Seven in the morning. Who on earth could be calling at seven on a Saturday?
Marina reached for the phone on the nightstand without even opening her eyes.
— Hello?
— Marinushka, dear, it’s me, Valeria Petrovna. Mikhail Semyonovich and I are already on our way up. Don’t worry, we have the keys.
Marina sat bolt upright in bed as if struck by electricity. Her mind wasn’t fully awake, but something in her mother-in-law’s overly cheerful voice unsettled her.
— Valeria Petrovna… who is Mikhail Semyonovich?
— Oh, dear, he’s the appraiser! We agreed with Igoryochka yesterday… Oh, didn’t he tell you? Never mind, we’ll explain everything now.
The line went dead.
An appraiser? For what? And why?
Next to her, Igor was snoring after last night’s party. Marina shook him.
— Igor! Wake up right now!
— Mmm… what, Marin? Let me sleep…
— Your mother is coming here with some appraiser. What’s going on?
Igor cracked one eye open. Something flickered in his look — guilt, maybe fear — before he quickly turned away.
— I don’t know… probably something about grandma’s inheritance…
— Igor. Look at me.
Reluctantly, he turned. Marina had known him for five years. She could tell when he was lying. And he was lying now.
The doorbell interrupted them — not a ring but a long trill, like someone trying to play a melody.
Marina threw on a robe and went to the door. Through the peephole she saw her beaming mother-in-law and a middle-aged man with a briefcase.
— Marinushka, sunshine! — sang Valeria Petrovna as she stepped inside. — How are you? Don’t worry, this will be quick.
She ushered the man forward.
— Meet Mikhail Semyonovich Krylov, a real estate appraiser. Very experienced.
The man shook Marina’s hand with an apologetic smile.
— Hello. Honestly, I thought you knew…
— Knew what? — Marina’s voice sharpened.
— Oh, it’s simple! — her mother-in-law waved her hand. — Igor and I decided to arrange a deed of gift. So everything is clear and fair. The apartment is good, spacious… and what if something happens? You never know.
Marina’s blood ran cold. The apartment had been bought with her money — years of exhausting work, savings, even selling her late mother’s jewelry. Every ruble of it was hers.
— Igor! — she shouted.
He appeared, pulling on jeans, avoiding her eyes.
— Tell your wife, — Valeria Petrovna urged, — how we agreed yesterday. She’ll understand.
— Mom, I told you, we should’ve talked to Marina first…
— Oh nonsense, we’re family!
Marina raised her hand, cutting them off.
— Enough. Mikhail Semyonovich, may I see the documents? Yours and the request for the appraisal.
The man looked uneasy.
— The request was filed by your husband… as co-owner.
— Co-owner? — Marina felt something snap inside. — Igor, what did you tell them?
— Well… we’re married, so… common property…
— NO! — Marina’s voice thundered. — The apartment is in MY name. Bought with MY money.
She ran to fetch the documents and handed them over.
— Here. Look. Sole owner: Ivanova Marina Andreevna.
The appraiser nodded.
— She’s right. If the spouse doesn’t consent…
Valeria Petrovna’s tone turned sugary.
— Marinushka, why act like a stranger? We’re family. Think if something happens to you — poor Igoryochka will be left with nothing.
— And if something happens to Igor? — Marina shot back. — Should I end up on the street?
The older woman waved it off.
— You’re young, beautiful, you’ll marry again…
Silence fell. Marina looked from her mother-in-law to her husband, whose guilt was written on his face.
— I understand, — Marina said coldly. — Mikhail Semyonovich, sorry to waste your time. There will be no appraisal, no deed of gift.
She turned on Valeria Petrovna.
— You tried to steal my apartment behind my back. That’s fraud.
— How dare you! I’m a mother!
— No. You’re just after a free apartment. Get out.
The appraiser quickly excused himself. Marina shut the door and faced the others.
— Igor, explain to me how you could agree to this without even telling me.
— Marin, Mom just worries…
— About your future? By throwing me out of my own home?
— Not that…
— Exactly that. — Marina’s voice was ice. — Igor, you have two minutes to choose. Either you tell your mother that this apartment is mine and always will be, or you both leave.
Igor shifted nervously.
— Well… of course it’s yours…
— And will remain mine?
— Yes…
His mother gasped.
— Igor! She’s manipulating you!
— No. He’s finally respecting his wife’s rights. Now leave.
Valeria Petrovna sputtered with outrage, but Marina stood firm. Finally, Igor handed over his keys.
— Marin, this is silly… where will I live?
— That’s your problem. My problem is protecting what’s mine.
When the door closed behind them, Marina slid to the floor, trembling. Five years of marriage — and it turned out the only thing that mattered to them was her apartment.
That evening Igor called.
— Marin, let’s make up… I didn’t mean to hurt you…
— Did you want the apartment? — she asked quietly.
A long silence.
— …I wouldn’t have minded…
— Exactly. Until you learn the difference between a wife and a tenant, we have nothing to talk about.
She hung up.
Later that night, Marina sat alone in her apartment. Alone — but free.
Tomorrow she would change the locks. Call a lawyer. Decide whether she even wanted a husband who still hadn’t cut the cord from his mother.
But tonight, she simply drank tea, looked around her apartment — her fortress — and, for the first time in years, felt safe.
