“Open up right now, you stuck-up little tramp! I’ve already put the apartment up for sale! If you don’t open the door, we’ll break it down or rip the lock off!” her mother-in-law shrieked.
“Have you completely lost your mind?! Open this door immediately, I’m coming in no matter what!” her mother-in-law’s voice thundered through the stairwell so loudly that the neighbors were already peeking out of their apartments. “This is my house, my property! I’ll show you what happens when you try to pull my son away from his family!”
Vera pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking, but she had no intention of opening it. Not now. Not after what had happened the night before.
“Open the door right now, you little upstart! I’ve put the house up for sale! If you don’t open it, we’ll break the door down or tear the lock off!” her mother-in-law screamed even louder.
“Us,” Vera noted to herself. So she hadn’t come alone. Most likely she had brought her sister-in-law Svetka with her. Those two always acted together, like a pack of hungry wolves.
“Antonina Fyodorovna, let’s talk tomorrow,” Vera tried to say calmly. “This isn’t a good time right now.”
“Not a good time?!” Her mother-in-law let out such a harsh, cackling laugh that Vera’s ears rang. “For you, it’s never a good time! While you’re sitting around here doing nothing, my son is out there wandering somewhere! Because of you, you nasty little wretch!”
Vera slowly stepped away from the door and went into the kitchen. She poured herself some water from the carafe — her hands were shaking so badly that half of it spilled onto the table. Outside, a miserable October drizzle was falling, gray and sticky, just like her life had been for the last three months. Three months ago, Igor had left. He had simply packed his things into a bag, avoided her eyes, and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. She’s different.”
Different. Vera had not even asked then who that “different” woman was. What difference did it make? Eight years of marriage, eight years of washing his socks, cooking his borscht, listening to him complain about his hard job. And in the end — she was “different.”
The doorbell rang again, this time continuously and insistently.
“Vera!” That was Svetlana, her sister-in-law. “What are you barricading yourself in there for?! Mom is right, the apartment has to be sold. They’re not going to leave it to you anyway. The papers are already ready!”
Vera smirked. The papers. Yes, the apartment had been registered in her mother-in-law’s name, that was true. Igor had once explained it by saying it would mean lower taxes, and besides, what difference did it make, they were family. Family. Funny.
She picked up her phone and dialed Olga, her colleague from school. Olga answered after the third ring.
“Vera? What happened?”
“Can I come over? Urgently.”
“Of course, come. I’m home.”
Vera quickly pulled on her jacket, stuffed the documents, her phone, and her wallet into her bag. Behind the door, her mother-in-law was still shouting something about nerve and ingratitude. Vera walked to the window — they lived on the first floor, and beneath the window there was a small front garden with a low fence. It was not the first time that had come in handy.
Five minutes later, she was already sitting on a trolleybus heading for the Pushkinskaya stop. Olga lived in the city center, in an old building with high ceilings and creaky parquet floors.
The rain grew heavier. Drops drummed against the trolleybus window, and Vera stared at the blurred city lights, thinking about how everything had gone wrong. Igor had been good. He had. Calm, dependable, he even brought her flowers sometimes. But then it started: staying late at work, growing cold, becoming distant. And then there was Kristina.
Kristina. A name Vera had learned by accident when she saw a message on her husband’s phone. “Waiting for you, kitty. Missed you.” Vera had not made a scene then. She had simply put the phone back and gone to wash the dishes. Why bother? Nothing could be brought back anyway.
Olga opened the door almost at once — short, plump, with perpetually messy hair and kind eyes.
“My God, you’re soaking wet! Take that off quickly, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Vera slipped off her drenched jacket and walked into the living room. It smelled of cinnamon and old books — Olga loved reading and kept an entire library at home.
“My mother-in-law showed up,” Vera explained briefly, sitting down in a worn armchair. “She wants to sell the apartment.”
“You’re kidding!” Olga emerged from the kitchen with a kettle in her hands. “What, do you have no rights at all?”
“The apartment is in her name. Igor wanted it that way back then.”
“Idiot,” Olga concluded. “Your Igor is a first-rate idiot. Although wait… didn’t he move in with that woman of his?… Continued just below in the first comment.”
