My mother-in-law was yelling, leaving me no room to make a decision: either the apartment would go to Katya, or I would be out of the family.
Vera spread the papers out on the kitchen table and began recalculating the monthly expenses. Utilities, groceries, the transportation pass — all these items had long become routine. Vera methodically managed the family budget, saving little by little for the future. A clear financial discipline gave her a sense of security.
Artyom peeked into the kitchen, glanced at the spread-out bills, and sat down across from her.
“Counting again?” he asked, reaching for his cup of coffee.
“As usual,” Vera looked up from the papers. “By the way, the electricity bill is higher than last month.”
“They raised the rates,” Artyom shrugged.
Vera nodded. Life with Artyom flowed at a steady pace. They had been married for three years and lived in Vera’s one-bedroom apartment, left to her from her first marriage. Vera worked as a specialist in the accounting department of a large company, providing a stable income. Artyom often changed his line of work — sometimes he worked as a taxi driver, sometimes he tried trading, sometimes he went into repair work. He didn’t make big money, but he never stayed idle. Vera didn’t complain — everyone had their own talents.
Her mother-in-law, Zinaida Petrovna, had initially watched Vera with suspicion. “Three years older than my son, already divorced once,” she muttered, thinking her daughter-in-law couldn’t hear her. She didn’t show open hostility — just a cool attitude. She didn’t interfere in the young couple’s affairs, visiting rarely, and more often inviting her son over.
Life went on until one spring day when Vera’s mother called.
“Daughter, grandmother’s health has worsened,” her voice on the phone sounded concerned. “I’m taking her in with me. She can’t manage on her own anymore.”
Vera’s expression darkened. Her grandmother, Anna Stepanovna, had always been energetic and independent despite being seventy-eight. But age was taking its toll — her heart was failing, her legs swelled, her blood pressure fluctuated.
“That’s right, Mom,” Vera agreed. “You have a spare room, and you can look after her properly.”
“Grandmother herself asked,” her mother sighed. “She says she’s afraid to spend nights alone. And she’s also worried about the apartment.”
“In what sense?”
“Well, you know she made a will in your favor five years ago. She wants everything to be by the book.”
Vera thought for a moment. Her grandmother’s one-bedroom apartment was in an older building, not far from the city center. Small, but in a good location. Vera knew about the will but had never really considered it seriously — her grandmother had always been strong.
“In any case, I’ve collected all the documents,” her mother continued. “Grandmother doesn’t mind you managing the apartment. Better than leaving it empty.”
After the conversation, Vera pondered the situation for a long time. She didn’t want to sell her grandmother’s apartment — the market wasn’t favorable, and there was also the memory of a loved one. Renting it out was a good option. Extra income wouldn’t hurt, especially given Artyom’s unstable earnings.
That evening, Vera shared the news with her husband.
“Can you imagine? Grandma is moving in with Mom,” Vera said, setting the dinner on the plates. “The apartment will be free.”
“And what do you plan to do with it?” Artyom asked, sitting at the table.
“I’m thinking of renting it out. I’ll do a small renovation so tenants will be comfortable. It’ll be good financial support.”
Artyom nodded, but somewhat absentmindedly. He didn’t ask any more questions, although Vera had expected a discussion. In truth, her husband rarely cared about financial matters.
A few days later, when Vera returned from work, there was an unexpected guest in the apartment. Zinaida Petrovna sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, engrossed in conversation with her son.
“Good evening,” Vera said, setting her bags on the floor. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Well, I decided to drop by,” Zinaida Petrovna smiled, but her eyes remained cold. “Artyom told me about grandmother’s apartment. What a coincidence, isn’t it?”
Vera looked questioningly at her husband, but he quickly averted his gaze.
“What do you mean, coincidence?” Vera hung her coat on the hook and went to the kitchen.
“Exactly this!” Zinaida Petrovna became animated. “You have a free apartment, and Katya is just looking for a place to live.”
Katya was Artyom’s younger sister. She worked in a cosmetics store, rented a room in a communal apartment, and lived lightly and carefree. Vera saw her rarely — at family celebrations or by chance in a shopping center.
