The notary called Natalia at half past eight in the morning and asked her a single question:
“Natalia Sergeyevna, are you absolutely sure you want to give your aunt’s apartment over completely to your mother-in-law?”
Natalia stood in the hallway, holding Varya’s little shoe in her hand, completely lost about what this was all about.
“Sorry… give what?”
There was a pause on the other end. She could hear papers rustling.
“My name is Elizaveta Petrovna, you came to me about the inheritance. Today at two you’re scheduled to sign a general power of attorney. In the name of Tamara Ivanovna Kravtsova. With the right to sell, gift, and receive the money. My assistant prepared the paperwork at your mother-in-law’s request. I always call my clients in advance if there’s anything questionable. And here I do have some questions.”
Natalia slowly sat down on the pouffe.
From the kitchen, she could hear her husband’s voice. Oleg was laughing, telling his mother a story. Tamara Ivanovna answered him gently, in that sing-song way only she had.
“Natalia Sergeyevna, do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Natalia whispered. “But I never asked for any of this.”
“That’s what I thought,” the notary said calmly. “Please come at two. And make sure you carefully read everything you’re asked to sign.”
The call ended.
Natalia sat on the pouffe and stared at the little pink shoe. Six years. She had lived in this apartment for six years. In her mother-in-law’s three-room flat on Sadovaya, where she didn’t even have her own shelf in the bathroom.
It all started right after the wedding.
“Why waste money on rent?” Tamara Ivanovna said back then, hugging her. “Stay with me, there’s plenty of space for everyone. Save up for your own place. I’m not a stranger, I’m your second mother now.”
Natalia believed her. She was twenty-eight, grew up without a mom, raised by Aunt Zoya, and the word ‘mom’ acted like magic for her.
But saving never worked out.
First, her mother-in-law started a bathroom renovation—and the young couple paid for it, “since you’re living here.” Then something happened again to Oleg’s sister Larisa, and Oleg would give her half his bonus. Then it was the dacha, then dental work, then a new fridge because the old one supposedly broke from ‘improper defrosting by the daughter-in-law.’
Natalia worked as an accountant for a construction company. She knew how to handle numbers. And every month she saw how their family money disappeared into the bottomless pit called ‘because we’re family.’
Then Varya was born. And Natalia finally felt like just a boarder here, with no rights at all.
Her mother-in-law decided when to bathe the baby. What she would eat. What to dress her in. When Natalia once moved the crib further from the window, Tamara Ivanovna silently put it back while her daughter-in-law was out shopping.
“There’s a draft here,” Natalia said that evening.
“There’s no draft,” her mother-in-law smiled. “I’ve lived here forty years. I know best.”
In moments like that, Oleg would retreat into his phone.
“Natasha, don’t start,” he’d whisper in the bedroom later. “Mom’s just trying. She’s doing it for us.”
Aunt Zoya passed away last spring. Quietly, without complaint, just as she had lived.
She was the only person who really knew everything about Natalia. She knew how hard it was. She knew Natalia cried at night in the bathroom, turning on the water so her mother-in-law wouldn’t hear. Continued in the comments.
“Natasha,” her aunt said six months before she passed away, “the apartment will be yours. It’s a small two-bedroom place, but it’s your own. Promise me one thing: you’ll move there with Varya. With or without a husband—just promise you’ll go. You can’t spend your whole life living in someone else’s house, asking for permission just to breathe.”
Back then, Natalia brushed it off. She told her aunt not to talk like that—it was too early to discuss such things.
And then came the notary. The will. The certificate of inheritance. And finally, the keys—a heavy set, with a fish keychain that Natalia had given her aunt about twenty years ago.
She brought those keys home as if they were a treasure.
“Oleg,” she said that evening, barely holding back tears of joy. “We’ll have our own home. Do you understand? Our own place. We’ll renovate it over the summer and move in by September. Varya’s kindergarten is nearby—and it’s a wonderful kindergarten.”
Oleg hugged her and said, “That’s great.” But his words lacked enthusiasm, and he seemed distant.
The next morning, for the first time in six years, her mother-in-law baked Natalia a cabbage pie.
Now, sitting in the hallway, Natalia recalled everything piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle.
The pie. Kind words at breakfast. “Natasha, you look tired—let me take Varya to kindergarten today.”
And then, a week ago, they had a conversation.
“Natasha, here’s the thing,” her mother-in-law sat down next to her on the couch and gently patted her hand. “To claim your inheritance, you have to run around so much. Paperwork, statements, management company, tax office. You’re working, you have a child—when will you have time? Let me handle everything. You just have to sign one paper at the notary’s office, and I’ll take care of the rest. I’m retired, I have nothing else to do anyway.”
