The Battle Against Familial Deception to Protect Our Ancestral Home
My name is Valentina Pavlovna Chernysheva, I am 50 years old and work as the chief accountant for a major construction company. The house I live in was inherited from my parents. Three years ago, my mother-in-law, Lyudmila Fyodorovna, began living with us. My husband Gennady is mild-mannered and always sided with his mother during disagreements. Initially, I tolerated her attempts to dominate us, and eventually, we reached a fragile truce that lasted for some time.
Recently, I spent an extended business trip in Moscow. My husband reassured me that everything at home was peaceful. Returning triumphant after securing a significant tender, I looked forward only to relaxing and a hot bath. Yet, crossing the threshold, I was stunned to overhear my mother-in-law’s voice — she was narrating to someone as if giving a tour of our home:
— “Here we have high ceilings…”
Upon entering the living room, a startling scene stopped me cold: Lyudmila was showing our house to a real estate agent.
— “And here is the lady of the house,” she said enthusiastically.
Confused, I asked, “What is going on?”
— “Mind your own business and don’t interfere,” she snapped. “Your son has decided to sell; your opinion doesn’t matter.”
Her words hit me like a blow, as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet. Yet I kept my composure and pulled out my phone:
— “I’m calling my friend, Senior Lieutenant Kovalev, to inform him that fraudsters are trying to break into my home.”
The realtor suddenly went pale and hurried out of the house.
— “Valya, what are you doing?” my mother-in-law yelled. “Gennady made the decision! We’re selling the house, buying a three-room apartment, and he’ll change the car with the rest of the money.”
I realized this was not her first attempt. After speaking with a neighbor, I learned that realtors had visited us at least five times over the past weeks. Inside the safe, I found a folder containing our house documents and a forged preliminary agreement with signatures imitating mine and my husband’s.
It turned out that Lyudmila had quietly obtained samples of our signatures from the insurance company during a document submission a year earlier.
I immediately called Gennady at work, demanding he come home at once, threatening police action. While waiting I visited neighbors and uncovered a disturbing fact: my mother-in-law had been telling everyone that I was mentally ill, burnt out from work, and that the house was being sold to cover my expensive medication. She was trying to tarnish my reputation by painting me as unstable.
When Gennady returned, I revealed everything. He was shocked and confirmed the forged signatures. However, Lyudmila screamed that I had fabricated the story. Then she admitted, “I had my reasons for everything.”
The following day, after consulting a lawyer, a neighbor informed me that an anxious man driving an expensive car had visited my mother-in-law.
That evening, when I tried to talk to Lyudmila, I was unsettled by the arrival of another visitor — a man with a sharp gaze standing at our doorstep.
— “Boris Igorevich Samokhin,” he introduced himself. “Lyudmila Fyodorovna owes me 500,000 rubles. The money must be repaid by the end of the week.”
He showed an IOU, claiming the funds were for his son’s cancer treatment. But I immediately sensed deception.
— “What was the money spent on?” I pressed.
— “On Konstantin,” she confessed, “my youngest son from the first marriage.”
We discovered that Gennady had a half-brother he never knew about. Samokhin listened carefully and presented documents — a property title for the house, newly registered to Lyudmila only a week ago.
— “This is a forgery!” I exclaimed.
I rushed to the safe — the original certificate was missing; only a copy remained.
— “I signed the deed of gift,” Lyudmila quietly admitted.
At that moment, Gennady returned. I summarized what I had learned, visibly shocking him.
— “I have a brother?” he asked.
— “Yes, Konstantin. He’s 37 years old.”
— “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Samokhin interrupted:
“You have three days to resolve this matter.”
Together with our lawyer, we discovered that Konstantin Belkin does exist. He lives in Novosibirsk, works as a lecturer, and lost his passport three months ago. It became clear that scammers had used his identity documents. Yet, the house had already been fraudulently transferred to Lyudmila through the forged deed.
That evening brought more chaos. Another real estate agent, Petrov, arrived.
— “Lyudmila Fyodorovna signed a contract with us to sell the house. I’m meeting buyers tomorrow. A half-million ruble deposit has already been made,” he declared.
Gennady rushed inside only to find his mother gone along with her belongings.
The next day, a siege began: potential buyers arrived with the realtor, followed soon by debt collectors from Samokhin bearing mortgage contracts.
Right amid the turmoil, Lyudmila appeared — pale and disheveled, holding an empty bag.
— “I went to see Kosta in Sochi,” she murmured.
She confided that the address Samokhin provided belonged to a stranger involved in a scam scheme, demanding money from the house’s sale. She realized she had been duped; no deposit was received — Petrov was part of the con.
The saddest truths were yet to come. I asked why she so easily trusted the scammers.
— “Because of Klavdiya,” she whispered. “The first wife…”
— “Mom, I never had a first wife!” Gennady cried out.
— “Konstantin did,” my mother-in-law replied. “Fifteen years ago. His wife developed mental health issues needing expensive treatment. Kosta refused to pay and insisted on divorce. I supported my son. She took her own life. Konstantin blamed me and left, saying he had no mother.”
When the swindler claimed to be her son and asked for help, she believed him to atone for the past.
Key Insight: Skilled con artists exploited her emotional wounds to deceive our family.
We turned to the courts. Our lawyer presented evidence of fraud, and the house was restored to me. The scammers were never caught.
After the trial, the real Konstantin from Novosibirsk contacted us. His reunion with his mother was filled with bitterness, tears, and recriminations. Eventually, he took her with him.
However, my marriage to Gennady disintegrated — he was overwhelmed by guilt.
“In this house, I feel like a stranger,” he said a year later. “We lost our trust. You deserve a man who can protect you. I failed.”
We divorced. Two years have passed. I live alone in the house. Gennady is happy in his new marriage. I managed to keep my home, but the cost was steep — losing my family weighed heavily. Still, some victories justify great sacrifices.
This story illustrates the critical importance of vigilance in safeguarding one’s property, even against close relatives. It also sheds light on how hidden family secrets and breaches of trust can devastate lives.