Zhenya placed her fork down gently, letting the clink against the plate echo just a little longer than it should’ve. The dining room glowed warmly under the chandelier, but her insides were ice.
“…a nice, big apartment,” her mother-in-law repeated, with a smile as sharp as broken porcelain. “God forbid something happens, but wouldn’t it be better if all the documents were in order? Timofey is your husband, after all.”
Zhenya turned her gaze slowly toward her.
“I don’t understand,” she said with a gentle smile. “In order for what?”
Svetlana Arkadyevna blinked. “Well… so your husband can help you. Handle things. It’s just logical.”
Timofey cleared his throat and leaned forward, as if stepping in to defuse a small fire.
“It’s not about control,” he added quickly. “Just convenience. You know how exhausting all this bureaucracy is. I could save you time.”
Zhenya smiled wider, calm, collected.
“I’m surprised,” she said softly, tilting her head. “I thought you considered me very capable.”
There was a small pause. Not long, just enough to make both of them blink.
Then, the mother-in-law laughed, loud and rehearsed. “Of course, dear! No one doubts that. You’re so… independent. That’s why this is perfect — you wouldn’t need to bother with little things.”
Zhenya reached for her wine glass.
“I’ll think about it,” she said again, sipping slowly. “I’ve always liked understanding every little thing before signing anything.”
And just like that, the warmth in the room dropped a few degrees.
The trap turns inward
That night, long after Timofey had dozed off, Zhenya sat at her desk and opened a folder of documents.
It wasn’t just intuition anymore — it was preparation.
She and Natalya had spent three hours combing through every piece of paper: the marriage contract, the deed, the family finances. There was no loophole, no claim. The apartment was hers — purchased and paid for before marriage, gifted to no one, shared with no one.
But the power of attorney? That could open the back door to everything.
Natalya’s words echoed in her ears: “They’ll probably try kindness first. Then guilt. Then fear.”
Zhenya smiled to herself in the dark.
They were already past kindness.
Escalation
Two days later, Svetlana appeared at the apartment unexpectedly, armed with a fresh-baked pie and a new strategy.
“I was thinking,” she began cheerfully, stepping over the threshold without being invited, “I could take the kids to my dacha for the weekend. Give you two lovebirds some time alone.”
Zhenya arched a brow. “We don’t have kids.”
Svetlana blinked, then laughed nervously. “Oh! Just force of habit. I meant—well, I brought that pie you love. Try it while it’s warm!”
Zhenya took the pie and set it on the counter. The air felt strangely tense.
“I don’t like surprises,” she said suddenly. “I like plans. Agreements. Clarity.”
Svetlana stopped mid-step.
Zhenya turned fully to face her.
“So I’ve made some of my own.”
She slid a single paper across the table — a notarized revocation of any future power of attorney documents, preemptively protected by legal clause. She had also added a clause to her will to ensure no changes could be made under pressure.
The older woman glanced at it, then at her, carefully.
“You think I’d hurt you?”
“I think I love my life too much to hand it over to anyone,” Zhenya said gently. “Not even family.”
Checkmate
That evening, Timofey came home to find Zhenya in the kitchen, packing a travel bag.
“Where are you going?” he asked, sounding more afraid than curious.
“To clear my head,” she replied simply. “To think.”
“About… us?” he asked cautiously.
She paused, then zipped the bag. “About whether you’re part of the team — or part of the plan.”
She kissed him on the cheek and left.
Epilogue
A week later, Zhenya returned.
Nothing had been touched in her absence. The apartment was quiet. Timofey greeted her with no fake smiles. No grand gestures.
He didn’t ask again about the power of attorney.
And the next time his mother called, Zhenya heard him say firmly, “No, Mom. She’s not that simple.”
He was right.
She never had been.