“Katya’s looking for an apartment?” Vera asked, taking groceries out of her bag. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course she is!” Zinaida Petrovna exclaimed. “The girl is twenty-five — it’s time she had her own nest. Otherwise, she rents at a high price, giving away half her salary. And here’s such an opportunity! Relatives can help, right?”
Vera slowly unpacked the groceries and sat down at the table. Inside, a feeling of discomfort arose — as if she had already been confronted with a fait accompli.
“I haven’t decided what to do with the apartment yet,” Vera said calmly. “I’m thinking of renovating it and renting it out.”
“Renting it out?” Zinaida Petrovna threw up her hands. “To strangers? When your husband’s own sister literally dreams of having her own corner?”
“Mom means it would be convenient for Katya,” Artyom interjected, avoiding his wife’s gaze. “But it’s just a thought out loud.”
“Of course!” Zinaida Petrovna jumped in. “Just a suggestion. Although I believe family should help each other. You’re now part of our family, Vera. And in a family, it’s customary to share.”
Vera remained silent, but inside she tensed. Her mother-in-law clearly came with a ready plan. And Artyom knew why his mother had shown up but didn’t think it necessary to warn her.
“I’ll think about it,” Vera replied with restraint.
“What is there to think about?” Zinaida Petrovna widened her eyes. “This apartment came to you just like that. And Katya works and works, and still has no place of her own. It’s unfair!”
“Mom,” Artyom placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s not push. Vera is right — we need to think everything through.”
Zinaida Petrovna pressed her lips together but fell silent.
That evening, the mother-in-law left early, but an unpleasant feeling lingered. Vera didn’t argue with her husband, deciding that everything was already clear — Artyom had invited his mother over himself, clearly to pressure his wife.
The next day, Vera went to her grandmother’s to help pack for the move. Anna Stepanovna looked pale and often stopped to catch her breath.
“Verochka, I’m sorry it’s come to this,” her grandmother said, stroking her granddaughter’s hand. “I didn’t think I’d become so frail.”
“Nonsense, Grandma,” Vera sat beside her. “You’ll be better off with Mom. And I’ll come visit often.”
“Don’t sell the apartment,” Anna Stepanovna suddenly said. “All my life has passed here. And your childhood too.”
“I won’t, Grandma,” Vera promised. “I’ll do a proper renovation so tenants will treat it with care.”
“That’s right,” her grandmother nodded. “And put the money in the account. You’ll need it someday.”
Vera hugged Anna Stepanovna, breathing in the familiar scent. The elderly woman had always been her support. It was her grandmother who had comforted Vera after her divorce, who had kept her from giving up.
That evening, returning home, Vera found that Artyom was not alone. In the living room sat not only Zinaida Petrovna, but also Katya. Upon seeing Vera, the young woman smiled and jumped up from the couch.
“Hi!” Katya kissed Vera on the cheek. “Long time no see!”
“A week ago, at Zinaida Petrovna’s birthday,” Vera reminded her.
“Really? Feels like forever to me!” Katya linked arms with Vera. “I’m so happy to see you!”
The forced enthusiasm grated on Vera. Katya had never shown such excitement when meeting her sister-in-law before.
“We’re having tea here,” Zinaida Petrovna said. “Join us?”
Vera went to the kitchen, feeling three pairs of eyes following her every move. She poured herself some tea and sat at the table.
“Vera, Artyom told me about grandmother’s apartment,” Katya began, fiddling with a fringe on her scarf. “That’s great! You now own two apartments.”
“It’s too early to say that,” Vera replied.
“Why?” Katya looked surprised. “Grandma moved in with your mom. The apartment is free.”
“But that doesn’t mean I automatically own it,” Vera explained. “There are legal formalities.”
“But in the end, it will be yours,” Zinaida Petrovna intervened. “The fact itself is what matters.”
Vera took a sip of tea, gathering her thoughts. Clearly, her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had come with a plan. And Artyom was aware.
“I haven’t decided what to do with the apartment yet,” Vera repeated what she had said earlier in the day.
“Oh, come on!” Katya waved it off. “The matter is already settled. Mom said I can move in at any time.”
