At the end of September, while Ekaterina was busy updating her delivery spreadsheet, her phone buzzed several times right beside her keyboard.
A new message from Lyubov Sergeyevna popped up in the family chat.
Ekaterina opened it automatically, not realizing at first what she was looking at. On her screen was the layout of the country house—the same one Vadim had sent to his parents New Year’s before to show them where they would spend the night. But now, red arrows and labels had appeared all over the image.
“Our bedroom.”
An arrow pointed at the guest room on the second floor.
“Georgiy’s office.”
That was how Lyubov Sergeyevna marked the small room currently filled with a drying rack, Aunt Tamara’s old bookshelf, and boxes of Ekaterina’s seasonal things.
By the wall in the hallway, there was a note: “our dresser goes here.”
Then three photos followed. A dark dresser with brass handles. Georgiy Pavlovich’s armchair. And a tall wardrobe that Ekaterina remembered perfectly from her in-laws’ apartment.
And the final message:
“The wardrobe, probably best in the bedroom. It’s wide, but it should fit. Vadim can measure the doorway tonight.”
Ekaterina leaned back from the monitor.
Her first thought was that her in-laws planned to stay with them for a few weeks. Maybe they were renovating. Or the pipes were being replaced. Or maybe Lyubov Sergeyevna had finally decided to redo the floors she’d complained about all summer.
But why would they need to move a dresser and wardrobe for just a couple of weeks?
Ekaterina reread the messages again.
She typed:
“Lyubov Sergeyevna, are you starting renovations?”
No response.
But almost immediately, Vadim appeared in the chat.
“Mom, what is this?”
Lyubov Sergeyevna replied with a laughing emoji.
“We’ll tell you everything tonight.”
Five minutes later, Vadim called Ekaterina.
“Did you see?”
“That’s exactly why I’m asking you: what’s going on?”
A door slammed in the background—Vadim must have walked out of his office into the hallway.
“Mom just called.”
“And?”
“They’re selling the apartment.”
Ekaterina looked at the photo of the dark dresser.
“Alright. But what does our doorway have to do with it?”
Vadim was silent for a moment.
“They want to move in with us.”
“Just for a while?”
Another pause.
“Permanently.”
Ekaterina didn’t say a word.
“I’m just as shocked as you are,” he quickly added. “They’ve already found buyers. Mom says the buyers are ready to close fast.”
“Vadim, do your parents know whose house this is?”
Now the silence stretched on.
Ekaterina closed her work spreadsheet, even though she still had twelve minutes left of her lunch break.
“Vadim?”
“They know that Katya’s relative left us the house.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Katya, let’s talk tonight.”
This was exactly what Ekaterina disliked most.
Whenever Vadim didn’t know what to say, he always tried to postpone the conversation until the evening, as if a few hours would make an awkward problem go away on its own.
“Fine,” Ekaterina said. “Then don’t promise your mom anything for now.”
“I haven’t promised anything at all.”
A few hours later, it turned out there was no need to promise anything. Lyubov Sergeyevna had already made up her mind.
Ekaterina was riding home on the commuter train and made sure to sit by the window, away from a group of students. Since Vadim was delayed at work, she decided to call her mother-in-law herself.
Lyubov Sergeyevna answered in a cheerful tone:
“Katyusha, so, did you see my relocation project?”
“I saw it.”
“At first I thought about putting dad’s armchair downstairs, but the TV would be in the way there. So it’s better upstairs. And our wardrobe—if it doesn’t fit, we’ll just sell it. No use hanging onto old stuff, right?”
She talked about it so casually, as if she were simply rearranging her own kitchen.
Ekaterina let her finish speaking.
“Lyubov Sergeyevna, are you really selling your apartment?”
“Of course. We already took a down payment today—one hundred thousand. Can you believe how fast everything went? I only listed the place a week ago!”
“And after you sell it, where are you moving?”
Her mother-in-law laughed.
“To yours, of course! I thought Vadim had told you.”
“Are you moving in permanently?”
“Well, of course it’s permanent. We’re not off to the dacha, after all.”
“That’s bold. Where exactly do you plan to live?” Ekaterina asked, completely serious.
Silence hung on the other end of the call.
“What do you mean, where?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“Katya, I don’t understand. Your house is nearly one hundred and forty square meters.”
