. First came the tentative dates, then the comfortable companionship. Soon, Petya was spending more nights at her apartment than his own, his toothbrush finding a permanent home in her meticulously tiled bathroom. He moved in, and it felt right. Then came the proposal, simple and heartfelt, during a quiet evening at home. The wedding was a modest affair, attended by close friends and family, but it was brimming with love and sincerity. Nina felt like she had finally found the missing piece of her puzzle.
Life as newlyweds was blissful. Then, after their honeymoon, the mother-in-law came to visit. Galina Ivanovna arrived like a visiting dignitary, surveying the apartment with the critical air of an inspector. She walked through each room, nodding gravely, her face an unreadable mask.
“Not a bad setup,” she finally concluded, as if delivering a verdict. She settled herself at the kitchen table, claiming the seat at its head. Nina, eager to make a good impression, bustled around, brewing fresh tea and arranging cookies on her best platter.
Galina Ivanovna waited until Nina had sat down before launching her offensive, cloaked in the guise of friendly conversation. “As a rule, our family has traditions,” she began, her voice deceptively mild as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup with deliberate slowness. “Children should live in their parents’ home. Care for them, help them, and obey their elders.”
The statement hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Nina managed a nervous laugh, a desperate attempt to deflect the sudden tension and steer the conversation back into lighter, joking territory. “We’re still young, Galina Ivanovna,” she said, trying to keep her tone breezy. “We’d like to live for ourselves a bit, you know, set up our own household.”
The mother-in-law’s face hardened. She shook her head with theatrical disapproval, punctuated by an audible click of her tongue. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly. “Youth is not an excuse to shirk family duties,” Galina Ivanovna cut her off, her voice now sharp as steel. She pushed her chair back and rose from the table, the visit abruptly over.
She was clearly unhappy, and she made no effort to hide it. As she headed for the door, she left a thick, heavy atmosphere in her wake. Nina, her heart sinking, saw her out. How could a single, loaded sentence so completely shatter the pleasant mood?
The moment the door clicked shut, Nina leaned her back against it, the wood cool against her tense shoulders. The weight of that short, bizarre conversation pressed down on her. Before she could even process it, Petya snorted from the living room and pivoted on his heel to face her.
“You shouldn’t have spoken to my mom like that,” Petya said, his voice laced with an unfamiliar irritation. He walked past her and dropped into an armchair, refusing to meet her eyes.
Nina followed him, bewildered. “Like what? I was just being honest.” She sat on the sofa opposite him, a chasm suddenly opening between them.
“She herself lived in my father’s parents’ house,” Petya went on, his voice growing more agitated. “That’s how it’s done in our family. It’s tradition. It’s respect.”
“Petya, times have changed,” Nina objected, trying to remain calm and logical. “Most young couples are happier when they have their own space, when no one’s controlling their every step.”
Petya waved a dismissive hand, the gesture of a man weary of a pointless argument he had no intention of losing. “We’ll talk later,” he muttered, getting up and retreating to the bedroom. “I’ve got something to finish on the computer.”
Nina was left alone in the living room, the silence now ringing with unspoken conflict. The sofa that had once felt so comfortable now seemed vast and empty. An ache of upset grew in her chest, sharp and painful. Their first real marital conflict hurt far more than she could have ever expected.
A week passed in a strained, suffocating silence. Petya masterfully avoided any serious conversations, retreating into his work or his phone whenever Nina tried to broach the subject. She, in turn, tried to make sense of the sudden rift in their relationship, replaying the conversation with his mother over and over in her head.
On Saturday morning, as she was in the kitchen baking an apple pie—a peace offering of sorts—her husband walked in, looking more relaxed than he had all week.
“Mom wants to apologize in her own way,” Petya said unexpectedly, taking a glass from the cupboard. The words were so surprising that Nina turned from the oven, wiping her flour-dusted hands on a dish towel.
“She bought us vouchers to a sanatorium for ten days,” he continued, a faint smile on his lips.
Nina’s heart leaped. “Seriously?” Joy and relief flooded her voice, chasing away the shadows of the past week. “So the conflict is over? She’s not mad anymore?”
