My name, signature, and a notary’s details were on the document. My husband was rushing me to agree to sell our apartment before the creditor started collection. But I knew for certain: I had never signed any such consent.
“The apartment is collateral. Eviction is tomorrow,” Denis said, placing his phone facedown on the kitchen table. “So let’s at least get through today without your endless questions and just calmly decide where we’re moving.”
I was sorting through utility bills at the time. In front of me were two statements, my work notebook, and an envelope from the management company. Denis came home earlier than usual, but didn’t even take off his coat. He stood by the fridge as if he were announcing a rescheduled business meeting, not the loss of our home.
“Then start with the basics,” I asked, pushing the bills aside. “Who exactly is evicting me from a mortgaged apartment I’m only hearing about today?”
Denis unzipped his jacket with an unhappy sigh and sat down across from me.
“Vera, don’t get caught up in the wording. No one is going to burst in here tomorrow morning with your suitcase in hand. I’m overdue on a loan, and a creditor’s representative is coming tomorrow. If we don’t agree on a voluntary sale, they’ll start repossessing the apartment through court. That’s the whole equation.”
“No, Denis, that’s not an equation, that’s just a string of unpleasant words. How much is the debt?”
He pressed his lips together for a second.
“Four million eight hundred thousand. And before you start looking at me like I gambled it all away, let me remind you: the business lost a major contract. I paid off subcontractors, rent, taxes. I was counting on payment from the next deal to repay it early.”
“Repay it early? Before what? Before I found out that our home was collateral on your loan?”
Denis ran his hand across the table and pushed my notebook aside.
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you sooner. What was the point in upsetting you if I thought I could fix it myself?”
That comment bothered me more than the total debt itself.
We’ve lived together for twenty-three years. We bought the apartment twelve years ago, already married. I sold my old one-bedroom, we added in our savings, and borrowed the rest. The title was registered in Denis’s name back then. I thought it was just a formality—one family, joint money, and we paid off the loan together later.
“You took out the loan in February?” I clarified.
“February twelfth, if you want the exact date,” he answered, clearly annoyed. “It’s now mid-May. The delinquency just happened recently.”
“So you’ve known for three months the apartment was collateral and only decided to tell me when you stopped making payments?”
“I decided to tell you when it became clear we’d have to sell.”
I looked him straight in the face.
“To use our shared apartment as collateral, you need my notarized consent.”
Denis finally broke eye contact.
I got up, turned off the kitchen hood that had been humming over the cold stove this whole time, and sat down across from him again.
“Show me the loan agreement, the mortgage contract, and my supposed consent.”
“You’ll see everything tomorrow,” Denis cut me off. “Roman will bring the documents. He’s coming to discuss the sale.”
“No. You spent three months making decisions without me, so today I’m not just going to take your word for it. Send me the documents right now.”
“I don’t have a paper copy at home.”
“Then send it electronically.”
Denis gave a short, dry laugh.
“Vera, you’re letting your job affect you. You’re talking to me as if you’re double-checking an MRI purchase. Tomorrow, someone will come by with all the paperwork. You can look it over, see for yourself, and then we’ll make a decision.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to decide?”
He spoke more gently now, almost conciliatory.
“We put this apartment up for sale. Settle the debt. Keep what’s left. I’ve already checked out two good rental options—not some rundown place on the outskirts. If we don’t drag this out, we can get through it without extra mess.”
I couldn’t even find the words at first.
“So you’ve already picked the place you planned to move me into?”
“Don’t twist my words. I looked at options for both of us.”
“How thoughtful. First you mortgaged the flat without telling me, and now you’re saving me the hassle of looking for a rental, too.”
A flash of irritation crossed his eyes.
“Be as sarcastic as you want, but the debt isn’t going away. I tried to keep the business afloat. You know how many years it supported the family.”
“My salary has also been coming into this family for the last eight years. But for some reason, I didn’t have to mortgage the apartment to prove I was useful.”
