“After the divorce, Mom will move in here,” my husband said, promising her my premarital apartment
“After the divorce, Mom will move in here,” Oleg said. “You’ll completely clear out the small room. If you need any of the furniture, you can take it with you.”
For several seconds, I stared at my husband, trying to understand exactly when our conversation about divorce had turned into a discussion about evicting me.
“Where exactly am I supposed to take the furniture?”
Oleg put down his phone and answered with obvious irritation.
“Ira, are we really going to go in circles again? I’m staying here, and Mom will move in with me. You’ll find yourself a smaller apartment. Two rooms are too much for you alone anyway.”
We were sitting in the kitchen of the apartment I had bought in 2015. We got married in 2019, and after the wedding, Oleg moved in with me.
All these years, I had called the apartment our home. It had never occurred to me to remind my husband that there was only one legal owner.
Apparently, Oleg had drawn a very different conclusion from that.
“Why are you the one who gets to stay?” I asked.
He spoke in the tone of someone explaining an obvious everyday fact.
“Because I’ve lived here for seven years. My job is nearby, my gym is nearby, I know all the stores. You work from home. What difference does it make where you live? Mom also said this arrangement makes more sense.”
“You’ve already discussed this with your mother?”
“Of course. She’ll move in here after the divorce.”
The divorce conversation wasn’t even over yet, and they had already decided where I would live, where Oleg would stay, and which room Svetlana Viktorovna would get.
The next day, my mother-in-law came over herself.
I was working in the small room when I heard her voice in the hallway.
“Oleg, give me the tape measure. If Irina takes the desk, my chest of drawers will definitely fit here.”
I came out of the room.
Svetlana Viktorovna was standing near the wall, measuring the available space. Oleg was looking at his phone and writing down the measurements.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
My mother-in-law turned toward me with complete calm.
“We’re checking which pieces of my furniture will fit here. It would be a shame to leave the chest of drawers behind. You’ll take the shelving units, since you need them for work.”
“Take them where?”
She frowned.
“To your new apartment. Oleg said you two had already decided everything.”
“Oleg decided.”
My husband immediately stepped in.
“Ira, we discussed all of this yesterday.”
“Yesterday, you informed me of a plan you had already made.”
Svetlana Viktorovna folded up the tape measure and said in a conciliatory tone:
“Why argue over wording? You’re separating anyway. Oleg is used to living here. It will be easier for you to find another place.”
I looked at the tape measure in her hand.
“And why exactly do you need to move in with Oleg?”
My mother-in-law looked genuinely surprised by the question.
“I want to rent out my apartment. Why should it sit empty? I’ll live here with my son, and tenants will live there. It works out well for everyone.”
Now their plan finally became completely clear.
Oleg would keep the familiar neighborhood and the apartment. Svetlana Viktorovna would move in with her son and gain the opportunity to rent out her own place.
I was the only one expected to change addresses, look for housing, pack my belongings, and rebuild my daily life somewhere else.
And this entire wonderful arrangement was supposed to be financed by my apartment.
“Don’t dismantle the chest of drawers yet,” I said. “No one has approved your move here.”
Oleg frowned.
“And what do you suggest? That I rent somewhere when this apartment is available?”
“It’s available to me, Oleg. Not to you.”
“I’ve lived here for seven years.”
“I remember.”
Svetlana Viktorovna interrupted.
“No one is taking anything away from you. You can separate like normal adults. It’s more convenient for Oleg here, and for me too. You’re a young woman. You’ll find yourself a nice place.”
“So separating like normal adults means you two get all the convenience while I’m the one who has to move?”
My mother-in-law irritably put the tape measure back into her bag. Before leaving, she told her son they would discuss everything calmly later.
Apparently, she no longer intended to discuss anything with me.
Two days later, Oleg sent me a listing for a small apartment in another neighborhood.
Under the link, he wrote:
“Take a look. It’s more than enough for you alone.”
I opened the photographs.
It was an ordinary apartment. One room, a kitchen, and an entrance hall. I started checking the distance to public transportation and imagining where I could put my work desk.
That evening, I found several more options.
Even now, it’s difficult for me to explain why I started doing that at all. Maybe when two people spend several days behaving as though a decision has already been made, it becomes surprisingly easy to start looking for ways to adapt to their decision.
Oleg noticed the apartment listings on my phone and visibly relaxed.
“See?” he said. “There are perfectly decent options. The important thing is not to get attached to one particular neighborhood.”
I looked at him.
Oleg himself categorically refused to leave this neighborhood precisely because he was attached to it.
He didn’t even seem to notice the contradiction.
The next day, I closed all the apartment listings and took out the ownership documents for my apartment.
The purchase agreement had been sitting among my other papers for years. I didn’t need to constantly check it to remember when I had purchased the property.
We had married in 2019.
That same day, I got a consultation and clarified what I should do next. The main advice I received was simple: calmly proceed with the divorce, keep all the documents in order, and avoid taking matters into my own hands. If Oleg refused to move out voluntarily, the issue could be resolved through the proper legal procedure.
That was enough for me.
I returned home and deleted all the apartment listings I had saved.
That evening, Oleg asked me himself:
“Well? Did you find anything suitable?”
“I did.”
He immediately became interested.
“What neighborhood?”
