“Did you all decide everything for me? My apartment, my life — but only your ‘family’ gets a voice? Fine. Brace yourselves. From now on, I’m playing without rules!”
Maria was sitting on the windowsill of the new kitchen, clutching a mug with a peeling sunflower design in her hand. She and Sergey had bought that mug at IKEA when they had gone to look at sinks. Back then, she had laughed and said, “If a home has a beautiful sink, you can already live in it.” And now… the sink was there. But the desire to live there had somehow disappeared.
A door slammed behind the wall.
“Well, hello,” Maria said coldly when Nina Petrovna entered the kitchen without even bothering to take off her shoes.
“Is it normal now to wear shoes in the kitchen? Or did I miss a buffet?”
“Oh, don’t start, Masha. I’m only here for a minute. I brought meatballs. Igorek and his wife had dinner yesterday — there were leftovers. They liked them, so they’ll do for you too.”
As always, Nina Petrovna spoke as if she were doing all of humanity a favor. Igorek, of course, was her younger son. The only one, in her opinion, who truly valued family, parental effort, and homemade meatballs. Everyone else, apparently, were loafers who had taken out a mortgage just so they could “enjoy themselves” together in forty-two square meters.
Maria silently took the container and placed it in the sink.
“Thank you. I’ll leave them for the dog. He’s picky, though — he doesn’t fall for meatballs made with love.”
Nina Petrovna pursed her lips.
“You turn everything into a joke. And by the way, you only have one dog, but Igor and Anya’s baby is sacred.”
“Yes. Especially when the sacred baby is being moved into our apartment.”
Sergey entered carefully, as if stepping onto a minefield. He took off his sneakers and walked in barefoot — and still somehow seemed to rumble like a tractor.
“Masha, that’s enough. I asked you…”
“Not you, Seryozha. She asked.”
“I just wanted everyone to stay on good terms,” he muttered.
“No. You wanted your mother to stop throwing hysterics at you every evening. Don’t confuse desires. You’re afraid of her. I tolerate her. The difference is small, but important.”
Nina Petrovna clutched her chest.
“There! Did you hear that?! ‘Tolerate!’ Masha, I welcomed you into this family like a daughter. When you and Sergey first moved in together, you didn’t even have a frying pan. Everything there was mine! I helped you choose this apartment too, and I told Sergey, ‘Take the loan, I’ll help!’”
“You helped?” Maria raised her eyebrows. “Funny. I thought you simply transferred a share to Sergey. Five percent. The very five percent that now prevents us from selling the apartment without your signature. Well, well. You helped. The way a weight helps you swim.”
“Don’t be rude to my mother,” Sergey said, shrinking back.
Maria stood up.
She stepped close to her husband and looked him directly in the eyes.
“She is not your mother. She is your team. And I’m apparently… the substitute player here.”
“Masha, you’re dramatizing everything. What’s the big deal if Igor and Anya live with us for a couple of months? They really do have a child. And a two-room apartment in an old Khrushchev-era building is not an option.”
“Will they be living in our bedroom? Or have you already decided which one of us you’re going to deregister?”
That evening, Maria packed only a bag with underwear, her laptop, and a toothbrush. She went to her friend’s place.
Sergey did not call her back. But Nina Petrovna did.
“Mashenka, I thought you were a grown woman. Why are you acting like a little girl — slamming the door and leaving? That’s not very womanly.”
“And what is womanly? Being like you? First moving meatballs into the apartment, then a newborn? I understand you have a mission — to save the family line. But haven’t you forgotten where you are? This is not an ancestral estate. This is an eighteen-year mortgage. I am not your son’s girlfriend here. I am an owner.
“So either you explain to Igor and his sweet wife that nobody is going to give birth in my bedroom, or we go to court.”
“You won’t succeed,” Nina Petrovna snapped. “You don’t know… Sergey is going to transfer his share to Igor. The documents are already being prepared. You’ll be left with nothing, Masha. Because you are nobody. You have no family here. We are family. And you are a fleeting mistake.”
Maria froze.
Transfer the share. Give it to his brother. From the apartment they had saved for five years to buy. The apartment where she had invested her bonus, her maternity money, her nerves.
“A mistake,” she whispered. “Yes. But now a very angry mistake, Nina Petrovna.”
And she hung up.
Two days later, she received a notification from the multifunctional government service center: documents for a gift transfer were indeed being prepared. Sergey… had signed. Without discussion. Without a scandal. He had simply decided. Quietly. As a family.
That same evening, Maria returned to the apartment.
She unlocked the door. Walked into the living room. Igor and his Anya were sitting at the table. With a stroller. And the television blaring at full volume.
“We thought you wouldn’t show up again,” Anya said without taking her eyes off the screen. “Sergey told us you had, like… given up.”
“I don’t give up. I win,” Maria replied calmly. “You have five minutes to pack your things. And ten to leave the apartment. With the police, it’ll take longer, but it’ll be more entertaining.”
“You don’t decide that,” Igor said, standing up. “Everything has already been decided here.”
