— Artyom is my golden boy! He’s been married for barely a year, and he’s already bought a home for his family!
Galina Timofeyevna proudly raised her glass, then looked around at everyone seated around the beautifully set table. The guests murmured approvingly, and someone even applauded.
— Now that’s a real man! — Valentina laughed. — All he needs now is to father a son and plant a tree!
Marina sat at the edge of the table, with her back to the wall she had painted herself barely three weeks earlier.
She said nothing.
She didn’t want to ruin the evening.
Not yet.
And yet, almost everyone at the table knew the truth.
Artyom hadn’t bought the apartment.
She had.
Marina.
Nine years of savings were invested in it.
Nine years of sacrifices.
And now her mother-in-law was talking as if her son had created a family home all by himself in a single year.
Marina slowly ran her fingers over her glass.
She didn’t want to make a scene.
But eventually, she could no longer remain silent.
Marina had started seriously saving money when she was twenty-two.
After graduating from college, she found a job as a dental technician at a private clinic near Yaroslavl. She didn’t earn much, so in the evenings she took on extra work: she made dental models for two nearby practices, and on weekends she filled in for colleagues who were on vacation.
She lived with her parents.
She didn’t have to pay rent or buy groceries separately, so she was able to save almost her entire salary.
Her friends sometimes teased her.
— Marina, you’ll be an old woman by the time you finally get that apartment!
She would just smile.
— Maybe. But I’ll still have a home of my own.
Once every three years, she allowed herself a modest vacation. She didn’t buy a car. She had been wearing the same winter coat for six years.
Before every unnecessary expense, she asked herself the same question:
“Is this really more important than my own apartment?”
And if the answer was no, the money went straight into her savings account.
Her parents helped too.
Every year, on her daughter’s birthday, Nina Sergeyevna gave her an envelope.
— This is for your dream. Don’t you dare spend it on anything else!
By the time she was thirty, Marina had accumulated enough money in her account to buy a modest two-room apartment on the outskirts.
All she needed was to find the right one.
Then she met Artyom.
They met at the birthday party of a mutual acquaintance. The man repaired refrigeration equipment. He was calm, rarely spoke unnecessarily, and seemed like someone who had both feet firmly on the ground.
Ten months later, they got married.
The housing issue was quickly resolved.
Artyom’s mother offered them her second apartment.
— It’s standing empty — she said. — I used to rent it out, but I’m tired of having strangers there. Live in it!
Marina was relieved.
She still hadn’t managed to buy her own apartment, and at least they wouldn’t have to pay rent to a stranger.
The apartment was spacious, with high ceilings and a beautiful view of the trees in the park.
But it soon became clear that there was a problem.
The apartment belonged to her mother-in-law, and Galina Timofeyevna not only retained ownership of it. She also considered herself entitled to interfere in everything.
She came without warning.
She opened the door with her own key.
And the moment she entered the hallway, she began inspecting them.
— Marin, did you pay the electricity bill?
— Yes.
— Because I logged into the online account yesterday and it was still showing there. Pay more attention! In the end, I’ll have to take care of everything for you.
Marina would simply answer:
— All right.
She knew the apartment wasn’t hers.
And that was exactly the problem.
At the end of May, Galina Timofeyevna showed up with a measuring tape.
Marina had just stepped out of the bathroom when she saw her mother-in-law in the bedroom, kneeling down and measuring the wall.
— What are you doing?
— I’m checking whether my wardrobe will fit here.
Marina thought she had misheard.
— What wardrobe?
— My old bedroom furniture. I ordered a new set. I feel bad throwing the old one away. It’s Czech furniture, sturdy and built to last forever.
Marina stared at her for several seconds.
— You mean you want to bring it here?
— Of course.
— Into our bedroom?
Galina Timofeyevna sighed.
— Oh, Marinotchka, why do you make a problem out of everything? It’s good furniture. It’ll be useful to you too.
— We already have furniture.
— There’s still room for one wardrobe.
— There isn’t.
— How do you know?
— Because we live here.
The smile disappeared from her mother-in-law’s face.
— Don’t forget that this is my apartment.
Marina was silent for a moment.
She had heard those words so many times that she practically knew them by heart.
Then she calmly said:
— All right. Then let’s be honest. If this apartment really belongs to you, then I also accept that you get to decide everything. But then we won’t live here anymore.
— Where will you go?
— We’ll rent.
Galina Timofeyevna laughed.
— With your salary?
Marina looked at her.
— I’ve been saving for nine years from my salary.
Her mother-in-law’s face tightened for a moment.
— We’ll see.
And she left.
That evening Artyom came home, had dinner, talked about work, and then fell asleep in front of the television.
Marina didn’t wake him.
She opened her banking app.
She looked at the money she had accumulated over nine years.
Then she messaged Oksana, an old acquaintance who worked in real estate.
“Can you show me some apartments tomorrow?”
The next day, she got permission to leave work for two hours.
She viewed two apartments.
At the second one, she knew.
This is the one I want.
That evening, she told Artyom over dinner.
— I’m buying an apartment.
The man put down his fork.
— What?
