“Gleb, why do we even need a mortgage if your wife already has a spacious apartment?” — Alya overheard her husband talking with his parents.
“And still, Gleb, I think we need to think very carefully before taking on such obligations,” Alya said, studying the documents spread out on the kitchen table.
“Alevtina, we’ve discussed this a hundred times already. A new apartment is our future,” Gleb drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. “Three rooms instead of two, fresh renovations, a new neighborhood. What is there to think about?”
“Money, Gleb. The down payment on a mortgage is no joke.”
“We’ll sell this apartment and use the money as the down payment,” he gestured around the space. “How old is it now? Thirty years? And the building will soon be scheduled for major repairs anyway.”
Alya sighed. This apartment had come to her from her grandmother. Of course, it didn’t have the European-style renovation Gleb liked to mention, but the walls held memories of her childhood, of summers spent at her grandma’s. Still, her husband had a point — the neighborhood was aging, and the building’s utilities left much to be desired.
“All right, I agree to think about it. But let’s not rush,” she said, gathering the documents into a stack. “We still need to save up enough for the down payment, even considering the sale of this apartment.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Gleb brightened. “Mom and Dad offered to help us with the down payment!”
Alya looked up from the papers.
“Your parents? Seriously? And why such sudden generosity?”
“What do you mean, ‘sudden’?” Gleb frowned. “They’ve always helped us.”
“Of course, dear,” Alya replied gently. “But usually they offer advice, not money.”
“Mom said they’ve been saving for our future apartment for a long time. Think of it as their investment in our future.”
Alya nodded, but something inside her stirred uneasily. In three years of marriage, her mother-in-law had never mentioned any savings like that. And in general, Olesya Sergeyevna wasn’t particularly fond of her daughter-in-law, even if she tried not to show it.
“They want to come on Saturday to discuss the details,” Gleb continued. “Mom already contacted a realtor — an old friend of hers.”
“Wait,” Alya straightened up, “you’ve already discussed selling my apartment with them?”
“Our apartment,” Gleb corrected her. “And yes, we talked about it preliminarily. It’s logical — sell the old one and buy a new one.”
Alya stayed silent. Something about this sudden concern from his parents made her uneasy, but she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.
Saturday came too quickly. Alya prepared lunch and set the table, trying her best to cater to her mother-in-law’s picky tastes. The doorbell rang exactly at two — Olesya Sergeyevna was always punctual.
“Alevtinochka, how are you?” — Olesya kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek, surrounding her with a cloud of overly sweet perfume. “You look a little tired.”
“Everything is fine, thank you,” Alya replied, taking a bag of fruit from her. “Please, come in.”
Roman Anatolyevich shook his son’s hand firmly and nodded to Alya:
“I saw they’re installing new parking spots in your courtyard. The neighborhood is growing, young people are moving in.”
“Yes, Dad, but the building itself is old,” Gleb responded. “The pipes constantly leak, and the wiring is ancient.”
“Exactly!” Olesya chimed in, sitting at the table. “That’s what I’m talking about. You need to move while this apartment is still worth something.”
Alya brought out the salads and was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman, about fifty, already seated at the table.
“Alya, meet Tatiana Kovalyova, my old friend and the best realtor in the city,” Olesya introduced her.
“Nice to meet you,” Alya said uncertainly. “I didn’t know we would have more guests.”
“Tatiana was in the area, so I asked her to stop by,” her mother-in-law explained. “She specializes in selling apartments in this neighborhood.”
Tatiana looked around the apartment appraisingly.
“Yes, a typical Soviet-era two-room layout. These aren’t trendy anymore, but there’s still some demand. Though prices are dropping, so I wouldn’t recommend delaying the sale.”
“But we haven’t decided to sell yet,” Alya objected.
“What do you mean, you haven’t decided?” Olesya looked surprised. “Gleb said you already agreed.”
Alya shot a quick look at her husband. He smiled guiltily.
“I said we would think about it.”
“That’s good,” Roman Anatolyevich interjected. “That’s what we’re here to discuss today. We have an offer you’d be crazy to refuse.”
