Inna dried her hands on a dish towel and gave the table one last inspection. The salads were set out, the main course was ready, and wine glasses and candles glowed on the table. Everything looked tidy and warm.
Tonight, Roman was coming with his parents—her future mother-in-law and father-in-law. Inna was nervous. Usually, meetings with Roman’s parents were restrained: a café, or their place. This was the first time they were coming to her home.
The doorbell rang.
Inna opened the door. On the threshold stood Roman, his mother Marina Petrovna, and his father Viktor Anatolyevich. Marina Petrovna immediately flashed a broad smile and held out a bouquet.
“Innochka, hello!”
Inna felt her cheeks heat up. She took the flowers and invited them inside. Viktor Anatolyevich only nodded, slipped off his shoes, and walked into the room. Roman wrapped an arm around Inna’s shoulders and whispered in her ear:
“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
Inna nodded, but the unease inside her wouldn’t let go.
At the table, Marina Petrovna didn’t stop talking.
“Inna! What a cozy apartment you have!”
She admired how neat everything was, praised Inna’s taste, and commented on how beautifully the dishes were arranged. She complimented the salads, the main course, even the tea. It made Inna uncomfortable. No one had ever poured out so many nice words about her and her home. Normally, Roman’s parents were far more reserved, without this avalanche of praise.
“You’re so domestic, Innochka,” Marina Petrovna continued. “Roma is lucky. Right, Vitya?”
Viktor Anatolyevich nodded in agreement, still focused on his plate. Roman tried to keep the conversation going, but his mother paid most attention to Inna, repeating again and again what a wonderful and caring bride she was.
Inna caught herself blushing and feeling shy. Inside, she felt both pleased and awkward—compliments like that were rare in her life. Roman’s parents had never shown so much warmth before. The evening went surprisingly well, yet a faint тревога—an anxious thread—still tugged at Inna’s heart. Something about Marina Petrovna’s enthusiasm felt excessive. Too much admiration. Too many compliments.
When the guests left, Roman stayed behind to help clean up.
“See?” he said, placing plates into the sink. “My mom likes you now.”
“Yeah,” Inna agreed, though the discomfort wouldn’t fade.
Wedding planning continued. Inna and Roman chose a restaurant, booked the banquet, sent out invitations. Everything moved along smoothly—until less than a week before the ceremony, when the restaurant administrator called.
“Hello, Inna. I’m terribly sorry, but we have a force majeure situation. The restaurant is closing for repairs. Your reservation has been canceled.”
Inna froze with the phone in her hand.
“Canceled? Our wedding is in five days!”
“I understand, but there’s nothing we can do. The repairs are urgent—the building has been deemed unsafe. I’m sorry.”
Inna ended the call and sank into a chair. She couldn’t believe it. Only days before the wedding, they were left without a venue. The guests had been invited, the dress was bought, the photographer was booked—yet there was nowhere to celebrate.
Roman came over that evening and was equally stunned.
“What do we do now?” he asked, lost.
“I don’t know,” Inna said, scrolling through the internet, trying to find any place that was free. “Everything’s booked. Or it’s insanely expensive.”
Roman called his mother and explained. Marina Petrovna promised to help—and within an hour she was already at Inna’s door.
“Don’t worry,” Marina Petrovna said, taking off her coat. “I’ll solve it. I know half the city. I’ll call around—we’ll find a restaurant.”
Inna nodded gratefully. Roman left.
Marina Petrovna sat at the table, pulled out her phone, and started calling her contacts. She asked where a banquet could be held, whether there were any open halls, what the prices were. Inna listened and felt relief spreading through her. Good—her future mother-in-law was energetic and ready to help.
After a while, Marina Petrovna set the phone down.
“Innochka, let’s look at the options you and Roma considered earlier. Maybe something there will work.”
Inna nodded, went into the room, opened the closet, and took out a folder with documents and printouts—venues they’d looked at early on. She laid the papers neatly on the table.
“Here,” Inna said. “We had four options, but we chose the one that’s closing now.”
Marina Petrovna leaned in and studied the pages. She nodded, marked things with a pencil, asked about prices.
“This one’s too expensive,” she said, pointing to one. “And this one is too far from the center. Let’s try this one.”
Inna agreed.
Marina Petrovna called the restaurant to check availability. They got lucky—their date was still open. Inna felt a wave of relief. Things were being fixed.
Inna moved one folder aside and reached for another. At that moment, several sheets slipped out and fell to the floor. Marina Petrovna bent down, picked them up, and began looking them over. Inna didn’t notice—she kept flipping through the restaurant printouts.
Then Marina Petrovna suddenly raised her voice.
“What is this?!”