“No one’s disputing your salary. This isn’t the time to argue about who contributed more. If the creditor starts collections, we’ll lose even more.”
“You keep saying ‘we.’ Was it also ‘we’ who signed the loan agreement?”
Denis leaned forward.
“Don’t act like my problems don’t concern you. If the business fails, it’ll hurt you too.”
“The business has already hurt me. Right at this apartment’s address.”
He stood up abruptly.
“I’m not doing this interrogation all night. Be at home in the morning. Roman will come at ten. We’ll listen to him and decide like adults.”
“I’m not signing a single document tomorrow until I check everything myself.”
“Vera, your stubbornness might leave us without a home at all.”
“And what were you thinking when you left me in the dark about what was happening with my apartment?”
Denis looked at me for several seconds, then said in a quieter voice:
“Everything’s legal. The creditor has your notarized consent. So don’t expect to just say ‘I changed my mind’ tomorrow.”
I didn’t look away.
“If the creditor really does have my notarized consent, we’ll start with that tomorrow.”
Denis went to the bedroom, taking his phone with him.
I stayed in the kitchen. Opened my banking app, my statements, our family folder in the cloud. There were no transfers of four million eight hundred thousand. No letters from the creditor either.
At eleven in the evening, I ordered a fresh extract from the property register.
The document arrived a few minutes later. Under encumbrances, there was one word: ‘mortgage.’ The registration date was in February.
Up until then, I could still believe Denis was exaggerating things to push me into using my savings or taking out a loan. Now there was no reason left to scare me.
The encumbrance was real.
And somewhere among the paperwork that made all of this possible, there was a notarized consent form with my last name on it.
A consent I never gave.
The next day, right at ten o’clock, there was a knock at the door.
Roman Malyshev turned out to be a thin man, about forty-five, dressed in a gray suit without a tie. One hand held a leather folder, the other a phone. Denis greeted him with polite professionalism—the kind he hadn’t shown me yesterday.
“Come in, Roman. Vera is at home, I’ve already explained the situation to her,” Denis said as he led the guest into the room.
“Denis told me the amount of the debt and threatened eviction today,” I clarified. “He still has a lot of explaining left to do.”
Roman looked at me first, then at Denis.
“Let’s keep things calm. I didn’t come here to evict you today or to get involved in a family dispute. I represent the lender’s interests and I’d like to discuss the overdue loan and possible voluntary resolution.”
We sat down at the table. I had already put away the photos and magazines, leaving only the property registry extract, a notepad, and a pen.
Roman opened his folder.
“Denis Sergeevich took out a loan for four million eight hundred thousand rubles. Payments as per the contract are now overdue. The loan is secured by a mortgage on this apartment. Our client is still willing to discuss a voluntary sale, as it usually helps avoid some costs and lengthy court proceedings.”
“First, I want to see the documents,” I said. “The loan agreement, the mortgage contract, and the spousal consent you’re basing the legality of the collateral on.”
Denis leaned back in his chair, irritated.
“Vera, you’re turning a simple conversation into an investigation again.”
Roman raised a hand, stopping him.
“Denis Sergeevich, Vera Mikhailovna has every right to review documents that concern the apartment and her consent. There’s nothing unusual about this.”
He took out three copies and placed them in front of me.
First, I checked the amount. Four million eight hundred thousand rubles. The borrower—Denis Antonov. Date—February twelfth.
Then the mortgage contract. Our address. The cadastral number matched. Ownership registered to Denis.
The third document was topped with a notary’s letterhead.
I read it once. Then again, more slowly.
“I, Antonova Vera Mikhailovna… give my consent to my husband, Antonov Denis Sergeevich, to pledge…”
There was a signature at the bottom.
It looked very much like mine.
Even the letter ‘V’ started with the same bold loop I use on official forms. The notary’s name was listed below: Irina Pavlovna Gromova. Registry number. Date—February tenth.
