Lara stood in her kitchen, admiring the new milk-colored cabinetry. The tiles she had spent a month selecting from catalogs gleamed with cleanliness. Every item—from the outlets to the light fixtures—had been purchased with her earnings accumulated over a decade in an architectural firm. She treasured this home. Every detail was meticulously planned: white stone window sills, heated floors in the bathroom, and a solid oak door leading into the bedroom.
Obtaining this three-room apartment in the heart of the city was no simple feat for her. She sold her mother’s summer house, added her savings, and took out a small loan. Now, for the second year, Lara had lived in a space that felt entirely hers—its walls, furniture, and even the scent of morning coffee.
She and Eugene met by chance when he came to her office to discuss a project. He was polite, attentive, and a good listener. Six months later, he had moved in, and four months after that, they exchanged vows. Eugene was a gentle person but sometimes a bit too accommodating, especially concerning his family.
“Lara,” he mentioned one evening while carefully removing his jacket, “this Saturday, my mom wants to drop by. With pastries.”
“Eugene, why give me two days’ notice? I have my own plans,” she replied.
“Well, it’s just for a short visit…”
“You know I dislike surprise visitors, especially your mother,” Lara turned away to the sink, trying to mask her irritation.
Tamara Ivanovna, her mother-in-law, was a loud, confident woman who believed she was always right and that her word was law in the family. She lived in an old Stalin-era apartment on the outskirts of the city and often implied that family ‘inheritances’ needed to be amicably divided. By ‘inheritance,’ she meant the two-room apartment that Eugene and his brother Igor were supposed to inherit from her.
Lara chuckled inwardly; she and Eugene wanted nothing from his family, but his mother thought otherwise.
When Saturday arrived, Tamara Ivanovna’s visit was anything but brief. She arrived with Igor, his wife Oksana, and two boisterous children—without warning. Lara opened the door and was immediately engulfed by the scent of cheap perfume, loud voices, and stomping feet.
“Oh, what’s with the… cleanliness here?” Oksana joked, strolling into the living room and throwing her coat on the sofa.
“Because I don’t believe in leaving things scattered around,” Lara replied calmly.
In no time, the children were bouncing on the sofa, knocking cushions off. Igor entered the kitchen, leaving his shoes on, and poured himself tea, yanking open cabinet doors.
Tamara Ivanovna surveyed the apartment, her expression a mix of envy and displeasure.
“Eugene, just look how lavish everything is at Lara’s. Is all of this from her salary?” she emphasized the word ‘her.’
“Yes, mom,” Eugene responded curtly.
“And whose name is the apartment registered under?” his mother asked outright.
“It’s in my name,” Lara replied calmly.
“Oh? And what if you have children? Will you put everything in your name? Eugene has rights too. We are a family,” her tone turned stern.
Lara felt a wave of anger rising in her chest.
“Eugene has rights to what he earns. This apartment is my personal property.”
“Oh come on, why all this ‘mine’ and ‘mine’? We could stay here while we renovate. You’ll be on vacation soon anyway.”
Eugene fell silent, and that silence infuriated Lara more than any words. She realized his family felt at home in her apartment, and he wasn’t inclined to set boundaries.
That evening, after the guests finally left, Lara sat in silence for a long time. Her thoughts whirled around the scene she had witnessed: the children had broken a vase from Czechia that her late mother had brought; Oksana had wiped her hands on the expensive curtains; Igor managed to spill coffee on the new carpet. Eugene shrugged off her concerns: “Oh come on, it’s family.”
And that was when Lara first contemplated that this family might cost her dearly—not just financially.
In the next installment, I will heighten the conflict: issues of inheritance, family treasures, and a car will emerge, while her mother-in-law will act behind Lara’s back, ensnaring Eugene in a dangerous game regarding ownership.
After that Saturday, Lara made a decision against any spontaneous visits. She firmly told Eugene that only those she invited would be allowed through the door. He nodded, yet something resembling guilt flickered in his eyes. Lara still did not realize he was already caught in a bind.
A week later, upon returning home from work, she found her husband engaged in a peculiar phone conversation.
“Yes, mom, I’ll look into it… but I’m not sure that’s right… Lara…” he glanced her way and suddenly fell silent.
“What exactly is ‘not right’?” she asked, removing her coat.
“It’s just… Mom wanted me to help her appraise something.”
“What?”
“Family jewelry…” Eugene hesitated. “She wants to sell them so Igor can buy a car.”
Lara raised an eyebrow. Family jewelry, as she knew, consisted of an emerald necklace and antique earrings that once belonged to Eugene’s grandmother. Tamara Ivanovna kept them in a box and always said that “it’s for the grandchildren.”
“And how does this concern you?” Lara asked coldly.
“Mom wants me to take them for safekeeping. It’s unsafe at her house…”
“And at our place, it’s safe?” Lara felt her frustration boiling over. “Eugene, I don’t want your family’s valuables stored in my apartment. It’s not a safe. And certainly not to be sold to buy your brother a car.”
Eugene mumbled something about “helping the family,” but the conversation was over.
In the following days, the apartment was filled with tense silence. Lara began leaving for work earlier and returning later. But one day, upon arriving home, she realized that her worst fears had materialized. In the hallway stood an old, worn suitcase, and on the dresser lay the very box containing the emeralds.
