On Saturday morning, Marina found her husband in the kids’ room with a tape measure.
Oleg was standing by the window, pressing the metal tape to the wall and jotting down something on his phone. Then he moved a chair aside, measured the distance from the wardrobe to the door, and snapped a few photos.
«What are you up to in here?» Marina asked.
«Just figuring something out.»
«Figuring out what, exactly?»
«Maybe we’ll change the furniture.»
Marina glanced at their daughter’s desk, which they bought four years ago. Then at the wardrobe, the one they’d assembled together—almost getting divorced over the instructions.
«Oleg, we haven’t even gotten over this furniture yet, emotionally. Why swap it out?»
«Just thinking. Can’t I even think about things?»
He rolled up the tape measure and walked out into the hallway.
Ten minutes later, Marina caught him taking pictures of the kitchen. He asked her to move the breadbox and the cookie jar off the table.
«The breadbox is in the way of your new furniture?» she quipped.
«Marina, don’t start,» he replied.
She decided not to continue the conversation. But when someone who hasn’t found the time to measure the bathroom shelf in three years suddenly starts measuring the entire apartment, you can’t help but have questions.
Especially since new furniture was never even in their family plans.
Marina was thirty-seven, and Oleg had just turned forty. Their daughter Ksyusha was eleven, and their son Artyom was seven.
They lived in a three-room apartment in a typical city neighborhood. No fancy design, but with a good school nearby, a grocery store in the courtyard, and a bus stop five minutes away.
They bought the apartment eight years ago, already married. Each had half in their name. They didn’t use the maternity capital.
They paid off the mortgage last fall.
Marina still remembered the day the bank finally lifted the restrictions. She bought a cake, and Oleg brought home expensive sausage—something he usually considered a needless luxury.
They had an almost festive dinner that evening.
Now, each child finally had their own room, and for the first time in years, they didn’t have to count how much money would be left after the next mortgage payment.
Marina worked as an administrator at a private dental clinic. Oleg managed a small team of installers. They both earned a living and split family expenses together.
After finishing the mortgage, they agreed to redo the kitchen first, then save up for a summer trip to the sea.
The kitchen set had faithfully served for ten years. One drawer’s handle had fallen off; another drawer had to be lifted with a knee to close.
Marina had even picked out the tiles.
But at the start of November, Oleg suddenly said:
«Maybe we shouldn’t rush with the renovation just yet?»
«Why not?»
«I’ve got some more interesting ideas.»
«Like what?»
«I’ll tell you later.»
Marina figured her husband was planning some big purchase. Maybe a car.
Oleg had a complicated relationship with cars: he always claimed their current one was still good, but eyed the new models in the parking lots a bit too closely.
But what was happening had nothing to do with cars.
On Sunday, Ksyusha came to her mom as Marina was sorting laundry after washing.
«Mom, where will we put my horses?»
Marina looked up.
«Which horses?»
«All of them. From the shelves.»
Ksyusha had an impressive collection of horse figurines. They took up two entire shelves, and she knew exactly which breed each model was and why the chestnut stallion couldn’t be placed next to the gray one.
«But what’s supposed to happen to them?»
«Grandma said she doesn’t have enough space for all of them. She asked me to only bring my favorites.»
Marina placed the towel on the sofa.
«Which grandma?»
«Grandma Galya.»
«And why do your horses need to be at Grandma Galya’s place?»
Ksyusha looked surprised:
«Because we’re moving in with her.»
Marina stared at her daughter for a few seconds.
«Who told you that?»
«Grandma did. She even figured out where I’ll sleep. She’ll buy a folding chair and put it between the wardrobe and the balcony door. But I don’t want a chair. Nastya had one like that, and it has a metal bar in the middle.»
«And what about Artyom?»
«He’ll be on the sofa. Grandma said it’s good for boys to sleep on something firm.»
Marina instinctively glanced at her son’s closed bedroom door.
«And what did Dad say to you?»
«Nothing. Grandma said Dad already planned everything and he’ll tell you soon. Mom, can I at least take half my horses with me?»
«Ksyusha, you’re not moving anywhere just yet. And neither are your horses.»