“That’s not my signature,” I said, looking up at Denis. “And I wasn’t with Notary Gromova on February tenth.”
He sighed heavily.
“Vera, please don’t put on a show in front of a stranger. You sign dozens of documents. It’s been three months—you could’ve easily forgotten.”
I might have forgotten to approve a work specification, or to file a request with the management company. But I’d definitely remember going to a notary to allow someone to mortgage my apartment for five million.
Roman pulled the document closer to himself.
“I want to clarify something. I was not personally present when this consent was signed. The document was included in the package submitted by the mortgagor.”
“Did your lender check the registry number?” I asked.
Roman frowned.
“The legal department verified the documents. I’m not going to make something up about exactly what they checked. That needs to be looked into separately.”
“Where is the original?”
“The complete set should be in the legal archive. I only have a copy with me today.”
“Then I want to get a full copy, with all details and the code.”
Denis sharply turned to him.
“Roman, we came here to negotiate, not to help Vera launch an investigation. If she questions every page, we’ll waste a whole week.”
Roman looked at him, no longer as neutral as before.
“Denis Sergeevich, if your wife says she didn’t give notarial consent, we’ll have to look into this, regardless. Losing a week isn’t our main risk right now.”
I grabbed my phone and aimed its camera at the QR code at the bottom of the copy. The verification didn’t provide the confirmation I was expecting.
“See? The information doesn’t automatically verify,” I said.
Denis gave a crooked smirk.
“So now an app on your phone is going to decide the fate of the apartment? Very reliable legal strategy.”
“No. The app won’t decide the fate of the apartment. But I will check the origin of this document with the notary.”
I found Irina Pavlovna Gromova’s office number on the official notary chamber’s website and called. The secretary asked for the date and registry number, but after a pause, warned that notarial actions can’t be confirmed by phone.
“Can I come in person with my passport and a copy of the document?” I asked.
“We have an opening at fifteen-twenty today,” the secretary replied. “Please bring the document or a quality copy with you.”
“I’ll be there by fifteen-twenty.”
Denis waited until I finished my call.
“We’re not going anywhere. We have a completely different problem to deal with right now.”
“You don’t have to go. You’ve already done your part.”
Roman closed the folder.
“Looks like we won’t be able to agree on a voluntary sale today. But I must warn you: the delay still stands, and our client will defend their interests.”
“Let them defend them,” I replied. “And I’ll defend mine. First, I’ll find out if that consent you used to secure someone else’s loan with my apartment even exists.”
Roman paused at the door.
“Vera Mikhailovna, save all received copies and correspondence on this issue. If you contest the signature, this truly stops being a family matter.”
“That’s exactly why I’m no longer discussing it as a family matter.”
When the door closed behind him, Denis returned to the room and stopped in front of me.
“Do you realize what you’re doing right now?” he asked in a low voice. “They’ll start charging fees, take us to court, drag the whole deal into the open. We could have fixed this quietly.”
“You’ve already managed ‘quiet.’ Three months—everything was very quiet.”
“Stop with the sarcasm. I was trying to maintain our standard of living.”
“You were trying to save your business with our apartment, and you didn’t even ask me.”
“If the company collapses, it won’t do you any good either.”
“Things already aren’t any better for me. At least now I know why.”
He stepped closer.
“Vera, even if you manage to make a scene over this paper, the debt will still be there.”
“I’m not trying to erase your debt. I want to know why my supposed consent was used to secure it when I never gave it.”
Denis narrowed his eyes.
“You’re talking like I personally sat up at night forging your signature.”
“Then it should be easy for you to find out who really did it.”
He didn’t say a word.
I put the copy of the consent form into a clear sleeve and slipped it into my bag.
At 3:20, I sat across from Irina Pavlovna Gromova.
Her office wasn’t showy at all—two monitors, a scanner, a stack of folders, and a small calendar on a stand. The notary herself wore thin metal glasses and had a silver bob.
