A Legacy Reclaimed: The Tale of Lida and Her Grandfather’s Cottage
On a quiet Thursday morning, while sipping coffee and reviewing another work report, Lida received news that changed her day. A notary was explaining matters concerning her late grandfather and an old country house he had left behind. Yet the words drifted past her distracted thoughts, which were consumed by how to tell her husband she’d be working late once again. Grandfather Mikhail Ivanovich had passed away three months earlier, but only now had all legal affairs been finalized.
“The cottage is located near Moscow, a six соток plot,” the notary recited in a monotonous tone. “The house is wooden, dating back to the 1950s. Its condition… well, you’ll want to see for yourself.”
Lida nodded absently, barely digesting the information. To her, it sounded like a neglected, leaning ruin destined to be either sold or demolished. Her memories of her grandfather were faint — a tall, taciturn man who appeared occasionally at family gatherings and always gifted her books. After her grandmother’s passing, he had become quite reclusive.
Back home, she was met with a disgruntled expression from her husband, Igor.
“Late again? Mom called, asking why we missed dinner,” he scolded mildly.
“Sorry, dear,” Lida sighed, slipping off her shoes tiredly. “I have news. Grandpa Misha left me a cottage.”
Igor’s mood brightened instantly. “A cottage? Where exactly? How big is the land?”
“Six соток, near Moscow. But it’s probably in awful shape. Grandpa hardly went there in recent years.”
“Still, it’s something. We can sell it and add it to our savings. That might cover the down payment for the apartment mom was telling me about yesterday—she found a great deal in a new building.”
Lida said nothing. The mere mention of her mother-in-law triggered an uncomfortable feeling inside, but she chose to remain silent. First, they needed to inspect what they actually had.
The weekend came, and the trio of Lida, Igor, and her friend Katya, an interior designer, headed out to the property. Katya had a talent for spotting potential where others saw only despair, so Lida hoped her expert eye would reveal something valuable.
The small cottage greeted them with crooked shutters and an overgrown yard blanketed in weeds. The wooden house indeed leaned precariously, and the porch sagged noticeably. Yet, the overall impression was oddly warm and homely. Lida imagined her grandfather sitting there on summer evenings, reading books and tending to his flowers.
“This is a wreck,” Igor grimaced. “Better just tear it down.”
“Hold on,” Katya began, examining the façade carefully. “This is classic 1950s suburban modern style. Look at those carved window frames and the shape of the windows. If restored, this could be quite charming.”
Inside, Lida was taken aback. The house was crammed with furniture—no ordinary pieces, but genuine treasures. There was a hefty oak table, intricately carved chairs, an antique buffet with stained glass, and towering bookshelves reaching the ceiling.
“My goodness,” Katya whispered, circling the rooms. “Lida, do you realize what these are? Antique furnishings! This chest of drawers is made from Karelian birch, pre-war. And this couch? Definitely from a pre-revolutionary collection.”
Igor shook his head skeptically. “Old junk. Who wants bulky furniture like this nowadays?”
“Collectors do,” Katya replied. “Restorers, museums. Just these chairs might be worth as much as a car. And if we get everything restored…”
Lida wandered quietly, running her hands over polished wood surfaces and inhaling the scent of aged timber and history. Their sterile rented apartment lacked this kind of soul, this connection to roots. She stopped in front of the bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes. Her grandfather was a literature teacher, and his library was impressive.
“We could renovate the house,” she mused. “Make it our summer retreat. Imagine coming here on weekends, reading these books, sitting on the porch…”
Igor looked at her as if she were mad. “How much would that cost? We don’t have the money.”
“Some furniture could be sold,” Katya interjected. “Keep the most beautiful pieces and use the rest to finance the restoration. Honestly, even with conservative estimates, the furniture alone is worth about half the house’s value, maybe more.”
“See? We’ll sell everything and have enough for the apartment,” Igor smiled.
“I don’t want to sell,” Lida suddenly declared. “I want to restore it. This is Grandpa’s home. It holds our family’s history.”
Igor frowned. “Lida, be realistic. We need a place to live, not a museum.”
But she stopped hearing him. She pictured the house with a new roof but the old furniture intact. She saw herself reading in grandpa’s armchair, Igor working in the garden. It felt right to preserve what her grandfather had built over a lifetime.
They returned home in silence. Lida was deep in thought, while Igor seemed contemplative. Waiting at their door was Galina Petrovna, Igor’s mother, a woman known for her iron will and unwavering opinions.
“So, how was the trip?” she asked as soon as they entered. “Igor told me about the inheritance. At least you got something.”
“Mom, the furniture there…” Igor began eagerly. “Katya says it’s antique and could fetch a big sum.”
“That’s good,” she nodded. “Enough for the down payment. I talked to a realtor and found a fantastic two-bedroom in a new development. But we need to sell the house quickly, before prices drop.”