Throughout lunch, Alya mostly listened. The plan presented by his parents sounded attractive: they would provide the missing amount for the down payment, Alya would sell her apartment, and together they would buy a new three-room place in a prestigious district.
“And whose name will the new apartment be registered under?” Alya asked when they reached the legal details.
“Well, since we’re contributing part of the money, I think it would be fair to register it under Gleb and us as co-borrowers,” Roman Anatolyevich replied. “Purely formally, of course.”
“And what about me?” Alya felt something tighten inside her…
“My dear, you must understand that the bank looks at financial solvency,” Olesya Sergeyevna interjected. “Your municipal job doesn’t pay that much. It’s just a paperwork formality.”
Alya noticed that Gleb was avoiding her gaze. Something was definitely wrong.
“No, I’m not selling the apartment until I sort out all the legal details,” Alya said firmly once Gleb’s parents had left. “Why didn’t you tell me they wanted the new apartment registered to you and them?”
“What difference does it make whose name it’s registered under?” Gleb snapped. “We’re a family!”
“A family where I suddenly end up without any ownership rights? After selling my apartment?” Alya shook her head. “Sorry, but that’s strange.”
Gleb softened and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“You’re being too suspicious. My parents want what’s best. The apartment will be ours — what does it matter whose name is on the papers?”
Alya didn’t continue the argument, but she decided to call her friend Nika. Veronika worked as a lawyer and always gave sound advice.
The next day they met in a quiet café near Alya’s office.
“So they want you to sell your apartment, and have the new one registered without you?” Nika frowned. “That’s very suspicious.”
“Maybe I’m really exaggerating?” Alya said uncertainly. “Gleb says it’s just a formality for the bank.”
“The bank doesn’t care whose name the mortgage is in, as long as solvency is confirmed. But it looks like Gleb’s parents care,” Nika tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Listen… haven’t you noticed any other odd things lately?”
Alya remembered how Gleb had been meeting his parents more often without her, how vague he was when she asked about those meetings, how insistently Tatiana Kovalyova kept pushing to sell the apartment quickly.
“You think…”
“I think you need to be careful,” Nika said seriously. “Don’t make rushed decisions and don’t sign anything.”
Over the next weeks, Alya watched her husband and his parents closely. Gleb became irritable whenever she brought up the legal aspects of buying the new apartment.
“Maybe we should sign a prenuptial agreement?” Alya suggested over dinner. “Just to clearly define both of our rights.”
Gleb set down his fork.
“A prenuptial agreement? You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust,” Alya replied gently. “It’s simply a reasonable precaution when making such major financial decisions.”
“My parents are helping us, and you respond with this kind of ingratitude,” Gleb stood up from the table. “I’m not discussing this.”
At work, Alya decided to talk to her boss, Andrey Solovyov, who always treated her kindly.
“Andrey Viktorovich, may I speak with you?”
“Of course, Alya, come in,” he turned away from his computer. “Did something happen?”
Alya briefly explained the situation, trying to stay objective.
“You know, I had a friend in a similar situation,” Andrey said thoughtfully. “His wife sold her apartment, the money went toward buying a new one, which they registered under the husband and his parents. A year later they divorced, and she ended up without a home and without money.”
“Do you think Gleb…”
“I’m not claiming anything,” Andrey said, raising his hands. “But be careful with the paperwork. And why rush the sale anyway? If everything is fine, the apartment isn’t going anywhere.”
That evening, Alya found a real estate brochure from Tatiana Kovalyova’s agency in their mailbox. On the back, a handwritten note said: “Call me about the apartment viewing on Thursday.”
“Gleb, did you arrange a viewing of our apartment?” she asked when he got home.
“Oh, yes,” he tossed his jacket casually onto a chair. “Tatiana said there are potential buyers. They want to see it.”
“But we haven’t even decided to sell!”
“Alya, it’s just a preliminary viewing. Nothing serious. Don’t slow down the process, okay?”