“What, have you completely gone off the rails?! Open up right now, I’m coming in anyway!” her mother-in-law’s voice thundered through the stairwell so loudly that the neighbors were already peeking out of their apartments. “This is my house, my property! I’ll show you what happens when you try to turn my son away from his family!”
Vera pressed her back against the door and closed her eyes. Her hands were trembling, but she had no intention of opening it. Not now. Not after what had happened the night before.
“Open the door this instant, you little upstart! I’ve already put the house up for sale! If you don’t open it, we’ll break the door down or rip the lock off!” her mother-in-law shrieked even louder.
“We,” Vera noted to herself. So she hadn’t come alone. Most likely she had brought her sister-in-law Sveta with her. Those two always acted together, like a pack of hungry wolves.
“Antonina Fyodorovna, let’s talk tomorrow,” Vera tried to remain calm. “This isn’t a good time.”
“Not a good time?!” Her mother-in-law let out a harsh cackle that made Vera’s ears ring. “It’s never a good time for you! While you’re lazing around here, my son is wandering around who knows where! Because of you, you vile creature!”
Vera slowly stepped away from the door and went into the kitchen. She poured herself some water from the decanter, her hands shaking so badly that half of it spilled onto the table. Outside, a miserable October rain drizzled down, gray and sluggish, just like her life over the past three months. Three months earlier, Igor had left. He had simply packed his things into a bag, without looking her in the eye, and said, “Sorry, I can’t do this anymore. She’s different.”
Different. Vera had not even asked then who that “different” woman was. What difference did it make? Eight years of marriage, eight years of washing his socks, cooking borscht, listening to him complain about his hard job. And in the end — she was different.
The doorbell rang again, this time continuously and insistently.
“Vera!” It was the voice of Svetlana, her sister-in-law. “What are you barricading yourself in there for?! Mom’s right, the apartment has to be sold. They’re not going to leave it to you anyway. The paperwork is already ready!”
Vera smirked. Paperwork. Yes, the apartment had been registered in her mother-in-law’s name, that was true. Igor had once explained it by saying it would mean lower taxes and, besides, what difference did it make, they were family. Family. Funny.
She picked up her phone and dialed Olga, her colleague from the school. Olga answered on the third ring.
“Vera? What happened?”
“Can I come over? Urgently.”
“Of course, come. I’m home.”
Vera quickly pulled on her jacket, shoved her documents, phone, and wallet into her bag. Her mother-in-law was still shouting behind the door about audacity and ingratitude. Vera went to the window — they lived on the ground floor, and under the window was a small front garden with a low fence. It wasn’t the first time it had come in handy.
Five minutes later, she was already sitting on a trolleybus, heading toward Pushkinskaya stop. Olga lived in the center, in an old building with high ceilings and creaky parquet floors.
The rain grew heavier. Drops drummed against the trolleybus window, and Vera stared at the blurred city lights, thinking about how everything had gone so wrong. Igor had been good. He had been. Calm, reliable, even brought her flowers sometimes. But then it started: staying late at work, coldness, distance. And then Kristina.
Kristina. The name Vera had learned by accident when she saw a message on her husband’s phone. “Waiting for you, kitty. Missed you.” Vera hadn’t made a scene then. She had simply put the phone back and gone to wash the dishes. Why bother? Nothing could be fixed anymore anyway.
Olga opened the door almost at once — short, a little plump, with perpetually messy hair and kind eyes.
“My God, you’re soaking wet! Take that off quickly, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Vera shrugged off her drenched jacket and walked into the living room. It smelled of cinnamon and old books there — Olga loved reading and kept a whole library at home.
“My mother-in-law showed up,” Vera explained briefly, sinking into a worn armchair. “She wants to sell the apartment.”
“You’re kidding!” Olga came out of the kitchen holding a kettle. “Don’t you have any rights at all?”
“The apartment is in her name. That’s what Igor wanted once.”
“Idiot,” Olga summed up. “Your Igor is a first-rate idiot. Although wait… didn’t he move in with that woman of his?”
Vera nodded. Igor really had moved in with Kristina. Vera even knew the address — she had accidentally overheard him dictating it to his mother on the phone. Sovetskaya Street, building twelve, apartment forty-six.
