«Klavdia Semyonovna, I think you’ve got it wrong. This is my property—your son has no claim to it,» Elena’s voice rang out with icy calm, though inside she felt like she was boiling over.
«What do you mean, ‘yours’?» her mother-in-law froze, clutching a roll of wallpaper as if someone had hit her with a sack of dust. «You’re married! Everything is shared! Besides, Igor slaved away out here, digging up those garden beds! And you, miss high-and-mighty, just rolled up in your car to boss everyone around.»
The room smelled of must, cheap instant coffee, and someone else’s cloyingly sweet perfume that made Elena’s throat itch. Elena surveyed her beloved living room. Her sister-in-law, Svetka, was sprawled out on the sofa Elena had bought with a work bonus, lazily flipping through a magazine. And ‘Igor’ himself stood at the window, pretending the view outside was far more interesting than the brewing storm inside.
«Garden beds, you say?» Elena smirked, tossing her bag onto the chair. «In three years, Igor’s only managed to light the grill out here, and both times he burned himself. And as for this house, Klavdia Semyonovna, it was bought with the money from selling my grandmother’s apartment. And it was gifted. To me. Personally.»
Svetka snorted without looking up from her magazine:
«Oh Lena, don’t start. Mom’s decided that we’ll spend the summer here with the kids. You’re always at work, it’s not like you have time, and the kids need fresh air. Plus, we already took down those old curtains and tossed them in the trash. They were hideous anyway.»
Elena’s vision blurred. Those curtains had been embroidered by her mother, who had passed away just six months ago. That fabric wasn’t just material—it was a memory. And these… these people had thrown it all out like worthless rags.
«Get out,» Elena said softly.
«What?» Igor finally turned around, his face showing that unique blend of fear and brazenness so common in people who are used to hiding behind others.
«Get out. All three of you. You have ten minutes to pack your stuff. If you’re still here in ten minutes, I’m calling the police.»
Klavdia Semyonovna turned beet-red, her neck puffing up like a turkey’s.
«You’re kicking out your husband? Kicking out his mother? How can the earth bear you! Igor, say something! Are you a man or what? This is your house too!»
Igor drew a breath, ready to launch into his usual speech about how Elena was a heartless egoist, when suddenly the front door banged open so loudly the windows shook.
Uncle Misha stood on the doorstep. Two meters tall, gray-haired, with a face carved out of granite and eyes that sparkled mischievously. In his hands he held a heavy folder and a crowbar. Uncle Misha spent thirty years working as a civil lawyer, and in retirement, he entertained himself by hassling his building management over every missing lightbulb.
«Good evening, folks!» he boomed. «I saw an unfamiliar car by the gate, bumper held on with wire. Figured it had to be family dropping by. Lenochka, are they giving you any trouble? I was just passing by and thought I’d pop in.»
Svetka quickly tucked her legs in. She wasn’t afraid of Igor, she despised Elena, but even the cockroaches in the family were wary of Uncle Misha.
— Mikhail Petrovich, — Klavdia Semyonovna began sweetly, — you, as a lawyer, must understand. Our family is being torn apart! Lena is throwing us out on the street, and we were even planning to help with the renovations. Look, we even bought wallpaper…
— Wallpaper? — Misha walked over to the table, hooked the roll with his finger. — Paper, the cheapest kind? You were going to put that over Venetian plaster? That’s vandalism, mother. Damage to someone else’s property.
He tossed the wallpaper roll back onto the table and turned to Igor.
— Alright, son-in-law. I printed out a fresh extract from the real estate registry on my way here. The owner is Elena Viktorovna Smirnova. The basis of her ownership is a notarized gift agreement from her father, plus the purchase agreement in her name. Russian Family Code, Article 36: property received by one spouse during marriage as a gift, inheritance, or any other gratuitous transaction, belongs solely to that spouse.
Igor began backing away toward the exit.
— Uncle Misha, why are you quoting the law right away? Can’t we just talk like normal people…
— Like normal people, Igor, is when you help your wife pay off the mortgage instead of spending all your money on video games, — Uncle Misha cut him off. — And when you bring your mother and sister to live in your wife’s house so they can run the place while your wife is away on a business trip — that’s just plain piggishness.