Vera almost choked on her tea. She looked at Artyom — he was carefully studying the pattern on the tablecloth.
“Excuse me?” Vera set down her cup. “Settled with whom?”
“Well, we’re family,” Zinaida Petrovna placed a hand on Vera’s shoulder, lightly pressing her fingers. “And in a family, it’s not proper to be selfish. Katya needs an apartment. You have an extra one. It’s all logical.”
“I don’t consider my grandmother’s apartment ‘extra,’” Vera said softly but firmly, removing her mother-in-law’s hand. “And while Grandma is alive, there’s no question of distributing her property.”
“But you’re not going to live there!” Katya interjected. “Why keep it empty?”
“I never said the apartment would stay empty,” Vera replied. “I have plans.”
“What kind of plans?” Zinaida Petrovna frowned.
“I’m going to renovate it and rent it out,” Vera patiently repeated. “It’ll be an additional income.”
“And what about me?” Katya pouted. “I have to pay thirteen thousand for my room! That’s almost my entire salary!”
“Katya, you work as a store administrator. Your salary can’t possibly be thirteen thousand,” Vera pointed out.
“Well… with bonuses, it’s more,” the girl mumbled. “But still, it’s a lot!”
“Vera, you should be reasonable,” Zinaida Petrovna intervened. “Children are the most important. You understand I want my daughter to be happy.”
“I also want Katya to be happy,” Vera replied. “But that doesn’t mean I should give her my grandmother’s apartment.”
“Not give it, just let her live there,” Zinaida Petrovna corrected. “She can pay you rent, but less than she would to strangers.”
“I’ll think about it,” Vera stood from the table. “But for now, excuse me, I have some work to finish.”
The next day, Vera left work early to look at her grandmother’s apartment from the perspective of the upcoming renovation. Anna Stepanovna was already gone — Vera’s mother had moved her in the day before.
The apartment was small but cozy. Old furniture, faded wallpaper, creaking parquet — everything breathed memories. Vera sat on the couch, running her hand over the worn upholstery. Her childhood had passed here — summer vacations at Grandma’s, Sunday lunches, late-night conversations.
Her phone rang. Artyom.
“Where are you?” his voice sounded tense.
“At Grandma’s apartment,” Vera replied. “Assessing the renovation work.”
“Got it,” he paused. “Listen, Mom wants to continue the conversation about Katya. She came over with her. Maybe you should come back?”
Vera sighed. Her mother-in-law’s insistence was beginning to annoy her.
“Artyom, I’ve already said my opinion.”
“Just come,” his voice pleaded. “She won’t leave until she talks to you.”
Returning home, Vera found Zinaida Petrovna in a state of extreme agitation. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes flashing.
“Finally!” the mother-in-law exclaimed as soon as Vera crossed the threshold. “We’ve been waiting here for two hours!”
“Hello,” Vera said, taking off her coat and walking into the room.
“Vera, we need to finally settle the matter of the apartment,” Zinaida Petrovna stepped right up to her. “I believe it’s only fair to give it to Katya.”
“I think that’s my decision,” Vera replied calmly. “And I’ve already said I plan to rent out the apartment.”
“How can you!” her mother-in-law flung up her hands. “Your husband’s own sister has no place to live, and you’re thinking about some strangers!”
“I’m thinking about financial stability,” Vera explained. “Additional income is never a bad thing.”
“What income?” Zinaida Petrovna raised her voice. “Peanuts! And the girl is suffering!”
“Mom, maybe you shouldn’t—” Artyom tried to intervene but was cut off by a sharp gesture.
“No, Artyom, stop staying silent!” Zinaida Petrovna turned to her son. “It’s your responsibility too! Tell your wife that Katya is your sister, your blood! And who is this woman to you? Who can’t even do such a small thing for your family!”
Artyom stayed silent, eyes downcast. Katya sat in the corner of the couch, wearing a look of wounded innocence.
“Zinaida Petrovna,” Vera tried to keep her voice steady, “I understand your wish to help your daughter. But the apartment belongs to my grandmother, and in the future, to me. I will manage it as I see fit.”