“Eugene!” she shouted, tossing her bag to the floor. “What is this?!”
“Lara, please understand, mom asked… it’s just temporary…”
“Since when does your mother decide about my apartment?” Her voice cracked. “Take it out of here. Right now.”
But the box remained. Furthermore, a few days later Tamara Ivanovna showed up herself to “check if everything was in place.” Oksana accompanied her. They didn’t even take off their shoes.
“Lara,” the mother-in-law began with a forced smile, “I hope you understand that these items are family heirlooms. We entrusted them to you because you are trustworthy.”
“You didn’t trust me with anything. You simply brought this without my consent,” Lara cut her off.
“Now, don’t start…” Oksana chimed in. “You’ll be on vacation soon anyway, and we can stay with you, watching over the box and the apartment.”
Lara laughed—a short, bitter sound.
“No, you will not stay here. Neither you, nor your brother, nor your children.”
Just then, Eugene entered from the kitchen.
“Lara, why are you being like this? This is my family…”
“Eugene, your family is now you and me. Or don’t you see it that way?”
No response was given.
The climax arrived unexpectedly. On Friday evening, Lara came home and spotted a familiar blue Lada parked near the entrance—old but recently repaired. Igor was behind the wheel. In the back seat, she noticed boxes and… her coffee machine.
“What’s going on?” she inquired, approaching closer.
“Oh, Lara!” Igor exclaimed cheerfully. “We’re helping mom, moving some things. Eugene said it was okay.”
Lara stormed into the apartment. Suitcases, boxes, and containers with dishes cluttered the living room. Some of her belongings were missing. Eugene sat on the sofa, head hanging low.
“Did you really let them take my things?!” Her voice trembled.
“Lara… Tamara said it was temporary… they needed to buy a car urgently, and they wanted to pawn some things to gather extra money…”
“Temporary?! Eugene, they are taking my electronics, my belongings! This isn’t about family—it’s about theft!”
For the first time in her life, she slammed the door so hard that the glass rattled. And she realized: there was no turning back.
Lara returned from her business trip earlier than planned. The plane landed at dawn, and a taxi got her home in twenty minutes. She climbed the stairs with the thought that she would finally enjoy coffee from her beloved machine and sleep in her own bed.
However, upon opening the door, she grasped that this was no longer her home.
Foreign shoes cluttered the hallway. Children’s toys lay scattered on the floor. In the kitchen, someone laughed loudly—and it definitely wasn’t Eugene. Lara proceeded to the living room and froze. Igor was sprawled on the couch in sweatpants, remote in hand, while juice seeped onto the carpet, and the coffee table was heaped with plates of leftover food.
“Oh, Lara!” he greeted her warmly. “We’re just stopping by until you’re over it. There’s plenty of room.”
The worst awaited her in the bedroom: the bed was messy, there were nail polish stains on the dresser, and the jewelry box was gone. In its place sat an empty cookie jar.
In the bathroom were Oksana’s worn towels, a shampoo with the scent of cheap fruits, and dirty water in the sink.
“Eugene!” Lara yelled so loudly that the walls shook.
Her husband walked out of the room, weary and disheveled.
“Lara, I didn’t know they would take the keys from my mom…”
“Keys?” her voice cracked. “You gave them the keys to my apartment?!”
He didn’t have a chance to answer—Tamara Ivanovna entered the kitchen with a pot of borscht.
“Lara, please don’t shout. We’ve settled in a bit. Eugene is family, and so is this apartment.”
Lara felt blood rush to her head.
“This is not a family apartment. This is my property. And now you all need to leave.”
“Don’t work yourself up,” Oksana didn’t even look up from her phone. “By the way, we took your coffee machine and gave it to friends at a pawn shop; they gave us good money. All for Igor’s car.”
Those words hit her like a slap. Lara stepped into the hallway, took out her phone, and dialed 102.
“Hello, police? There are strangers in my apartment. They’ve stolen my property. Please come.”
The response was immediate. When the doorbell rang twenty minutes later, Igor and Oksana attempted to slip away quietly, but the officers managed to stop them. Tamara screamed that “it’s a family matter,” while Eugene stammered that everything “could be resolved peacefully.” Lara stood off to the side, fists clenched, thinking that peace with these people was impossible.
A week later, she filed for divorce. In the petition, she claimed compensation for damages: the coffee machine, dinnerware set, carpet, as well as the value of the missing jewelry. Tamara Ivanovna submitted a counterclaim, asserting that the apartment was “shared family housing” and required a share for Eugene.
The trial dragged on for two months. Lara provided documents proving the apartment purchase predating their marriage, repair invoices, and photographs of damages. Eugene rarely attended hearings—either work or “I don’t want to see all this.” When the verdict arrived, Lara read it matter-of-factly: divorce, no rights for Eugene to the apartment, and compensation awarded partially.
That evening, she returned to an empty apartment. The locks were changed, the walls repainted, and the smell of foreign perfume was gone. She set the kettle, sat in the kitchen, and for the first time in a long while, felt at peace with the silence.
Yet one truth still burned within her—that her husband, whom she loved, proved weaker than she had thought. That it wasn’t just her husband’s family who destroyed her home, but his indifference.