Her daughter brightened up noticeably and went to her room.
Marina picked up her phone.
Galina Borisovna was sixty-four. She lived alone in a two-bedroom apartment on the other side of the city.
These past few months, her mother-in-law often complained about feeling lonely. Her friends visited less and less, and the neighbor she used to go walking with for years had moved away to her daughter’s place. Utility bills weren’t helping, either.
Oleg would visit his mother every Sunday, helping her with shopping and sometimes taking her to the doctor.
Marina had never objected to that.
But there’s a big difference between helping an elderly mother and moving a family of four in with her.
Especially when your own family has no idea about it.
For now, Marina decided against calling her mother-in-law.
First, she wanted to figure out what was really happening.
On Monday evening, Artyom asked to use the tablet so he could check his homework in the school chat.
The tablet was shared by everyone, and Oleg had used it last while searching for some construction equipment.
Marina opened the browser and discovered a website filled with real estate listings.
And there, on the screen, was their familiar kitchen.
The very same kitchen with the breadbox that Oleg had, for some reason, asked her to remove.
The next picture showed Ksyusha’s room. Then Artyom’s room, the hallway, and their bedroom.
In the account, there was a saved but unpublished draft of a listing.
«Three-room apartment. Two adult owners. No encumbrances. Price — 9,200,000 rubles.»
Oleg had written a thorough description, listing the square footage, floor number, distance to the school, and even a note about the quiet neighbors.
Marina couldn’t help but smirk.
The neighbor upstairs had been learning to play the saxophone for three months. Judging by the sound of it, the teacher had probably given up on him ages ago.
But what really caught her eye was the price.
Nine million two hundred thousand.
Her husband had already priced the apartment, taken photos, and was practically ready to put it on the market.
And here she was, the co-owner of the apartment, only finding out about all this accidentally—between helping her son with homework and making dinner.
That evening, Marina waited until the kids were in their rooms.
Oleg was sitting at the kitchen table, watching videos about country houses.
«Is it a nice house?» she asked.
«It’s okay. The layout’s not great, though.»
«Well, I looked up our apartment for sale today.»
Oleg paused the video.
«Where?»
«On the tablet. You really took some nice photos. Even took the shoes out of the hallway. The buyers will probably think we walk around barefoot.»
«Marina, I’m just researching the market.»
«With price, photos, and a description? Are you planning to set up a separate phone for buyers, or use yours?»
Her husband put away the tablet.
«Alright. I wanted to talk when I’ve got everything figured out for sure.»
«Let’s talk now, then.»
Oleg was silent for a moment, then pulled his phone closer.
«Look. We sell the apartment for about nine million. Move in with my mom. She has a plot outside the city, twenty kilometers from here. We’ll build a decent house, about a hundred square meters. Three bedrooms, a big kitchen, a terrace. The kids get fresh air, and we don’t have to deal with any mortgage.»
«Do we even have a mortgage now?»
«No. But the house will be better than the apartment.»
«And where will we live while it’s being built?»
«At my mom’s place. She doesn’t mind.»
«Yeah, I figured as much. Ksyusha already told me about the armchair.»
Oleg winced.
«Mom jumped the gun.»
«With the armchair or with the move?»
«Marina, why are you nitpicking? We’ll live there just for a while, and then we’ll have our own house.»
Marina had heard the word «temporary» from Galina Borisovna many times.
At one point, her mother-in-law had left a ‘temporary’ box with jars on their balcony. It sat there for five years until Marina finally returned it, contents included.
At Galina Borisovna’s dacha there was also a ‘temporary’ couch, now in its twelfth season.
So the idea of five people living ‘temporarily’ in two rooms didn’t exactly fill her with optimism.
«So tell me, how exactly are you going to fit everyone in there?»
«Mom already has a plan.»
«I noticed. Our daughter gets the armchair, our son the couch. And what about your mom?»
«She has her bed in the big room. You and I will take the small one.»
«So the kids will sleep in the same room with their grandmother? And we’ll be in that tiny room with her giant wardrobe?»
«The wardrobe stays. It doesn’t bother anyone.»
«Of course. Especially us, once we try to fit a double bed in there.»
