The phone on the table had rung for the third time in the past five minutes. Irina knew who was calling without looking at the screen. Her mother-in-law never gave up after the first ring.
She picked up the receiver.
— Irinachka, darling, where are you? — Tamara Petrovna’s voice was overly sweet, as if syrup were flowing into the receiver. — We’ve been waiting for half an hour at the notary with Misha! You remember, we’re signing the apartment papers today, right?
Irina slowly exhaled. Of course she remembered. How could she forget the day they tried to take her home away from her?
— Tamara Petrovna, I told you yesterday, I’m not going.
A brief pause. Short, but meaningful. Then her mother-in-law’s voice hardened, as if metal had seeped through the sugar.
— Irina, don’t be ridiculous. This is for your own good! The apartment will go to Misha, my son, and you two will live together. What’s the problem?
— The problem is that THIS IS MINE, — Irina said calmly but firmly. — What my parents left me. And I’m not giving it to anyone.
She hung up without waiting for a reply.
It all started three months ago.
Misha came home after another visit to his mother and sat on the couch. He obviously wanted to say something but couldn’t. He fidgeted, turned the TV on and off, flipped through his phone.
— Did you want something? — Irina asked as she entered the room with a cup of tea in her hand.
— Nothing special, my mother called, — he shrugged without looking at her. — She’s worried about us.
— How sweet of her.
— Yes. She says we should secure ourselves. Just to be safe.
Irina felt tension rising inside her. When her mother-in-law “cared,” nothing good ever came of it.
— Secure ourselves in what way?
Misha finally looked at her. His eyes were full of guilt and stubbornness at once.
— Well… who knows what can happen in life. Divorces, for example. My mother says it’s better if we legally sort everything out. So there won’t be problems later.
— Sort what out?
— The apartment. Transfer it to me. We’re married, so what’s the difference? It will be legally correct.
Irina put the cup on the table. Her hand hardly trembled.
— So your mother is suggesting that I hand over the apartment my parents left me. Just like that. For insurance.
— Well, not exactly like that… — Misha became nervous. — We’re family! It’s our shared apartment. It will just be legally mine. We’re just setting things straight.
— What things, Misha?
— Normal things! — he shouted, probably feeling the conversation was going badly.
— My mother is right! Who knows what can happen! If you ever get into debt, you could lose the apartment! I’ll be safe if it’s transferred to me!
Irina stayed silent. For the first time in five years of marriage, she truly saw her husband. Weak. Dependent. Manipulable.
— No, — she said quietly.
— What do you mean no?
— I’m not going to transfer the apartment.
She jumped off the couch.
— You don’t trust me? I’m your husband!
— That’s exactly why I trust you, Misha. But I won’t risk my own apartment.
She left, slamming the door. The real attack started the next day.
Tamara Petrovna appeared every day. Without notice. She would enter with her own keys, as if she were at home, and began the assault.
— Irinachka, I had a thought — she said as she took her place in the kitchen, as if she were the hostess. — You’re a smart girl. Don’t you understand how important stability is for a young couple?
Irina washed dishes in silence.
— Look, the apartment is yours. God forbid something happens to you. Misha would be out on the street! Your own son! And so helpless! Without me, he would be lost!
— Tamara Petrovna, if something happens to me, the law says the apartment goes to my husband, — Irina said after washing, turning to her. — So your worries are unnecessary.
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together.
— The law says, the law says. But what if it doesn’t? What if relatives show up? Better to secure it in advance!
— I have no other relatives. You know that well.
— Even more reason! — her mother-in-law raised her hand. — Why do you need this property? You’re not a businesswoman, not an oligarch. You’re an average woman. But Misha needs security for the future.
He’s the husband, the head of the family!
Irina smiled.
— A husband who needs his mother for apartment matters? Sorry, not convinced.
Tamara Petrovna’s face hardened.
— Listen, Irina. I mean well. We can still do this normally now. Later, it will be too late.
— Is that a threat?
— What threat? — her mother-in-law smiled sweetly. — I only want what’s good for you!
She left, but the attacks didn’t stop. Now Misha joined in.
Every evening it was the same song. Apartment. Transfer. Stability. Future. Children who didn’t exist yet. Any argument came up.
— We’re planning for children, — he said lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. — What will you tell them when they grow up? That you didn’t trust their father?
— I’m telling the truth. I’m keeping what my parents left me.
— But this is no longer your parents’ apartment! — he shouted. — This is ours! We’ve lived here for five years! I did the renovation!
— You only put up two hooks in the bathroom, — Irina replied coolly. — I paid for the renovation. With my own money.
There was silence. But not for long.