“What if we don’t sell, though?” Lida spoke up. “What if we restore the cottage?”
Galina Petrovna gave her a look as if she had suggested flying to Mars. “Restore? Why waste money?”
“It’s not a waste. It’s our home, our history. We could use it as a vacation spot.”
“Vacation? Mosquitoes, dampness, outside facilities,” the mother-in-law sneered. “No, sell everything cleanly.”
“Why didn’t you ask for my opinion?” Lida stood her ground. “It’s my inheritance.”
Galina Petrovna straightened, eyes flashing with cold steel. “Shut up while I talk to my son,” she snapped, but immediately got a sharp reply:
“How dare you speak to me like that? I’m not a child or your servant!”
“Lida, don’t shout at mom,” Igor tried to intervene.
“I’m not shouting; I’m defending my right to an opinion!” Lida’s voice trembled. “This inheritance is mine, and I decide what happens to it.”
“The inheritance is yours,” Galina Petrovna replied coldly, “but the family is shared. Decisions are made together.”
“Together or as you dictate?” Lida shot back.
A heavy silence fell. Igor glanced uncertainly between his wife and mother. Lida realized she faced a crossroads. She could apologize now, swallow her pride, and agree to sell. Or she could choose another path.
“I’m leaving,” she declared. “To the cottage. To my own place.”
“Lida, don’t do anything foolish,” Igor pleaded.
“The real foolishness is tolerating rudeness,” she replied firmly. “And I won’t tolerate it anymore.”
Within an hour, Lida was packing her suitcase. Igor paced the apartment, trying to persuade her to stay, but she remained resolute. She called Katya, explained what happened, and without hesitation, her friend agreed to accompany her.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Katya encouraged. “It’s time to stand up for yourself.”
They arrived at the cottage Sunday evening. The house welcomed them with silence and an aroma of aged wood. With no electricity yet, Lida lit candles, and they sat on the porch discussing plans.
“First, we need an inventory,” Katya said. “I know an appraiser who will come tomorrow. Some furniture should be sold — there won’t be room for everything after renovation. But the most valuable and beautiful pieces will stay.”
“How much will repairs cost?”
“If done gradually and mostly by yourselves, it’s manageable. The roof must be replaced first, and utilities connected. But you have time; there’s no rush.”
Lida nodded, imagining a new life. For the first time in long, she felt in control — not just a wife, daughter-in-law, or subordinate, but herself.
Igor called daily, begging her to return and promising to discuss matters with his mother. But Lida wasn’t hurrying. She organized the house, sorted through grandfather’s belongings, and read his books. The appraiser confirmed Katya’s estimate: the furniture was indeed priceless.
“Just this couch and chest of drawers could fetch seven hundred thousand,” he said. “And if you sell the whole set…”
Lida pondered. Selling a portion could fund repairs, letting her live decently and independently. Most importantly, it would be her choice.
Key Insight: This inheritance represented more than property — it was a chance for Lida to reclaim her autonomy and preserve family heritage.
“You know,” she told Katya while sitting on the newly restored porch, “I think I understand why Grandpa became a recluse. Here, there’s peace. Nobody orders you around or makes decisions for you.”
“What about Igor?” Katya asked gently.
“Igor…” Lida hesitated. “He’ll have to choose — me or his mother. But I’m done playing the silent daughter-in-law.”
The phone rang again. Igor.
“Lida, enough already. Mom apologized.”
“To me?” she replied incredulously.
“Well… she admitted she was harsh. Come home and we’ll talk.”
“No, I won’t return until she personally apologizes. And until we agree that I’m in charge of decisions about my inheritance.”
“Lida, be reasonable…”
“I am reasonable. Maybe for the first time in my life.”
She ended the call and gazed at the moonlit house. Tomorrow, workers would repair the roof. Next week, pipes would be installed. Beyond that, she would live as she wished, surrounded by cherished memories and beauty, where no one would silence her.
This was her home now. Her life. And she would never allow anyone to break her spirit.
Katya brought her tea in antique porcelain cups — another treasured legacy of her grandfather.
“Your grandfather was wise,” Katya said, settling into the rocking chair. “He gathered not just furniture but an entire world here — beautiful and serene.”
“Yes,” Lida agreed. “And I want to live in that world.”
They sat quietly, sipping tea as the firewood crackled in the stove. Lida reflected on the strange ways life unfolds. Sometimes, one must step away to truly find where home is.
And home was here — within these walls, among these belongings, in this stillness where no one rushed or imposed decisions. A place where she could simply be herself.
Morning light filtered through lace curtains, waking Lida. She rose, came to the window, and looked across the yard. The garden needed tending, flowers to be planted like her grandfather did. Everything was to be restored — slowly and lovingly.
She now possessed time and freedom to choose — the most precious inheritance of all.