She didn’t ask how long we’d been married or what happened between my husband and me. First, she looked at my passport. Then, at the copy.
“Where did you get this document?” she asked, reading the text carefully.
“The creditor’s representative showed it to me today. My husband’s loan is secured by this consent.”
“Is the date listed as the tenth of February?”
“Yes. And that’s the registry number.”
Irina Pavlovna turned to her computer. She spent a few minutes cross-checking the information, then looked back at the paper.
“To be precise—you need to know: I did not perform a notarial action with this information on February tenth.”
I leaned forward.
“So you didn’t certify a consent from me to use this apartment as collateral?”
“A consent with these details was not certified by me. The information on the document you have does not match our register.”
“Can you assess the signature and stamp?”
She immediately shook her head.
“From a copy, I can’t declare the signature fake just because it isn’t yours. Signature origin is determined by expert analysis. The stamp is examined the same way. All I can say for sure is that my information system shows no notarial act with these details.”
“If this goes to court, can you confirm that officially?”
“A formal response will be provided to an official request. Your representative can file the necessary petitions. In the meantime, keep this copy exactly as you received it—don’t write on it or underline anything.”
I put away the pen I was already holding.
“At least now I know my memory isn’t failing me.”
Irina Pavlovna took off her glasses.
“When it comes to property matters, memory is a poor witness. Documents, registries, and dates are what matters. Rely on those.”
An hour later, I was at Svetlana Rogova’s office. A colleague from our legal department gave me her number.
Svetlana was a little younger than me, with shoulder-length light hair, and she made quick notes on some printouts with a pencil as we spoke. After listening to my story, she didn’t sigh sympathetically. Instead, she asked for my marriage certificate, the apartment papers, a recent statement from the property registry, contracts, and a copy of the consent form.
“Did you purchase the apartment while you were married?” she clarified.
“Yes. We bought it twelve years ago.”
“Did you ever have a prenuptial agreement?”
“No, we never had one.”
“Is Denis listed as the owner in the registry, but the money was joint?”
“Yes. Part of the money came from selling my old apartment, and the rest we added together. We also paid off the loan together after that.”
Svetlana underlined a few lines.
“So, the first question is about consent for managing jointly-owned property. Second, the origin of the signature. Third, where the loan money went. Your husband can tell as many stories as he likes about saving the family, but in court, we’ll be more interested in the payments than his creative writing.”
I couldn’t help but grin.
“His storytelling really improved after he missed that deadline.”
“That tends to happen,” Svetlana replied dryly. “When people run out of documents, they start coming up with beautiful explanations.”
She looked at me again.
“You do understand that just calling a notary isn’t enough, right? The mortgage won’t magically disappear just because you made that call.”
“I understand. That’s exactly why I came to see you.”
“Then let’s file a lawsuit. We’ll request the original consent document, information from the notarial register, and ask for a handwriting examination. Separately, we’ll request information about the loan transactions.”
“If all of that gets confirmed, is it possible to dispute the mortgage?”
“That’s exactly why we’re going to court. But I can’t promise a decision until I see the full set of evidence.”
She set her pencil down.
“One more question. What do you want from Denis besides protecting the apartment?”
I paused to think.
Just yesterday, I would have thought that was asking too much. Today, the answer seemed simpler.
“I want him to never make decisions about our property on my behalf ever again.”
Svetlana nodded slightly.
“That’s a different story. For now, let’s not mix the divorce, property division, and the mortgage dispute into one emotional soup. We’ll start by dealing with the apartment.”
“Exactly. That’s how we’ll do it.”
When I left her office, I saw eight missed calls from Denis on my phone.
I only called him back on my way home.
“You finally decided to answer?” His voice was angry. “Where have you been all day anyway? Roman said you caused some kind of circus at the notary’s office.”
“A circus usually involves tricks, Denis. So far I’ve only found one trick: the notary hasn’t notarized a consent with the details that appear on your document.”
