Margarita noticed the electrical panel’s door was open even before she took off her coat.
The door was small and white, flush with the wall in the hallway. Usually it closed tightly—she even had to pry the edge with her fingernail to open it. But now it was sticking out three centimeters, like someone had peeked inside and didn’t bother to shut it.
Margarita stopped in the middle of the hallway.
The apartment was quiet. Only the steady hum of the refrigerator drifted in from the kitchen. It was getting dark outside; the wet window reflected the glow of the courtyard lights. Margarita set her bag on the bench, walked to the panel with her shoes still on, and opened the door fully.
The dishwasher’s breaker was switched on.
She had turned it off herself that morning.
There was no way she’d confused it.
The dishwasher had been acting up for the past two weeks—freezing midway through cycles, suddenly draining water without stopping. On Sunday, Vadim pulled it out from its niche, checked the hoses, and said there was no point in trying to fix such an old machine anymore. They ordered a new one, with delivery promised for Friday.
Before leaving for work, Margarita peeked under the sink, shut off the water, and then turned off the breaker.
She even double-checked it.
She really didn’t like leaving faulty appliances plugged in at home.
Now the switch was up again.
Margarita slowly looked around.
At first glance, nothing had changed.
Vadim’s jacket was still where he’d left it before his business trip. His sneakers were by the wall. The advertising flyers Margarita meant to throw out that morning but forgot were still on the cabinet.
She walked into the kitchen.
The chairs were in place. The cup she’d left in the drying rack that morning was still there. The box with the new range hood they hadn’t gotten around to installing yet stood by the window.
Margarita opened the bedroom, then the second room—which they were still using as both a home office and a storage space for unfinished renovations.
Nothing.
She went back to the hallway.
Her first thought was to call Vadim.
He had left yesterday morning for the Pskov region: his company was servicing a plant that was launching new equipment, and Vadim was supposed to spend two days there. He planned to come back tomorrow evening.
Margarita dialed his number.
He didn’t answer right away.
“Rita, I’ll call you back in five minutes. There are people around.”
“Wait. Did you send anyone home today?”
Silence.
“Send where?”
“To our apartment.”
“No. Who would I have sent?”
Margarita looked at the panel again.
“I turned off the dishwasher breaker this morning. Now I come home and it’s on.”
“Maybe you forgot?”
“No.”
Vadim’s voice had changed.
“Was the door locked properly?”
“Yes.”
“Check your things.”
“Already did. Seems like everything’s here.”
“Money?”
“What money? We don’t keep cash at home.”
“You never know. Your jewelry, then.”
“Vadim, what kind of thief checks the dishwasher breaker before looking for jewelry?”
“Good point. That is weird.”
Margarita heard him say to someone, “Just a second, I’ll be right there.”
“Maybe an electrician came by?” she asked.
“What kind of electrician would come in without us?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
Vadim paused, thinking.
“My mom definitely hasn’t been there. She doesn’t have a key.”
Margarita said nothing.
That comment really rubbed me the wrong way for some reason.
It wasn’t because she suspected Alevtina Borisovna. It was just that if only the two of them had keys, the list of possibilities was painfully short.
“Rita, make sure you lock the door from the inside tonight,” Vadim said. “I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll change the lock cylinder.”
“But you’ve been saying for six months that it’s pointless to change it!”
“I’m not saying that anymore.”
“That’s a relief!”
“Call me if you notice anything else.”
After their conversation, Margarita walked through the apartment again, this time much more carefully.
The boxes on the storage room shelf were neatly lined up. Nothing was missing from the closet. But the longer she looked, the stronger the feeling grew that she was struggling to remember the exact placement of every little thing.
Had the kitchen stool been pushed that close to the wall this morning?
Was the furniture catalog on the windowsill, or was it on the table?
She just couldn’t remember anymore.
That was more frustrating than the switched-on circuit breaker itself.
They had only owned the apartment for six months, but Margarita was already attached to it.
It hadn’t been easy to buy it.
Before the wedding, she’d had her own one-bedroom apartment in the south of the city—small, but fully paid off. Margarita hadn’t just gotten it “for nothing”: it had started as her share in her parents’ home, then got exchanged, extra money paid, and several years of saving. When she and Vadim decided to buy a bigger place, selling her one-bedroom was what provided most of the down payment.