“One hundred thirty-eight.”
“There you go. More than enough room. You and Vadim will be upstairs, and we will too. Downstairs has the living room and kitchen. No one’s going to be on top of anyone.”
It was clear that Lyubov Sergeyevna thought her daughter-in-law was just making an unfortunate joke.
Ekaterina stared at the dark train window, where her reflection was surrounded by glowing rectangles of ceiling lamps.
“I’m not asking about square meters. I’m asking on what grounds you expect to live there permanently.”
“What other grounds do I need if it’s my son’s house?”
There it was.
Ekaterina wasn’t even surprised.
“It’s not Vadim’s house.”
“Katya, why quibble about words now? It’s your shared family home. What does it matter whose name is on the documents?”
“It matters a lot. Especially when the owner isn’t either of us.”
Lyubov Sergeyevna went quiet again.
When she spoke again, her tone had changed.
“Wait. What do you mean, not you?”
“The house belongs to my aunt Tamara.”
“Which Tamara?”
“My biological aunt. You saw her at our wedding.”
“But Vadim said a relative left you the house.”
“Left it for us to live in, not as a gift.”
“That can’t be.”
Ekaterina almost asked why not, but decided against it.
It seemed pointless to argue with someone about who actually owns someone else’s property.
“I’ll send you the document when I get home. It has the owner’s name on it.”
“Katya, wait. Are you renting that house?”
“No. My aunt let us live there for free while she works in another region. We just pay utilities and look after the house and yard.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“And then?”
“Then we move out.”
The conversation ended awkwardly.
Lyubov Sergeyevna said she needed to ‘digest all this’ and hung up.
Ekaterina put her phone away in her bag.
She didn’t feel any sense of satisfaction.
On the contrary, the whole situation was so ridiculous that she just felt uncomfortable. That very morning, her mother-in-law had still been living in her own two-room apartment, with her own home and plans for the coming winter. By midday, she was already picturing her things arranged in the rooms of someone else’s house—and had taken a hundred thousand rubles from the buyers.
But no one bothered to ask the actual homeowner.
And honestly, no one asked Ekaterina and Vadim either.
The house belonged to Tamara Viktorovna, Mom’s older sister.
Four years ago, she landed a great contract in another region. The job meant she’d be living there for several years, but Tamara didn’t want to sell the house. This wasn’t just a country cottage—it was a real home with gas heating, a well, a proper road, three bedrooms upstairs, a large kitchen-living room, and another small room on the first floor.
She also didn’t like the idea of leaving such a place empty.
That’s when Ekaterina and Vadim got married.
Before getting officially married, they had spent almost a year renting a small one-bedroom apartment near the ring road. The apartment was decent but cramped, and every few months, the landlord would hint that the rent was going up soon.
Tamara herself suggested:
“Why don’t you live at my place, since it’s empty anyway? I’ll feel better knowing someone’s taking care of the house.”
They agreed right away, no confusion.
No rent to pay.
Ekaterina and Vadim paid for gas, electricity, water, internet, trash pickup, mowed the yard, shoveled the walkway in winter, and made sure the house was always in good shape.
Major repairs—only with the owner’s approval.
And the most important thing Tamara said back then:
“When I come back, you’ll have to move out. Not because you’re a bother, but because I want to live here alone afterwards.”
Nobody objected.
In four years, Ekaterina never once called the house hers.
Even when they paid for new wallpaper in the bedroom themselves, they sent Tamara samples first.
Vadim knew all this just as well as his wife did.
But as it turned out, his parents seemed to know a very different version.
When Ekaterina got home, Vadim was already there.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his phone.
“Did your mom call you?” Ekaterina asked.
“Three times.”
“And?”
“The first time, she yelled. The second, she asked if the house was really not ours. The third, she said her blood pressure was up.”
Ekaterina took off her coat.
“I hope her blood pressure is okay.”
“Dad’s home. She has her pills.”
She put the kettle on.
“Why were they so sure the house was yours?”
“I have no idea.”
Ekaterina turned to him.
“No. Let’s not pretend you don’t know.”
Vadim rubbed his chin with his palm.
“Mom once asked whose house it was. I said your relative left it to us.”
“Nice choice of words.”
“I never said they gave it to us as a gift.”