“And what’s going on with her? With this Kristina?” Olga set a mug of steaming tea in front of Vera.
“I don’t know,” Vera admitted. “And I don’t want to know. Let them live their lives.”
“Oh, come on,” Olga moved closer. “You’re dying of curiosity. Let’s go and see what kind of fruit it is that stole your Igor away.” Vera wanted to refuse. But something inside her — anger, hurt, or simply exhaustion from all the humiliation — made her nod.
“Let’s go.”
They went outside at dusk. The rain had turned into a fine mist, and the city glowed under yellow streetlights. Sovetskaya was about a twenty-minute walk through the park.
“Remember how we used to walk through this park back in college?” Olga suddenly asked. “You were dating Zhenya Morozov then.”
Vera remembered. Zhenya had been a good guy — cheerful, easygoing, never weighed her down with problems. But she had chosen Igor. Serious, responsible Igor. How wrong she had been.
Building twelve turned out to be an ordinary nine-story block, shabby and gray. They climbed to the fourth floor and found apartment forty-six. Vera was about to turn around and leave, but at that moment the door swung open.
Igor stood on the threshold. Unshaven, in a wrinkled T-shirt, with dull, lifeless eyes.
“Vera?” He clearly had not expected to see her. “Why… are you…”
“Just passing by,” Vera replied dryly. “Your mother is planning to sell the apartment. I thought you should know.”
Igor turned pale.
“What apartment?”
“Our apartment. The one registered in your mother’s name. Or did you forget?”
A woman’s voice came from deeper inside the apartment:
“Igoryok! Who’s there?!”
The voice was sharp, irritated. Vera couldn’t help smirking.
“Is that her? Kristina?”
Igor said nothing, just looked away. Then she appeared. Tall, thin, with impossibly overpainted lips and angry eyes.
“Oh, it’s her,” Kristina gave Vera a contemptuous look. “Came to cry, did you?”
“No,” Vera answered calmly. “I came to see who stole my husband. I was curious.”
“Stole?” Kristina burst out laughing. “He came running to me on his own! Whining that his wife didn’t understand him, that being with you was as boring as being in a grave!”
Vera expected those words to hurt, but instead of pain she felt only a cold indifference. Strange. Three months ago she would have burst into tears, but now she just stood there looking at this woman as if she were an annoying fly.
“Igor,” Vera turned to her former husband, “your mother wants to sell the apartment. The real estate agents are coming tomorrow. You should think about where you’re going to live.”
“Wait!” Igor grabbed her sleeve. “What agents? Is she serious?”
“Completely. She was shouting through the whole building that it’s her property and I have to get out.”
Igor went even paler. Kristina, meanwhile, folded her arms across her chest.
“So what? My apartment is small. I never invited him to live here permanently. Igoryok, you promised you’d buy us a place!”
“Where am I supposed to get the money?!” Igor snapped. “I explained everything!”
“Then go back to your mommy if you’re so broke!” Kristina spun around and slammed the door right in his face.
Igor stood there on the landing, bewildered and pathetic. Vera looked at him and suddenly realized there was no pity left. None at all. Only a strange sense of relief.
“Vera, can I… maybe stay with you for a couple of days?” Igor spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “Until I sort things out with Mom.”
“No,” Vera replied. “The apartment isn’t mine anymore. Ask your mother for permission.”
She turned and started down the stairs. Olga followed silently behind her.
Outside, the drizzle had grown heavier. They walked silently to the bus stop and got on a bus. Vera looked out the window and thought that tomorrow she באמת would have to move out. But where to? A rental apartment meant money, and a schoolteacher did not have much of that.
“You’ll stay with me,” Olga said, as if reading her thoughts. “I’ve got a spare room. I haven’t rented it out since my divorce from Petya.”
“Thank you,” Vera squeezed her friend’s hand gratefully. “I’ll manage somehow.”
By the time they returned to Vera’s building, it was already late. The entrance was dark and quiet — apparently her mother-in-law had grown tired of pounding on the door and left. Vera climbed to her floor and froze.
The apartment door stood wide open. The light inside was on.
“You locked it, didn’t you?” Olga whispered.
“Of course I locked it!”