Vadim also had some savings. He’d been putting aside part of his salary for years, especially those months when he worked out on job sites and got travel per diem. But even together, it still wasn’t enough for a suitable place.
So they covered the rest with a mortgage.
Vadim found this three-bedroom apartment.
One evening he walked in after work and said right from the doorstep:
“I think we have a lead.”
The seller turned out to be Gennady Sergeevich, a former colleague of Alevtina Borisovna. They had both worked at the same design firm until their department was disbanded, but had stayed in touch. Gennady was moving to join his son in another region and wanted to sell the apartment quickly, without too many viewings.
Margarita didn’t fall in love with the apartment right away.
Old doors, brownish laminate, an early-2000s kitchen, a balcony stacked with jars and planks.
But the building was solid, the neighborhood convenient, the rooms were well-shaped, and most importantly—the price was lower than similar listings.
Gennady agreed to lower the price a bit more if they didn’t drag out the deal.
Margarita triple-checked the documents, ordered an official statement, and got advice from a real estate specialist. Vadim even joked:
“Soon you’ll be asking Gennady for a note from his grandfather saying he didn’t promise this apartment to anyone back in 1947!”
“If he brings that, then I’ll finally relax.”
The paperwork was all clean.
The sale went through quickly.
After handing over the apartment, Gennady gave them a set of keys.
“Here are two sets for the apartment, two for the shared entryway, and one for the storage room. Your storage unit’s in the basement, with its own door from the yard. Don’t lose that one, it’s a rare lock these days.”
Margarita immediately suggested that they change the locks.
Vadim only agreed to change the main hallway door lock.
— Why would we need to change the locks? Gennady handed over all the keys. The lock is solid, the cylinder was expensive. We’re counting every tenner right now.
And honestly, there were already plenty of expenses.
There was the mortgage, the move, painting the walls, a new fridge to replace Gennady’s old one that used to rumble like it was about to take off. Then they discovered the bathroom faucet was leaking, the balcony seals needed replacing, and someone had gotten really creative with the kitchen wiring.
So they put off changing the lock.
And then they forgot about it.
Until this evening.
That night, Margarita didn’t sleep well. She woke up several times to noises in the hallway, even though she knew perfectly well: the door was locked from the inside, no one could open it now.
In the morning, she didn’t mention anything to anyone. Not even her mother, who she usually called on her way to work.
First, she wanted to figure out what happened.
Margarita worked as an administrator at a small company that supplied equipment to restaurants. The day was quiet, and around four o’clock, she arranged with a colleague to leave early.
She got home almost two hours earlier than usual.
The elevator smelled of someone’s perfume and fresh bread. Margarita rode to the ninth floor, stepped out, and was just getting her keys from her bag when she heard a sound.
The lock clicked.
Their lock.
Margarita froze.
The apartment door opened.
Alevtina Borisovna stepped onto the landing.
For a few seconds, both women just stared at each other.
Her mother-in-law held keys in her right hand and a blue plastic folder in her left. She wore the pale coat Margarita knew so well and her usual city shoes. No bewildered old lady who’d gotten the wrong door—Alevtina looked completely composed.
Alevtina Borisovna was clearly aware of exactly where she’d just come from.
And she definitely hadn’t expected to see her daughter-in-law.
— Rita? Why are you home so early?
Margarita looked at the keys.
— And why were you inside?
Her mother-in-law pursed her lips slightly.
— I just dropped in for a bit.
— I noticed.
— I wanted to check something.
— Alevtina Borisovna, how did you get keys to our apartment?
Now the pause stretched longer.
— Let’s not talk on the landing.
— Let’s continue in the apartment.
Margarita opened the door wider and let her mother-in-law back inside.
In the kitchen, Alevtina Borisovna took off her coat, carefully hung it over a chair, and placed the blue folder in front of her.
She acted as if it was just a minor misunderstanding.
Margarita stayed standing.
— So, where did you get the keys?
— Gennady gave them to me.
For a moment, Margarita thought she hadn’t heard right.
— Gennady who?
— Gennady Sergeyevich. The man you bought the apartment from.
— He left the keys with you?
— Yes.
— When?
— Before he left.
Margarita slowly sat down across from her.
— So you’ve had keys to our apartment for half a year?
