“She needs it more,” he said about his mother as he intruded into someone else’s domain, so I decided to drop the subject.
The dream of owning a house by the sea had been a family aspiration for many years. Innа recalled sitting at the small table in a modest apartment, sifting through seaside photographs with her parents, envisioning a cozy home where they could enjoy the sound of waves.
“Once I retire, my dear, we will live like kings,” her father, Sergey Ivanovich, would say, fondly touching the clippings of properties for sale along the Black Sea coast. “We’ll wake up, have coffee on the terrace, and head straight to the beach.”
As years passed, Innа grew up, earned her degree, and married Viktor. It seemed that the dream faded into the background, overshadowed by daily life. However, during her visits to her parents, she noticed how her mother, Svetlana Petrovna, meticulously kept the folder containing those seaside clippings, occasionally adding new ones.
The decision to buy a house came about when her father’s health began to decline. Doctors urged a change of climate; the harsh winters of the Moscow region became increasingly difficult for Sergey Ivanovich, given his heart condition.
Working as a financial consultant, Innа diligently saved money, and her parents contributed by selling an old summer house they hadn’t used in years. However, their combined resources still fell short of affording a truly worthy place. Fortunately, a bonus from a successful project and a modest inheritance from her second cousin provided the funds needed.
The house search commenced that spring. Innа scoured numerous listings, contacted agents, and carved out time to view properties. Viktor showed no interest in joining her.
“Vik, would you like to come to Gelendzhik this weekend? There’s a promising option,” Innа suggested one day.
“Why? You’re doing great on your own. It’s your parents; you know best what they’ll like,” Viktor replied, hardly glancing from his phone.
Occasionally, Innа felt stung by his indifference but dismissed the thoughts quickly. After all, she and Viktor had agreed before their marriage to support their own parents independently. Viktor regularly assisted his mother, Valentina Sergeevna, by grocery shopping and covering her utility bills, while Innа took care of her own family.
In June, Innа found the perfect place— a small single-story house just fifteen minutes from the beach, featuring two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and, most importantly, a spacious terrace with a view of the mountains. She knew immediately it was exactly what they needed. The lot was compact but well-kept, adorned with fruit trees and rose bushes— her mother would be delighted, as she loved gardening.
The paperwork was completed swiftly. By mutual agreement, the house was registered in her parents’ names— Sergey Ivanovich and Svetlana Petrovna. Innа felt this was correct; they purchased the home for them, with part of the funds being their savings. It also made things easier legally.
Returning from the final trip where the paperwork was finalized, Innа was radiant with joy. At last, years of dreaming had become a reality! Her parents started packing up, gearing up to move in a month.
“Vik, can you believe it? It all worked out!” she exclaimed, placing the folder of documents on the table. “Look at this beauty!”
She opened her phone to show the gallery of images: “Here’s the terrace; the view is simply amazing. This is the parents’ bedroom, and the kitchen—small but functional. Dad is already plotting how to barbecue in the backyard.”
Viktor glanced at the photos without much enthusiasm and nodded. No joy was expressed. There was no “Well done, dear. I’m happy for you and your parents.” Just a detached look and a subtle nod.
As Innа continued enthusiastically sharing, she didn’t notice Viktor’s odd demeanor:
“The move is scheduled for mid-July. Dad has already arranged for movers and booked a truck. Imagine how wonderful it’ll be to visit them in winter, while we deal with snow and cold here, and it’s still warm there…”
Suddenly, Viktor interrupted her monologue: “So, you bought a house for your parents in the south? Great! But my mom will live there—it’s better for her health.”
Innа froze, phone in hand, staring at the screen displaying a photo of the home—her triumph, her joy, her gift to her parents. Initially, she thought he was joking, but his expression was dead serious.
“What do you mean, your mother?” Innа blinked in confusion. “The house was bought for my parents. We’ve talked about it a hundred times.”
“And what?,” Viktor shrugged. “My mom has hypertension; doctors have recommended the southern climate for her. She’s sixty-eight; she’s older than yours. It makes sense that she should go first.”
“Makes sense?” Innа felt a chill inside. “Viktor, we’ve discussed this for years. You knew the house was for my parents, and your mother never mentioned wanting to move south.”