“And when she started telling everyone her son got a country house?”
“She did tell people.”
“You heard her.”
“I heard.”
“And you never corrected her.”
Vadim pushed his cup aside, annoyed.
“Katya, how was I supposed to know she’d want to sell her apartment?”
“You couldn’t have. But you definitely knew she thought the house was yours.”
“What difference did it make until today?”
“Until today—almost none. Today we finally see the difference.”
Vadim stood up and walked to the window.
Ekaterina wasn’t looking to fight just for the sake of it. But it’s exactly these small “what’s the difference” moments that grow into problems everyone has to deal with later.
She remembered how, during the summer, Lyubov Sergeevna sat with them on their terrace and talked about how nice it would be to live in the countryside in old age.
At that time, she said:
“You guys are lucky. You already have everything. You don’t need an apartment in the city, and here you have so much space.”
Vadim replied:
“Yes, there’s plenty of room.”
Back then, Ekaterina didn’t think much of it. The conversation was mostly about apartment prices anyway.
But now that phrase sounded completely different.
“You even agreed with her,” Ekaterina pointed out.
“When?”
She reminded him.
Vadim winced.
“I was talking about the rooms, not about them moving in.”
“You know that. She doesn’t.”
That same evening, Ekaterina found in her messages with Tamara a copy of the EGRN extract that Tamara had sent along with other house documents. In the owner field, it listed Tamara Viktorovna’s full name.
Ekaterina forwarded the file to Lyubov Sergeevna.
She didn’t add any comments.
Three minutes later, Vadim’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen and let out a heavy sigh.
“Mom.”
“Pick up,” Ekaterina said.
Vadim went into the living room.
At first, he spoke quietly. Then his voice grew louder.
“Yes, Mom, it’s Tamara’s.”
A pause.
“No, it was never registered to me.”
Another pause.
“Because there was never a reason to discuss it!”
A few seconds later:
“I never said it was given to me.”
Ekaterina stood by the sink, slowly drying a plate.
“No, we can’t all just stay there together.”
After he said that, she turned around.
Vadim looked at her and immediately glanced away.
The conversation lasted another ten minutes or so.
When he came back to the kitchen, he no longer looked annoyed, just tired.
“She wants to ask Tamara if they can also live here.”
Ekaterina placed the plate in the cupboard.
“No.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Good.”
“But Mom is asking us at least to find out.”
“I’m not even going to ask.”
“Katya…”
“No, Vadim. And it’s not because I’m being difficult.”
He kept silent.
A month ago, Tamara called her niece and, for the first time, gave an approximate date for her return.
Her contract was ending in March. She planned to spend a few weeks handing things over, and in early April wanted to come home.
“You can stay until the end of March without any worries,” Tamara said. “I’m letting you know in advance so you have time to find something else.”
Ekaterina had already started looking at rental options.
Vadim knew this too.
They had agreed that, starting in January, they’d look more actively for a two-bedroom apartment in the city—so they wouldn’t have to commute from the suburbs every day. They weren’t planning to buy yet; they didn’t have enough savings for a proper down payment, and didn’t want to take on a huge mortgage just because their free housing was ending.
Lyubov Sergeevna didn’t know anything about this.
“Mom doesn’t know yet that Tamara is coming back,” Vadim said.
Ekaterina looked at him.
“Are you serious?”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell her.”
“Vadim, Tamara told us a month ago.”
“But what would have changed if I’d told my parents right away? We’re not moving anywhere just yet.”
“A lot would have changed today.”
Vadim sat down.
This time, he didn’t argue.
Late in the evening, Georgy Pavlovich called.
Vadim’s father was usually a man of few words. Whenever he called, he’d simply ask about the car, offer help with the property, or wonder when they’d come visit.
This time, he asked Ekaterina to hand the phone over to Vadim.
They talked for quite a while.
The next day, after work, Vadim drove to his parents’ house.
He didn’t get back until nearly eleven.
Ekaterina was still awake, sitting on the sofa with her laptop, browsing rental listings.
“So, how did it go?” she asked.
Vadim took off his shoes and walked into the room.
“It was… interesting.”
He sat down next to her.
Turns out, the plan to sell the apartment was a lot more thought out than Ekaterina had imagined. The only issue was, it was all built on the wrong assumption.