— Not half a year. A little less than that.
— Well, that changes a lot.
Alevtina Borisovna frowned.
— Don’t take that tone with me. I’m not coming here to steal anything.
— So why are you coming here?
— Just to check in sometimes. You’re at work all day, and Vadim’s constantly away on business trips.
— Did I ever ask you to check on things?
— Rita, why are you making such a big deal? I kept the keys just in case.
— I only found out about this ‘just in case’ one minute ago.
Alevtina Borisovna sighed.
“Gennady was leaving, so I asked him to leave a set of keys. What’s so strange about that? In case the pipe bursts or something else happens.”
“And if the pipe does burst, how would you even find out before me?”
“The neighbors would call me.”
“Which neighbors even have your phone number?”
Alevtina Borisovna glanced toward the window.
There was no answer.
Margarita opened the folder.
Her mother-in-law immediately placed her hand over it.
“That’s mine.”
“You took that from my apartment.”
“I didn’t take anything out. I brought it.”
“All the more interesting, then.”
She didn’t try to snatch the folder back. She just removed her hand and looked at Alevtina Borisovna.
“Show me yourself.”
She sat still for a while, and then moved her hand aside.
Inside were copies of apartment documents.
Margarita recognized them immediately.
Floor plan, an extract, several pages from the contract, receipts for utility payments.
Below that was a regular squared sheet of paper.
On it, written in pen:
“3.18 × 4.42”
Below that:
“To the window 1.27″
Further down—”wardrobe 180?”
Margarita looked up.
“What’s this?”
“Room dimensions.”
“What room?”
“The small one.”
“Why do you need the measurements of our small room?”
Suddenly, her mother-in-law started collecting the papers again.
“Rita, I actually wanted to talk to Vadim first.”
“Great. He’s coming tomorrow. But since you’ve been coming here with a tape measure for weeks already, there’s no point in waiting.”
Alevtina Borisovna buttoned up the folder.
“I wanted to make you a proper offer.”
“What kind?”
“I’m selling my apartment.”
Margarita said nothing.
Her mother-in-law’s apartment was in an old nine-story building. Two rooms, not new, but in good condition. Alevtina Borisovna had lived there alone for many years.
“And?”
“I checked the market. If I sell my two-bedroom and buy a studio, I’d have a decent amount left over.”
“Why do you need a studio?”
“I don’t need it.”
Margarita started to realize what this was about, but was still hoping she was wrong.
“Then why buy one?”
Alevtina Borisovna looked at her as if stating the obvious.
“As an investment. I could rent it out. The leftover money I’d give to Vadim for you two to pay off part of your mortgage.”
For a second, Margarita was truly taken aback.
It sounded like a generous proposal.
They still had a hefty amount left on the mortgage. If they put a few million toward it early, their monthly payments would get much easier.
But one question remained.
“So where would you live?”
“Here.”
Alevtina Borisovna said it completely calmly.
Margarita glanced at the sheet with the measurements.
“In the small room.”
“It’s not that small. Almost fourteen square meters. That’s more than enough for me alone.”
“That’s why you measured it?”
“I wanted to know if my furniture would fit.”
“Into our room.”
“Rita, why are you twisting every word? I’m not planning to sleep in the kitchen. You have three rooms.”
Margarita even let out a chuckle.
But it wasn’t from amusement.
“One bedroom. One is Vadim’s office and my workspace. The third we were going to turn into a nursery—if needed.”
“Who knows when you’ll need that.”
“That’s not the point.”
“But you have the mortgage now. And how many years left to pay?”
“Twenty years on the contract. But it’s our mortgage.”
“I’m offering to help.”
Margarita looked at the woman across from her, trying to figure out exactly when the offer to help had quietly turned into an already-made decision about moving in.
“Does Vadim know?”
“We talked about it.”
“When?”
“We did talk about it.”
“Alevtina Borisovna, I’m asking specifically. Does Vadim know that you’re planning to sell your apartment, buy a studio to rent out, give us part of the money, and move in here?”
Her mother-in-law adjusted her folder with irritation.
“He said himself that he wouldn’t leave me without a place to live.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“What else do you want to hear?”
“Either ‘yes, Vadim agreed’ or ‘no, Vadim didn’t agree.'”
Alevtina Borisovna said nothing.