“So you don’t care about your husband’s family?” the mother-in-law narrowed her eyes. “About his sister?”
“I care about my own interests,” Vera said. “Just as you care about yours.”
“You!” Zinaida Petrovna jabbed a finger toward Vera. “You will give the apartment to Katya, or you’re out of the family!”
Silence fell in the room. Katya froze on the couch, eyes wide. Artyom flinched as if struck, but remained silent. Vera exhaled slowly, feeling an invisible thread inside her finally snap.
“You know, Zinaida Petrovna,” Vera said, surprised at the calmness of her own voice, “in our country, no one can force a person to give up property. Not even relatives. And certainly not through threats.”
“What threats?” Zinaida Petrovna flailed her hands. “I’m just stating it as it is! Either you care for our family, or you don’t!”
“Mom, enough,” Artyom finally intervened. “Let’s discuss this calmly.”
“What is there to discuss?” the mother-in-law persisted. “I’ve said everything! Let her choose!”
Vera looked at her husband. He sat with his head down, avoiding her gaze. No support, no objection to his mother’s absurd demands. Vera understood — she would have to make the decision herself.
“I will make the choice,” Vera said, heading for the door. “But right now, I need to be alone.”
Vera left the apartment, ignoring her mother-in-law’s shouts. The spring evening was cool, which was just what she needed — her mind cleared a little. She walked along the street, not paying much attention to direction. Thoughts were jumbled, but one thing was clear — she would not give her grandmother’s apartment to Katya. Not out of spite or greed. Simply because it was her decision, her responsibility to her grandmother’s memory.
Late that evening, when Vera returned home, Artyom met her in the hallway.
“Where were you? I was worried.”
“Walking,” Vera replied curtly, passing into the room.
“Mom’s already gone,” Artyom hesitated at the door. “Listen, don’t take her words to heart. She gets worked up sometimes…”
“And you?” Vera looked at her husband carefully. “Do you think I should give Katya my grandmother’s apartment?”
Artyom faltered, and that was enough. Everything became clear.
“Understood,” Vera nodded. “Well, then I won’t delay the decision.”
The next morning, Vera took a day off work and went to her grandmother’s apartment. On the way, she called a contractor she knew, who had once renovated her and Artyom’s kitchen.
“Good morning, Nikolay,” Vera said when he answered. “Do you remember you renovated my kitchen a year ago?”
“Of course,” came the reply. “Something broken?”
“No, I just need another job. Could you look at an apartment, assess the work needed, and give me a cost estimate?”
“No problem. When’s convenient?”
“Today, if possible.”
Within an hour, Vera was meeting Nikolay at her grandmother’s building. Together, they went up to the apartment, and the contractor carefully examined every room, taking notes in his notebook.
“Well,” Nikolay said after the inspection, “there’s a lot of work here. Floors, wiring, plumbing, wall finishes. But nothing complicated. The crew is free and could start in a week.”
“Excellent,” Vera nodded. “How much will it cost?”
Nikolay named an amount that made Vera’s head spin slightly — nearly all her savings. But the decision had already been made.
“I agree,” Vera said. “When do you need the advance?”
That evening, Vera told Artyom about her plans.
“I’ve called the crew. They’ll start renovating my grandmother’s apartment next week.”
“Just like that?” Artyom was surprised. “And without consulting me?”
“Why?” Vera shrugged. “You’re on your mother’s side anyway.”
“That’s not true!” Artyom protested. “I just want peace in the family!”
“At the cost of my humiliation?” Vera asked. “No, thank you.”
Artyom tried to smooth things over. He said his mother had just lost her temper, asked Vera not to take it to heart, and promised it wouldn’t happen again. But Vera had already felt what it was like to be without support when she needed it most.
“Artyom, let’s drop this subject,” Vera said. “I’ve made my decision.”
The following weeks became an endless stream of tasks for Vera. Work, then trips to her grandmother’s apartment, overseeing the workers, buying materials. She did it all alone — Artyom preferred to “stay out of it,” as he put it. And his silent detachment spoke for itself.
