At first, it was just talk about renovating my mother-in-law’s place. Then suddenly, Inna suggested I should pay off my loan. Soon after, she came up with what she called the perfect solution: put part of the money in Dmitry’s account so things would be “fair in the family.”
Every time, my response was the same. The apartment belongs to my mom. When it sells, the money is mine. What I decide to do with it will be my decision.
Up until that morning, I thought Inna’s talk was just an irritating family quirk. Loud and pushy, but just a family habit. Now it felt like I was looking at an open safe.
“Return the documents today,” I said.
Inna laughed.
“That’s exactly why I took them. So you’d finally stop bossing everyone around. We’ll sit down together, the three of us, and add everything up properly. You’re getting plenty of money. You won’t go broke.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“Let’s not play games. You give part of it to Dima. Or to his mother. I don’t care how you arrange it, as long as you don’t take it all for yourself.”
“And what if I don’t?”
For a second, I could hear her TV in the background on the line.
“Then try selling without the documents. Isn’t your deal on Wednesday?”
She knew the day. I looked at Dmitry, and he instantly put his hands up.
“I just mentioned when it should all be over. I had no idea she’d pull something like this.”
Now Inna sounded more confident:
“I’m sure your buyer will be thrilled to find out the originals have disappeared. Might even ask for the deposit back. I broke open the safe, and now I have the documents. So think it over calmly and call me back.”
I hung up.
Dmitry was the first to speak:
“Lena, the most important thing right now is not to freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“Then let’s sort this out properly. Call her in an hour. I’ll talk to her too.”
I sat down by the safe and took close-up photos of the door, the lock, the scratches, and the metal dust on the shelf.
“Are you listening to me?” Dmitry asked.
“I’m listening.”
“Then why are you taking all these pictures?”
I took another shot.
“Because someone broke open the safe and took the documents.”
“Inna will return them.”
“When I pay her?”
“I didn’t say you have to pay.”
I looked at him.
“So now you’re going to suggest we make a deal.”
He stayed silent.
“Are you?”
Dmitry sat down on the edge of the disassembled sofa.
“I just want the deal to go through. If we give her a reasonable amount, it could all end today. Sometimes it’s cheaper to compromise than to make it all about principle.”
I looked at my husband, and for the first time that morning, I didn’t feel confused—I felt clear. Inna thought she was holding my documents. Dmitry thought he was holding me to a deadline.
Up until this morning, I’d strangely believed that keeping the peace at home meant ignoring the things I personally thought were wrong.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s finish today what we can finish today.”
Dmitry instantly relaxed.
“That’s more like it. I’ll call her right now…”
“Don’t call her.”
He froze with the phone in his hand.
“So what then?”
“First, I’m calling the buyer.”
“Are you serious? Why scare her?”
“Because in two days, she’s supposed to pay me for the apartment. And I’m not going to act like nothing happened on the day of the deal.”
Tatyana answered after the third ring. I walked into the kitchen, where the table and curtains were already gone. Only two folding chairs remained—the ones we’d decided to keep until the very last day.
“Tatyana Sergeyevna, I have a problem with some of the documents,” I said. “I wanted to let you know now, not wait until Wednesday.”
She listened to me without interrupting.
“Am I right in understanding that you don’t have the original certificate of inheritance right now?”
“That’s correct.”
“And do you know who does?”
“I do.”
“Is this some kind of dispute over the apartment?”
“No. The ownership is registered to me. There’s no dispute over property. It’s a family issue, and I have no intention of dragging you into it. Tomorrow morning, I’ll start the process to restore the documents and get up-to-date information on the apartment.”
Tatyana paused for a moment.
“Elena, I’ll be frank. I don’t like this situation.”
“Neither do I.”
“I once bought an apartment where, the day before closing, a relative with claims suddenly appeared. I don’t want to go through that a second time.”
“I understand.”
“If I don’t have a clear picture and the documents by tomorrow evening, I’ll pull out of the deal. I can’t put my own sale on hold for another week.”
Now the deadline became real. It wasn’t Inna who set it. It was Tatyana.
“Agreed,” I replied. “I’ll call you tomorrow evening.”
When I went back into the room, Dmitry was standing by the window.
“Well?”
“I need to have the documents ready by tomorrow evening.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Find out what can be restored.”
He gave a frustrated smirk.
“In a single day?”
“We’ll see.”
“Lena, you’re risking the buyer out of principle right now.”
I took an old envelope from the closet—it had copies of several of mom’s papers. On one sheet were the details of the notary who handled the inheritance.
“No, Dima. It’s your sister acting out of principle now. She decided she could set a price for returning someone else’s belongings.”
“You could try being a bit softer, too.”
I turned to him.
“Softer how? Should I ask for a discount?”
He pressed his lips together.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then promise her nothing else on my behalf.”
I snapped a photo of the envelope and put it in my bag. Then I made a call to clarify the proper way to document the safe damage and stolen papers.
Dmitry overheard the conversation and stood up abruptly.
“You’re going to file a report?”
“I am.”
“Against my sister?”
“About the safe being broken into and the papers disappearing.”
“Do you understand what’s going to happen after that?”
“I do.”
“My mother will find out. All the relatives will find out.”
“Inna knew that, too, when she went into the safe.”
He paced back and forth across the room.
“I was the one who gave her the key.”
“A key to the apartment. Not permission to break open the safe.”
“So now I’m supposed to be involved in this too?”
I looked at him.
“You already are. You gave her access. Now you have to decide: will you tell the truth or defend what she did?”
Twenty minutes later, Dmitry left. I was alone in a half-empty apartment and calmly did what I could right then.
I gathered metal shavings from the shelf into a small bag, took an overall photo of the wardrobe and safe, saved my message exchanges with Inna and emailed copies to myself. Then I checked the old documents once more.