That was enough.
Margarita picked up her phone.
“We’ll call him right now.”
“No need to bother him at work.”
“Why not? You said you were going to talk to him first.”
“He’s on a business trip.”
“That’s exactly why this conversation will take two minutes.”
“Rita!”
Margarita stopped.
“Alright. I won’t call. He’s coming back tomorrow. We’ll talk together then.”
Alevtina Borisovna stood up.
“I don’t understand why you’re putting on a show. I’m offering you money, not taking it from you.”
“Money in exchange for the room and for you to live here for life.”
“What do you mean ‘for life’? Are you already burying me?”
“Actually, I think you’ll live for a very long time, which is why I don’t want to make a thirty-year decision in ten minutes.”
Her mother-in-law turned red.
“So that’s how it is.”
“And how should it be? Should I have been thrilled that you measured the room before even telling us about your move?”
Alevtina Borisovna grabbed her coat.
“I’ll talk to Vadim.”
“Definitely.”
“And don’t try to make me out like I’m a stranger.”
Margarita looked at the set of keys her mother-in-law was about to put in her purse.
“Leave the keys.”
Alevtina Borisovna froze.
“Why?”
“Because they’re the keys to our apartment.”
“I keep them in case of emergency.”
“No. You came here today to measure the room. Yesterday, you apparently turned on the dishwasher. These aren’t emergencies.”
“I checked yesterday to see why it wasn’t working.”
Margarita closed her eyes for a moment.
There’s your answer.
“So you were checking the appliances, too?”
“I saw the circuit breaker was off. I thought maybe you hit it by accident.”
“The dishwasher is broken. That’s why the breaker was off.”
“How should I know?”
“Exactly. How would you know what’s happening in an apartment you don’t live in?”
Alevtina Borisovna threw the keys on the table.
“Here you go.”
The keys clattered on the countertop.
“But don’t call me in the middle of the night if something happens.”
“We won’t.”
Her mother-in-law left.
Margarita locked the door and stood for a long time in the hallway.
Now yesterday’s anxiety seemed almost funny. No one had broken into the apartment. There was no mysterious intruder.
It was all much simpler.
For several months, the key to their home had been lying in the bag of someone they never gave it to.
She only called Vadim an hour later.
He was already at the hotel.
“Found the visitor,” Margarita said.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mom.”
“What about her?”
“She has a set of keys.”
Vadim went silent.
“What keys?”
“To the apartment.”
“That can’t be.”
“I ran into her at the door today. She was coming out of our place.”
“Wait, how did she get…”
“Gennady left them with her.”
“Why?”
— You better ask her about that tomorrow. And Gennady too, while you’re at it.
Margarita shared everything about the folder, the documents, the measurements, and the plan to sell the apartment.
Vadim interrupted only once:
— What do you mean, she’s moving in with us?
— That’s exactly what I want to know.
— I never talked about anything like that with her.
— Well, she seems to think otherwise.
— Rita, I’m serious.
— So am I.
— What exactly did she say?
Margarita repeated what was said almost word for word.
When she finished, Vadim muttered a curse under his breath.
— I once told her I wouldn’t let her be without a place to stay. But I meant something completely different.
— What did you mean?
— It was about three years ago, before we got married. Her utility bills went up, and she complained about how hard it would be on her pension. I said, ‘Mom, if things get really bad, we’ll figure it out. You won’t be left without a roof over your head.’ That was it.
— And that turned into her moving into our third room.
— Apparently so.
— She’s already planning where her furniture will go in there.
— I’ll come over tomorrow.
— Just don’t use your favorite line, ‘Mom just wanted to help.’
— I won’t.
Margarita could hear how tired his voice sounded.
— One more thing, Vadim.
— What is it?
— If you really think her plan is a good one, tell me now. Not tomorrow, in front of her.
— I don’t think it’s a good idea.
— Not even for the money?
— Especially not for the money.
Margarita was surprised.
— Why especially?
— Because we’d hear for the rest of our lives exactly how much her room cost.
He hit the nail right on the head.
For the first time that evening, Margarita smiled.
— Alright. Come over.
Vadim returned the next day around seven.
He left his suitcase in the hallway and didn’t even take off his jacket.
— Where are the keys?
Margarita pointed to the side table.
He picked up the set of keys and spun them in his hands.