They stepped inside and gasped. The apartment had been trashed. Furniture overturned, вещи scattered everywhere, drawers pulled out. Photographs, torn documents, broken dishes littered the floor. But the worst part was something else — insulting words had been scratched onto the walls in red paint.
“My God,” Vera sank to her haunches, picking up the shattered pieces of her favorite mug. “It was Igor’s mother. She promised she’d get in.”
“We have to call the police!” Olga was already pulling out her phone.
“Wait,” Vera suddenly noticed an envelope on the table. Inside was a stack of photographs. Vera pulled them out and went cold.
The pictures showed her — in different poses, in different places. Outside a store, at a bus stop, near the school. Someone had been following her. Secretly photographing her. And on every photograph, in black marker, were written the words: “Unstable,” “Dangerous to society,” “Crazy.”
“What is this?” Olga snatched the photos. “Vera, has she been stalking you?!”
“She wants to prove that I’m insane,” Vera said slowly. “Lay the groundwork. She’ll say I’m mentally ill, dangerous, that the apartment has to be vacated for the safety of the other tenants.”
They exchanged looks. Vera’s heart pounded wildly. Antonina Fyodorovna had always been a monster, but this…
“She’s planning to call in psychiatrists!” Olga clutched her head. “My God, this is vile! She’ll say you’re unhinged, that you cause disturbances, that the neighbors are complaining!”
Vera slowly stood up from the floor. Thoughts rushed through her head, each more terrifying than the last. Forced treatment. Being declared incompetent. Losing her job. Humiliation in front of the whole school.
“We have to act first,” Olga said firmly. “Right now we call the police, document the break-in and the vandalism. Film everything. And go to a lawyer.”
“I don’t have money for a lawyer,” Vera whispered.
“I do,” Olga took out her phone. “I’ll call my brother. Maxim works at a law firm, he’ll help.”
Vera vaguely remembered Maxim — a tall man with attentive eyes; she had met him a couple of times at Olga’s place. It felt awkward to call a stranger in the middle of the night, but there was no other choice.
Maxim arrived half an hour later. He quickly inspected the apartment and studied the photographs carefully.
“Smart,” he said. “Very smart. Create the impression that a person is unstable, then have them declared legally incompetent through the courts. The apartment will be vacated, and you’ll be sent for involuntary treatment.”
“What do I do?” Vera asked.
“First, we document everything. Video, photos, every detail. Then we call the district officer. You file a report for unlawful entry, property damage, and threats.” Maxim paused. “And tomorrow morning you go to a psychiatrist. Voluntarily. Get examined and obtain a certificate that you are completely mentally healthy.”
“But will that really help?”
“Oh, absolutely. When your mother-in-law tries to set her plan in motion, you’ll already have official proof in your hands. Her accusations will turn into slander.”
Suddenly Vera felt something inside her shift. Not fear, not despair — anger. Cold, calculating anger. Antonina Fyodorovna wanted to break her, to paint her as crazy, to disgrace her. But Vera had no intention of surrendering.
“You know what,” she said firmly. “I’m not leaving this apartment. Let her sue if she wants. I worked my fingers to the bone for eight years to make this place clean and cozy. While Igor disappeared who knows where, I plastered the walls myself, hung the wallpaper, changed the plumbing. And now some old hag thinks she can throw me out into the street? She can keep dreaming!”
Maxim smiled.
“That’s the right attitude. We’ll fight.”
Olga laughed through her tears and hugged Vera tightly.
They called the district officer. He arrived an hour later — a tired man nearing retirement who was clearly not thrilled by a nighttime call. But when he saw the wreckage, he grew serious.
“The lock has been forced,” he stated, inspecting the door. “The signs of break-in are obvious. Who do you think could have done this?”
Vera told him about her mother-in-law, about the threats she had shouted loudly enough for the entire building to hear. The officer nodded and took notes.
“Come to the station tomorrow and file a statement. For now, I’ll document the incident.”
For the rest of the night, the three of them tried to tidy the apartment. Maxim turned out to be surprisingly handy — he repaired a broken chair, nailed back a shelf that had fallen down. They decided not to clean the paint off the walls yet — it was evidence.
Around four in the morning, they finally sat down in the kitchen to drink tea.