Oleg pushed his chair away, clearly annoyed.
«You’re just making this harder than it has to be. We can handle it for a few months.»
«Sure, if everyone agrees and knows why we’re going through it. But you already explained the move to the kids before even talking to me.»
«Because I knew you’d argue!»
«So you decided it would be easier not to get my approval at all?»
«Why do you keep bringing up approval?» Oleg raised his voice. «We’ll sell the apartment and move in with my mom! No one’s asking for your opinion!»
Marina looked at him, genuinely surprised.
«Oleg, are you being serious right now?»
«Absolutely.»
«Then here’s a minor technical detail for you: half the apartment is mine.»
«So what?»
«That means you can’t sell the whole apartment without me.»
«We’ll find a way.»
«Go ahead. Just don’t involve the kids in any of your plans.»
She stood up, cleared her cup from the table, and added:
«And don’t post any ads. I’m not selling my share.»
For the first time that evening, Oleg was left speechless.
The very next day, he really did call a realtor.
A colleague recommended a specialist to Oleg. He hoped to not only arrange the sale but also get advice on how to handle the paperwork properly.
The conversation was much shorter than Oleg expected.
The realtor asked who the owners were and requested confirmation of his wife’s consent.
«She’s still unsure,» Oleg replied.
«Is she unsure or actually against it?»
«She’s against it. But I think we’ll come to an agreement.»
«Call me when you do,» the realtor said. «We’ll only sell the apartment if both owners are on board. Otherwise, I’m not even going to bother talking to potential buyers.»
Oleg tried to argue that he was an owner too and had the right to decide what to do with the property.
«You can do what you want with your share—that’s a different matter,» the realtor replied. «But selling the whole apartment without your wife is impossible. This isn’t a situation where you can find a buyer first and only tell the other owner later.»
After the call, Oleg spent about ten more minutes reading articles online.
He realized his wife wasn’t just being difficult to be difficult.
By the evening, he deleted his draft of the listing.
He never told Marina about it.
Still, she noticed the conversations about selling the apartment had stopped.
Meanwhile, Galina Borisovna decided to take action on her own.
On Wednesday, his mother-in-law showed up with two bags.
One had apples and homemade pies, the other a foldable organizer with pockets.
«This is for Ksyusha,» she explained. «We’ll hang it next to her chair. She can keep her books, phone, and all her girly stuff in there.»
«What chair?» Marina asked, though she already knew the answer.
«You know, for when you move. Oleg already told me.»
Artyom immediately appeared in the hallway.
«Grandma, can I bring my building sets?»
«Of course, a few boxes.»
«I have nine of them.»
«Nine is probably too many. Pick two.»
«What about the others?»
«The rest will stay here for now.»
The boy thought it over.
«But if they sell the apartment, where will those sets stay?»
Marina took the organizer from her mother-in-law and set it on the cabinet.
«Artyom, go finish your math homework. Your building sets will be just fine.»
Once her son left, she invited Galina Borisovna into the kitchen.
«Do you really think it’ll be comfortable for five of us in your two-bedroom?»
«It won’t be forever. Oleg said it’s only until next fall at most.»
Marina looked at her mother-in-law.
«Until next fall?»
«That’s right. Construction starts in the spring, and it’ll be done by autumn. I get lonely by myself, but this way I have company and we get a new house out of it.»
«Are you sure construction will really finish in one summer?»
«Oleg spoke with the builders. He said he’s done all the calculations.»
«And why didn’t he talk to us about it?»
Galina Borisovna hesitated.
«I thought you two were discussing it. He told me you’re just afraid of change.»
«I’m not afraid of change. I just don’t like learning about it from our eleven-year-old daughter.»
Her mother-in-law sighed.
«Marina, I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just hard for me alone in the apartment. I keep the TV on all the time just to feel like there’s someone talking. This way, it works out for both of us.»
Marina softened a bit.
Her mother-in-law’s loneliness was real. And she understood her husband’s desire to help his mother.
But the way he’d gone about it was completely wrong.
«Galina Borisovna, you realize the kids have their own rooms now, their school is close by, their routine is established, right?»