— These are definitely ours.
— I was hoping those were keys to the neighbor’s apartment and your mom just accidentally lives a double life.
Vadim looked at her.
— Are you angry?
— Not as much anymore. Yesterday, I wanted to take the door off its hinges and bring it with me to work.
He gave a little snort.
— I’ll call Gennady now.
— Go ahead.
Gennady picked up almost immediately.
Vadim put the phone on speaker.
— Gennady Sergeyevich, good evening. I have a strange question. Did you leave keys to the apartment for my mom?
There was a pause on the other end.
— Well, she asked me to.
— Yeah, I figured that. But why?
— Vadim, I thought you knew.
— We didn’t know.
— She said you’d asked her to have a set, in case of an emergency. So I gave them to her. Is there a problem?
Vadim looked at Margarita.
— The problem is, we never asked her to do that.
Gennady was clearly confused.
— Look, I’m sorry then. I honestly didn’t think twice. She’s your mother, we’ve known each other for thirty years. I just assumed…
— I understand.
— I should have called you.
— Yes, you should have.
— That’s my mistake. I didn’t think it through.
Margarita interjected:
— Gennady Sergeyevich, please tell me, there aren’t any other sets of keys left anywhere, are there?
— No, definitely not. You had your main set, the second set, and this one. I didn’t make any more.
— What about for the storage room?
— I gave you one. The second one… Hold on.
Margarita and Vadim exchanged glances at the same time.
— What second one? — Vadim asked.
— I think my son had it when he still lived here. But that was five years ago. I’ll check.
After the call, there were a few seconds of silence in the hallway.
Then Margarita said:
— We’re changing the storage lock too.
— That’s not even up for discussion.
Vadim took out his phone.
“The hardware store is open until nine. I’ll make it in time.”
“Today?”
“Rita, if I put it off until the weekend, you’ll end up going out at night to buy it yourself.”
“You know me too well.”
He left to get a new lock cylinder.
He called Alevtina Borisovna from the car.
The call was brief.
First, she tried to explain that she “meant well,” then got upset about his call to Gennady, and finally asked why her son was speaking to her “like a stranger.”
Vadim didn’t raise his voice.
“Mom, it’s because you took the key to our apartment without our permission.”
“I didn’t take it. They gave it to me.”
“You asked for it.”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s a big difference.”
“I’m your mother.”
“That’s why I’m being calm with you. If you were a stranger, I’d be saying something entirely different right now.”
Margarita only overheard part of their conversation.
Then Vadim said:
“And don’t sell your apartment.”
Alevtina Borisovna quickly started talking in the receiver.
“No, it’s not because of Rita. I’m telling you myself. Don’t sell your apartment just to pay off our mortgage.”
Another pause.
“Because we haven’t invited you to live with us.”
With that, the conversation was basically over.
Forty minutes later, Vadim came back with a new lock cylinder, a screwdriver he bought for some reason despite already having two at home, and a small bag of fasteners.
“Why the screwdriver?” Margarita asked.
“It’s a good one.”
“You already have two good ones.”
“This one has a ratchet.”
“Very compelling reason.”
“After today, I deserve some emotional purchases.”
He changed the lock cylinder in about twenty minutes.
The old one was hard to remove from the lock. Vadim fiddled with it, muttered quietly a few times, then finally pulled out the metal cylinder and set it on the floor.
Margarita watched him with unexpected satisfaction.
“So, this little thing was all that stood between our apartment and any unknown person with a key for the past six months?”
“Don’t start.”
“Just noting the cost of our thriftiness.”
“I admit it. I was wrong.”
“Should I record the date?”
“You can carve it on the wall.”
The new lock cylinder fit perfectly.
Vadim tested every key, locking and unlocking the door several times from both sides.
“All done.”
Margarita picked up one set of keys.
“You giving a set to your mom?”
He looked at her.
“Very funny.”
“Just checking.”
“Not happening.”
The next day, Alevtina Borisovna showed up herself.
She didn’t warn them, but at least she rang the intercom.
She had a bag in her hand.
Margarita opened the door.
Her mother-in-law stepped in and immediately looked at the lock.
She noticed.
Of course she did.
“Quick work, you two.”
“Yes.”
“You’d think I was coming here with criminal intent.”