“But I’ve already claimed the inheritance,” Natalia said, surprised. “I have the certificate.”
“Oh, but there’s still registration, changing the utility accounts,” her mother-in-law waved her hands. “Oleg, tell her!”
And Oleg said:
“Natasha, it’s true. Mom will do everything. You just need to sign.”
Natalia agreed then. She was just tired. Work, quarterly reports, Varya with a cold. She thought: well, if she wants to help—let her.
A general power of attorney. With the right to sell and gift.
“Are you sure you want to give your aunt’s apartment over to your mother-in-law for full disposal?”
Natalia got up. She put her shoe back on the shelf and walked into the kitchen.
Her mother-in-law, dressed in her fanciest robe, was pouring tea. Oleg was chewing a sandwich. Varya was sitting on her high chair, drawing on a napkin with a marker.
“Oh, Natasha!” Tamara Ivanovna exclaimed with a big smile. “Come have some tea. You didn’t forget—we’re meeting the notary at two? I got your boss to let you go. Or wait, you asked for time off yourself, clever girl.”
“I didn’t forget,” Natalia replied evenly. “Tamara Ivanovna, what exactly are we signing today?”
Her mother-in-law froze for a split second. Just for a moment. But Natalia noticed.
“What do you mean? The power of attorney. So I can collect the papers for you.”
“What papers exactly?”
“Well… all sorts,” her mother-in-law said as she put the kettle on. “Natalia, what’s the matter? Didn’t sleep well?”
Natalia looked at her husband.
Oleg stopped chewing. And looked away. Just like that—he turned and stared out of the window, as if something very interesting was happening outside.
And in that moment, Natalia understood everything.
He knew.
She took him into the bedroom under the pretense of not being able to find her charger.
She closed the door and leaned against it.
“Oleg. The notary called me.”
He turned pale. Not red with anger, not defensive—just pale. Like a kid caught with a cheat sheet.
“What notary are you talking about?”
“The one and only. Elizaveta Petrovna. She called to ask if I really wanted to give your mom the authority to sell or gift Aunt Zoya’s apartment. Did you know about this?”
“Natasha…”
“Did. You. Know?”
He sat down on the bed and rubbed his face with his hands.
“Yeah, I knew. So what? You have to understand, Larisa is getting a divorce. Vitalik registered the apartment in his mother’s name, so Larisa and her two boys are left with nothing. They have nowhere to live. Mom said this was just temporary. Let them stay at Aunt Zoya’s place for a while, and we’ll see what happens.”
“But why the right to sell? Why the right to gift?”
Oleg stayed silent.
“Oleg, why does your mom need the right to give away my apartment?”
“Well… Mom thought…” he hesitated. “Larisa needs to settle down somewhere. For good. We already live at mom’s, we’re fine. What do we need that two-bedroom for anyway? This place has three rooms, mom is nearby, helping with Varya. But Larisa and the boys have nowhere. It’s the decent thing to do.”
Natalya looked at her husband and hardly recognized him. Or maybe, for the first time, she truly saw his real self.
“The decent thing, huh?” she repeated. “Being decent would’ve been telling me the truth. Asking me. But you and your mom decided to trick me. Slip me the paper and fool me like I’m some idiot.”
“Nobody was trying to trick you!” Oleg snapped. “You wouldn’t have agreed anyway! You’re stubborn as… Mom said this is simpler. No scandals.”
“No scandals,” Natalya laughed quietly. “Of course.”
She thought of Aunt Zoya. Her voice. “You can’t spend your whole life in someone else’s house, asking for permission just to breathe.”
“Oleg, we’re going to the notary,” she said. “All of us. Just like we agreed.”
He looked at her with hope.
“You’ll sign?”
“We’re going,” Natalya repeated. “You’ll see at the notary’s office.”
By two o’clock, she had managed to do a lot.
She dropped Varya off at kindergarten. She called her friend Olga, who worked as a lawyer. Olga listened, was silent for a moment, then said:
“Natasha, this is classic. Your mother-in-law wants your apartment for your sister-in-law, your husband knows about it. If you signed those papers, they could sell or transfer the apartment to Larisa and you’d be in court for years. Good thing you got an honest notary. Not everyone would have called you.”
“Olga, what should I do?”
“Don’t sign,” her friend replied simply. “And think about what comes next. Not just with the apartment. With your life.”