I understand. But when it comes to our future home, we can put up with a little inconvenience.
Then let’s figure out exactly what kind of house we’re getting for all this patience.
On Friday, Marina placed a piece of paper in front of her husband.
I’m ready to see your plan.
Oleg perked up.
Finally!
Don’t get excited just yet. Show me the budget.
I told you, my contractor friend said it would be 5,200,000.
For what, exactly?
For the house.
Does that include sewage, heating, and a finished kitchen?
Well… no. That’s just for the foundation, walls, roof, and windows. A warm shell.
So, basically a house where in winter we can admire the walls, but it’s not yet livable.
Oleg frowned.
We’ll handle the rest step by step.
Let’s calculate how much that ‘step by step’ is going to cost.
She opened a spreadsheet on her laptop.
At first, Oleg tried to wave her off. But eventually, he called the contractor and asked for clarification on what was actually included in the estimate.
They discovered quite a lot.
The warm shell really did cost about 5,200,000.
Connecting and installing all the required utilities on the lot: another preliminary estimate of 1,100,000.
Internal engineering work—heating, electrical, plumbing, and sanitary piping—was roughly 750,000.
Finishing a hundred square meters, nothing fancy, added about 1,650,000.
For the kitchen and basic furniture, Marina budgeted 600,000.
She also set aside 850,000 as a reserve for material price increases and unexpected expenses.
Why so much? Oleg protested.
Because in construction, ‘unexpected’ usually means, ‘Don’t forget to have more money ready.’
The final line was rental housing.
What’s this for? her husband asked.
Backup plan. Just in case your mom gets tired of Artyom and his building blocks in a month, and we get fed up living without our own rooms.
Marina found several suitable apartments. Renting a place for four people came to about 60,000 a month.
For six months, that’s 360,000.
Oleg added up the total on his calculator.
10,510,000 rubles.
And that doesn’t even include fencing, landscaping, or any of the other things you’d really like to have around your own home.
You did everything at the maximum price on purpose, he grumbled.
No, I used reasonable estimates and built in a reserve. Your contractor confirmed the main costs.
We could do part of the finishing work later.
Sure, but you planned to sell the finished apartment for nine million and move into a finished house. Now it turns out nine million isn’t even enough for everything on this list.
The ad listed 9,200,000. After expected sale expenses, Oleg hoped for about nine million in hand.
Of that, he planned to send 5,200,000 straight into construction, with the remaining 3,800,000 held in a savings account for the time being.
Now it turned out the full budget was short by more than 1.5 million.
Well, I do work, he said. We’ll earn it.
We both know how to work. But first, can you explain why we should sell our mortgage-free apartment just to end up looking for money for a place to live again?
Oleg didn’t answer.
He stared at the spreadsheet as if he might find a mistake in it that would magically return one and a half million to him.
But Marina had another question ready.
«And now for the most important thing. Who exactly will the house be registered to?»
«Who else? To us.»
«Alright. Show me the documents for the land.»
«The land belongs to my mom.»
«I know that. Have you talked to her about transferring the plot?»
«Why would we transfer it? We’re family, after all.»
«Oleg, I’m asking a direct question.»
Her husband fell silent.
«No, I haven’t discussed it.»
«Then how are we going to register the house in our names?»
«We’ll have to look into it.»
Marina looked at him.
«So you’ve already decided to sell our apartment, arranged things with the contractor, moved the kids into grandma’s old furniture, and yet you haven’t had time to find out who will actually own the new house?»
«Why do you have to put it like that?»
«How else am I supposed to put it?»
Oleg pulled up his chat with the contractor. Amid the messages, he found a draft version of the contract.
The client listed was Galina Borisovna.
«It’s just a draft,» he hurried to explain. «Mom is providing the land, so they put her name down.»
«And you were just going to pay for the construction with the money from our apartment?»
«Yes, but the house is meant for us!»
Marina closed the laptop.
«Right now, it looks like the house is for your mother. And it’s being built with our money.»
On Sunday, Oleg brought up the issue with his mother himself.
Marina was present, but she didn’t start the conversation. She wanted to hear how her husband explained this situation he had invented.