“It’s because she knew we couldn’t afford it,” Viktor replied curtly. “But now we can.”
“The house is in my parents’ name,” Innа began speaking slower, as if explaining the obvious to a child. “They contributed part of the money. This is their property.”
“Family is family,” Viktor waved his hand dismissively. “You’re not against helping my mom, are you? Why are your parents better than mine?”
Innа felt as if she had been punched in the gut. How do you convey to someone that you cannot simply appropriate someone else’s property? How do you make them understand that this is not just a jug of milk from the fridge but a home bought for specific individuals?
“Viktor, you can’t just take your mother and move her into my parents’ house. That’s… it’s absurd.”
“Nothing absurd about it,” Viktor got up and headed for the door. “Think about it. My mom is a lonely elderly woman, and your parents have each other. This is simply fair.”
All night, Innа couldn’t sleep. Lying there, staring at the ceiling, she contemplated what had happened to the person she married. Viktor was breathing steadily next to her, as if nothing significant had occurred, as if he had not just destroyed years of dreams with one statement.
In the morning, Innа woke up to the sound of a phone conversation. Viktor was standing by the window, speaking with someone.
“Yes, Mom, the house is great; you’ll love it. Yes, the sea is close… No, don’t worry, everything will be fine. I’m already checking about moving your things.”
Innа sat on the bed, unable to believe her ears. Viktor didn’t even think to continue their discussion from the previous day. He acted as though the decision had already been made.
“Viktor,” she called to him. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to my mom,” he covered the microphone with his hand. “Mom, I’ll call you back.”
After hanging up, Viktor turned to Innа: “What’s wrong?”
“Everything is wrong,” Innа stood up from the bed. “You’re calling your mom and discussing her moving into my parents’ house without my consent. Without their consent. As if you have the right.”
“And why not?” Viktor frowned. “Is your selfish desire more important than my mother’s health?”
“selfish?” Innа gasped in indignation. “Viktor, it’s my parents’ house! They are the owners! They put in the money! How can you?”
“How can you be so heartless?” Viktor retorted.
Innа grabbed her phone, her hands trembling. She needed to call her parents, to warn them. Something had to be done!
“Mom, are you home?” her voice quaked with anxiety.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Svetlana Petrovna immediately sensed trouble.
“Mom, I need to come over, I need to talk. It’s about the house.”
“Is there something wrong with the documents?” Svetlana Petrovna asked, concerned.
“No, the documents are fine. I just… I’ll come and explain.”
Viktor watched the conversation with a stone face, and when Innа finished, he simply said: “Don’t complicate things. It would be better if my mom moved there. She has health issues.”
Innа stared long at him. After five years of marriage, she had never seen him so… unfamiliar. It was as if a mask had fallen, revealing a complete stranger in front of her.
An hour later, Innа was sitting in the kitchen at her parents’ apartment. Sergey Ivanovich furrowed his thick brows, and Svetlana Petrovna was nervously fiddling with the kitchen towels she planned to pack for the move.
“I’m sorry everything turned out like this,” Innа looked down at her hands, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles on her jeans. “I didn’t think Viktor would act like this.”
“Sweetheart, what’s your fault in this?” Svetlana Petrovna sat beside her daughter. “Don’t apologize for him.”
“But I spoiled our joy. Now instead of a happy move, we have this… situation.”
Sergey Ivanovich, who had been listening quietly, slammed his palm on the table: “Inna, don’t say nonsense. The house is ours. We will decide who lives there.”
“But Viktor believes…”
“I don’t care what he believes,” Sergey Ivanovich rarely raised his voice, and now his calm firmness was more effective than any shouting. “The documents are in my and your mother’s name. We put in our money. We’ll move as planned.”
“Viktor may cause problems,” Innа recalled how decisive her husband was when he spoke to his mother on the phone.
“What problems?” Sergey Ivanovich shrugged. “Let him try.”
The next day, Svetlana Petrovna and Sergey Ivanovich went to the local administration and submitted an application for the registration of permanent residency in the new house. Now, even officially, the house became their registered residence.