“Mom is doing this for us,” Petya nodded, pouring himself a glass of water. “She wants us to be happy. Will you agree to go?”
“Of course I will!” Nina exclaimed, rushing to hug her husband, the scent of cinnamon and apples clinging to her. “A rest is exactly what we need.” The embrace felt like a bridge back to the easy intimacy they had lost.
The ten days at the sanatorium were a dream. The tranquil environment, with its therapeutic massages, sparkling pool, and serene walking grounds, worked its magic. Everything was geared toward relaxation and reconciliation. Petya became the attentive, affectionate man she had married once more. They held hands during their long strolls through the manicured park, whispered plans for the future under the stars, and even started dreaming aloud about having children. The ugly disagreement with his mother felt like a distant, forgotten nightmare. Nina allowed herself to believe that everything was going to be fine.
On the train ride home, the gentle swaying of the carriage was a soothing rhythm carrying them back to their life. Nina gazed out the window at the flashing landscapes, a deep sense of contentment settling over her. She savored the thought of returning to her own place, her sanctuary, now filled with a renewed sense of love and partnership.
When they arrived at the station, Petya grabbed their bags from the overhead rack and headed for the exit. But just as they reached the doors to the main concourse, he stopped.
“Let’s stop by my mom’s first,” he said. “Thank her for the vouchers. It’s the right thing to do.”
Nina shook her head, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. The thought of facing Galina Ivanovna so soon, without the protective buffer of her own home, felt wrong. “We will, but a bit later,” she answered firmly but gently. “Let’s go home first to change and freshen up after the trip. I’m exhausted.”
“But Mom’s waiting for us,” Petya insisted, his grip tightening on her elbow. “She’s probably cooked dinner. It’s better to go right now.”
“Petya, I need to pull myself together,” Nina said, pulling her arm free. The sudden pressure felt less like guidance and more like a command. She raised her hand to hail a taxi. “Then we’ll definitely go to Galina Ivanovna’s. I promise.”
Her husband’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line, but he got into the arriving car without another word. The silent tension in the back of the cab was a jarring contrast to the peace they had just experienced.
At their building, Nina’s unease began to melt away as she climbed the familiar steps. She was home. The anticipation of sinking into her own sofa, of being surrounded by the comfort of her own walls, was a powerful balm. The key turned easily in the lock, the door swung open. And Nina froze on the threshold, every muscle in her body tensing.
The entryway was wrong. There were strangers’ slippers lined up neatly by the door—a man’s, a woman’s, and a child’s. From the kitchen, a space she had designed with such love, drifted unfamiliar voices. A woman’s light laugh, the happy babble of a small child, a man’s deep, rumbling voice. A cold dread snaked its way up her spine. Nina took a hesitant step forward, her heart pounding against her ribs. She peered into the kitchen and saw them—a family of complete strangers, sitting at her kitchen table as if they owned the place.
They all stared at one another in a moment of suspended, utter shock. Time seemed to stop, the cheerful kitchen scene transformed into a surreal tableau.
“What is going on here?” The words tore from Nina’s throat, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and rising panic. “Who gave you permission to enter my apartment?”
The unfamiliar woman, who was holding a toddler on her lap, looked at Nina with wide, confused eyes. The man began to rise from the table, his face a mask of clear embarrassment.
Instinctively, Nina whirled around to face Petya, her mind screaming for an explanation, for him to tell her this was all some bizarre mistake. But her husband stood just behind her, his head bowed, his thumbs flying across the screen of his phone. There wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face. Only avoidance. A bone-deep chill ran down Nina’s spine. He knew.
Just then, the soft ding of the elevator in the hall was followed by the sound of its doors opening. A moment later, Galina Ivanovna walked into the hallway, carrying a bag of groceries, her expression one of someone in complete and total control of the situation.
“A small misunderstanding,” the mother-in-law said calmly, her voice smooth as oil. She gave a dismissive nod to the bewildered strangers in the kitchen, then grabbed Nina firmly by the elbow and began to drag her back toward the building’s entrance.
Out on the street, under the harsh afternoon sun, Nina wrenched herself free from the iron grip. “Let me go!” she shouted, her voice raw. “Explain what’s happening right now!”