Realizing her legal attack had failed, Klavdia Semyonovna decided to play for sympathy. She grabbed her heart and dramatically rolled her eyes:
— Oh, I feel so bad… My heart hurts! You’ve driven an old woman to this! Water!
Elena watched this performance with cold curiosity. Before, she would have rushed for heart medicine, fussed around, apologized. But today, something inside her had burned out. There was a click, and everything went cold. All that was left was ringing clarity.
— There’s water in the well, — Elena said calmly. — The bucket’s in the entryway. And the ambulance won’t come here, the road’s washed out. So, Klavdia Semyonovna, it’s better if you get up and walk to the car. Fresh air is good for heart attacks.
— You… you monster! — Svetka screeched, jumping off the couch. — We’ll take you to court! Igor is registered here!
— Nope, — Uncle Misha replied cheerfully, pulling another document from his folder. — Igor’s temporary registration expired yesterday. And Lena, from what I gather, doesn’t plan on renewing it. So, folks, you’re nobodies here now. Just strangers on private property.
Igor looked at his wife. There was hope in his eyes — maybe she’d give in? Maybe she’d feel pity? After all, they’d been together for five years!
— Lena, what are you doing? Mom just wanted the best… Can’t we just talk, do we have to go this far?
Elena walked to the window where her mother’s curtains used to hang. Now there was just emptiness.
— Igor, — she spoke quietly, but in the silence of the room each word fell like a stone. — Remember a year ago when I asked you to help me fix the roof? You said your back hurt. But then I found out you spent that weekend building a bathhouse for your mom at her dacha. Remember when I got sick and asked you to buy medicine, you said you had no money, but you bought yourself a new fishing rod? I remember everything. And the curtains… that was the last straw.
She turned to them. Her face was calm, and there was something terrifying in that calmness.
“Keys on the table. And I don’t want to see any of you here again.”
Packing took just five minutes. Svetka hurled her things into bags, muttering curses under her breath. Klavdia Semyonovna, forgetting all about her ‘heart attack,’ hustled around unscrewing the hallway lightbulb — “We brought it, so we’re taking it back!” Igor tried to say something, but as soon as he caught Uncle Misha’s ironic gaze (with a crowbar in hand), he stayed silent.
Once the old Renault belonging to the mother-in-law chugged and coughed its way out the gate, the house fell silent.
Uncle Misha groaned as he settled into an armchair.
“Well, niece? Congrats on cleansing both your karma and your living space. You know, I had a case back in my career… Two brothers fighting over an inheritance — an old Volga. One shouted he was the eldest, the other that he was the favorite. The argument got so bad it nearly came to blows. And while they were busy suing each other, the car just rusted away in the garage. The lesson? Greed ruins fools, but properly signed documents save your nerves.”
Elena finally let out a breath. Her shoulders, tense for the last two hours, relaxed. She walked over to the kitchen trash bin. On top was a bag. She opened it carefully. Inside were her mother’s curtains — a little dusty, but perfectly intact.
Elena pressed the fabric to her face and finally cried. But these were not tears of grief, but relief. It felt like an old wound that had been festering for years finally burst open.
“It’s okay, Lenka,” Uncle Misha said, giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “We’ll wash them, iron them, they’ll be better than new. And you can breathe easy now. Can you feel it? The air in the house is completely different. It’s yours now.”
A week later, Igor called. Drunk. Pitiful. “Lena, let me crash for the night. Mom’s driving me crazy, Svetka’s got the kids yelling in my room… I’m still your husband…” “Ex-husband, Igor. You’ll get the court papers tomorrow.”
Elena hung up and blocked his number. She sat on the veranda of her summer house. The windows now had clean, fresh-smelling curtains that used to be her mother’s. A cup of mint tea in her hand, and Uncle Misha, squinting in the sunlight, was tuning his guitar.
Life was just beginning. And this time, it was hers.