“Tomorrow will be difficult,” Maxim warned. “Your mother-in-law is clearly no fool. If she dared to do this, she must be confident in her position.”
“What else do I need to do?” Vera asked.
“First, the psychiatrist. Second, collect statements from the neighbors — they heard the threats. Third, we need to get the documents for the apartment. Maybe there are some angles to work with. Did you do renovations? Put money into it?”
“I did,” Vera nodded. “I kept all the receipts. For materials, plumbing, furniture.”
“Excellent. That could matter. If we prove that you substantially improved the property at your own expense, you may be able to claim compensation.”
In the morning Vera went to the neuropsychiatric clinic. She underwent the evaluation, answered the doctor’s questions. Two hours later she received a certificate stating that no mental abnormalities had been found.
Then she went around visiting the neighbors. Old Klavdia from apartment forty-two confirmed that she had heard her mother-in-law shouting the day before. Uncle Grisha from apartment forty-four even said he was willing to testify — he had long disliked Antonina Fyodorovna for her nasty character. A young mother named Nastya from the fifth floor admitted that her mother-in-law had recently questioned her about Vera — whether she had noticed anything strange in her behavior.
“I told her you were normal and calm,” Nastya confessed. “And she looked so disappointed! Now I understand why.”
By evening, Vera returned home completely exhausted. Maxim was already there, waiting with documents.
“Look what I found,” he said, laying the papers out on the table. “The apartment is registered in your mother-in-law’s name, but there’s a complication. Igor is registered here, and so are you. Under the law, she can’t sell the property without your consent as long as you’re registered here.”
“So she’s bluffing?”
“Not entirely. She can file for eviction. But for that, she would need serious grounds. That’s exactly why she needed that whole story about your instability.”
Vera thought for a moment. So her mother-in-law’s plan had been carefully worked out down to the smallest detail.
“What do we do now?”
“This,” Maxim smiled. “Tomorrow you go to a notary and arrange a transfer of Igor’s share. Since he’s registered here, he has rights. Let mother and son sort it out between themselves.”
“But Igor won’t give me any transfer deed!”
“We won’t ask him. We’ll just hint to your mother-in-law that you have that card to play. Then we’ll see how she sings.”
For the first time in days, Vera smiled for real. The game, it seemed, was only just beginning. And she had no intention of losing.
The next morning, Vera woke with a heavy head but a firm determination to see the matter through. Maxim had promised to come by around noon, and meanwhile she needed to gather all her receipts and renovation papers.
She was sorting through documents when the doorbell rang. Sharply, insistently. Vera peered through the peephole — Antonina Fyodorovna, and this time alone, without her daughter. Her face was like stone.
“Open up, I know you’re home!”
Vera threw the door open.
“Come in, Antonina Fyodorovna. I actually wanted to talk to you.”
Her mother-in-law stepped in, glanced around the now-tidied apartment, and pressed her lips together.
“So, you cleaned up? Good for you. It changes nothing. The realtor is coming the day after tomorrow. We’ll start showing the place.”
“You can’t sell the apartment while I’m still registered here,” Vera said calmly. “The law is on my side.”
“The law!” Antonina Fyodorovna snorted. “We’ll see what the court says when I present proof of your insanity!”
“What proof?” Vera pulled out the clinic certificate. “Here is a medical report. I am perfectly healthy. And here is the police report for unlawful entry and damage to property. With statements from the neighbors.”
Her mother-in-law’s face slowly turned red.
“You… you think you’re clever?” she hissed. “I’ll ruin you! My Igoryok is my boy, he’ll do anything for me!”
“Your Igoryok is currently sitting at Kristina’s place wondering where he’s going to live,” Vera smirked. “She threw him out yesterday. Shall we call him together?”
Antonina Fyodorovna said nothing, breathing heavily.
“Do you know what I’ve realized?” Vera stepped closer. “For eight years I was afraid of you. I endured the insults, the humiliation. Igor used to say, ‘Put up with it, she’s my mother.’ I put up with it. And when he left, you decided to finish me off completely. But you know what? I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Who do you think you are?!” her mother-in-law shrieked. “A poor schoolteacher! I gave you this apartment, a roof over your head!”