Inna turned around. Her future mother-in-law stood with papers in her hands, her face tight, her eyes blazing.
“What do you mean the apartment isn’t yours?!” Marina Petrovna screamed, waving the pages. “Call off the wedding! I don’t want a daughter-in-law like you!”
Inna went still. For a moment she didn’t understand what was happening. Then she glanced at the papers and recognized them—an official property registry extract for her parents’ apartment. The one Inna had grown up in, where her mother and father still lived.
“Marina Petrovna, that’s my parents’ apartment,” Inna said, bewildered. “I don’t live there.”
“I don’t care!” the woman snapped, throwing the papers on the table. “You lied to us! We thought you owned real estate!”
Inna lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. What did her parents’ apartment have to do with her wedding? She couldn’t understand why it should matter. For her, love and relationships were what counted—not documents and formalities. Besides, Roman’s parents had never asked about property. Not once.
“Marina Petrovna, I don’t understand,” Inna said quietly. “My apartment is here—the one we’re in right now. That one is my parents’ place.”
“And whose name is this apartment in?” Marina Petrovna demanded, gesturing at the walls.
“Mine,” Inna answered.
“Show me the documents!”
Inna hesitated, but stood up and pulled the ownership certificate from the closet. She handed it over. Marina Petrovna snatched it, scanned it quickly, and tossed it back on the table.
“Just as I thought! A mortgage! The apartment is pledged to the bank!”
“Yes,” Inna confirmed. “I’ve been paying the mortgage for three years.”
“Then it’s not your apartment!” Marina Petrovna declared, almost victorious. “It belongs to the bank! And your parents’ place is theirs—but it isn’t in your name!”
Inna felt the tension in the room spike. She couldn’t grasp what this argument was even about. What did it matter who owned her parents’ apartment? What did it matter that her own apartment was mortgaged?
“Marina Petrovna,” Inna tried again, “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything. Roma and I love each other. We’re getting married. What difference does property ownership make?”
“What difference?!” the woman stepped forward. “A huge difference! You won’t be able to give Roma a share if the apartment isn’t completely yours!”
Inna was stunned. Why would she have to give anyone a share of her apartment? Her confusion and disbelief grew by the second.
“A share?” she repeated. “Why?”
“Why?!” Marina Petrovna threw up her hands. “You’ll be husband and wife! Roma should have rights to your apartment!”
“But we aren’t married yet,” Inna protested. “And I bought this apartment before marriage. It’s my personal property.”
“Exactly!” Marina Petrovna shouted. “You deceived us! You misled us! We thought you were coming with a proper dowry! And instead—no parents’ apartment in your name, and your own place isn’t even truly yours!”
Tears rose in Inna’s eyes. The injustice hit her like a blow. She understood what was happening now: pressure, manipulation—an attempt to get at her property. And suddenly, all those compliments, all the enthusiasm at dinner, all the sweet words—none of it had been sincere. Marina Petrovna had been appraising her, calculating what could be taken.
“Marina Petrovna,” Inna said softly, “please leave.”
“Leave?!” the woman whirled toward her. “We’re not done talking!”
“We are,” Inna said firmly. “Get out of my apartment.”
Marina Petrovna grabbed her purse, shot Inna one last furious look, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Inna collapsed into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe this was happening only days before the wedding. She couldn’t believe the whole thing had been about money and property.
She picked up her phone and called Roman. He didn’t answer immediately.
“Hello, Inna… what happened?”
“Roma, please come,” she said through tears. “Right now.”
“Is it about the restaurant?”
“No. It’s about your mother.”
Half an hour later, Roman was there. Inna opened the door—her face swollen from crying. Roman hugged her and guided her into the room.
“What happened? Mom called me—she was yelling something about an apartment.”
Inna sat on the couch, wiped her tears, and told him everything: how Marina Petrovna had seen the documents for her parents’ apartment, how she threatened to cancel the wedding, how she demanded that Inna give Roman a share in Inna’s apartment.
Roman listened with a dark expression. When Inna finished, he stood up and paced the room.
“I didn’t know your parents’ apartment wasn’t in your name,” Roman said.
“And why should it be?” Inna stared at him. “It’s their apartment. They live there.”
“Well… my mom is right about one thing,” Roman continued. “Usually parents give a daughter a dowry. An apartment, or a car.”
“Roma, what are you even saying?” Inna couldn’t believe her ears. “I have my own apartment. I bought it myself. With a mortgage.”
“Yeah, but it’s pledged to the bank,” Roman argued. “So it’s not completely yours.”
“How is it not mine?!” Inna jumped up. “I pay for it every month! I live here! This is my apartment!”
Roman shrugged.
