— I called the bank. They won’t give you a mortgage, — my mother-in-law bragged. I asked her what time she made the call.
The denial came in the evening, and our reservation on the apartment was about to expire in just a few days. Instead of starting a family argument, I decided to open up my own credit report and figure out what in this story was actually true and what was just something Galina Petrovna said.
The rejection arrived at 6:47 PM.
I was in the hallway, slipping off my shoes, when my phone buzzed just once in my hand. The screen showed a message from the bank. I opened it before I even hung up my coat.
“Your application has been denied.”
Just four days ago, Sergey and I sat in the real estate office debating between two apartments. One had a smaller kitchen, but it offered a direct commute to my work. We reserved that one. The hold was good until Monday.
I read the message twice.
“What’s up?” Sergey peeked out of the room.
“Denied.”
He came closer, took my phone, as if it might show different words if he stared at it long enough.
From the kitchen came Galina Petrovna’s voice:
“See? Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”
We’d been living with her for seven months. The original plan was three. Then just a bit longer to save up more. Then to wait for the right place. Galina Petrovna kept repeating that she wasn’t kicking us out.
But little by little, the word “temporary” disappeared from our conversations.
I headed into the kitchen. My mother-in-law was packing groceries into containers, checking the receipt.
“Why do you think it’s not meant to be?” I asked.
She looked up.
“Because the bank is smarter than you. If people can’t handle a mortgage, they don’t get one.”
“Mom, we can handle it,” Sergey said, tiredly. “The payments are less than we used to pay in rent.”
Galina Petrovna snapped a lid onto a container.
“On paper, everything looks nice. But what about your lives? Today you decide one thing, tomorrow something else. One minute you’re moving out, the next you’re back. Who knows what debts Lena has.”
I stared at her.
“What debts?”
She gave a barely noticeable smile.
“The ones the bank should know about.”
Sergey frowned.
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
She wiped her hands and turned to face us fully.
“I called the bank. They won’t give you a mortgage,” she told me. “I explained your lives are unstable. That you live here on and off, that Lena might have debts. Let them double-check everything.”
I just looked at her for a while.
Not because I didn’t understand. If anything, it was too clear.
We discussed neighborhoods in front of her. Sergey mentioned the bank in front of her. I left the folder with all our calculations laying out on the table. We weren’t exactly keeping our mortgage plans a secret. It hadn’t even occurred to me that naming the bank could become someone’s tool.
“Did you really call?” Sergey asked.
“Why not? I’m your mother. I need to know what you’re getting into.”
“Did you mention Lena?”
“Of course. I mentioned you too.”
Sergey ran a hand over his head.
“Why?”
“Because someone has to use their head.”
I put my phone face down.
“When did you call?”
Galina Petrovna didn’t even look worried.
“Tuesday.”
“About what time?”
“After lunch. Maybe three-ish. Why do you care?”
“I want to piece together the timeline.”
She smirked.
“Go right ahead. The result is in.”
Sergey turned to me.
“Lena, wait. Maybe none of this even matters. Maybe Mom just talked nonsense and the bank made their own checks.”
“Maybe.”
“Exactly,” Galina Petrovna was quick to agree. “So don’t try to make me the villain here.”
I picked up my phone.
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just going to check my data first.”
My mother-in-law shrugged.
“Check all you want. If one bank turns you down, the others aren’t blind.”
Up until that night, it always annoyed me when she asked how much we’d saved, when she peeked at Sergey’s calendar or reminded him about her plans before he had a chance to mention ours. Every time we checked out a new apartment, she’d say, “And what’s so bad about living here?”
I thought of it as the price for saving money… Continued just below in the first comment
4
The rejection came in the evening, just days before our apartment reservation would expire. Instead of starting a family argument, I decided to check my credit report myself and figure out what was true and what was just Galina Petrovna’s words.
The rejection arrived at 6:47 PM.
I was standing in the hallway, taking off my shoes, when my phone buzzed softly in my hand. It was a message from the bank on the screen. I opened it even before hanging up my coat.
