Irina stood by the window, watching the rain cascade down, splashing against the sill. The weather mirrored her mood, somber and dreary. Behind her, the front door swung shut—Sergey had returned from work. She didn’t turn around; her gaze was fixed on the street, though her vision was blurred by tears.
“Haven’t you packed yet?” Sergey’s voice broke through, laced with irritation. “I told you—by evening, I don’t want to see you here.”
Irina slowly turned her head, trying to maintain her composure. “Seryozha, let’s talk,” she said, her voice wavering slightly, but she steadied herself. “Ten years of marriage can’t just be erased like that.”
Sergey grimaced, tossing his keys onto the table. “What’s there to discuss? It’s all settled. We’re no longer on the same path.”
“And what about Dasha?” Irina clenched her fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms. “Is she not your daughter?”
“Dasha will stay with me,” Sergey snapped. “It’s not under discussion. The apartment is my mother’s. Pack your things! You can go back to your village, to your parents. That’s where you belong.”
Irina shut her eyes. Ever since Sergey announced the divorce, she had hoped it was just a fleeting moment of confusion, that he would reconsider. But the stark reality was now evident—there was no hope left. She was simply no longer needed.
“I’m not going anywhere without my daughter,” Irina replied calmly but with conviction. “And I won’t leave this apartment.”
“Haven’t you figured it out?” Sergey stepped closer, making Irina instinctively take a step back. “This apartment belongs to my mother. She has the right to choose who can live here and who can’t. And she says—there’s no place for you here.”
Irina let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, Anna Viktorovna had a hand in this divorce. She has never disguised her feelings towards me—an ordinary girl from a village, with no connections or money. ‘You are not fit for my Serenka,’ she often said with barely concealed contempt.”
“Seryozha, you know that’s not true,” Irina tried to maintain her calm. “The apartment belongs to both of us. We bought it during our marriage with our shared funds.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Sergey scoffed. “What are your funds? You haven’t worked for the last five years, you’ve been at home with Dasha. The down payment was from my mom, and she helped with the mortgage too. So pack your bags and leave.”
Irina wrapped her arms around herself as if trying to shield herself from his words.
“What about the documents? The apartment is registered in both our names. I remember us signing the papers at the notary’s office.”
Sergey grimaced and looked away.
“That’s all just a formality. Mom didn’t want to be visible, with all the taxes and stuff… But her money paid for it, so it’s hers.”
Irina shook her head: “You know that’s not right. We paid the mortgage together, using our joint money. Yes, your mother helped with the initial payment, but that doesn’t make her the owner of the apartment.”
Sergey waved his hand in annoyance: “Stop arguing! I’ve made my decision. I’m filing for divorce tomorrow, and today you need to move out. Understand? You can take your stuff, but the rest stays here.”
“And Dasha?” Irina asked quietly. “Does she know you are kicking her mother out?”
For a moment, Sergey hesitated, but quickly regained his composure: “Dasha will stay with her father and grandmother. It’s for the best. Mom has already arranged a good school, tutors. What can you offer her? Poverty in the village?”
Irina felt something snap inside her. Ten years of marriage, shared plans, dreams—and it all ended just like that. Coldly, cynically, without remorse.
“I will talk to Dasha,” she said, making her way to the door.
“Dasha is not here,” Sergey said sharply. “She’s at my mother’s place. And she will stay there until you leave. I won’t let you manipulate the child.”
Irina stopped, stunned.
“You’ve taken my daughter? Without warning? Without my consent?”
“Don’t dramatize,” Sergey grimaced. “She’ll be with her grandmother for the weekend, that’s all. And in the meantime, you’ll have time to pack and leave.”
Irina slowly sank into a chair, suddenly feeling drained. How did they come to this? When had their seemingly strong marriage begun to crumble?
“Why, Seryozha?” she whispered. “What did I do wrong?”
Sergey turned away, avoiding her gaze.
“Nothing specific. It’s just… everything’s passed. The feelings, you understand? They are gone.”