On Thursday, Alya took a day off so she could be present during the viewing. Tatiana arrived with a couple and led them through the rooms, praising the apartment’s features.
“And how much are you asking for the apartment?” the man asked once they finished the tour.
“We haven’t settled on a price yet,” Alya said.
“What do you mean, not settled?” Tatiana cut in. “We agreed with Gleb — three million two hundred. A very good price for an apartment like this.”
Alya stared at the realtor in surprise.
“That’s significantly below market value.”
“Alevtina, the market is stagnant right now,” Tatiana explained condescendingly. “And the building is old, the utilities are worn out.”
When the potential buyers left, Alya turned to Tatiana resolutely:
“I want to clarify something. My husband and I haven’t made a final decision about selling. And we definitely haven’t discussed the price.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no need to get so worked up,” Tatiana patted her hand. “Gleb explained everything in detail. You sell this apartment, you buy a new, bigger, better one. Everyone wins.”
After the realtor left, Alya opened her laptop and checked the joint bank account she shared with Gleb. What she saw made her go cold: three days earlier, Gleb had transferred four hundred thousand rubles to his father’s account.
That evening she asked her husband about the transfer.
“Oh… that,” Gleb hesitated. “Dad asked for help with a project. It’s a temporary loan, he’ll pay it back.”
“Why didn’t you discuss it with me? That’s our shared money.”
“I didn’t think it mattered to you,” Gleb snapped. “You’ve become so suspicious lately!”
Alya decided it was time to act. The next day she called Nika again.
“I think they’re planning something bad,” she admitted to her friend. “I need a consultation with a good lawyer.”
“I can recommend Kirill Yefremov,” Nika offered. “He specializes in family law — very competent.”
Alya met Kirill at his office. After telling him everything, she asked:
“What do you think is happening?”
“Judging by what you’ve described, it looks like your husband and his parents plan to deprive you of any ownership rights to the new apartment while using the money from selling your current one,” Kirill said seriously. “It’s a common scheme. Unfortunately, I see this often.”
“What should I do?”
“First — do not sign any documents regarding the sale. Second — gather evidence of their intentions. Recordings, bank statements, witness testimony if possible.”
“And if I decide to divorce?”
“If you have proof of your husband’s dishonest actions, the court will take it into account during the division of property. But we need undeniable evidence.”
Alya decided to follow Kirill’s advice and began collecting evidence. She made copies of all documents, recorded phone conversations with Gleb in which he unintentionally revealed their plans.
One day she found a draft purchase agreement for their future apartment in her husband’s papers. Alya wasn’t mentioned in it at all — only Gleb and his parents as co-borrowers.
That evening Gleb told her that his parents would come on Saturday to discuss “important details” of the upcoming deal.
“I want us to finally make a decision,” he said. “Don’t drag things out, okay?”
“All right,” Alya agreed surprisingly easily. “Let’s discuss everything and decide.”
After Gleb called his parents, Alya phoned Nika:
“I need your help. And some equipment.”
On Saturday, Alya prepared lunch and, while Gleb was in the shower, installed a small camera in the living room, disguised as a decorative item — a gift from Nika, who had brought it the day before.
“So, Alevtina, we’ve come to the conclusion that we need to act quickly,” declared Olesya Sergeyevna as soon as she sat down at the table. “Tatiana has found very good buyers who are ready to take your apartment at the price we discussed.”
“And what price is that?” Alya asked.
“Three million two hundred,” Gleb replied. “We discussed it.”
“But the market value is higher.”
“Market value, not market value…” the mother-in-law waved dismissively. “The important thing is that there’s a concrete offer. And have you found a good three-room apartment in a new building?”
“Yes, Dad already arranged a preliminary viewing,” Gleb nodded. “In the ‘Rechnoy’ residential complex.”
“And how much does that apartment cost?” Alya asked.
“Six million,” answered Roman Anatolyevich. “But everything there is new — fresh renovations, a good neighborhood.”
“So we’re short almost three million,” Alya calculated. “And you’re willing to cover that?”