“Your application has been denied.”
Just four days ago, Sergey and I were at the sales office choosing between two apartments. One had a smaller kitchen, but it was on a direct route to my work. We picked that one and placed a hold on it, which was good until Monday.
I read the message twice.
“What is it?” Sergey peeked out of the room.
“Rejected.”
He stepped closer and took my phone, as if different words might suddenly appear on the screen.
From the kitchen, we heard Galina Petrovna’s voice:
“Well. Guess it’s not meant to be.”
We’d been living with her for seven months. At first, we planned to stay three. Then save up a bit more. Then wait for the right apartment. The whole time, Galina Petrovna liked to remind us she wasn’t kicking anyone out.
But the word “temporary” slowly disappeared from our conversations.
I walked into the kitchen. My mother-in-law was sorting groceries into containers, cross-checking with the receipt.
“Why do you think it’s not meant to be?” I asked.
She looked up.
“Because the bank is smarter than you. If someone can’t handle a mortgage, they won’t get one.”
“Mom, we can handle it,” Sergey said tiredly. “The payments would be less than what we used to pay for rent.”
Galina Petrovna snapped a lid onto a container.
“Everything looks great on paper. But what about your real life? One day you decide something, the next you change your mind. You move out, you move back in. Who knows what debts Lena might have.”
I looked at her.
“What debts?”
My mother-in-law smiled slightly.
“The ones the bank should know about.”
Sergey frowned.
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
She wiped her hands on a towel and turned to face us fully.
“I called the bank. You’re not getting a mortgage,” she told me. “I explained that your lives are unstable. That you’re sometimes living here, sometimes looking for a place. That you might have debts. Let them check everything carefully.”
For a few seconds, I just stared at her.
Not because I didn’t understand. On the contrary, it was all too clear.
We had talked about the neighborhood in front of her. Sergey mentioned the bank in front of her. I left the folder with our calculations on the side table. We never tried to keep the mortgage a secret. It never even occurred to me that the name of the bank would become someone else’s tool.
“Did you really call?” Sergey asked.
“What’s so strange? I’m a mom. I need to understand what you’re getting into.”
“You gave them Lena’s name?”
“Of course. And yours too.”
Sergey rubbed the back of his head.
“Why?”
“Because someone has to use their head.”
I placed my phone face down.
“When did you call?”
Galina Petrovna didn’t even look concerned.
“Tuesday.”
“About what time?”
“After lunch. Around three, I guess. Why do you want to know?”
“Just trying to figure out the sequence of events.”
She smirked.
“Figure away. The result is already here.”
Sergey turned to me.
“Lena, hold on. Maybe this has nothing to do with it at all. Mom was just saying nonsense, the bank checks everything on its own.”
“Maybe.”
“Exactly,” Galina Petrovna quickly chimed in. “So don’t go making me out to be a criminal now.”
I picked up my phone.
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything. First, I’m going to check my own information.”
My mother-in-law shrugged.
“Check all you want. If one bank refused, the others aren’t blind either.”
Before that evening, it used to bother me that she always asked how much we had saved. That she peeked at Sergey’s calendar and reminded him of her errands before he could even think about ours. That every time we looked at an apartment, she’d say: “What’s the matter with this one?”
I considered it the price of saving money.
But after what she said about the bank, the cost felt different.
The next day, I got to work earlier than usual.
There were about forty minutes left before the workday began. I turned on my computer, closed my office door, and used the government portal to check which bureaus held my credit report. Then I ordered the reports.
While the webpages were loading, I started imagining all sorts of scenarios.
An old loan closed incorrectly. Someone else’s contract. A typo in my last name. Some debt for a few thousand I knew nothing about.
There was none of that.
I went through every section.
No overdue payments. No unknown loans. No outstanding debts I didn’t know about. Old obligations were settled. The inquiry from the first bank appeared right where it should.
I leaned back from the desk.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, I felt better—not because of what anyone said, but because of the numbers.