“Because of Marina?” Irina mentioned the name of the woman she suspected Sergey had an affair with.
Sergey flinched, as if hit, and Irina realized she had struck a nerve.
“Don’t say foolish things,” he muttered. “Marina has nothing to do with this. She’s just a colleague.”
“A colleague you spend every weekend with,” Irina replied bitterly. “A colleague you stopped coming home on time for. Don’t treat me like a fool, Seryozha.”
Sergey turned around, and in his eyes, Irina saw real fury—raw, unfiltered anger she had never noticed before.
“Fine, you want the truth? Yes, I have another woman. And she is a hundred times better than you! Beautiful, smart, successful. Not a housewife who only knows how to cook borscht and complain about being tired.”
Irina recoiled, as if slapped. Each word struck hard, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“I stayed at home because you wanted that,” she said quietly. “You said that a wife should take care of the home and child, while the husband should earn the money.”
“That was before,” Sergey dismissed. “Now I see who you really are. An uneducated village simpleton without ambition or prospects.”
Irina stood up. Her heart raced, but strangely, she felt an unprecedented clarity of thought. It was as if a veil had lifted from her eyes, and she finally saw her husband for who he truly was—a petty, cruel man willing to trample ten years of married life for a momentary desire.
“You’re right, Seryozha,” she said calmly. “We truly are no longer meant to be. But I won’t leave without my daughter. I won’t vacate this apartment either. Because by law, it belongs to both of us.”
“What do you know about the law!” Sergey laughed. “You don’t even have a legal education.”
“But my brother does,” Irina countered. “And I have a meeting set up with him and his colleague for today.”
Sergey froze, looking at her in disbelief.
“Which brother? You have no brother.”
“A cousin,” Irina clarified. “They’re coming over tonight. We’ll discuss the division of property, custody over Dasha, and alimony. By law, Seryozha. As it should be.”
Sergey’s mouth opened, then shut. He clearly hadn’t expected this shift. Irina, his quiet, compliant wife, suddenly showed her teeth.
“Is this a threat?” he finally squeezed out.
“No,” Irina shook her head. “This is reality. You can divorce me; that’s your right. But throwing me out on the street and taking my daughter—that I won’t allow.”
Sergey nervously ran his hand through his hair.
“Look, let’s avoid these legal complications. Everything can be settled amicably.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been suggesting from the beginning,” noted Irina. “To talk calmly, discuss everything, come to terms. But you chose to act differently. Well, now we will resolve this via lawyers.”
She walked past her stunned husband into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Only when alone did Irina allow herself to exhale. Her knees trembled, and she sank onto the bed, trying to compose herself.
Of course, she didn’t have any cousin who was a lawyer. Nor was there a meeting with an attorney scheduled. But Sergey didn’t know that. And this little lie provided her with much-needed breathing space.
Irina took her phone and dialed her long-time friend, Nadezhda. They hadn’t spoken in years—Sergey disapproved of the friendship, stating that Nadezhda was “too modern” and “a bad influence.” Now, Irina realized this was merely a way to isolate her, to strip her of support.
“Nadezhda? It’s Ira,” her voice quivered. “I’m sorry to bother you after all these years. I need help.”
She briefly outlined the situation. Nadezhda listened quietly, only occasionally asking clarifying questions.
“Okay,” she finally said firmly. “First of all, calm down. Second, don’t leave the apartment. Third, I’m coming over right away. And yes, my husband is a family law attorney, as you remember. He’ll come with me.”
Irina felt warmth spread inside her for the first time in these grim days.
“Thank you, Nadezhda. I don’t know how…”
“Don’t say anything,” interrupted her friend. “We’ll be there in an hour. Hold on.”
Irina hung up the phone and allowed herself to smile for the first time that day. She had a plan. And maybe, just maybe, hope.
From the living room came sounds—Sergey pacing nervously, muttering to himself. Then the phone rang, and she heard him talking to someone—going by his tone, it was his mother.
“Mom, there’s a situation… Yes, she’s being stubborn. Says she’s called a lawyer… No, I don’t know if she’s bluffing or not… Yes, come over, of course.”