Then Natalya stopped by the bank to withdraw some cash. After that, she headed to her aunt’s apartment.
It smelled of dust and old books inside. There was a withered ficus on the windowsill. In the kitchen hung a calendar still open to last year’s April.
Natalya opened the window. She let the air in.
She stood, looking out the window at the yard, the playground, the maples. For the first time in six years, she felt like she could breathe deeply… Actually, she just felt like she could breathe. Freely. No one standing behind her. No one telling her not to open the window because of a draft.
“Aunt Zoya,” she whispered into the empty room. “I promised. I remember.”
They arrived at the notary’s office as a group of three.
Mother-in-law arrived in her finest coat, hair neatly styled, and a folder of documents tucked under her arm. Oleg looked gloomy and silent. Natalia seemed calm, so calm that Tamara Ivanovna kept casting suspicious glances at her.
“Natalia, did you bring your passport?” the mother-in-law asked with concern as they stood in the hallway.
“Yes, I did, Tamara Ivanovna.”
“And the certificate of inheritance?”
“That too.”
“Good girl,” her mother-in-law patted her hand. “You see, it’s all so easy. Five minutes and you’re done. I’ll handle the rest myself.”
They were invited into the office.
Elizaveta Petrovna turned out to be a woman of about fifty with an austere manner and glasses on a chain. She peered over her spectacles at all three of them, pausing her gaze on Natalia.
“Take a seat. Natalia Sergeyevna, you’re the principal?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Tamara Ivanovna, are you the attorney-in-fact?”
“Yes, yes, that’s me,” the mother-in-law nodded eagerly, laying out the folder on the table. “We decided this as a family. My daughter-in-law works a lot, so I’m helping her. We’re a really close-knit family, you have no idea!”
“I can imagine,” the notary replied dryly. “By law, I am required to read the power of attorney aloud to the principal. In full. Natalia Sergeyevna, please listen carefully.”
And she began to read.
Slowly. Clearly. Each word hit like a hammer.
“…I authorize Tamara Ivanovna Kravtsova to manage and dispose of my apartment… to sell it for whatever price and on whatever terms she deems fit… to give it as a gift… to collect money due to me… to sign lease agreements… without the right of revocation for three years…”
Mother-in-law sat motionless. Her smile was frozen on her face, as if glued there.
Oleg stared at the floor.
“…without the right of revocation,” the notary repeated and took off her glasses. “Natalia Sergeyevna, do you understand what this document means? With this power of attorney, Tamara Ivanovna can sell your apartment to anyone, for any price, and take the money herself. Or give it to any person as a gift. And for three years, you won’t be able to stop her. Do you realize the consequences?”
A heavy silence fell. It was so quiet, they could hear the clock ticking on the wall.
“I do,” said Natalia. “But I won’t sign anything.”
Tamara Ivanovna jumped up.
“Natalia! What are you saying? We had an agreement!”
“We agreed that you’d help with paperwork,” Natalia replied calmly. “You never mentioned selling or gifting my apartment.”
“It’s just a formality!” her mother-in-law’s voice rose. “Everyone writes it this way! It’s standard text! Elizaveta Petrovna, tell her!”
“It is not standard text,” the notary said. “Those powers are not required for paperwork. Not at all.”
Mother-in-law turned to her son.
“Oleg! Say something to your wife! Explain it to her!”
Oleg looked up. He glanced at his mother, then at his wife, then lowered his eyes again.
“Natalia,” he forced out, “it’s true. Larissa has nowhere to live. The boys are seven and nine. Do you really want them out on the street?”
“Oleg, Larissa’s mother has a three-bedroom apartment,” Natalia said quietly. “If Tamara Ivanovna is so worried about her daughter, let her move in with her. Varvara and I will vacate our room. As soon as tomorrow.”
Her mother-in-law gasped.
“What do you mean, ‘vacate your room’?”
— That’s exactly what it means. We’re moving. To Aunt Zoya’s apartment.
After that, everything happened so quickly.
Tamara Ivanovna’s kind facade vanished, as if blown away by the wind. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed.
— Oh, is that so, — she hissed. — Six years you lived here with everything provided for you. Six years! For free! I fed you, I looked after your child, I opened my home to you! And what do you do? You begrudge us something? Ungrateful deadweight!
Natalya flinched at the word. But she didn’t lower her head.
— Everything provided for me? — she repeated. — Tamara Ivanovna, I happen to have an interesting notebook with me.
She took a regular checkered school notebook out of her bag.