But that didn’t answer the biggest question.
Why was I denied?
I called the bank’s hotline. The operator listened to me, asked me to hold, then came back and repeated what I’d already seen in the message: the decision was made, and the bank doesn’t disclose reasons.
“I have another question,” I said. “Regarding my mortgage application, a third party called and gave information about me. I’d like to have this recorded.”
The conversation lasted much longer after that.
They transferred me between staff. Asked for my application number. Asked about the date of the supposed call and Galina Petrovna’s phone number. I only shared what I knew.
At the end, they gave me a reference number for my request.
A day later, I got a response.
The wording was careful. The bank didn’t explain why I was denied. They didn’t promise to review the decision. They didn’t say Galina Petrovna’s words were the reason.
But they did confirm this: a third-party contact regarding my application was registered.
I printed out the response and put it next to my credit reports.
It made a pretty funny-looking stack.
On top—a call from someone else.
Below that—my real information.
At lunch, I opened my bank’s app, the one where my salary had been going for years. I’d rarely checked the mortgage section before. Sergey had picked the first bank, since he liked the developer’s special offer.
Now I was starting over.
I called the bank’s mortgage specialist. They connected me to Anna Levina.
She spoke quickly, getting straight to the point.
“Is your income official?”
“Yes.”
“Will you have a co-borrower?”
I looked at Sergey’s last name on the prepared documents.
— Yes, it will happen. I’ll confirm for sure tonight.
— Alright. Then send over the documents. We’ll do a preliminary calculation right after uploading them.
I didn’t tell her about Galina Petrovna.
The bank didn’t need a chronicle of our family history.
They needed documents.
In the evening, I spread the papers out on the table in the room where Sergey and I had lived for the past seven months.
Sergey sat at the edge of the sofa, reading the reply from the first bank.
— So, they do have her call on record.
— They have the fact of an inquiry, not a reason for refusal.
— Got it.
He finished reading and handed the paper back to me.
— So what now?
— We’re applying to another bank.
— Right now?
— The reservation is until Monday. Our record is clean. Income is confirmed. There’s no point waiting for the first bank to change their mind.
Sergey nodded, but didn’t reach for his phone.
I knew this gesture of his. That’s how he stalled when he could already hear his mother’s voice in his head.
— Say it, I told him.
— She’ll be left alone.
I closed the folder.
— Sergey, she’s lived alone before. We help her. You drive her where she needs to go. I order her medicine when she needs it. Living in a separate apartment doesn’t end our relationship.
— I know.
— Then what is it?
He rubbed his knee with his palm.
— She thinks we’re running away from her.
— And you?
— I think it’s time for us to live separately.
That was the right thing to say. But he said it so quietly, as if he might still take it back.
The door opened without a knock.
Galina Petrovna came in holding a stack of receipts.
— Sergey, will you check the meter for me tomorrow? The numbers are strange again…
She noticed the papers on the table.
— What’s all this?
I didn’t put the folder away.
— A new application.
My mother-in-law turned her gaze to her son.
— What application?
— For a mortgage, Sergey replied.
— After being refused?
— Yes.
Galina Petrovna put the receipts on the dresser.
— So you understood nothing at all.
— Actually, we did understand, I said. There are no debts in my credit history like you mentioned. The bank recorded your call. They didn’t disclose the reason for denying us. That’s why we’re submitting to another bank.
She squinted at us.
— And do you think they’ll approve you there?
— That’s up to the bank to decide.
— I can call them too, you know.
— Sure, if you find out where to call.
A corner of her mouth twitched.
— So now you keep secrets from me?
— Our family’s financial decisions are no longer dinner-table conversation topics.
— Our family? she repeated. Sergey is my son.
— Mom, that’s enough, he said.
Galina Petrovna turned to him so sharply, it was as if I was no longer in the room.
— Enough of what? Am I in your way? I took you in when you needed to save money. I cook, I maintain the apartment. You drive me to my appointments. Now you’re just leaving, because Lena wants her own door?
— It’s not because Lena wants it.