Margarita closed the door.
“We’ve already discussed intentions. That wasn’t the issue.”
Vadim came out from the room.
“Come in, Mom.”
Alevtina Borisovna put the bag on the sideboard.
“Here are your papers. I’ve returned all the copies.”
Margarita opened the bag.
Inside was the blue folder.
“Thank you.”
“And I brought the tape measure, since it scared you both so much.”
Vadim grimaced.
“Mom, that’s not necessary.”
“Why not? I barely slept last night. Turns out I almost handed over a few million to my son and still ended up the bad guy.”
“It’s not about you wanting to give us money.”
“Then what? That I wanted to be with my own son?”
“That you were planning it without asking your own son.”
Alevtina Borisovna took off her coat.
“Can I at least have some tea?”
“Of course.”
They sat down together in the kitchen.
The conversation started off awkwardly. Vadim made tea and brought out some cookies, but no one touched them.
Alevtina Borisovna was the first to break the silence.
“I still don’t understand why you reacted this way. I have a big apartment for just me. The utility bills keep rising. You’re paying a mortgage. You have a spare room. I sell my apartment, invest part of it into a studio so I keep some property, and give the rest to you. What’s so bad about this option?”
Margarita replied calmly:
“Having a spare room doesn’t mean we have extra space for a permanent housemate.”
“I’m not just any tenant.”
“Exactly. If it were a stranger renting, we could just end the contract.”
Alevtina Borisovna set her cup down sharply.
“So that means you’ll have to kick me out?”
“That’s exactly why we can’t agree to this arrangement.”
Vadim raised his hand.
“Mom, let’s make it simple. Imagine I sell my share of something tomorrow, give you money for repairs, and then say to you, ‘Now I’m going to live in your big room.’ Would you be happy about that?”
“You’re my son.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“If you had nowhere else to go, of course I’d let you stay.”
“But I do have a place to live. And so do you.”
Alevtina Borisovna fell silent.
Vadim continued:
“You’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t exist yet. You have your apartment. It’s yours. You can live there. If things ever get tough, we’ll figure it out then.”
“What about the mortgage?”
“It’s our responsibility.”
“You’re going to end up paying the bank so much extra.”
“That’s true, I will.”
“And you think that’s reasonable?”
“It’s more reasonable than taking your money, and then five years from now realizing the three of us can’t live together in one apartment.”
“Why wouldn’t we be able to?”
Margarita couldn’t hold back:
“Alevtina Borisovna, you turned on the dishwasher without telling us it was broken.”
“It was automatic!”
“Okay, automatic. And you measured the room without telling us you wanted to move in there. We’re not even living together yet, and we’re already arguing about boundaries.”
Her mother-in-law turned toward the window.
“Boundaries are such a trendy word right now.”
“Maybe so. But the locking door was invented a long time ago.”
Vadim coughed, hiding a smile.
Alevtina Borisovna noticed.
“You find this funny?”
“No. But Rita is right.”
“Of course. Now she’s always right.”
“Mom, don’t turn this into a competition between you two. It’s my apartment too. And I don’t want to live with three people in it either.”
That hit the hardest.
Up until that moment, it seemed Alevtina Borisovna had actually convinced herself that it was all the daughter-in-law’s doing: the daughter-in-law turned her son against her, didn’t want her around, was blocking a great deal.
But now Vadim took away that excuse.
She looked at him long and hard.
“So you don’t want this yourself, then?”
“That’s right, I don’t.”
“I see.”
“Just don’t take this to mean you’re not needed.”
“So what am I supposed to think, then?”
“That grown-up relatives can love each other and still live apart.”
Alevtina Borisovna smirked.
“You sure know how to talk.”
“It’s my job. I convince clients to buy equipment.”
“Well, you didn’t convince me.”
“I don’t need to convince you. I’m just letting you know what we’ve decided.”
Margarita didn’t add anything.
She even appreciated that Vadim wasn’t hiding behind her.
After their wedding, there had been some minor arguments—mostly about Alevtina Borisovna. Nothing too serious. Sometimes she’d call at nine on a Saturday morning to say she’d found them the ‘perfect curtains,’ or she’d bring food even though Margarita had asked her not to, or she’d give Vadim advice on which jacket to buy.
Vadim would usually just joke around in response.
