“I’m alone there.”
Arina returned to the table.
“You came for one week. Nearly two months have passed.”
“Am I really bothering anyone?”
Arina looked at the measuring tape, shopping list, and flooring samples.
“You threw away my things, invited guests, rearranged the cupboards, touched my documents, and now you’ve taken over a room. Yes, you are bothering me.”
Her mother-in-law threw up her hands.
“I was trying to turn this place into a proper home!”
“This is my home. I liked it the way it was before you arrived.”
“Dima lives here too.”
“Lived.”
Her husband shoved his chair back sharply.
“You don’t even understand what you’re saying.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Arina went into the bedroom, opened the top shelf of the wardrobe, and took out the blue folder. She had begun keeping the ownership papers there after her mother-in-law started going through the office.
Back in the kitchen, Arina placed the purchase agreement, the mortgage repayment certificate, and a recent ownership extract in front of her husband.
“I bought this apartment before we met. There is one owner, and that owner is me. You are not registered here, and you have no share in it. Your mother has even less claim.”
Dmitry did not look at the documents.
“I already know the apartment is yours.”
“Then why are both of you behaving as though it isn’t?”
“Because I’m your husband.”
“Being my husband does not give you the right to secretly convert my office into a bedroom for your mother.”
“It isn’t someone else’s apartment. It’s our home!”
Arina turned the ownership extract toward him.
“No. Our family life may have been shared. This apartment is my separate property.”
Valentina Sergeyevna stepped closer to the table.
“So you’re saying my son is nobody here?”
“I’m saying he lived here with my permission. As of today, that permission is withdrawn.”
“Where are we supposed to go?”
“You will return to your apartment. Dmitry can decide for himself where he wants to live.”
Her mother-in-law straightened.
“I rented my apartment out.”
Arina frowned.
“When?”
Valentina Sergeyevna looked away.
“Last week.”
“For how long?”
“Eleven months.”
Dmitry intervened.
“Mom doesn’t owe you an explanation.”
Arina closed the folder.
Now she understood why her mother-in-law had been so confident while moving in the furniture. She had no intention of going home and had already decided she would remain in her son’s household.
“So you rented out your apartment knowing that I had never agreed to you living here permanently?”
“Dima said he would take care of it.”
Arina turned to her husband.
“You gave her permission to rent it out?”
“I said she could stay.”
“In my apartment.”
“Stop repeating the same thing!”
Dmitry slammed his palm onto the table. The mug rocked, but Arina caught it before it fell.
“Do not raise your voice,” she said. “It will not change anything.”
“You’re throwing my mother into the street!”
“No. She owns an apartment that she voluntarily rented to tenants. She can decide how to handle the situation. Besides, she can stay with you temporarily.”
“And where am I supposed to live?”
“Not here.”
Dmitry’s face reddened.
“I’ve lived in this apartment for years!”
“And during all those years, you knew who owned it.”
“I contributed to this household.”
“Do you have receipts for renovations or major purchases?”
He fell silent.
During their marriage, Dmitry had occasionally bought groceries and once replaced the kitchen faucet. The furniture, appliances, and all major work had been paid for by Arina, either before he moved in or later when she chose and purchased them herself. She had no intention of arguing over trivial expenses, but she would not allow her husband to invent investments that had never existed.
“Take everything you personally bought for yourself,” she continued. “Your tools, clothes, computer. Everything else stays here.”
Valentina Sergeyevna squeezed the pencil so hard that it snapped.
“I already moved my furniture here. I paid for the delivery.”
“Then take it with you.”
“Where?”
“That is not my problem.”
Dmitry left the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door. A few minutes later, the sounds of wardrobes being opened came from inside.
His mother remained seated at the table.
“You’ll regret this,” she said. “You’re losing a good husband over one room.”
Arina gathered up her documents.
“A good husband does not wait until his wife is away to give her office to his mother.”
“Dima was trying to do what was best.”
“He wanted to avoid arguing with you or with me, so he decided it would be easier to present me with a finished decision.”
Valentina Sergeyevna said nothing more.
No one left that evening. Dmitry announced that he would not search for somewhere to stay in the middle of the night. Arina did not make a scene. She gave them three days to pack.
“The apartment must be empty by the evening of August twelfth.”
“And what if it isn’t?” her husband asked.
“Then I will call the police and report that people who do not own the property are refusing to leave my home.”
“I’m your legal husband.”
“That does not make you an owner.”
Dmitry tried to argue, but he quickly understood that his wife was not going to back down.
Arina locked the documents in her suitcase, moved her belongings into the bedroom, and locked the door. She barely slept that night. On the other side of the wall, her mother-in-law whispered with her son. Occasionally Dmitry’s irritated voice rose, followed by silence.
Arina got up before everyone else the next morning.
She photographed every room, the boxes in the hallway, the dismantled desk, and the rolls of flooring. Then she checked the documents and sent her husband a written message stating the deadline for moving out. She wanted the arrangement recorded in writing, not merely spoken aloud.
Dmitry read the message over breakfast.
“So now you’re collecting evidence?”
“I’m documenting what has happened.”
“Preparing for court?”
“If you refuse to file for divorce by mutual consent at the civil registry office, I’ll file through the court.”
He placed his phone face down.
“So you’ve already made up your mind.”
“You made up your minds before I did. I merely reached the logical conclusion.”
Valentina Sergeyevna did not come into the kitchen. She was making calls from the room, complaining that her daughter-in-law was “throwing an elderly woman out in the middle of the night.”