“Well, not exactly,” Roman Anatolyevich cleared his throat. “We’ll add one million, and the rest will go into the mortgage.”
“And who will the apartment be registered under?”
“Under Gleb and us as co-borrowers,” Olesya Sergeyevna said confidently. “You understand that the bank looks at solvency.”
“And why can’t it be registered under me and Gleb? We have a stable combined income.”
The in-laws exchanged glances.
“You see, Alevtina, anything can happen in life,” began Roman Anatolyevich. “We need to look after our son.”
“So you don’t trust me?” Alya looked from the in-laws to her husband.
“It’s not about trust,” Gleb intervened. “It’ll just be easier to arrange the mortgage this way.”
“And where will the money from selling my apartment go?”
“Part of it will go toward the down payment, and part…” Olesya hesitated.
“And part can be invested in a promising business project,” Roman Anatolyevich continued. “I have an idea — very profitable. Much better than paying interest to the bank.”
“So you want me to sell my apartment, use part of the money to buy a new one where I won’t be an owner, and invest the rest in your business project?” Alya clarified.
“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound very good,” Roman frowned.
“And how is it supposed to sound?”
“Alya, you’re overcomplicating things,” Gleb sighed. “My parents are trying to help us.”
“Help you, you mean?” Alya rose from the table. “Excuse me, I need to think. Alone.”
She left the room but didn’t go far — she stopped in the hallway near the slightly open door, listening to their conversation.
“Gleb, why are we even bothering with this mortgage thing?” Roman asked irritably. “Your wife has a spacious apartment. Sell it, invest the money in my project, and in a year we’ll buy you a home with no loans.”
“But she wants to put that money toward a new apartment,” Gleb replied.
“Son, don’t be naïve,” Olesya cut in. “We’ll register the new apartment to you and us. If something goes wrong in your marriage, you won’t end up on the street. And the money from her apartment can be used wisely.”
Alya felt the blood drain from her face. Everything was exactly as she had suspected — they were planning to deceive her. The man she loved, the man she had lived with for three years, was ready to leave her with nothing.
For the next few days, Alya pretended nothing had happened. She went to work, cooked dinners, discussed weekend plans with Gleb. But inside her, a decision was forming.
On the third day after the infamous conversation, she met with Kirill Yefremov and handed him all the evidence she had collected: recordings of conversations, bank statements, copies of documents, and, most importantly, the video of the Saturday meeting showing her in-laws and Gleb openly discussing their plans.
“These are very strong pieces of evidence,” Kirill said after reviewing the materials. “You can take this to court.”
“I don’t want to go to court,” Alya shook her head. “I want to get a divorce and keep my apartment.”
“With evidence like this, that won’t be a problem. They clearly acted in bad faith. The court will be on your side.”
Kirill helped Alya prepare all the necessary documents for the divorce. Only the hardest part remained — the conversation with Gleb.
That evening Alya invited her in-laws for dinner. She set the table and cooked Gleb’s favorite dishes.
“Are we celebrating something?” her husband asked, surprised, when he returned from work.
“More like having an important conversation,” Alya replied. “Your parents will be here soon.”
When everyone gathered at the table, Alya spoke calmly:
“I accidentally overheard your conversation about my apartment last Saturday. I want to understand why you’re planning to deceive me.”
Silence fell. Olesya Sergeyevna paled, and Roman Anatolyevich froze with his fork in the air.
“What are you talking about?” the mother-in-law was the first to recover. “No one planned to deceive you.”
“Really?” Alya smiled. “What about the phrase: ‘Gleb, why do we need a mortgage if your wife has a spacious apartment?’ And everything you said afterward — about registering the new apartment in Gleb’s name and yours so that I wouldn’t have any rights to it?”
“Alya, you misunderstood everything,” Gleb jumped in. “My parents were just worried…”
“About you, not about me,” Alya finished for him. “Yes, I understood that perfectly. As well as the fact that you planned to use the money from selling my apartment for some questionable business projects.”
“You were eavesdropping?” Olesya gasped indignantly.