Sometimes, that actually worked.
But with the keys, there was no room left for jokes.
“Fine,” Alevtina Borisovna finally said. “I won’t sell the apartment.”
Vadim nodded.
“That’s a good decision.”
“Just don’t remember me when you’re handing all your millions over to the bank.”
“We won’t.”
“And don’t ask me for help later, either.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“We haven’t been asking for it now, either.”
She glared at her son, but after a few seconds, she broke into laughter.
It was a short, reluctant kind of laugh.
“You really do have a sharp tongue.”
“I got it from you.”
“That’s for sure—it’s not from your father.”
The tension in the room eased a little.
There was no dramatic reconciliation. Alevtina Borisovna didn’t admit she’d done anything wrong. Margarita didn’t run to hug her. Vadim didn’t make any grand speeches about family.
They just finished their tea.
As she was about to leave, Alevtina Borisovna paused in the hallway.
“Gennady already called me. He apologized.”
“He did with us too,” Vadim said.
“I told him not to worry about it.”
Margarita raised her eyebrows.
“Of course.”
Her mother-in-law grabbed the door handle.
“So, I really won’t be getting a key now?”
Vadim looked at his mother.
“That’s right.”
“Not even one?”
“Especially not one.”
“Alright.”
She opened the door.
“Then at least don’t disconnect the intercom.”
Even Margarita smiled at that.
A week later, it seemed like the whole thing was finally over.
But on Saturday morning, Vadim remembered the storage room.
After that conversation, Gennady called again to say that the old key had actually turned up in his son’s box of unused things. His son lived far away and probably wouldn’t ever show up at their storage room with that key.
That didn’t reassure Margarita.
“I’ve heard ‘probably not’ before.”
“I know.”
They headed down to the yard.
The storage room was in the basement of the building, with its own metal door on the side. Inside were tools, leftover tiles from renovations, winter tires, and two boxes of things they’d promised themselves to sort through someday.
Vadim put the key in the lock.
The lock opened.
Margarita looked at him.
“We’re changing it.”
“I already bought a new one.”
He pulled a new lock cylinder from his pocket.
“When did you manage that?”
“Yesterday.”
“By yourself?”
“Believe it or not.”
“You’re growing up.”
“After the fiasco with mom, I developed a new phobia.”
“What kind?”
“Spare keys.”
They spent about half an hour down there.
Then Vadim gathered up the old lock cylinders, useless keys, and put it all in a bag.
“Should I throw it out?”
Margarita looked at the old apartment key.
Just a week ago, it had seemed like any other piece of metal.
Now she clearly understood one simple thing: after buying the apartment, they got the documents, the deed, the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and their obligation to the bank.
But for some reason, the feeling that this was really their home only arrived now.
She locked the storage room with the new key and gave the door a tug.
“Now you can throw it away.”
Vadim tossed the bag into the dumpster.
On their way home, they stopped by the store. They bought bread, milk, chicken, a bag of apples, and, for some reason, a giant jar of pickles that was on sale.
At the checkout, Margarita looked at the jar.
“Do we really need three liters of pickles?”
“It’s a great deal.”
“That’s how it always starts. First the bargain pickles, and next thing you know, someone’s moving into a third room.”
The cashier burst out laughing.
Vadim shook his head.
“That’s it. The word ‘deal’ is officially banned at home.”
“Good decision.”
They returned to their apartment.
Vadim set the groceries down in the kitchen and automatically glanced at the spot where the old dishwasher had stood. The new one had already been delivered, but it wouldn’t be installed until Monday.
“Is the breaker off?” he asked.
Margarita looked at the fuse box.
“It’s off.”
“Want to check?”
“No need.”
She walked to the front door and turned the new latch.
The latch clicked shortly and sharply.
A few days later, Alevtina Borisovna called Margarita herself.
Not Vadim.
That was already unusual.
“Rita, are you busy?”
“A little. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s about the apartment.”
Margarita braced herself for what was coming next.
“Which one?”
“Mine.”
“I’m listening.”
“I crunched the numbers again. If I buy a studio, it really doesn’t make sense. The rent wouldn’t even cover much compared to the price. Plus there’s tax, repairs, and finding tenants.”
“Probably.”
“So I’ll just keep everything as is.”
“I think that’s sensible.”