“Really?” Maria took out a printed document. “Nobody is registered here yet. And the gift transfer hasn’t been completed. I was a co-owner, and I still am. For now.
“And by the way, according to family law, if one spouse gives away a share to someone, the other spouse can challenge it. Especially if the property was purchased during the marriage. And you are not my relatives. So for now, leave the premises.”
She made a phone call. Calmly. Clearly. Twenty minutes later, the local police officer arrived.
And two days after that, a lawyer arrived. Not hers. Sergey’s.
But by then, she was no longer listening to him.
On the morning of July 4, Maria filed for divorce. The lawsuit had two points:
Division of jointly acquired property.
Eviction of illegally moved-in persons.
When Nina Petrovna called her, Maria answered calmly.
“Now I really am a grown woman, just like you wanted. And grown women don’t let themselves be wiped on the doormat. Good luck. Your precious son, by the way, has already signed everything himself. Soon you’ll learn what it means to live without meatballs. You’ve all gotten too used to riding on Mommy’s steam.”
“But you loved him, Masha. You really loved him!” her mother-in-law shouted into the phone.
“I did,” Maria said, stepping out onto the balcony. “Until I had to choose between love and self-respect.”
And she exhaled.
When Maria woke up the next morning, the kitchen already smelled of fried cutlets and… criticism.
She put on her robe, combed her hair back as best she could, and followed the sound.
Nina Petrovna was standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that said “Queen of the Kitchen,” loudly complaining.
“I understand, of course, that you have this ‘youth freedom’ here, but when there are three jars of expired mustard in the fridge and not a single proper soup, forgive me, that’s no longer freedom — that’s unsanitary!” she grumbled, placing cutlets on a plate.
Maria silently poured herself coffee. No sugar. The morning promised nothing sweet.
“Good morning, Nina Petrovna,” she said with restraint.
“Oh, whether it’s good or not…” her mother-in-law sighed. “No offense, but you could at least boil some potatoes. Cutlets without a side dish — what is that, a fitness lunch?”
Maria sat down at the table, watching Nina Petrovna fuss at the stove. It felt as though a tank had rolled into her personal territory — and with a flag too.
“Nina Petrovna, does it not bother you that we already only have groceries for two?” Maria began softly but firmly. “And now you’re cooking as if for an entire company of soldiers.”
“Well, excuse me, I’m trying. Igorek and Lenochka are coming, and they need to be fed. Poor things, they have a baby, they’re exhausted. Unlike some people, at least they’re actually busy with real responsibilities.”
“Wait… They’re coming? Here?” Maria froze.
“Of course. Where else would they go? They have thirty-three square meters and mold in the bathroom. It’s more spacious here, and the renovation is fresh.” Then she added almost cheerfully, “Besides, this place is too much for just the two of you anyway.”
Maria set down her mug.
“This is my and Sergey’s apartment, Nina Petrovna.”
“Oh, whose, whose…” her mother-in-law shrugged. “Bought during marriage means it’s shared. And Sergey is my son, by the way.”
“He’s not your cat to be part of your property,” Maria said ironically. “And I am not a servant. Are you aware our kitchen is six meters?”
“Oh, don’t dramatize, Masha,” her mother-in-law said, sitting down opposite her. “We’re family. We have to help. Igorek is your brother-in-law, not some stranger off the street. I have only one normal son, and even he is suffocating in that old apartment with a stroller. And you two are living here like bourgeois.”
“We saved for five years, Nina Petrovna. We didn’t vacation, didn’t travel, Sergey worked two jobs. And now you want to give our apartment to Igor?”
“Why ‘give’? Just let them live here for a while. Temporarily. And then we’ll see…”
At that moment, Sergey entered. Unshaven, rumpled, like a man who had just been handed a summons to hell.
“What now?” he muttered, pouring tea. “Mom, I asked you not to argue with anyone.”
“This isn’t an argument, it’s a heart-to-heart conversation!” Nina Petrovna flared up. “You need to think about the future. He’s your brother, not just some neighbor from the street. Masha is a good girl, of course, but family must be saved.”
“Maybe I should move into a corner then? Or straight into the bathtub?” Maria said sarcastically. “There’s probably enough room there for them to ‘live temporarily.’”
Sergey put down his mug.
“Mash, you know Igor and Lena are in trouble. They have no money. Even the wallpaper in their room is peeling off the walls…”
“And my patience is peeling away because of your mother.” Maria stood up. “Listen, Seryozh… I’m not against helping. But when I see your mother taking over our kitchen and making decisions without us, I feel… scared.”
“Scared?” Nina Petrovna repeated. “I gave birth to two children, raised them, helped you get this apartment — and now you’re scared? Well done.”
“Wait,” Maria raised her eyebrows. “You helped?”
“Who advised Sergey about the mortgage? Who asked the notary to check the documents? Who, in the end, persuaded your father to include you in the loan?”
“I did. I did it myself.” Maria leaned over the table and almost whispered, “You simply want me to leave. Honestly?”