Innа didn’t tell Viktor about the legal steps her parents took. The tension in the apartment was palpable. The couple barely spoke to each other, exchanging only necessary phrases about everyday matters.
Three days later, Viktor unexpectedly changed his tone. Returning home from work, he brought a bottle of wine and made dinner— the first time in ages.
“Innа, I wanted to talk,” Viktor began pouring wine into glasses. “Maybe we overreacted to the situation.”
“We?” Innа raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, I did,” he corrected himself. “Listen, nothing terrible has happened. I think we can find a compromise.”
“What compromise?” Innа didn’t even reach for her glass.
“Mom could live in the house for at least the summer,” Viktor suggested in a conciliatory tone. “Three months a year. It can all work out.”
Innа slowly shook her head: “No, Viktor. That won’t work.”
“Why not?” His voice regained a harsh edge. “You don’t even want to discuss?”
“I don’t want to discuss what you’ve already decided without me,” Innа spoke calmly, surprised by her own composure. “You didn’t ask. You made a decision for me. For my parents. And you did it as if you had the right. But you don’t.”
After this conversation, a heavy silence enveloped the apartment. Viktor dramatically moved to the sofa in the room they used as an office. Day one, two, three— her husband was sullen and irritable but made no attempt to apologize. Moreover, Innа sensed judgment and confusion in his gaze, as if she were truly the source of the problem.
On the fourth day, Innа packed a suitcase. Viktor watched her as she leaned against the doorframe.
“Are you leaving?” his voice seemed intentionally indifferent.
“I’m going to my parents to help with the move,” Innа folded clothes into neat stacks. “We need to get the house ready, buy furniture.”
“And when will you be back?”
Innа paused for a moment. A good question. Did she want to return?
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Two weeks at the coastal home flew by in an instant. Innа assisted her parents in settling in, accompanied them grocery shopping, and they chose curtains for the windows and dishes for the kitchen together. Every evening, they sat on the terrace, drank tea, and admired the sunset. No one expected more from Innа than she was willing to give. No one manipulated her, blamed her, or tried to induce guilt.
Before leaving, Svetlana Petrovna embraced her daughter: “Innachka, you understand that you can always come back here, right? This isn’t just our home anymore; it’s yours too.”
“Thank you, Mom,” Innа hugged her back tightly. “I know.”
Upon returning to her Moscow apartment, Innа felt like a guest. Viktor met her warily, as if expecting a scandal or reproach. But Innа was not there to quarrel or accuse. She simply brought a tiny piece of coastal tranquility into this home.
“How are your parents?” Viktor tried to sound friendly, but tension echoed in his voice.
“Great,” Innа smiled. “They love the house.”
“I’m glad for them,” Viktor replied curtly.
In the evening, they sat in the kitchen, each absorbed in their own activities. Innа suddenly caught herself thinking, when did Viktor become so unfamiliar? Or had he always been this way, and she just hadn’t noticed? Once, it felt as if the walls of this apartment protected their shared space, their love. Now, those walls felt like a prison, where two people accidentally found themselves in the same cell.
“Vik,” Innа quietly called. “I want to talk.”
“About what?” Viktor looked up from his phone.
“About us. About what happened. You haven’t even apologized.”
“For what?” Viktor honestly seemed puzzled. “For wanting to help my mother?”
Innа gazed at her husband and realized that the person facing her did not see himself as culpable. He recognized nothing wrong in his actions. And he never would.
“You know,” Innа said with surprising calmness, “I think we need to part ways.”
“Because of the house?” Viktor frowned. “Seriously?”
“Not because of the house,” Innа shook her head. “Because of who you’ve revealed yourself to be. I don’t want to live with someone who views me as a resource. As an accessory to his plans.”
Viktor wanted to argue but Innа raised her hand: “No need. I didn’t betray our family. I simply refused to be a silent accessory to someone else’s decisions. This is non-negotiable.”
That summer, when Moscow was stifling from heat and city smog, Innа took some time off and spent two weeks by the sea. With her parents, who welcomed her at the doorstep with hugs and gratitude in their eyes. Sitting on the terrace in the evening, watching the darkening sky, Innа reflected on how sometimes you have to lose something familiar to discover true value— respect for oneself.