“Listen, let’s not fight. This isn’t a reason to cancel the wedding.”
Inna exhaled, relief washing over her. So he was on her side. He wasn’t giving in to his mother.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I was afraid you’d support Marina Petrovna.”
“Of course not,” Roman said, stepping closer and hugging her. “Mom just went too far. I’ll talk to her.”
Inna nodded and leaned into him. She wanted to believe everything would be okay.
Roman was quiet for a moment, then added:
“We just need your parents to transfer their apartment into your name. That’s all.”
Inna froze. She pulled away and looked him in the eyes.
“What?”
“Have them sign it over to you,” Roman repeated. “Then Mom won’t have anything to complain about.”
“Roma, that’s my parents’ apartment,” Inna said slowly. “They live there. Why would they sign it over to me?”
“Because it’s the right thing,” he said with a casual shrug. “You’re their daughter. Sooner or later it’ll be yours anyway.”
“But not now!” Inna stepped back. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I’m being practical,” Roman snapped. “If the apartment is in your name, Mom will calm down. And the wedding will happen.”
“And what if my parents don’t want to transfer it?” Inna asked quietly.
Roman frowned. He didn’t answer right away. And in that moment, Inna understood. Understood everything. They wanted the apartment. Not love. Not a relationship. Not a family. Just real estate. Just assets.
“Leave,” Inna said.
“What?” Roman blinked.
“Get out of my apartment,” she said louder. “Now.”
“Inna, what are you doing? Let’s talk calmly—”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” Inna shouted. “You and your mother came for my property! You don’t need me—you need apartments!”
“Inna, calm down,” Roman reached for her hand, but she yanked away.
“Leave! Immediately!”
“Fine, fine,” Roman raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll go. But think about it—we can still get married. Just talk to your parents.”
“Get out!” Inna flung the door open. “And tell your mother the wedding is off!”
Roman stood there for a moment, then left without a word. Inna slammed the door, leaned her back against it, and slid down to the floor. Tears came again—but beneath them she felt something else too: relief. As if something heavy and чужое—something alien—had finally fallen away.
After a while Inna got up, washed her face, drank some water, and called her parents. Her mother answered immediately.
“Innochka, hello! How are you? Getting ready for the wedding?”
“Mom… the wedding is canceled,” Inna said softly.
“What?! What happened?!”
Inna told her everything: Marina Petrovna’s demands, Roman’s words, the pressure. Her mother listened in silence, gasping now and then.
“You did the right thing,” her mother said when Inna finished. “Thank God you found out before the wedding, not after.”
“It hurts so much, Mom,” Inna admitted. “I really did love him.”
“I know, sweetheart. But it passes. Everything passes. You’re young, beautiful, smart. You’ll meet someone who loves you, not your apartment.”
Inna nodded, even though her mother couldn’t see it.
“Come stay with us for a couple of days,” her mother offered. “You’ll rest. We’ll take care of you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll come tomorrow.”
After the call, Inna sat on the couch and looked at the table where the restaurant printouts and her parents’ apartment documents still lay. She gathered everything back into the folder and put it away in the closet. There would be no wedding. No restaurant. The dress would hang in the closet. She would have to call the guests and explain.
But most importantly, Inna knew she’d done the right thing. She’d set boundaries. She’d protected herself. She hadn’t let anyone manipulate her—or her parents.
The next day she began calling the guests. She explained that the wedding was canceled for personal reasons. Some were surprised, some were sympathetic, some asked questions. Inna answered calmly, without going into details.
Roman called several times. He texted. He begged to meet and talk. Inna didn’t respond. She didn’t want to. There was nothing left to discuss.
Marina Petrovna tried to reach her too—leaving voice messages, accusing Inna of “destroying a family.” She said Inna was throwing away her chance, that she’d never find a groom like Roman again. Inna deleted the messages without listening to the end.
A week later—on the day the wedding was supposed to happen—Inna sat in her parents’ kitchen with a cup of tea. Her mother was baking a pie. Her father was reading the newspaper. The house was quiet and peaceful.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” her mother asked.
“Okay,” Inna said. “Honestly… lighter than I expected.”
“That’s a good sign,” her father said without looking up from the paper. “It means you made the right decision.”
“Yes,” Inna agreed. “I realized it’s better to be alone than to be with people who want you only for profit.”
Her mother came over and hugged her from behind.
“You’re a smart girl. And you’ll be fine.”
Inna smiled—for the first time in a long while, genuinely. She knew there would still be hard days ahead: questions from acquaintances, regrets, maybe even doubts. But the most important thing was this—near her were the people who loved her for real. Not for an apartment. Not for money. Simply because she existed.
And that mattered more than any wedding ever could.