“This one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m staying here. You’re the one looking for a new apartment now.”
Oleg stared at me for several seconds.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
He pushed his chair back.
“And where am I supposed to go?”
“You open the listings and choose.”
“Ira, I’ve lived here for seven years. My job is nearby. My whole routine is built around this area.”
“Then you can look for something nearby.”
“Do you realize how difficult that is?”
“I do. It’s exactly what you’ve been suggesting I do for the past few days.”
Oleg paced irritably around the kitchen.
“And what about Mom? She was already preparing to clear out her apartment.”
“She has somewhere to live.”
“I promised her a room.”
“You promised her someone else’s room. Now you can explain that to her yourself.”
That sentence changed the situation more than any of our previous conversations.
Until then, Oleg had behaved as though some unfortunate misunderstanding had arisen between me and his mother and that it was somehow my responsibility to resolve it.
Now the responsibility had returned to the person who had invented the entire plan.
A few minutes later, he called Svetlana Viktorovna.
“Mom, don’t take apart your furniture yet. And don’t make any decisions about your apartment.”
I couldn’t hear her response, but Oleg spoke louder when he answered:
“Because Irina is staying here.”
A few minutes later, my phone rang.
“Irina, what do you mean, you’re staying?” Svetlana Viktorovna demanded. “Oleg promised me that room.”
“Then talk to Oleg.”
“I already told people I was planning to rent out my apartment.”
“Then your plans will have to change.”
“Do you understand the position you’re putting us in?”
“I do. A few days ago, you put me in exactly the same position. Except you even managed to measure the wall.”
My mother-in-law indignantly said that adults should resolve such matters like a family.
“I agree,” I replied. “You should have started by talking to the owner of the apartment.”
After that, she ended the call.
Oleg came to me looking irritated.
“Did you really have to speak to Mom like that? She believed me.”
“Exactly. Which is why you’re the one who needs to explain everything to her now.”
He wanted to argue, but remained silent.
The following evening, Oleg opened the rental listings.
At first, he limited the search to our neighborhood.
He rejected the first apartment because it was too far from public transportation. He disliked the kitchen in the second one. The third was farther from work than he wanted.
After a while, he turned his phone toward me.
“Look. It would be inconvenient for me to commute from here in the mornings.”
I glanced at the screen.
“The important thing is not to get attached to one particular neighborhood.”
Oleg immediately recognized his own words.
He put the phone away and said nothing else.
Over the following days, he went to several apartment viewings. Gradually, the search area expanded, while his list of absolute requirements became shorter.
After returning from another viewing, Oleg took off his jacket with an unhappy expression.
“It’s not easy to find a decent place. In one apartment, the kitchen is too small. In another, the commute is inconvenient.”
“I know.”
“You only searched for two days.”
“And in those two days, you had already managed to decide what was suitable for me.”
He looked at me and didn’t continue the conversation.
Svetlana Viktorovna also stopped showing up with a tape measure.
One day, she came by just before Oleg was leaving for another apartment viewing.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rent anything yet,” she told her son. “What if Irina changes her mind?”
“She won’t.”
“Talk to her again. Explain that you already promised me.”
Oleg was clearly tired of this conversation.
“Mom, I promised you a room that I had no right to promise. That’s it. I’m looking for another place.”
Svetlana Viktorovna looked in my direction.
“And where am I supposed to go now?”
“Stay in your own apartment for the time being.”
“You told me something completely different before.”
“I was wrong.”
There was no need for me to interfere anymore.
Eventually, Oleg found a suitable apartment.
It was in another neighborhood. The commute to work was longer, but the apartment itself was in good condition, and he could move in immediately.
It had only one room.
When Oleg told his mother, Svetlana Viktorovna immediately asked:
“And where am I going to live?”
“Mom, you’re staying in your apartment.”
“And what about renting it out?”
“That’s not happening for now.”
“Wonderful. First you promise me one thing, and now you’re telling me something completely different.”
Oleg answered wearily:
“I already told you. I was wrong.”
On moving day, Svetlana Viktorovna came to help her son with the boxes.
She never mentioned the small room again.
Oleg took his clothes, books, personal electronics, and everything else that belonged to him. We had discussed everything in advance, so there were no new arguments.
The last thing he pulled out of the closet was a sports bag.
It was the same bag he had carried when he moved into my apartment after our wedding.
In the entrance hall, Oleg removed the apartment keys from his keyring and placed them on the cabinet.
“I never thought I’d be moving out of here,” he said.
“For several days, I was convinced I’d be the one leaving too.”
He looked at me more carefully.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I checked the documents. And I stopped solving your housing problem with my apartment.”
Oleg said nothing.
He picked up his bag and walked out.
The divorce was finalized after we were already living separately.
Svetlana Viktorovna remained in her own apartment. She abandoned the idea of clearing it out so she could move in with her son.
Oleg started getting used to his new neighborhood and the different commute to work.
A few times, he came back for things he had forgotten. The last one was a charger he had left in the closet.
In his message, Oleg wrote:
“I think it’s still at your apartment.”
I found the charger and gave it to him the next time we met.
He returned the keys. Svetlana Viktorovna stayed in her own home. The small room once again became exclusively my workspace.
And her chest of drawers remained exactly where it had always been.