— My own. I looked at two today.
Artyom was silent for a long time.
Marina prepared herself for an argument.
But her husband finally said only:
— It’s your money. You decide.
— You’re not against it?
— No. You’ve been saving for nine years. I know.
Marina felt relieved.
— Then all right.
But Artyom added:
— Don’t tell Mom yet.
Marina looked up.
— Why?
— She’ll be offended.
— And if she is?
Artyom said nothing.
Marina slowly asked:
— Are we buying a home because we’re running away from her?
Artyom didn’t answer.
He simply gathered the plates.
Her mother-in-law found out within a week anyway.
A neighbor from the third floor had seen Marina outside the building with Oksana, carrying a folder of documents.
By evening, Galina Timofeyevna knew everything.
At nine o’clock, she showed up at their apartment.
She sat down in the kitchen without even taking off her coat.
— What apartment are you looking at?
— My own.
— And with what money?
— My own money.
— Why do you need another apartment? I gave this one to you!
Marina looked at her calmly.
— Verbally.
— What?
— You gave it to us verbally. On paper, however, it still belongs to you.
— You can live here until you’re old!
— That’s exactly the problem.
— What problem?
— That you can remind us at any moment that this is your apartment.
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together.
Then she had another idea.
— Then buy a car! Artyom drives that old thing. A proper man needs a proper car.
— If he needs one, he’ll buy one.
— He doesn’t have enough money!
Marina looked at her.
— Neither did I. I saved mine.
Galina Timofeyevna had nothing to say to that.
After a few seconds, she tried again.
— Then buy a vacation house.
— I don’t want a vacation house.
— A plot of land in Nekrasovskoye. Fruit trees, a garden, fresh air…
— I want an apartment.
— Why?
Marina smiled.
— An apartment where nobody wants to move a wardrobe from their bedroom into ours.
Her mother-in-law’s face hardened.
— You live between my walls, yet you’re counting your own money.
— The money is mine. The walls are yours.
Marina stood up.
— At least now everything is clear.
A week later, on Thursday, the wardrobe arrived.
Marina got home at seven in the evening.
A delivery truck was parked outside the building.
Two movers were waiting beside it.
And Galina Timofeyevna was directing them as if she were the lady of the house.
— Be careful! It’s veneered!
Marina stopped.
— What’s going on?
Her mother-in-law turned toward her with a smile.
— I brought the wardrobe.
— They’re not taking it upstairs.
— Marina…
— No.
— This is my apartment.
— I know.
— Then I can do whatever I want in it.
Marina looked her straight in the eye.
— Yes. That’s why we’re moving out on Saturday.
Just then, Artyom’s car drove into the courtyard.
He got out.
His mother immediately turned to him.
— Son, explain this to her!
Artyom looked at the truck.
Then at his mother.
Then at Marina.
Long seconds passed.
Marina was already afraid that her husband wouldn’t stand up for her.
Then Artyom spoke.
— Mom…
— Yes?
— Take the wardrobe away.
Galina Timofeyevna stared at him in shock.
— What?
— We don’t need it.
They moved out on Saturday.
Into a one-room apartment near the train station.
It was small and noisy, and traffic could be heard beneath the kitchen window all night.
But no one except the two of them had a key.
Two weeks later, Marina paid the down payment on the two-room apartment she had chosen.
In July, she received the keys.
They renovated it themselves.
Artyom installed the kitchen, while Marina painted.
They argued about the color of the hallway.
They made up over pizza.
They slept on a mattress in the middle of the living room.
And that was when Marina realized something.
This was the happiest period of their marriage.
Because for the first time, they felt as though they were truly living their own lives.
Her mother-in-law barely contacted them throughout the summer.
Then, starting in August, she began calling again.
She asked how they were doing.
She sent jars of jam.
Then she slowly began telling everyone how capable her son was.
Artyom’s cousin let it slip.
— But you bought an apartment! Aunt Galya tells everyone about it.
Marina simply smiled.
She didn’t want an argument.
The housewarming party was held with both families invited.
Two tables were set.
Twelve people sat around them.
Galina Timofeyevna was the third person to raise her glass.
— I want to make a toast to my son! Artyom is my golden boy! He’s been married for a year, and he’s already bought a home for his family!
Someone laughed.
— Now that’s a real man!
Marina looked at her parents.
Her father lowered his head.
Her mother sat stiffly.
And Artyom stared at his plate.
Galina Timofeyevna continued:
— Now you finally have a real home. I always told you, Marinka, hold on to a husband like this! Not everyone is so lucky.
Marina put down her glass.
— By the way, I bought the apartment.
Silence.
Such complete silence fell over the table that the dripping faucet in the kitchen could be heard.
Galina Timofeyevna slowly turned toward her.
— What did you say?
— I said I bought the apartment.
— Is this some kind of joke?
— No.
Marina’s voice remained calm.
— I saved for it for nine years. Since I was twenty-two. My parents helped too. Neither you nor Artyom contributed any money toward this apartment.
— Are you saying my son did nothing?!
— No. Artyom works. We renovated the apartment together. But the purchase price came from my nine years of savings.