A week later, her mother-in-law came again, now with a businesswoman in a suit.
— Irinachka, meet! — chirped Tamara Petrovna. — This is Larisa Vladimirovna, a lawyer. Very skilled! She’ll explain all the papers about the transfer to us!
Irina stood in the doorway, watching them. The lawyer had a professional smile and papers in her hand.
— Good day. I can indeed help with properly filling out the papers. It will take minimal time, — the woman began.
— I didn’t call, — Irina interrupted. — And I won’t handle anything. Goodbye.
She closed the door in their faces. Inside, her mother-in-law’s outraged voice could be heard, but Irina went to the kitchen. Her hands were shaking. The audacity had reached its peak.
That evening, Misha threw a tantrum.
— Do you really understand that you humiliated my mother? She tried to help, brought a lawyer so everything would be in order!
— Help me take my apartment?
— Not take it, but do it properly!
— Misha, listen. Your mother wants me to transfer the apartment to you. Why? Explain normally, without fairy tales about stability.
He hesitated, confused.
— Well, my mother thinks it’s right. The man should be the owner.
— Why?
— Because… that’s the custom!
— Whose custom? Which family? This apartment was left to me by my parents! Not yours! Not your mother’s! Mine!
— But we’re family!
— Family, — Irina repeated. — Fine. Then answer me. Why doesn’t your mother suggest transferring her own apartment to me? For family stability?
Misha opened his mouth, then closed it. He obviously didn’t expect this question.
— That’s different, — he muttered.
— Different how?
— Well, her apartment… she earned it her whole life!
— My apartment didn’t fall from the sky. My parents worked their whole lives! And left it to me! Not you! Not your mother! Me!
He had no words. He just got up and left. Naturally, to his mother’s, where he was always understood and pitied.
Two weeks passed. The attacks continued. Her mother-in-law made twenty to thirty calls a day. She sent messages. Demanded meetings.
Irina ignored them.
And today came the message: “Tomorrow at ten at the notary. Come. We’ll settle the apartment issue once and for all. Misha has already agreed.”
Irina didn’t go. Instead, she sat down and wrote a long message to her husband.
“Misha. I love you. I’ve loved you for five years. But I will not give up the apartment my parents left me. This is the last thing I have. This is my security. My guarantee.
If you and your mother don’t understand this, then we are not a family. A family is built on trust. And you demand everything, that I give everything and be left with nothing. Think about it. Decide. But know: my decision is final.”
A reply came within an hour.
“My mother says you’re selfish. A wife should trust her husband. I don’t know who is right.”
Irina smiled. Everything was clear.
She called a good lawyer recommended by a friend. Made an appointment for divorce proceedings. Then she took all the apartment documents and placed them in a separate folder.
That evening, Misha came. With a huge bouquet of roses and a remorseful face.
—I’m sorry, — he said from the doorway. — I shouldn’t have. My mother overdid it. Let’s forget it.
Irina looked at the flowers, then at him.
— Forget it? What? That you tried to take my apartment? That your mother planned the divorce in advance? Or that you stayed silent when this was discussed?
— I didn’t stay silent! I just… got confused!
— Confused after five years of marriage, when you had to choose between mother and wife.
She lowered her hand holding the bouquet.
— What do you want from me?
— Honesty. Tell me openly. Did you come because you realized you were wrong? Or because your mother said we should try again?
Misha remained silent. That silence was enough.
— Leave, — Irina said tiredly. — Take your things and go. To your mother. Where you were always understood.
— Seriously?
— Completely.
He stood there, motionless. Then dropped the flowers to the floor.
— You’ll regret it! Without me, you’ll get lost! Alone with your precious apartment!
— Better alone in my own apartment than with you and your mother with nothing, — Irina replied calmly. — Go, Misha. We have nothing left to say.
She slammed the door. So loudly that the glass trembled.
Irina picked up the roses from the floor. The vase was full. She sat by the window with a cup of tea.
A new message appeared on her phone from her mother-in-law: “You’ll regret it anyway. My son is not like you!”
Irina smiled and deleted the number. Blocked it. Permanently.
Then she took out the folder with the apartment documents. Everything was in place. In order. Her parents had taken care of it. And she would take care of their legacy too.
Outside, the sun set. The apartment was filled with silence. Calm. Hers. Safe.
Irina sipped her tea and felt, for the first time in three months, that she could truly breathe.
The apartment remained hers. As it should.
And in the morning, she would call the lawyer and start her new life. Her own life. Without manipulation, blackmail, or strangers’ claims to what was hers.
Her mother-in-law was right about one thing: she would be alone.
But this solitude was better than the fear of losing the last thing her parents had left her.