— I’m an accountant. I’ve recorded every expense over the past six years. The utilities for your apartment — we paid them. The bathroom renovation — us. The fridge — us. The washing machine — us. The fence at your dacha — us. The new windows — us. Larisa’s debts that Oleg covered for her — yes, us too. Would you like me to read the total out loud? It’s over a million.
Her mother-in-law was stunned. She looked at the notebook as if it were a snake.
The notary cleared her throat.
— Ladies and gentlemen, I must ask you to continue your discussion outside the office. Natalya Sergeyevna, the power of attorney will not be certified. I’m canceling the project. And one more thing, — she looked at the mother-in-law over her glasses. — If anyone tries again to make an appointment with a similar document on behalf of Natalya Sergeyevna, I will personally deny it.
Outside, her mother-in-law turned to Natalya.
— You’ll regret this, — she spat. — Do you hear me? You’ll regret it. You’re nothing without us. An orphan without a family or roots. Oleg, let’s go. Let her crawl back to her hole.
She marched toward the car.
Oleg stood on the sidewalk between them. Confused, pitiful, his arms hanging down. Like a boy sent to stand in the corner.
— Natasha, — he said. — Why did you have to do this? We could have handled this like a family.
— Like a family — is that what you call deception behind someone’s back? — Natalya replied. — Oleg, I ask you one thing. Tell me honestly. If I had signed today, would you have stopped me?
He stayed silent.
He was silent for a long time. Then he shrugged… no, he just spread his hands.
— Mom said it would be best for everyone.
— For everyone except me and Varya, — Natalya nodded. — I understand. Thanks for being honest.
— Oleg! — called his mother from the car. — Are you coming?
And he went. He glanced back a couple of times. But he still left.
Natalya watched him go, surprised at herself. No tears, no hysteria. Just a huge, ringing emptiness. And somewhere deep down in that emptiness — a small, warm spark. As if Aunt Zoya was standing beside her, holding her hand.
The move took four days.
Natalya and Varya had painfully few things. Six years of life fit into eight boxes and two suitcases. Everything else in her mother-in-law’s apartment belonged to ‘Tamara Ivanovna’ — even the pots, even the towels, even the hangers in the closet.
All those days, her mother-in-law made a point of not leaving her room. Only once, when Natalya was carrying out the last box, did she appear in the hallway.
— At least don’t turn my granddaughter against me, — she muttered.
“I won’t,” Natalia answered honestly. “You’re Varya’s grandmother. You’re welcome to visit whenever you like, but you’ll need to follow the rules of my home.”
Her mother-in-law grunted and left.
Oleg helped load the boxes. In silence. When everything was loaded up, he finally spoke:
“I’m going to stay with my mom for a while. I need to think.”
“Take your time,” Natalia agreed.
The first night in her aunt’s apartment felt strange.
Varya slept in the small room where her aunt’s sewing machine used to be. Natalia sat in the kitchen with a mug of tea, just listening to the quiet.
No one shuffled slippers behind the wall. No one turned the TV up full blast at eleven at night. No one entered without knocking.
Suddenly, she realized she could set her mug anywhere she wanted. She didn’t have to wash dishes immediately. She could turn on the hallway light and no one would complain about ‘wasting electricity.’
It was such a tiny thing. And such a huge feeling of freedom.
Natalia cried. For the first time in all those days. But these tears were different. Not from hurt, but from relief.
Two months passed.
Natalia and Varya renovated the place — with their own hands, on weekends. They painted the small room’s walls a soft yellow. Hung new curtains. Bought Varya a desk, even though school was still two years away.
“Mom, is this my desk? Really mine?” Varya stroked the tabletop with her palm.
“All yours, sweetheart.”
“Grandma won’t move it?”
Natalia felt a pinch inside.
“No one will move it. This is your room.”
Oleg visited on Saturdays. He’d walk with Varya, sometimes stay for dinner. He was quiet, thoughtful. Hardly mentioned his mom.
Then, one Saturday, he finally talked.
Larisa and her sons had finally moved in with Tamara Ivanovna. Into the very room where Oleg and Natalia used to live. Oleg had to settle for a folding bed in the walk-through living room.
“You have no idea what it’s like there,” he said wearily, staring into his cup. “The boys scream from morning till night. Larisa isn’t working—says she’s too stressed after the divorce. Spends all day on her phone. Doesn’t do the dishes. If Mom says anything, Larisa bursts into tears and yells. Mom doesn’t bake pies anymore. Now she runs to the store herself, cooks for six, does all the laundry.”
“And money?”