Galina Timofeyevna’s face turned red.
— Everything in a family is shared!
Marina was silent for a moment.
— Then why is the apartment you inherited from your mother solely in your name?
Her mother-in-law fell silent.
— That’s different!
— How?
— Because my mother left it to me!
— And my parents helped me buy this one.
No one at the table moved.
Then Galina Timofeyevna gave a bitter laugh.
— You’re ungrateful.
— Maybe.
— Selfish.
— Maybe.
— And where will my son go if you get divorced?
Marina looked at her.
— A grown man can decide for himself where he wants to live.
And then Artyom finally spoke.
— Mom. Enough.
Galina Timofeyevna looked at him in disbelief.
— You’re against me too?
Artyom slowly shook his head.
— I’m not against you. I just don’t want someone else’s property to be credited to me.
His mother stood up without a word.
She picked up her bag.
And left.
That night, Marina and Artyom washed the dishes together.
— I’m sorry — the man said.
— For what?
— For not stopping her earlier.
Marina turned off the faucet.
— Yes. You should have.
Artyom sat down.
— In August, Mom asked me to talk to you.
Marina turned around.
— About what?
— About putting half the apartment in my name.
Marina’s face tightened.
— And?
Artyom lowered his eyes.
— She said that normally, a husband should have a home of his own too.
Silence.
— And what did you tell her?
— That I’d think about it.
Marina felt as if someone had suddenly pulled the ground out from under her feet.
— You actually considered it?
Artyom nodded.
— Yes.
That night Marina didn’t sleep.
She simply lay in the darkness.
Nine years.
Nine years of savings.
And for the first time, she felt that perhaps it wasn’t the apartment she needed to protect.
It was her own security.
The next day, she called an attorney she knew.
She made an appointment with a notary for Friday.
On Wednesday, she spoke with Artyom.
She placed a document in front of him.
— A marital property agreement.
Artyom read it.
— So you don’t trust me?
— I want to protect my apartment.
— As if I’m a stranger.
Marina looked him in the eyes.
— I’m not protecting you. I’m protecting nine years of my work.
Artyom stood up.
— I laid the tiles.
— I know.
— I assembled the kitchen.
— I know.
— Then why isn’t that enough?
Marina’s voice broke.
— Because while you were laying the tiles, the two of you were talking behind my back about how half the apartment should belong to you.
Artyom didn’t answer.
He left.
He didn’t call for two days.
Then he came back Friday morning.
He was unshaven.
In his hand was a bag.
Her favorite pastries.
— Let’s go to the notary — he said.
Marina looked at him.
— Are you sure?
— Yes.
Then he added:
— Just promise me you’re not doing this because you want to leave me.
— I promise.
They signed the agreement at eleven.
Artyom signed first.
It was raining outside.
Standing in front of the notary’s office, Artyom said:
— I’ll tell Mom.
Marina shook her head.
— No.
— Why?
— Because this is my document.
On Saturday, Marina returned the keys to the old apartment.
Galina Timofeyevna opened the door wearing a robe.
She said nothing.
Marina placed the keys on the table.
— So you took my son to the notary.
— Yes.
— How calculating of you.
Marina didn’t answer.
Her mother-in-law sat down.
Her voice was completely different now.
— I’m fifty-nine years old.
Marina looked up.
— I raised Artyom alone from the age of seven. His father left. I worked two shifts so he could have everything.
She fell silent.
— Do you think I’m protecting myself?
Marina didn’t know what to say.
Galina Timofeyevna looked toward the window.
— I’m afraid you’ll leave him one day. And then he’ll have nothing.
Marina slowly spoke.
— I didn’t ask you for a single square meter.
She stood up.
— And don’t ask me for one either.
The keys remained on the table.
Marina left.
A month and a half passed.
Artyom became quieter.
He didn’t argue.
He didn’t mention the agreement.
He visited his mother alone.
And Marina didn’t ask questions.
On Artyom’s birthday, Galina Timofeyevna came anyway.
She brought cabbage pies.
She stood up and congratulated her son.
This time she didn’t speak to Marina condescendingly.
She didn’t call her “Marinka.”
She simply said:
— Marina.
Later, when she was leaving, she stopped in the hallway.
She looked around at the walls.
— You have a beautiful apartment.
Marina almost corrected her.
She almost said:
“My apartment.”
But in the end, she simply replied:
— Thank you. The pie was delicious.
Galina Timofeyevna nodded.
Then she left.
Marina closed the door behind her.
She turned the key in the lock.
And for several seconds, she simply stood there in the silence.
Her own walls.
Her own lock.
Her own name on the documents.
And beside her, a husband who had finally signed the paper she needed in order to feel safe again.
But Marina knew:
the price of the apartment had not been money alone.
It had taken nine years of savings.
And then something else.
Her faith that her husband would stand by her even when his mother pressured him.
And that was a price that could never be repaid.
It would never appear on any bank statement.
What would you have done in Marina’s place?
Would you have taken your husband to the notary and protected yourself?
Or would you have trusted Artyom’s word and left everything as it was?