Vadim’s parents had put the apartment up for sale for seven million rubles.
The buyers barely bargained and agreed to pay that price as long as the deal was quick. That same day, they signed a preliminary agreement, marking a hundred thousand as a down payment. The main contract was due in two weeks, and if the sellers backed out before then, the down payment had to be returned in full.
In other words, as of now, the apartment still belonged to Lyubov Sergeyevna and Georgy Pavlovich.
But in their minds, they had already spent the future seven million.
They promised two million of it to their daughter Elena, Vadim’s sister.
She and her husband still owed just over three million on their mortgage, and Lyubov Sergeyevna wanted to help, at least partially.
Around one and a half million the parents wanted to keep for a new car—their old one was twelve years old, and Georgy Pavlovich had been hoping to replace it for a long time.
Next, Lyubov Sergeyevna proposed setting about half a million aside: use some of it to go to the seaside next summer, and keep the rest in savings.
That would leave about three million.
As long as they didn’t need to buy a new place to live, it all sounded pretty reasonable.
Emphasis on “as long as.”
“Apparently, Dad asked Mom if she had talked to me,” Vadim said.
“And what did she say?”
“She told him I’d been fine with it for a while now, since I’d said there was plenty of space in the house.”
Ekaterina closed her laptop.
“So your dad didn’t call you himself.”
“He thought Mom had sorted everything out.”
“Very family-style decision making.”
Vadim winced.
“I get it.”
The next evening, they went to visit his parents together.
Lyubov Sergeyevna opened the door and immediately disappeared into the kitchen, as if she hadn’t planned to greet them in the hallway.
Three folded cardboard boxes were stacked against the wall.
When Ekaterina spotted them, she realized all the talk about moving furniture in the group chat wasn’t some fantasy.
Her mother-in-law had already started packing.
On the kitchen table lay a folder with documents, a notebook, and a sheet of paper covered in numbers.
Georgy Pavlovich was sitting by the window.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” Ekaterina replied.
Lyubov Sergeyevna set out the cups.
For a few minutes they made small talk about the weather, waiting times at the clinic, and the fact that the bridge on the main road was under construction again.
Then, Vadim’s mother-in-law couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“I just don’t get it. Why can’t we ask your aunt?”
Ekaterina already knew what she was getting at.
“Ask her what, exactly?”
“Maybe she’ll let us live there, at least for now.”
“When?”
“When she gets back.”
“She wants to live alone in her house.”
“Did she say that directly?”
“Directly.”
— But the house is big.
— It is big.
— And what is she supposed to do there all alone?
Georgiy Pavlovich looked up.
— Lyuba.
— What do you mean, ‘Lyuba’? I’m just thinking out loud.
Ekaterina didn’t raise her voice.
— Lyubov Sergeevna, I’m not going to ask the owner to take in two more people after she waited four years for her home to be hers again. Especially when there’s no real need. You have your own apartment.
— Which we’re already selling.
— Not yet you aren’t.
Her mother-in-law pressed her lips together.
— We gave our word to those people.
— Then you can sell it. But after that, you’ll have to either buy or rent another place to live.
— And with what money exactly? — she asked. — If we give two million to Lenka, buy a car, what’s left for us?
Now it became clear why the conversation about Tamara was so persistent.
It wasn’t that living in her house was absolutely necessary.
That house made the whole financial plan possible.
Georgiy Pavlovich turned the paper lying on the table toward his wife.
— I’ve been telling you the same thing all morning. If we sell, we calculate what new place we can afford first. Only then do we hand out the rest.
— I promised my daughter.
— Promised doesn’t mean she has the money yet.
Lyubov Sergeevna looked at Vadim.
— Exactly. I promised because I thought I wouldn’t end up without a roof over my head.
— Mom, but I never suggested selling the apartment to you.
— And you never told me for years that the house wasn’t actually yours!
Vadim started to speak, but Ekaterina jumped in first:
— She’s right about that.
He turned to his wife.
Ekaterina shrugged.
— She really is right. You knew your parents thought the house belonged to you, but you never properly explained the situation.
Lyubov Sergeevna clearly didn’t expect her daughter-in-law to take her side.
— See! — she said. — At least someone gets it.