Rage, hot and pure, flooded her chest, making her hands shake with indignation. The betrayal was so profound, so audacious, she could barely comprehend it.
Galina Ivanovna calmly adjusted her handbag, unfazed by Nina’s outburst. She answered with a chilling coolness, “I rented out your apartment. For six months in advance.”
The world tilted on its axis. Nina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It had to be a cruel joke. “How… How did you get into my apartment?” she stammered.
“My son gave me the keys.”
The words were a physical blow. Nina turned slowly to face Petya, who had followed them out and now stood silently by his mother’s side, a pathetic, guilty statue.
“Petya, is that true?” Despair cracked her voice. “You gave her my keys? The keys to my home?”
Petya lowered his eyes, unable to meet his wife’s shattered gaze.
“He did the right thing,” Galina Ivanovna cut in, stepping forward to shield her son as if he were a small child. “The young couple should live with the husband’s parents. This was a necessary step. This way you simply won’t have any choice.”
Nina stared at her mother-in-law, the sheer audacity of the scheme leaving her breathless. Her home, her husband, her life—it was all a game to this woman.
“And the money will go to the family,” Galina Ivanovna went on, a satisfied, triumphant smile spreading across her face. “It will be very useful. I already know how I’ll use it.”
The shock finally gave way to a cold, hard fury. Without another word, Nina turned on her heel and strode quickly away from the entrance, away from them. Shouts erupted behind her, Petya’s voice pleading, trying to stop her, but she didn’t slow down. She raised her hand, flagging down the first taxi she saw.
“Nina, come back!” Petya called out, his voice sounding thin and weak. “Let’s talk calmly!”
Nina got into the car and slammed the door, shutting out his voice and the life she had briefly, foolishly believed was hers.
She directed the driver to her mother’s address, and the whole story came tumbling out between ragged sobs. Yelena Pavlovna listened in stunned silence, her expression shifting from confusion to outrage as she held her weeping daughter.
“I can’t believe people can be so brazen and cruel,” her mother said, her voice filled with a sorrowful anger. She hugged Nina tightly. “How dare they! How dare he!”
“Mom, what am I supposed to do now?” Nina sobbed, her body shaking with grief and rage. “They’ve taken my home.”
“This isn’t over,” Yelena Pavlovna said, her voice turning steely with resolve. “I know a lawyer. A friend’s son. A very smart guy—he’ll definitely help.”
The next three months were a grueling battle of court proceedings, legal paperwork, and emotional exhaustion. But Nina, fueled by a righteous anger and the unwavering support of her mother, fought back with everything she had. The fight ended in a complete and total victory.
Nina stood on the courthouse steps, the afternoon sun warming her face. In her hand, she held the official divorce decree. The court had not only granted the dissolution of her marriage but had also ordered Petya to pay her three hundred thousand rubles in compensation for the unlawful use of her property.
Behind her, Galina Ivanovna was creating a scene, her voice a shrill, piercing shriek that cut through the quiet hum of the courthouse square. “You ruined my son’s life! Worthless and useless!”
Nina turned slowly and looked her former mother-in-law directly in the eye, her own composure a cool, unbreakable shield. “Ruined it?” she asked, her voice calm and level. “You’re the one who ruined your own son’s life by raising a spineless traitor.”
“How dare you!” Galina Ivanovna shrieked, taking a menacing step forward. “We only wanted what was best for the family! For our family!”
“The best?” Nina let out a short, bitter laugh. “You stole my apartment, manipulated my husband, and thought I’d just roll over and accept it? You thought you could break me? Now your precious boy is left without a wife and without money. That was your grand plan for ‘the family,’ wasn’t it?”
The mother-in-law clenched her fists, her face contorted with impotent rage. “You know nothing about a normal family life!” she hissed.
Nina began her descent down the courthouse steps, each step feeling lighter than the last. She glanced back over her shoulder for one final word. “I just don’t live by medieval rules,” she called out, her voice clear and strong. “And I will never, ever be a slave in someone else’s family.”
Pleased with herself, a true, genuine smile finally reaching her eyes, she headed for the exit. The past was behind her. Her home was waiting. And for the first time in a long time, her future was entirely her own again.
