“Pack your things. The apartment belongs to little Igor now,” my mother-in-law smirked. But she had no idea what document I had picked up from the notary the day before.
The scrape of the key in the lock sounded like a gunshot. I had not even managed to finish my morning coffee when Zinaida Pavlovna burst into the hallway. With a dull thud, she dropped two checkered market bags onto the linoleum and, like the mistress of the house, shook the snow from her boots. The suffocating smell of her favorite cheap perfume, mixed with the cold air from outside, immediately hung in the room.
“Well, Anechka, you’ve lived in comfort long enough, haven’t you?” my mother-in-law declared loudly, walking straight into the kitchen without taking off her shoes. “Igorek told me everything. Thank God, he has a new love now, a real woman. He has filed for divorce. So come on, gather your little pots and pans and clear out the space.”
I sat at the table, gripping my cold mug so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Everything inside me trembled with hurt and anger. Ten years of marriage. Ten years of carrying the household on my shoulders while her precious “little basket” searched for himself, changing jobs every six months. And yesterday, I had caught him with a twenty-year-old secretary. Instead of an apology, I heard, “It’s your own fault. You don’t inspire me as a man!” Then he slammed the door and rushed off to complain to Mommy.
“Are you out of your mind, Zinaida Pavlovna?” My voice betrayed me and trembled. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Do I look like I care?” My mother-in-law planted her hands on her enormous hips and smiled triumphantly. “Go to your mother in the village! You lived here for ten years with no rights at all. Poor Igorek broke his back paying the mortgage while you, a freeloader, just took advantage. My daughter Dasha and her husband will move in here. They need more space. Igorek will stay with me for now. Come on, move it. I’m not waiting until evening!”
She reached for the cupboard where my expensive dinner set stood, the one my parents had given me, and shamelessly flung the door open.
And at that moment, something inside me clicked, as if a switch had been flipped. Self-pity evaporated, replaced by icy, crystal-clear calm.
“Put it back,” I said quietly, but there was steel in my voice.
“What?!” My mother-in-law spun around sharply. “How dare you speak to me like that, you ungrateful trash? I’ll call the police right now. They’ll throw you out of my son’s apartment!”
I slowly stood up. I walked over to my bag, took out a blue cardboard folder, and threw it onto the table right under Zinaida Pavlovna’s nose.
“Call them,” I said with a smirk. “Right now. But while you’re at it, ask your genius son why he didn’t tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but she did not touch the folder.
“Open it. Read it. You’re an educated woman, aren’t you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
My mother-in-law opened the folder with disgust. Her eyes began racing across the lines of the official document with the state seal. I watched with pleasure as the color drained from her plump face, turning it gray and earthy. Zinaida Pavlovna’s breathing grew heavy.
“What kind of fake nonsense is this?” she rasped. “What gift deed?”
“A completely ordinary one,” I shrugged. “My parents bought this apartment after selling their three-room flat in the north. They registered it in my name under a gift deed before your dear son and I got married. Your Igorek didn’t pay a single kopeck for it. Under the law, gifted property is not divided during divorce. It belongs only to me.”
“You’re lying!” my mother-in-law shrieked, crumpling the edge of the tablecloth in her hands. “Igorek said you took out a mortgage together! He transferred money to me every month and showed me receipts, saying he was paying for the apartment!”
“Ah, so that’s it,” I laughed out loud, though the truth made me feel sick. “He took out loans for his car and for gifts for his underage little mistress. And he lied to you about the mortgage so you wouldn’t nag him. And you swallowed it whole.”
My mother-in-law sank heavily onto a stool. She gulped air like a fish thrown onto the shore. All her arrogance and smugness deflated in a single second.
“You have exactly three minutes, Zinaida Pavlovna, to take your bags and disappear from my apartment,” I said, picking up my phone and dialing 112, holding my finger over the call button. “And tell little Igor this: he can take his television and the old microwave. That’s all he managed to earn here. Your time starts now.”
She did not say a word. Silently, with trembling hands, she grabbed her checkered bags and, stumbling over the threshold, rushed out into the stairwell.
When the door slammed shut behind her, I turned the key in the lock twice. Then I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee.
It had never tasted so good.