Irina took a deep breath. Her mother-in-law’s arrival meant another round of drama. Anna Viktorovna was a commanding woman unaccustomed to being denied. Especially by a daughter-in-law she disliked.
But now, Irina felt she had the strength to stand up to this. She was no longer alone.
She rose from the bed, approached the closet, and started methodically sorting through the clothes—hers and Dasha’s. Not to prepare to leave as Sergey demanded but to understand what they might need soon. Because one thing was certain—she wasn’t leaving this apartment that had been bought with their shared money without a fight. Nor was she handing over her daughter.
A knock on the door sounded precisely an hour later. Irina emerged from the bedroom to open it, but Sergey beat her to it.
At the door stood not her mother-in-law, as Sergey had expected, but Nadezhda—a tall, self-assured woman in a sharp suit. Beside her was a well-groomed man holding a leather briefcase.
“Hello,” Nadezhda coldly eyed Sergey. “We are here to see Irina Alekseevna. I’m her friend, and this is Mikhail Semyonovich, her attorney.”
Sergey stepped back in confusion, allowing them to enter the apartment. Irina moved forward, and Nadezhda gave her a firm hug.
“Everything will be alright,” she whispered in her friend’s ear. “We won’t let them hurt you.”
The attorney motioned everyone to sit as he entered the living room. He took out a folder filled with documents.
“So, Sergey Nikolaevich,” he began in an official tone. “I understand you and your wife have some disagreements. That happens. But there are legal procedures for divorce and property division.”
Sergey shifted his gaze between the attorney and his wife, bewildered.
“What procedures? The apartment belongs to my mother. She just let us live here.”
Mikhail Semyonovich pulled a copy of a document from the folder and placed it before Sergey.
“This is an extract from the Rosreestr. According to it, the apartment is owned equally by you and your spouse. There’s no mention of your mother whatsoever.”
Sergey paled but quickly collected himself.
“That’s just a formality. My mother essentially funded the apartment.”
“In that case,” the attorney continued calmly, “your mother could file a civil claim to recognize her right to a share in the property. But that’s a lengthy process with an uncertain outcome. Evidence will be required to show the money was indeed for the apartment purchase, not as a gift to the family. Additionally,” he paused, “considering your marriage lasted ten years, and the mortgage was paid from the family budget, the court will likely determine that the apartment is jointly owned.”
Sergey nervously drummed his fingers on the table.
“What about our daughter?” he finally asked. “She’ll stay with me.”
“That will be decided by the court,” Mikhail Semyonovich replied. “Taking into account the child’s age, the fact that the mother has been raising her for the past five years, and your work schedule, I can presume the court will lean towards the mother retaining custody. With your rights to regular visitation and involvement, of course.”
Irina listened silently, surprised by her own calm. Just this morning, she had felt crushed, defeated, ready to give up. But now she felt confidence returning.
Another knock on the door sounded. This time, Anna Viktorovna truly stood at the door—a tall, stately woman with an unhappy expression. Upon seeing unfamiliar faces in the living room, she frowned.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded, walking into the apartment uninvited. “Who are these people?”
“Irina’s attorney,” Sergey replied gloomily. “And her friend.”
Anna Viktorovna gave them a disdainful look.
“What attorneys? There’s nothing to discuss. This apartment is mine; I bought it. And you—” she pointed a finger at Irina, “pack your things and get out.”
Mikhail Semyonovich stood up.
“Dear Anna Viktorovna,” he said calmly but firmly. “I fear you are mistaken about the property rights concerning this apartment. According to the documents, the owners are your son and his spouse. If you have financial claims, you can file the appropriate lawsuit. But until there is a court decision, no one has the right to throw Irina Alekseevna out of her own home.”
Anna Viktorovna froze, unable to believe her ears. Then she turned to her son:
“Seryozha, what does this mean? You’re letting this… this fraud talk to me like that? In my apartment?”
Sergey looked bewildered.