“Yes,” Alya replied calmly. “And not only that. I have all the evidence of your ‘plan’ — recorded conversations, documents, video. I could file charges for attempted fraud, but I won’t. I’m simply filing for divorce.”
She took the documents out of her folder and placed them in front of Gleb.
“Here is the divorce application and the property division agreement. You take your things and return the money you transferred to your father from our joint account.”
“You can’t do this!” Gleb jumped up. “We’re—”
“No need to continue,” Alya remained remarkably composed. “I’ve made my decision. You have a choice: either we separate peacefully, or I use the evidence in court. And yes, here’s a copy of your conversation recording.” She placed a flash drive on the table. “Feel free to listen — very enlightening.”
The in-laws and Gleb looked stunned. They clearly hadn’t expected such a turn of events.
“Alya, let’s discuss everything,” Gleb tried one last time. “You misunderstood—”
“No, I understood everything exactly as it is,” Alya said firmly. “The three of you planned to deceive me. That is a fact, and I have proof. Choose, Gleb. Either peacefully, or through court.”
The divorce went quickly and quietly. Fearing legal consequences and publicity, Gleb did not challenge her conditions. He returned the money he had transferred to his father and moved in with his parents, taking only his personal belongings.
Her mother-in-law tried calling several times, but Alya didn’t answer. Everything that needed to be said had already been said.
At work, Alya immersed herself in a new project — a renovation program for old neighborhoods. Andrey Solovyov, noticing her enthusiasm and professionalism, offered her a promotion.
“Deputy department head,” he announced at the end of the quarter. “You’ve earned it, Alya.”
Alya decided not to sell her apartment. Instead, she took a small loan and renovated it, replacing the old windows, doors, and plumbing. The apartment transformed into a space that truly felt like hers, where every detail reflected her taste and character.
In the evenings, she often met with Nika, who had become even closer to her after everything that happened.
“You know, I don’t regret it,” Alya admitted to her friend during one of their meetups. “Yes, it was painful, but now I feel stronger.”
“You are strong,” Nika smiled. “Not everyone could come out of such a situation with that much dignity.”
One day, returning from work, Alya literally bumped into a man at the entrance of her building.
“Sorry, I didn’t— Pavel?” she exclaimed, recognizing an old university friend.
“Alya? What a surprise!” Pavel brightened. “You live here?”
“Yes, all my life. And you?”
“Just moved in. I came back to the city after six years in Siberia.”
They started talking, and Pavel invited her for a cup of coffee. Alya agreed — why not?
Pavel turned out to be the complete opposite of Gleb — open, straightforward, with a good sense of humor. He worked as an engineer at a large company, traveled a lot, and, as it turned out, had also recently gone through a divorce.
“My ex-wife said I spent too much time working,” he admitted. “Maybe she’s right. But now I’m trying to be more mindful of balance.”
Alya wasn’t rushing into a new relationship, but spending time with Pavel brought her joy. They often walked in the evenings, discussing books, films, and their jobs.
Six months after the divorce, Alya met Nika again in their favorite café.
“Can you imagine? Gleb and his parents are trying to get a mortgage to buy an apartment, but the bank refused,” Nika said, scrolling through her phone. “From what I’ve heard, Roman Anatolyevich ran into problems with his ‘profitable business project.’”
“How do you know?” Alya asked.
“Small city,” Nika shrugged. “News travels fast.”
Alya thought for a moment.
“Sometimes you need to lose something valuable to understand the true value of things. I’m grateful for the lesson.”
“And for your apartment,” Nika winked.
“For that too,” Alya smiled. “But most importantly — I’m grateful that I now know for sure: a home isn’t just walls, it’s a place where you feel safe. And sometimes you need to protect that place even from the people you once let into your life.”
That evening, as Alya returned home, she found Pavel at the entrance with a bouquet of wildflowers.
“I wanted to make you smile,” he said shyly.
Alya smiled and invited him in for tea. Perhaps this was the beginning of a new chapter — one where her home remained her fortress, but with room for new, genuine feelings.