One evening, returning home after another visit to the apartment, Vera found an envelope without a signature in the mailbox. Inside was a note: “Think you’re smart? Let’s see how you sing when you’re alone. Selfish!”
Vera didn’t recognize the handwriting, but the culprit was easy to guess. The next day, messages from Katya began arriving. At first, simple accusations of selfishness, then sarcastic comments and attempts to induce guilt.
“You’re destroying the family over some apartment!”
“You’ve always been greedy; now everyone can see it!”
“Mom cries every day because of you!”
Vera didn’t respond. Her silence became her stance, one she would not justify.
The renovation progressed. The floors were replaced, walls leveled, new plumbing installed. Vera chose the wallpaper, tiles, lighting — everything high-quality and durable, meant to last for years. The work consumed all her time and energy, but she didn’t regret it. This was her choice, her decision.
One day, while Vera was at her grandmother’s apartment, her mother called.
“Daughter, are you visiting Grandma? She’s asking for you.”
“Of course, Mom,” Vera replied. “I’ll go this evening.”
Anna Stepanovna looked better than at their last meeting. Her cheeks were pinker, her eyes brighter. It was clear that the care and attention from her daughter were making a difference.
“Verochka, how’s my little apartment?” her grandmother asked when Vera sat beside her.
“I’m doing the renovation, Grandma,” Vera replied. “Soon it’ll look like new.”
“Good girl,” Anna Stepanovna stroked her granddaughter’s hand. “And is your husband helping?”
Vera hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about the conflict and worry the elderly woman.
“He’s busy with work,” Vera replied evasively.
Her grandmother nodded understandingly, though her gaze became sharper.
“I can see something happened,” Anna Stepanovna said. “You’re just not telling me to keep me from worrying. But remember — live by your own mind. Don’t let anyone decide for you.”
Vera hugged her grandmother, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
When the renovation was complete, Vera posted an advertisement to rent the apartment. She set a fair, but not low, price and detailed all the conditions. Within a week, tenants were found — a young couple, both employed, no children or pets. Perfect tenants.
That evening, when the documents were signed and the keys handed over, Vera felt financial confidence for the first time — she had a passive income. Small, but steady, and most importantly, independent of anyone else’s opinion or decision.
At home, she found a surprise. Artyom was packing his things.
“Where are you going?” Vera asked, though she already suspected the answer.
“I’ll stay at Mom’s for now,” Artyom didn’t meet her eyes. “We need a break from each other.”
“Probably,” Vera agreed, surprised by her own calmness.
“It’s temporary,” Artyom said, zipping up his bag. “She’s going through a hard time. I need to be there for her.”
Vera nodded. Artyom left, and she was alone in the apartment. Strangely, she felt neither bitterness nor despair. Only relief — no longer needing to pretend everything was fine when in reality, it had long been broken.
Days and weeks passed. Artyom called occasionally, asking how she was, saying he would return soon. Vera didn’t rush him. Life was quieter, calmer without daily tension, without needing to justify her decisions.
Artyom didn’t hurry back, but one day he came — with a bouquet and a bottle of wine. He sat in the kitchen, nervously tapping his fingers on the table.
“I’ve thought a lot,” Artyom began. “We’ve made mistakes. Let’s start over? Forget this whole apartment thing, Mom’s outburst. We love each other.”
Vera looked at her husband and saw a man who had failed to stand by her when it truly mattered. A man who allowed his mother to dictate the terms of their family life. A man who left when it got difficult.
“Artyom,” Vera said softly, “I’m grateful for these years. But there’s no going back. Where there is no respect, there can be no closeness.”
“You’re leaving me?” Artyom looked genuinely surprised.
“No,” Vera shook her head. “I’m just stating the fact — we are no longer together. And you know it.”
When the door closed behind Artyom, Vera stood by the window for a long time, staring into the darkness. Somewhere out there, in her grandmother’s apartment, lived new people. Paying rent, caring for the renovated walls, using the new plumbing. It was the right, considered decision.
Vera remained alone — in her apartment and with her income-generating property. She no longer felt fear, dependence, or guilt. Only clarity. And the freedom to act according to her own decisions — regardless of anyone else’s demands.