“Mom, he’s saying that according to the documents, the apartment is indeed registered in our names. And proving your claim of ownership will be difficult.”
Anna Viktorovna’s face turned red with anger.
“What audacity! I’ll go through all the courts! I’ll prove it was my money!”
“Of course, that is your right,” the attorney nodded calmly. “But I would recommend all parties sit down at the negotiating table and attempt to reach a compromise. Court battles are lengthy, costly, and stressful, especially when it concerns family matters.”
Irina observed the unfolding scene as if from the outside. How quickly things had changed. Just that morning, she had teetered on the edge of despair, ready to surrender. And now, she stood tall, confident in her rights.
“I don’t want anything that isn’t mine,” she said, addressing her mother-in-law. “But I won’t give up what’s mine. Not the apartment we bought together with Sergey nor my daughter, whom I am raising.”
Anna Viktorovna opened her mouth to respond, but Sergey unexpectedly raised his hand:
“Mom, wait. Let’s sort this out calmly first.”
He turned to the attorney: “Alright. Let’s assume the apartment is truly ours together. What do you propose?”
“There are several options,” Mikhail Semyonovich replied. “We can sell the apartment and split the money. We can draft a property division agreement where one spouse buys the other’s share. We can agree that the apartment remains with the parent with whom the child will live, with compensation to the other parent. All these options suggest a civilized resolution to the matter.”
Sergey pondered. Anna Viktorovna impatiently tugged at his sleeve:
“Serge, don’t listen to this money-driven lawyer! We’ll hire our own attorney; we…”
“Mom, be quiet, please,” Sergey said unexpectedly sharply. “I need to think.”
Irina looked at her husband, astonished. He had never allowed himself to contradict his mother like this before. Something had changed in him over these few hours.
“I suggest everyone take a pause,” the attorney said, gathering documents back into his briefcase. “Reflect on the situation, consult professionals if needed. And in a couple of days, we will meet again to discuss possible options.”
Sergey nodded. Anna Viktorovna huffed but fell silent.
Irina saw off Nadezhda and the attorney at the door. Just as she was exiting, her friend enveloped her in a tight hug.
“Call at any time,” she whispered. “And don’t give up. You’re stronger than you think.”
When the door closed behind them, Irina returned to the living room. Anna Viktorovna was excitedly chattering with her son, but he seemed not to listen. He looked at Irina with a strange, thoughtful expression.
“Mom,” he finally said, keeping his eyes on his wife, “you should go home. I need to talk to Irina. Alone.”
His mother gasped in disbelief:
“Serge! After everything this… this person has done?”
“Mom,” Sergey’s voice had steel in it. “Please, leave. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Anna Viktorovna bit her lips, shooting a burning glance at her daughter-in-law, and, grabbing her bag, stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
Irina and Sergey were left alone. They sat in silence for a while, unsure how to begin their conversation.
“I didn’t expect you to do this,” Sergey finally said. “I thought you’d just pack and leave. As you always did, giving in.”
“I didn’t expect it either,” Irina replied honestly. “But I had no choice. You wanted to take everything from me—my home, my daughter, my dignity.”
Sergey lowered his eyes.
“I… I got confused, Ira. That woman, Marina… she spun my head around. Promised a new life, told me I deserved more. And my mom fueled the fire, convincing me you were not right for me.”
“And you believed her,” Irina stated firmly. “Ten years of marriage, a shared child—and you believed her.”
Sergey met her gaze, confusion and regret swimming in his eyes:
“What now? What do we do?”
Irina took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was no longer a victim of circumstances but the master of her fate.
“I don’t know, Seryozha. But we shouldn’t make hasty decisions. We need to think about Dasha, about our future. And whether there’s anything left to salvage.”
She moved to the window. The rain had finally stopped, and the sky cleared to allow the setting sun’s rays to paint the city in warm hues.
Irina didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Could she forgive the betrayal? Could Sergey change? Would they find the strength to start anew, or would they have to part ways? But one thing was certain—no one would make decisions for her anymore. Not her husband, not her mother-in-law, no one. She would choose her own path.