Galina Borisovna met them in the kitchen. The kids stayed at home: Ksusha was prepping for a test, and Artyom was busy building a fire station out of blocks.
«Mom, we need to sort out the land issue,» Oleg said. «If we’re going to build, we need to make sure it’s set up so our money doesn’t end up going into someone else’s property.»
«What do you mean someone else’s? Mine?» his mom asked in surprise.
«Come on, Mom, you have to understand…»
«What’s there to understand? The land is mine. I bought it twenty years ago. You’ll build a house, and everyone will use it. I’m not planning to kick you out.»
«So who do you plan to register the house to?» her son asked.
«To myself, of course. The land is mine.»
Marina calmly finished her tea.
«Galina Borisovna, why should we invest nine million into something that will end up belonging to you?»
«Because you’ll be living there. I’m doing this for everyone,» she answered.
«But we already live in our own apartment.»
«Oleg will get everything eventually.»
«Eventually as in when?»
Her mother-in-law looked disapprovingly at Marina.
«Marina, why do you have to ask questions like that? I plan on living a while longer, you know.»
«That’s great. But I don’t plan on waiting for an inheritance to find out if I have a place to live.»
Oleg interrupted:
«Mom, what if you put part of the land in my name?»
Galina Borisovna shook her head right away.
«No. I’m not transferring the land to anyone. Who knows what could happen with you two. You might start dividing things, selling. And then where would I go?»
The room fell quiet.
Marina glanced at her husband.
Her mother-in-law didn’t want to risk her own land.
And it was understandable.
But somehow, her son thought it was perfectly fine for Marina to risk half of their apartment and the money from its sale.
“So, the plot stays yours,” Marina said. “And we’re not building on it with our family money.”
“Oleg, do you think the same?” his mother asked.
Oleg stared at the tablecloth’s pattern for a few seconds.
“We should’ve sorted this out earlier, Mom.”
Galina Borisovna was hurt.
But she didn’t argue.
She put away the cups and remarked that young people nowadays think too much about paperwork.
Marina stayed silent.
She remembered people she knew who once paid a much higher price for missing documents than they would have for getting them done.
At home, Oleg was gloomy.
Everything annoyed him: the weather, the TV, the stuck kitchen drawer.
During dinner, he finally said:
“I meant well. A house is a whole different level.”
“Maybe,” Marina agreed. “But let’s consider another option.”
“What option?”
“My dad has a plot of land. Six hundred square meters in the suburbs. Every spring you go over there to fix his gate yourself.”
“So?”
“We sell our apartment, use half the money to build a house on my dad’s land, and keep the rest for construction and expenses. While we build, we live with my parents.”
Oleg stopped chewing.
“What do you mean, live with your parents?”
“Exactly that. They have a two-bedroom. Mom’s been saying she hardly sees the grandkids.”
“Marina, your mom has the TV blasting from morning!”
“But dad’s retired. He could pick Artyom up from school.”
“Where would we sleep?”
“We’ll figure something out. It’s just temporary.”
Oleg put down his fork.
“Wait a minute. Your dad owns the land. Who would I be there?”
“His son-in-law.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so too.”
“I’m serious! If we invest our money in the build, and your dad owns the house, what am I supposed to do then?”
Marina looked at her husband.
He had just said exactly what she’d been trying to explain to him for the past two weeks.
“See? You figured it out much faster than me.”
Oleg opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it.
Then he asked:
“Did you come up with this on purpose?”
“Of course. My parents don’t even know we’re supposedly moving in. I wanted to see if you’d still like your own plan if the landowner’s name was changed.”
“Didn’t like it.”
“Me neither.”
They ate in silence for a while.
Then Oleg said:
“I couldn’t even last a month with your mom.”
“And I was just supposed to live for a year with yours, huh?”
Her husband sighed.
“I get it now.”
“No, Oleg. It’s not about who can handle whose mom. You made decisions about selling the apartment, where the kids will sleep, what to do with our money, and even announced that no one cares about my opinion.”
“I got carried away.”
“You spent weeks planning this. That’s not just a momentary lapse.”
Oleg lowered his eyes.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Marina didn’t demand any immediate promises.