“The money’s mine,” Oleg said with a bitter smile. “I hand over my whole paycheck: utilities, groceries, clubs for Larisa’s boys. Larisa says she’s my sister and I’m obligated.”
Natalia stayed silent.
“Guess what Mom said yesterday?” Oleg went on. “She said: ‘At least Natasha kept things tidy. Never talked back.’ Can you believe it? She actually remembers you.”
“I can believe it,” Natalia replied quietly.
She didn’t feel smug. In fact, she even felt a little sorry for her mother-in-law. But it was a calm, detached sort of sympathy. The kind you feel for a stranger who has dug their own hole.
In December, Tamara Ivanovna called herself.
For the first time ever. Her voice was unusually quiet, missing its usual honeyed tone.
“Natasha. May I come see Varya for New Year’s? Bring a present?”
“Of course, Tamara Ivanovna. Come on the 30th, around lunchtime.”
Her mother-in-law arrived with a doll and a box of chocolates. She sat in the kitchen, looking around. She took in the new curtains, the yellow wall in the kids’ room, Varya’s drawings on the fridge.
“You have a lovely place,” she finally said. “It’s so cozy.”
“Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Larisa is asking me to sign my apartment over to her,” her mother-in-law suddenly said, gazing out the window. “She keeps saying it’s going to be too hard for me to live alone soon, and she has kids to raise. She wants me to gift it to her. I… I even went to see that notary. Elizaveta Petrovna. Just to ask.”
Natalya froze.
“And?”
“Do you know what she told me?” her mother-in-law gave a bitter smile. “She said, ‘Tamara Ivanovna, read everything carefully before you sign anything.’ Word for word, just like she told you back then.”
She lifted her eyes to her daughter-in-law. There was no anger or pretense in them. Only exhaustion. And something that resembled shame.
“I didn’t sign it,” her mother-in-law said. “And, Natasha… Please forgive me. If you can. I really thought I was doing the right thing. For my daughter. And I nearly robbed you blind. And my own son…” she waved her hand. “I raised my son to be this way. What can I say now.”
Natalya was silent for a long time. Then she poured her mother-in-law more tea.
“I hold no grudge, Tamara Ivanovna. But I won’t live the same way anymore. My home—my rules. You’re always welcome here. But only as a guest.”
“I understand,” her mother-in-law nodded. “Now I understand.”
Oleg never found the courage.
Natalya gave him time. Six months. She told him honestly, “Oleg, I’m willing to try again. But only if you’ll be my husband, not just your mother’s son. Our family is you, me, and Varya. Not your mother, not Larisa. Us.”
He nodded. Promised. But every time his mom called, he dropped everything and ran to fix Larisa’s latest problem. Every time he forgot about his promised walk with his daughter, because “mom needs help at the dacha.”
In the spring, Natalya filed for divorce. Calmly, without drama. Oleg didn’t argue. He signed everything quietly, just as quietly as he used to follow his mother to the car.
There was nothing to divide. Aunt Zoya’s apartment legally belonged to Natalya—it was an inheritance that can’t be split. And after six years of marriage, they hadn’t really acquired anything else together. Everything they had had gone into his mother’s ‘joint pot.’
“I’m sorry, Natasha,” Oleg said as their divorce was finalized at the courthouse door. “I guess I just don’t know how to be any other way.”
“You’ll learn,” she replied. “Someday. Just not with me.”
Sometimes in the evening, after putting Varya to bed, Natalya sits in the kitchen by the open window. She drinks tea from her aunt’s mug with the broken handle, watching the maple trees in the yard.
She often thinks about that phone call. About Elizaveta Petrovna’s voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?..”
If the notary hadn’t called—what then? She would’ve signed it. Without reading. Just tired, trusting. And a month later, her sister-in-law would be living in her aunt’s apartment, while Natalya and Varya would still be left with barely a claim to one room, asking permission just to breathe.
Every daughter-in-law who lives in her mother-in-law’s house knows this feeling. When it almost feels like home, but it isn’t really yours. When there’s a smile, but you can sense calculation behind it. When your husband says, “We’re a family,” but what he really means by family is anyone but you.
Natalia is no longer afraid of that word. She now understands that a real family isn’t about demands—it’s about caring for each other. For her, that means Aunt Zoya, who thought about her right up until her last day. It means little Varya, who falls asleep in her yellow room, hugging her new doll. It even means herself—a grown woman who has finally learned how to say “no.”
On the fridge, among Varya’s drawings, there’s a little fish keychain. Natalia hung it up there on the very first evening.
As a reminder.
A reminder that a real home isn’t just something you’re given. You have to know how to protect it, too.