— But that doesn’t change anything else, — Ekaterina continued. — Usually, if parents want to move in permanently with their adult kids, they discuss it first. Even if the house is actually in their kids’ name.
This time, the mother-in-law fell silent.
Georgiy Pavlovich smirked into his cup.
— She’s right about this, too.
— Jora, nobody’s asking you, — his wife cut him off.
— Hardly anyone ever does, come to think of it.
Lyubov Sergeevna shot him an angry look.
— You agreed to the sale.
— Selling, yes. Because you told me everything had been settled with Vadim.
— I was certain!
— And I was certain you had asked him.
The kitchen grew quiet.
It was in that moment that Ekaterina saw the situation not as her mother-in-law attacking their personal space, but as a chain of convenient assumptions.
Once, Lyubov Sergeevna had heard, “the house was left to us,” and decided that meant the place was theirs outright.
Vadim realized his mother believed this, but didn’t bother clarifying because he didn’t want to get into a long conversation.
Georgiy Pavlovich assumed his wife had talked the move over with their son.
And Lyubov Sergeevna concluded if her son mentioned, “there’s enough space,” then she didn’t need permission to move in.
Each person skipped over one clarifying question.
And the result was an apartment nearly sold.
For the next two days, Vadim dealt with the fallout.
First, he and his father checked out prices for two-bedroom apartments.
The parents wanted to stay in the same neighborhood: it had their clinic, garage, friends, shops, and an easy bus route.
The apartments that fit their needs cost around six and a half to just over seven million.
Buying something with the three million left after gifting their daughter and the car meant either moving far away or settling for a small place that really needed some serious renovations.
Neither Lyubov Sergeyevna nor Georgiy Pavlovich wanted that.
They also considered not giving their daughter the two million.
But then selling their home lost most of its point—they could just keep living where they were.
Renting made even less sense. Selling their fully paid, two-room apartment only to start paying rent to someone else every month wasn’t appealing to the parents either.
On Sunday, Lyubov Sergeyevna called the buyers herself.
Ekaterina didn’t hear that conversation.
She only knew from Vadim that it wasn’t a pleasant call. The buyer was upset—they’d already stopped looking at other options.
But the preliminary agreement allowed the sellers to back out before the main deal as long as they returned the advance.
Georgiy Pavlovich sent back the 100,000 that same day.
In the morning, they took down the sale listing.
They called their daughter that evening.
That call was the hardest one for Lyubov Sergeyevna.
The two million wasn’t just a casual family topic at the dinner table. Elena already knew her parents planned to help and was hoping to use the early payment to shorten her mortgage term.
But she still hadn’t received any money.
When Lyubov Sergeyevna explained that they’d canceled the sale and help was on hold, her daughter was upset at first, then asked:
“Mom, why were you selling the apartment at all if you didn’t have another place to live?”
Lyubov Sergeyevna didn’t answer right away.
“We thought Vadim had a house.”
“And you were planning to live with them?”
“Yes.”
“Did Vadim invite you?”
After that question, the conversation took a turn that Lyubov Sergeyevna really didn’t want.
A week later, the family chat lit up again.
But now, there weren’t any discussions about rooms.
Georgiy Pavlovich shared a photo of pickled mushrooms.
Lyubov Sergeyevna posted a pie recipe.
It was like the topic of moving had disappeared.
But Ekaterina knew it wouldn’t be that easy to just forget everything that happened.
Now, the main problem wasn’t even about her in-laws.
In six months, they’d have to move out themselves.
In October, Ekaterina and Vadim started a new spreadsheet for possible homes. They counted their savings, looked at rental options, compared neighborhoods, and figured out the commute. For the first time in four years, Vadim talked about Tamara’s house as just temporary housing.
He stopped saying “our boiler is acting up” and started saying “the boiler at Tamara’s house is acting up.”
Instead of “our apple trees,” it became “Tamara’s apple trees are loaded this year.”
Ekaterina noticed the change but didn’t comment on it.
In November, Vadim’s parents came over for his birthday.
It was the first time Lyubov Sergeyevna had been in the house since the whole sale situation.
She paused in the hallway at the exact spot where she’d planned to put her dresser.
Then she went upstairs.
The guest room door was open.
Everything looked just the same as it had two months ago: the bed, a little table, an armchair by the window.