There was a brief pause on the other end.
“You don’t understand how the deal was made. There was a middleman, he gathered the paperwork.”
“Great. Give me his name and phone number.”
“I don’t have his contact details on me right now.”
“Then find them and give them to my lawyer.”
“What lawyer?”
“Mine. I was with Svetlana Rogova today. We’re going to challenge the mortgage.”
Denis exhaled sharply.
— Vera, are you even listening to yourself? What court? We can sell the apartment, pay off the debt, and move past all of this in just a few months.
— I really love your part about ‘moving past.’ Especially after I was supposed to forget that I apparently went to the notary.
— Don’t twist my words. I’m telling you, I didn’t personally handle those documents.
— Then it’s in your best interest to help figure out who actually did.
— This lawsuit of yours will finish the company for good.
— Explain to me how my missing signature destroys your business.
He started speaking louder.
— Because they’ll go digging through the accounts, contracts, everything! Do you even realize the consequences?
— Did you think about the consequences when you put the apartment up as collateral?
— I was trying to save what I’d worked fifteen years for!
— And why did we buy the apartment? So that one day it could clean up your mistakes without my knowledge?
For a few seconds, all I could hear was his breathing on the line.
— You always knew how to make sure I was the only one to blame.
— Today I didn’t even have to try.
He hung up first.
Four days later, Svetlana filed a lawsuit.
And just a few weeks after that, I completely understood why her very first words were: ‘One notary is not enough.’
The creditor had no intention of voluntarily lifting the collateral. His representative insisted that all documents were properly supplied during the deal, the mortgage was registered, and marital conflict alone doesn’t invalidate the creditor’s rights.
Denis showed up to the first major hearing in a blue suit. It was the same one he’d worn to the company’s anniversary. He sat across the aisle and never even glanced at me until the judge asked if I knew about the loan.
At that, he straightened up.
— Vera knew perfectly well the business was going through a rough time, — Denis said confidently. — We discussed the need to bring in more money. She understood that no one would lend that kind of sum without collateral.
I turned my head.
Just like that.
A month ago, I ‘could have forgotten’ about visiting the notary. Now, suddenly, I supposedly gave my full approval.
Svetlana didn’t react angrily.
— Denis Sergeevich, can you name the date when Vera Mikhailovna specifically gave her consent to use the apartment as collateral?
He frowned.
— Of course, I can’t remember the exact date of a casual conversation months ago.
— Then let me clarify: where and when did Vera Mikhailovna sign the notarized consent?
— The documents were handled by the specialist overseeing the deal.
— Can you provide the name of that specialist?
Denis hesitated.
— I can’t name them right now. I’ll need to go through my messages.
— Has the intermediary’s contact information been provided to the court?
— Not yet, but it can be retrieved.
Svetlana gave a slight nod.
— So you’re sure about your wife’s consent, but can’t name the person who supposedly handled it?
Denis turned to her.
— You’re trying to make a normal business procedure sound criminal. I handed the documents to the person managing the deal. There was no reason for me to personally stand by the notary.
— You really didn’t have to stand at the notary’s office. But your wife would have had to be there in person to certify her own consent.
Denis pressed his lips together.
The creditor’s representative stood up.
— Your Honor, our client was not involved in the family affairs of the parties. At the time of the transaction, a document was presented to him that appeared to meet all requirements, after which the mortgage was officially registered. We object to any attempt to automatically shift the consequences of a family dispute onto a good faith creditor.
Svetlana held up a copy of the consent form.
— That’s exactly why we ask to examine the documents, not family emotions. This paper contains specific notarial details and verification methods. The plaintiff claims she never contacted the notary. The notary himself has informally confirmed that no such action took place. We now need to receive an official response and review the original document.
She handed over a petition.
— We request to obtain the original consent, details from the notarial registry, to appoint a handwriting expert, and to request documents regarding the movement of the borrowed funds.
The judge looked at her.