— Then why?
Sergey stood up.
— Because I’m forty-eight years old.
His mother laughed sharply.
— So that’s it. At forty-eight, a mother becomes unnecessary.
— I never said that.
— Then what did you say? That you’ll pay the bank for twenty years just to get away from me?
I saw Sergey starting to slump again.
Just a minute ago, I wanted to help him. To speak up for him. To explain to Galina Petrovna that she’s going too far, that no one is abandoning her.
Then I stopped myself.
If I answer now, she’ll just argue with me again instead of actually listening to her son.
Sergey looked at her.
“Mom, I’ll come by. I’ll help out. If you need to see a doctor, I’ll take you. I’ll check the meter tomorrow. But we’re going to live separately.”
“So you’ve already made up your mind?”
“Yes.”
That “yes” was louder than anything else he’d said all evening.
Galina Petrovna looked at me.
“Happy now?”
“No.”
“Don’t act like a saint.”
“I’m not. I just don’t want to keep living here just because it’s convenient for you.”
She picked up the bills from the dresser.
“Don’t come running when the bank squeezes you later.”
Sergey sat down next to me.
“Mom.”
She stopped at the door.
“What?”
“What time should I check the meter tomorrow?”
His mother hesitated.
“After work.”
“Okay. I’ll drop by.”
She left and closed the door.
I pushed Sergey my phone.
“Will you confirm being a co-borrower?”
He took it.
“I confirm.”
We submitted the application that very evening.
The next day, Anna called me once to clarify my job details, then asked for an extra document from Sergey.
By the evening of the second day, I already hated the sound of notifications.
Every single one felt like it was from the bank.
But the decision didn’t come as a message.
Anna called herself.
I was at home. Sergey was gathering his tools to go to his mom’s to check the meter. Galina Petrovna was sitting in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.
I saw Anna’s name on the screen and stepped out into the hallway.
“Elena, good evening. There’s a decision about your application.”
I pressed the phone to my ear even harder.
“I’m listening.”
“Approved.”
I leaned my hand against the cabinet.
“Could you repeat that, please?”
Anna laughed.
“Approved. Actually, the available limit is higher than the amount you requested. There’s also a good rate available. I’ll send the calculation to your app right now so you and your husband can look it over.”
“Does our apartment qualify?”
“Based on the parameters, yes—preliminarily. Next, we’ll need documents about the property and the standard check.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Once you see the calculation, give me a call.”
I ended the call.
Sergey was standing in the doorway with a screwdriver in hand.
“Well?”
“We got approved.”
He blinked several times.
“For our amount?”
“Even more.”
“The rate?”
I opened the app.
The numbers were already on the screen.
“Lower than what we expected from the first bank.”
Sergey sat down on the ottoman and reached for the phone.
“Let me see.”
The conversation in the kitchen stopped.
After a few seconds, Galina Petrovna came into the hallway.
“What got approved?”
Sergey looked up at her.
“The mortgage.”
She glanced over at me.
“Which bank?”
“A different one,” I answered.
“So what now?”
I put the phone into my pocket.
“Now the bank will check the apartment. Then we’ll do the deal.”
Galina Petrovna adjusted her glasses.
“So you really are moving out.”
Sergey stood up.
“Mom, I’ll come by tomorrow. Like we agreed.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I will.”
She was about to say something else, but changed her mind.
This time, no one argued.
Three weeks later, we got the keys.
The apartment was nearly empty. Boxes stood in the hall, a rolled-up mattress lay in the room, and the kitchen didn’t even have a table yet.
Sergey was carrying bags in from the car when his mother called.
“Yeah, Mom… I see your message. No, I won’t make it today. I’ll check the receipt on Saturday… Yes. Saturday.”
He put his phone away and placed another box against the wall. Written in black marker on top: “Kitchen.”
“Just two left,” he said.
I grabbed the keys from the shelf.
The very keys we were only supposed to hold onto while we stayed with Galina Petrovna for a few months.
Now, they were ours.