“You gave the apartment to your son. And for eight years I put my money, my strength, and my soul into it. Here are the receipts — for renovations, plumbing, furniture.” Vera laid a stack of documents on the table. “Three hundred and eighty thousand rubles. My lawyer says I have a right to compensation.”
Antonina Fyodorovna snatched the receipts, scanned them, and went pale.
“That… that’s not true!”
“It is true. And if you file for eviction, I’ll file a counterclaim. Plus a defamation suit over your photographs and accusations that I’m unstable. And the report about your threats and property damage is already with the police.”
Her mother-in-law sank into a chair. For the first time in all those years, Vera saw her shaken.
“What do you want?” Antonina Fyodorovna asked dully.
“Nothing. Just leave me alone. Don’t sell the apartment. When I get back on my feet, I’ll rent a place and move out on my own. Voluntarily.”
They sat in silence for two minutes. Then her mother-in-law stood up.
“Fine,” she spat. “But in three months, you’d better not still be here!”
“I’ll do my best,” Vera nodded.
Antonina Fyodorovna turned and left, slamming the door loudly behind her. Vera collapsed onto the couch and covered her face with her hands. Her whole body trembled from the tension.
Maxim appeared half an hour later carrying a bag of pastries and a thermos of coffee.
“So, how did it go?”
Vera told him about the visit.
“Well done,” Maxim approved. “She backed off. Not for long, but it’s still a victory.”
“Thank you,” Vera looked at him. “Without you, I wouldn’t have managed.”
“You would have,” he smiled. “Just a little later.”
They drank coffee, and Vera suddenly caught herself thinking that she liked Maxim. Truly liked him. Not the way she had once liked Igor — quietly, routinely. But in a different way — sharp and thrilling.
Two weeks passed.
Vera returned to work at the school and gradually began putting her life back together. Maxim dropped by almost every day — sometimes to bring documents, sometimes just to chat. One day he asked her to go to the movies.
“Is this a date?” Vera asked directly.
“Do you want it to be?” he smiled.
Vera thought for a moment and nodded.
At the cinema they watched some comedy, but Vera barely followed the plot. She was thinking about how strangely everything had turned out. Igor had left, destroying her life, and yet she suddenly felt free. For the first time in many years — free.
After the movie they walked along the embankment. The rain had stopped, and stars had appeared overhead.
“Igor called yesterday,” Vera said. “Kristina kicked him out for good. He asked me to take him back.”
“And what did you say?”
“That the train had already left.”
Maxim stopped and turned toward her.
“Vera, I understand it’s early. That you need time. But I have to say it — I really like you. Ever since that evening when Olga called me.”
Vera looked at him and understood — this was it, a new beginning. Frightening and unknown, but hers.
“I like you too,” she said softly.
A month later, Igor showed up again. He came to the school and caught Vera after classes.
“Can we talk?”
They went into the café across the street. Igor looked terrible — gaunt, unshaven, in a wrinkled jacket.
“Vera, I made a mistake,” he began. “Kristina turned out to be nothing like I imagined. She… she used me.”
“So?” Vera stirred her coffee.
“Let’s start over. I realized that you are my real family.”
Vera looked at him for a long moment. She remembered eight years of endurance, humiliation, loneliness. She remembered the way he had packed his things without looking her in the eye.
“You know, Igor,” she said calmly, “I realized something too. I don’t want to be anyone’s fallback option. I deserve more. And our train really has left.”
“But Vera…”
“Goodbye, Igor. Live your life however you want.”
She stood up and left the café. Maxim was already waiting for her outside — they had arranged to meet. When he saw her, he smiled.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Vera slipped her arm through his. “Now everything is okay.”
They walked through the evening city, and Vera suddenly thought that sometimes you have to lose everything in order to find yourself. And her mother-in-law never did get to see her daughter-in-law move out. Because six months later, Vera and Maxim got married and bought that apartment from Antonina Fyodorovna for half price — the old woman agreed herself, just to be rid of her troublesome former daughter-in-law.
And when Igor found out about it, it was already too late. He remained drifting from one rented room to another, remembering the wife he had once abandoned for an illusion of happiness. And Kristina? She found herself a new “kitty” just a week after they broke up.
Life, it turned out, knows how to teach lessons. Cruel ones, but fair.