— In the plaintiff’s view, what is the significance of the movement of money?
— The defendant claims that the loan is tied to family interests. We dispute this. If the money was spent on Denis Sergeyevich’s business commitments, that fact matters for qualifying the nature of his financial obligation.
For the first time, Denis looked straight at me.
When the break was announced, he caught up with me in the hallway.
— Do you really want the court digging into every company account? — he hissed. — Do you realize there are dozens of contractors, tax payments, rent, suppliers? After your little performance, the creditor won’t even want to talk anymore.
— I don’t need the creditor to talk to me about your company. I need the court to see where the money went.
— You’re going to destroy the business just out of principle.
— Denis, the company received nearly five million and couldn’t pay it back. That happened before I ever filed my lawsuit.
He stepped closer.
— Even if the expert says the signature isn’t yours, the debt’s not going anywhere. Do you at least understand that?
— I completely understand. Your loan remains your obligation.
For the first time, he looked confused.
— Then why are you even doing all this? If the money has to be paid back anyway, why not just sell the apartment and move on?
— You still don’t get the difference, do you? I’m not trying to cancel your debt. I’m not going to let my home be used as the predetermined way to pay it off.
— It’s my home too.
— Which is why you could have discussed it with me. Not just brought a done deal with someone else’s signature.
Svetlana walked out of the courtroom with a folder in hand.
— Vera, it’s time for us to go back.
Denis stayed by the window.
An expert evaluation was appointed.
The mortgage remained listed in the Unified State Register of Real Estate.
Every time I opened the property statement, the line about encumbrances stayed right in its place. That irritated me more than anything Denis could say. By then, he had moved to live in his office, explaining it was closer to work sites.
We both knew perfectly well that the real issue wasn’t the distance to the work sites.
A month later, Svetlana called me while I was at work.
I stepped out of the open office into a small meeting room.
“The expert’s report is in,” she said, getting straight to the point. “The signature in your name was done by someone else.”
I slowly sat down.
“What about the notary’s response?”
“That’s included too. There’s no record of Irina Pavlovna giving consent with those details. Plus, we received the bank documents.”
“Did the money go to the company?”
“Almost the full amount. Contractors, lease payments, tax debts, two large payments to suppliers. We found no transactions showing the loan was used for family needs.”
I closed my eyes for a moment.
“So, does this mean everything is proven now?”
Svetlana quickly stopped me.
“Now we have a strong set of evidence. But let’s save the word ‘everything’ until the court makes a decision. I don’t like celebrating before the judge signs the document.”
“Alright. Then just tell me things have improved.”
“Things have improved a lot. That I can say.”
I arrived at the courthouse for the last hearing before Denis.
Roman was already waiting in the hallway. When he saw me, he slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Vera Mikhailovna, could I have a quick word?”
“Of course. Just let’s skip any suggestions about selling the apartment today. I’ve seen that before.”
He smiled for the first time ever.
“That’s not on offer today. After the expert report, our client’s position has changed. We’re now open to discussing the financial claim separately from the mortgage and will act depending on the court’s ruling on security.”
“A financial claim against whom, exactly?”
Roman met my gaze with determination.
“Against Denis Sergeyevich, as the borrower.”
“Then discuss it with Denis Sergeyevich. He’s a fan of grown-up financial decisions.”
Roman nodded.
“That’s exactly the answer I expected.”
Inside the courtroom, Svetlana laid out three tabs in front of her: the notary’s answer, the expert report, and the bank documents.
By then, there were no more secrets. Everything unpleasant was down on paper.
The expert specified that the signature in my name was not written by me.
The official notary response stated that Irina Pavlovna’s consent to use the apartment as collateral was not certified, and the details on the submitted document did not match the notarial registry.
The bank records showed where all four million eight hundred thousand rubles went.
The lender’s representative argued about the implications for the mortgage holder. Svetlana countered by referencing documents. Denis tried again to insist that I knew about the company’s financial troubles.