She wanted to see what her husband would do next.
A few days later, Oleg went to see Galina Borisovna again.
This time he went alone.
His mom greeted him with hurt feelings. The organizer for Ksyusha was still on the dresser.
“So, did Marina finally forbid it?”
“Mom, Marina didn’t forbid anything. I’m the one who had the wrong idea.”
“But you wanted a house.”
“I did. Still do. But we’re not selling the apartment.”
So, I’m alone again?
Oleg sat down next to her.
«Mom, you’re not alone. I come over, and the kids visit too. But all five of us living together in two rooms—let’s be honest, that’s a bad idea. You’d run away from us after a month!»
«And where exactly would I run to, from my own apartment?»
«Exactly.»
Galina Borisovna couldn’t help but smile.
Oleg suggested a different solution.
The wallpaper had been peeling for ages in his mother’s big room, the faucet in the bathroom was leaking, and the old chandelier mostly just lit up the ceiling.
He decided to help with some minor renovations. He would pay for materials and plumbing out of his work bonus, and would do the work together with a handyman he knew.
«And we’ll visit more often,» he added. «Just not to talk about renovations every time.»
«What about the house?»
«No house for now.»
His mother was disappointed, but didn’t argue anymore.
A week later, Oleg really did bring the materials and started the repairs.
Marina noticed another change.
In the past, her husband would sometimes agree to his mother’s requests without checking how his wife felt about it.
Now, when Galina Borisovna suggested taking both kids to her place for the whole winter break, he replied:
«Mom, Marina and I will discuss it first. And we’ll ask the kids, too.»
For Oleg, it was just a short sentence.
For Marina, it was actually quite a significant change.
They closed the apartment question for good.
Oleg admitted that hiding his plans was silly, and apologized separately for saying that his wife’s opinion didn’t matter.
Marina didn’t pretend that nothing had happened.
«I need to know you won’t make these kinds of decisions on your own anymore,» she said.
«I won’t.»
«Then let’s agree: any big expenses or real estate issues, we talk ahead of time. Not after the realtor, the contractor, and your mother.»
Oleg agreed.
Over the next few months, he never brought up selling the apartment again. But he did offer several times to discuss family expenses before making a purchase.
The kids didn’t know all the details of what had happened.
Artem only asked once:
«Dad, so we’re not getting that house with the staircase anymore?»
«Not for now.»
«Good. I just covered my desk with stickers.»
Ksyusha was happy, too.
Her horses got to stay where they were, and grandma’s organizer suddenly came in handy for hair clips, elastics, and all those little treasures that used to vanish in drawers.
After the renovations, Galina Borisovna started inviting the grandkids over more often. And just for the weekend, not for some uncertain period.
Oleg helped her learn video calling, so now she could chat with the kids every evening if she wanted, without needing to squeeze them by the balcony door.
And in March, Marina finally got to work on the kitchen.
After a few months, they’d saved enough for the planned renovation, with no loans.
One weekend, Oleg grabbed the tape measure and started taking measurements for the new kitchen cabinets.
Marina walked into the kitchen with the cabinet catalog.
«What are you measuring?»
«Two forty. That’s where the cabinets will go.»
«Just cabinets?»
Oleg grinned.
«Marina, how long will this go on?»
«Just checking. Last time, the tape measure started all that talk about selling the apartment.»
Ksyusha appeared in the doorway.
«Dad, are we really staying here?»
«Really.»
«And you’re not touching my room?»
«We’re not touching it.»
«Alright. I just ordered two more horses for the birthday, after all.»
Oleg looked at his wife.
«Maybe we should have built a house instead? Soon the collection won’t fit in the apartment.»
«Build your daughter another shelf,» Marina suggested. «That’s a few million cheaper.»
In the end, they ordered a kitchen set, picked out some tiles, and even agreed with the handyman on the deadlines.
Oleg ended up keeping the measuring tape.
Marina didn’t mind.
But now, whenever her husband took it in his hands, she would always ask first:
«How many square meters are we planning to sell today?»
«Not a single one,» Oleg would reply. «Right now, we can only afford the linear ones.»