“But I did review my utility bills. There are a few services I’m paying for that I don’t even use. And I should have had the meters checked ages ago.”
Margarita smiled.
It seemed Alevtina Borisovna had found a different way to handle her expenses—without having to move in with her son.
“That’s really where you should have started.”
“Don’t be a smart aleck.”
“Alright.”
“And one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“I really was wrong about the keys.”
Margarita even pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen.
It was definitely Alevtina Borisovna calling.
“Why are you quiet?”
“Just savoring the moment.”
“You’re a real piece of work.”
“A little bit, yes.”
“I didn’t think you’d take it like that.”
“And I didn’t expect you to come into the apartment while we were gone.”
“Well, now I can’t anymore.”
“That’s true.”
Alevtina Borisovna snorted.
But there was no trace of her previous resentment in her voice.
“Alright. Get back to work.”
“Goodbye, Alevtina Borisovna.”
“Rita.”
“Yes?”
“Did you change the dishwasher?”
Margarita laughed.
“We did.”
“Does it work?”
“It works.”
“Well, at least something good came out of all this.”
“Not just that.”
“What else?”
Margarita glanced at the new set of keys resting in a little ceramic bowl near the door.
“The locks work properly now, too.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
“That’s all,” said Alevtina Borisovna. “Before I get upset again.”
“Goodbye.”
After the call, Margarita got back to work.
In the evening, Vadim came home.
He brought a bag of groceries, set it on the kitchen counter, and asked:
“Did Mom call?”
“She did.”
He looked a little wary.
“And?”
“She admitted she was wrong about the keys.”
Vadim froze.
“My mom?”
“Your mom.”
“Alevtina Borisovna?”
“The one and only.”
“Did you record the conversation?”
“No.”
“Big mistake. That only happens once every twenty years.”
Margarita burst out laughing.
Vadim started unpacking the groceries.
“So, peace now?”
— I don’t know. But she’s changed her mind about selling the apartment.
— That’s already great news.
— She’s decided to sort out the utility bills.
— Even better.
He pulled out cheese, a pack of butter, and some tomatoes.
The last thing to appear from the bag was a small jar of pickles.
Margarita looked at it.
— Again?
— One and a half liters.
— We haven’t finished the last batch.
— These are different.
— Vadim.
— What?
— Were they a good deal?
He thought for a second.
— No. I bought them purely for emotional reasons.
— Alright then.
Life pretty much went back to normal.
The mortgage payment still came out on the fifth of every month. Those miracle millions to pay it off early still hadn’t appeared. Vadim would sometimes open the banking app, look at the remaining debt, and say gloomily that the number barely seemed to change.
Margarita would reply:
— But at least we don’t have a neighbor in the small room anymore.
— Valid point.
They really were paying more than they could have if they’d gone with Alevtina Borisovna.
But now, that money felt different.
Before, the mortgage just seemed like a pointless extra cost and an annoying obligation. But after the whole ordeal with the keys, for the first time, Margarita realized that each payment bought them more than just square meters.
It bought them the right to decide who lived there.
Who could enter.
Who had keys.
Who was allowed to move a chair.
Who could open the electrical panel.
Who could insist the third room was “still available anyway.”
It was an expensive price to pay.
But as it turned out, some things really are better taken care of yourself.
And the old set of keys ended up somewhere at the bottom of a trash container, along with the two lock cylinders Vadim, just half a year before, had considered too nice and expensive to replace.
Margarita never thought of them again.
Except for once.
About a month later, Gennady called Vadim and said he’d found another key.
Not for the apartment.
It was for the mailbox.
Vadim listened, thanked him, and hung up the phone.
Margarita was sitting at the kitchen table next to him.
— What is it?
— Gennady found a spare key to our mailbox.
She stared at her husband for a few seconds.
— Vadim.
— Yes?
— Tomorrow we’re changing the mailbox lock.
— That costs three hundred rubles.
— Even if it’s thirty.
— I get it now.
The next evening, a new little lock appeared on the mailbox.
Vadim brought the old one home and, for some reason, set it on the side table.
Margarita silently pointed at the trash can.
— Can’t I keep it for the memory?
— No.
— It’s a piece of history.
— Trash it.
He listened to her.
And only then did Margarita feel that the story of the “last spare set” was finally and truly finished.