The judge glanced at him over her documents.
“Defendant, you’ve said several times your wife was aware of your business problems. The court is asking something else. Do you regard business financial troubles and your wife’s notarially certified consent to transfer shared real estate as equal circumstances?”
Denis hesitated.
“No, of course not. But we discussed the situation at home, and Vera knew serious measures would be needed.”
“Then answer the specific question once again: where did she provide notarially certified consent?”
He lowered his gaze to the table.
“The document was processed through an intermediary.”
“Have you established the intermediary’s name?”
“I haven’t been able to restore contact.”
“How did you deliver the documents to him?”
Denis shrugged with irritation.
“We exchanged messages. Some information was sent electronically.”
“Did you provide the correspondence?”
“No. I replaced my old phone.”
Svetlana only stood up after the judge finished questioning.
“Your Honor, the plaintiff is not asking for a decision based on what was said at home. We have a matter that can be verified independently of any family memories: the required notarized consent never existed.”
She placed her hand on the folder.
“This is confirmed by three independent sources. There is no record of the notarial act in the registry. The signature on the document was done by someone else. The details stated do not match the notary’s information.”
Then Svetlana placed a bank statement on top.
“The loan was taken out by Denis Sergeyevich. The money was used for his business obligations. The plaintiff isn’t demanding to invalidate the loan itself. She is challenging the outcome of the deal involving the shared property, for which she never gave her consent.”
I looked at Denis.
He used to sit like this during negotiations with contractors: fingers interlocked, head slightly bowed, confident that he would always have the final word.
But this time, he had no final word.
The judge delivered the decision without any dramatic pause.
The claim disputing the mortgage was granted. Once the decision came into legal force, there would be no grounds to keep the record of encumbrance.
At the same time, Denis’ monetary obligation under the loan contract remained in effect.
I wrote down almost every word, even though Svetlana promised she would send me the official written decision later anyway.
In the hallway, Denis was the first to approach me.
“So, are you happy now?” he asked with a crooked smirk. “You got what you wanted. Saved the apartment, but I still have to pay nearly five million.”
“I’m happy that someone else’s signature no longer substitutes for my consent.”
“We could have sold the apartment and settled everything without court, experts, or all this disgrace.”
“We could have done much more, Denis. For example, in February you could have come home and said, ‘Vera, I have big problems, I need money.’ Can you imagine how much cheaper that conversation would have been?”
He clenched his jaw.
“I’ve already explained to you: I didn’t forge that signature myself.”
“And I’ve already told you: then figure out who did. But the apartment no longer guarantees his work.”
“Do you really think there’s anything left between us after this?”
I looked at him intently.
“After February, all that’s left between us is what you didn’t manage to arrange behind my back.”
He turned away.
Svetlana was standing a few steps away and didn’t interfere.
“And one more thing, Denis,” I added. “From now on, all questions about property division will go through Svetlana. I’m no longer leaving real estate, money, and documents ‘with you.’ That experiment is over.”
He glanced back.
“So this is what you’ve decided to come to?”
— No. What led to this was the decision you made back in February. I just stopped pretending that its consequences didn’t exist.
Denis walked over to the stairs.
A few weeks later, the decision became official, and the mortgage record was cleared.
I received the new property statement from the registry on my way to work one morning. I opened the file right on my phone and went straight to the section I practically knew by heart after the past few months.
The line about the mortgage was gone.
I forwarded the document to Svetlana. Then I opened my chat with Denis and wrote: ‘The encumbrance has been lifted. From now on, handle the loan directly with your creditor. Send Svetlana your questions about the property.’
He replied a minute later.
‘You could’ve at least tried not to look so happy about it.’
I read the message and typed:
‘I’m not happy about your debt. I’m happy that my consent is required from me again, not from some guy with a printer.’
Sent.
After that, I put my phone in my bag and headed to work.
For the first time in months, I didn’t have to worry that someone might do something with my apartment behind my back.