“Oh, who are you bothering here, for God’s sake? But if you’re incapable of understanding that you have to share with family, then maybe it really would be better for you to leave.”
Silence. Something very heavy hung in the air. As if all three of them understood — there was no way back.
Sergey lowered his eyes. Maria stared at him for a long time, intently. Then she picked up her cup and smashed it against the sink.
“Excellent. Then sort everything out yourselves. You can saw the furniture in half — one nightstand for each of you.”
And she left the kitchen.
Sergey rushed after her into the room.
“Mash, wait, don’t do this…”
“I have to, Seryozh.” She was throwing things into a bag quickly but precisely. “If you want to be Mommy’s little boy, then be one. I’m an adult. I know how to leave.”
“We had only just arranged everything, furnished the apartment…”
“And I thought you had grown a backbone. But you’re under her again, like a schoolboy. Is she going to fold your underwear under your pillow tomorrow too?”
He was silent. He did not try to stop her. That hurt most of all.
“Mash, I can’t kick out my brother.”
“And I can’t live in a home where I’m treated like someone else’s property.”
Maria zipped up her bag and headed for the door.
“Wait, what about the apartment?”
“Half and half, through court, as it should be. If you want, bring your mother to court too. From what I can see, she’s the chief witness on all matters.”
She slammed the door.
And in the kitchen, the cutlets were already sizzling again. As if nothing had happened.
That evening, Nina Petrovna washed the dishes. Sergey sat on the sofa, staring at one spot.
“Don’t worry, sonny,” she said gently. “Everything will work out. The girl is hot-headed. She’ll cool down and come back. And if she doesn’t, we’ll find you someone who respects family.”
Sergey said nothing.
Because the phrase Maria had thrown at him before leaving kept spinning in his head:
“I thought you had grown a backbone…”
And he understood — no.
He hadn’t.
Two weeks passed.
Maria lived at her friend’s place, in a room with pink wallpaper and a funny little shelf that creaked if you so much as looked at it. She did not cry. She ate, went to work, slept. On schedule. As if everything inside her had switched off except for basic functions. Her mind was in airplane mode.
“So, has he filed for division of property?” asked Anya, her friend, unwrapping pizza and placing two glasses of wine on a tray.
“No. He doesn’t write at all. Only once he sent, ‘How are you?’”
“And you?”
“Nothing. Let him digest it himself. He has his mother, brother, baby, and cutlets there now. A coward’s paradise.”
“And you?”
“And I’m relaxing in the company of junk and the wonderful aroma of instant noodles,” Maria smirked.
They clinked glasses.
But two days later, she received a court summons.
Defendant: Maria Ivanovna Nikitina.
Plaintiff: Sergey Pavlovich Nikitin.
Subject: division of property.
Attached: a petition to transfer the apartment to the plaintiff’s younger brother.
So that’s how it is… Maria thought, staring at the paper.
So he had not merely failed to hold onto her. Not merely failed to stand on her side. He had given everything away. As if he and Igor were the married couple, and she was just a tenant.
The courthouse was damp and smelled of over-brewed coffee. Sergey arrived in a gray suit, Nina Petrovna in pearls. Apparently, she had put on her combat uniform.
Maria wore a dark coat and had her hair tied back. Simple. No drama.
“Mashenka,” Nina Petrovna tried to smile. “Everything can still be resolved peacefully. Why air dirty laundry in public?”
“And in what case are you ever willing to air dirty laundry?” Maria looked her straight in the eyes. “When it already stinks enough for the health inspectors?”
Sergey sighed and looked away. He had clearly hoped she would not come. Or that she would come with flowers and forgiveness.
Naive.
The court hearing did not last long. Maria calmly read out that the mortgage was in both their names, that they had paid equal shares, and that she was a full legal owner. The judge nodded.
When Nina Petrovna tried to interrupt, saying the apartment was still “for the family,” the judge sharply cut her off.
“We are not discussing moral categories here. We are dealing with the law. And the law is specific.”
At the end of the hearing, Maria approached Sergey.
“Do you know what hurts the most?” she asked quietly, looking into his face. “Maybe I would have compromised. Maybe I would even have left. But you didn’t even talk to me. You decided — and that was it.”
“I just wanted everything to be calm…”
“Well, now it will be. Calm. Half for each of us. And for you — exactly what you deserve.”
“Mash, well… maybe you’ll come back?”
“Maybe you’ll start growing up?”
She turned and left. No drama. Simply. As if removing a splinter that had been sitting under her skin for years.
A month later, the apartment was sold. Cleanly, half and half. Maria bought herself a studio apartment — small, but bright. Without extra voices in the kitchen. Without the intrusive smell of someone else’s cutlets. Without a fake “family.”
She put in a sofa and stuck a note on the wall:
“Only forward. No passengers on my neck.”
And in her phone, there was now a new contact:
Sergey Nikitin
Do Not Disturb
And when, one day, he finally wrote:
“I’m sorry. I was a fool.”
She smiled. And did not reply.
Because the shop was truly closed.