No sign of her wardrobe.
No boxes anywhere.
Lyubov Sergeevna stood in the doorway for a moment, then turned and walked back.
No one brought up the apartment at the table.
It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the men went outside to clean up the grill, that she was left alone with Ekaterina in the kitchen.
“I was really upset with you back then,” her mother-in-law said as she sliced the last of the pie.
Ekaterina was loading plates into the dishwasher.
“I understand.”
“I thought you just didn’t want to let us in.”
“I wouldn’t agree to move into my own house for good without a real conversation, either.”
Lyubov Sergeevna looked at her.
“You sure know how to make a point.”
“At least it’s clear.”
Her mother-in-law chuckled.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then, out of the blue, Lyubov Sergeevna said:
“Now Georgiy bugs me all the time.”
“How so?”
“Now, before I do anything, he always asks, ‘Did the boss approve?’”
Ekaterina couldn’t help but laugh.
Her mother-in-law smiled at first, then turned serious.
“I really was sure of it. I honestly never thought it could be otherwise.”
“That was exactly the problem.”
“I was already thinking about which curtains to buy.”
“I noticed. You guys even fit a dresser in there.”
“It’s a good dresser.”
“I have nothing against the dresser.”
Lyubov Sergeevna cut herself a thin slice of pie.
“We’ve decided to leave the apartment as it is for now. We also decided not to replace the car. Ours works fine — that’s good enough.”
“What about your daughter?”
“We’ll help her little by little. Not with two million all at once.”
It was their decision now, and Ekaterina didn’t argue.
In January, Tamara came for a few days.
She needed to sort out some work issues in the city and check out the house before coming back for good.
Vadim met her at the train station.
Over dinner, she asked:
“Have you found a place to move to?”
“We’re still looking,” he answered. “But we’ll definitely move out by April.”
Ekaterina glanced at her husband.
Before, he would usually answer questions like that with, “We’ll make it in time.”
Now he was being specific.
Tamara nodded.
“I’m not pushing you. I just want to know where things stand.”
“We get it.”
Later, Ekaterina remembered that short conversation because for the first time, Vadim hadn’t left anything hanging in the air.
In February, they found an apartment.
Just a regular two-room place, no designer fixes, but only fifteen minutes from Ekaterina’s work and right by a direct bus route to Vadim’s office.
The apartment owner told them upfront she’d rent it for at least a year.
Ekaterina carefully read through the agreement.
Vadim did too.
Before they signed, he double-checked the lease term, the conditions for getting their security deposit back, and whether they could leave early if needed.
Ekaterina sat next to him in silence.
Once they stepped outside, Vadim said:
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I ask about everything now.”
“That’s a useful habit.”
They moved in mid-March.
Boxes lined the hallway of the very same house that had felt almost like their own for four years.
Tamara was expected back at the very start of April.
Lyubov Sergeevna and Georgiy Pavlovich came to help out.
Georgiy Pavlovich carried boxes to the car. Vadim was busy unscrewing the table legs.
Lyubov Sergeyevna was sorting through some kitchen odds and ends when she suddenly found an old, printed floor plan of the house in a drawer.
The very same plan.
Once upon a time, Vadim had printed it out before a minor renovation, so he could mark where the outlets were.
Lyubov Sergeyevna unfolded the sheet.
She looked over the rooms.
“Can you imagine,” she said to Ekaterina, “I’ve already mentally moved half my apartment into here.”
Ekaterina was sealing a box with tape.
“Good thing it’s only in your mind.”
That’s true.”
Lyubov Sergeyevna folded the paper in half and put it back.
She was quiet for a moment, and then added:
“The funniest thing is, I really thought I had everything figured out back then. We’d sell the apartment, help Lena, get a new car, move in with you. I even wrote down the size of the wardrobe.”
“But you didn’t ask about the house.”
“Exactly.”
She glanced toward the staircase.
“I forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Lyubov Sergeyevna gave a little smirk.
“To find out if the house we’re planning to move into is even ours in the first place.”
In early April, Tamara returned.
Ekaterina and Vadim greeted her like guests already.
And the two-bedroom apartment belonging to Lyubov Sergeyevna and Georgy Pavlovich stayed just that—their own space, without any red arrows, signatures, or resettlement plans for other people’s rooms.