To be honest, I didn’t feel especially brave in that moment. For the first time, I just felt uncomfortable at the very thought of bargaining—not because of the amount involved, but because of the condition: give me back what is mine, and I’ll pay just to make it mine again.
There will be no such conversation.
In the morning, I showed up at the notary’s office ten minutes before it opened. Overnight, Inna had messaged me twice more.
First: “Dima said you’re upset. You don’t have to make a crime out of this.”
Then: “The offer stands until tomorrow. After that, you’ll explain things to the buyer yourself.”
I didn’t reply to the second message.
The notary, a woman about my age, examined the copy of the old certificate I’d found among my mother’s papers very closely.
“The original is missing?” she clarified.
“It’s currently with someone else. They won’t return it to me voluntarily.”
She looked up at me.
“Then you need to state the circumstances of your application very precisely. As for the document, we’ll need to check where the notarial act was performed and what information has been preserved.”
They explained what could be requested and how to confirm the previously completed notarial action. Separately, I started gathering up-to-date information about the registered ownership.
My phone vibrated several times in my bag, but I didn’t check it until I left the building. Three missed calls from Dmitry. One from Inna. And a message from Tatyana: “Elena, please let me know when you find out about the documents. I’ll be waiting until evening.”
I called her back first.
“I’ve been working on it since morning. My ownership is confirmed. I’m in the process of replacing the documents that were taken from me.”
“Is your relative claiming the apartment?”
“No. She has no rights to it at all.”
“What about her husband?”
“He’s not the owner of the apartment either.”
Tatyana was silent for a moment.
“Alright. Send me whatever you get. I’ll show it to the person helping me with the paperwork.”
“I’ll send it.”
Only after that did I call Dmitry.
“Where are you?” he asked, skipping any greeting.
“I’m dealing with the documents.”
“Inna called my mother.”
“That’s her right.”
“Now my mother’s calling me.”
“That’s your family schedule to handle.”
He exhaled irritably.
“Lena, enough. Did you really file the application?”
“Yes.”
“Can you withdraw it?”
“I have no intention of doing that.”
“Inna says the safe was actually already open.”
I stopped at the crosswalk.
“Yesterday she told me on the phone that she opened it herself.”
“Now she says she just chose her words poorly.”
“I still have her messages.”
“What messages?”
“Where she wrote that she found the folder and that the documents are with her.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“So now you save everything?”
“Anything related to this situation, yes.”
“I don’t recognize you anymore.”
The light turned green.
“Maybe it was easier for you to recognize me before.”
I crossed the street and ended the call.
By midday, it became clear that there was no point waiting for the blue folder to be returned. The ownership itself hadn’t disappeared anywhere. The notary document could be restored through official channels, and the latest information reflected the current situation with the apartment.
That didn’t make the whole story trivial. The safe was still broken open, the documents were still with Inna, and the application had already been filed. But her main plan was starting to fall apart.
It wasn’t the papers that gave her power. The real power came from my belief that, without those papers, I wouldn’t be able to do anything.
Later that afternoon, I was informed that I could get the necessary duplicate. As I held it in my hands, my phone started vibrating again.
Inna.
This time, I answered the call.
“Well?” she asked. “Have you made a decision?”
“About what?”
She let out a short laugh.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Do you still need the documents or not?”
“I needed them.”
Inna fell silent.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that.”
“Lena, I don’t like these games of yours.”
“Me neither. So let’s not play.”
“Are you saying the deal is off?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what did you do?”
I looked at the folder in my hand. Just yesterday, I wanted to explain everything to her, right down to the last detail, so she would realize how wrong she was. Today, that desire was gone.
“I resolved the issue with the documents.”
“What issue?”
“The one you were planning to control.”
Her voice changed.
“You’re lying to me.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Lena, I still have the originals.”
“I remember.”
“And you think the buyer will just let that slide?”
“That’s for the buyer to decide.”
“Then why were you demanding the folder back yesterday?”
“Because those are my documents.”
“And now you’re not asking for them back?”
“Now, I just want you to not lose them. They’re mentioned in my report.”
She was quiet for a few seconds.
“What report?”
“The one from yesterday.”
“Did you go to the police?”
“Yes.”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m your relative.”
“You knew that before you opened the safe.”
“Does Dima know?”
“Ask Dima yourself.”
Inna raised her voice:
“Do you realize what you’ve started over some papers?”
I looked at the duplicate.
“No, Inna. You started this over those papers. I just restored them.”
I hung up.
Five minutes later, she sent a message: “I’ll bring your folder tonight. Withdraw your statement.”
I didn’t reply.
I sent Tatiana the documents I’d received and the latest information. About an hour later, she called me herself.
“I’ve reviewed everything,” she said. “And I’ve also consulted someone. If all this is confirmed before the paperwork tomorrow, I’m ready to go through with the deal.”
Only then did I allow myself to sit down. Not out of happiness—my legs were just aching after the whole day.
“Thank you for being transparent,” Tatiana added. “If I’d found out about this tomorrow, I would’ve walked away for sure.”
“That’s exactly why I called you yesterday.”
“Alright, see you tomorrow then.”
I put my phone away. Less than twenty-four hours remained until the deal. For the first time in two days, time was working in my favor.
In the morning, Dmitry was waiting for me near my house. He was sitting in his car, and as I approached, he lowered the window.
“We need to talk.”
“I have a meeting in forty minutes.”
“I’ll be quick. Inna brought the folder last night.”
He pointed to the passenger seat. There it was. The blue one.
I opened the car door and took the folder. The documents were inside. At first glance, all of them.
“Withdraw the report,” Dmitry said. “She brought everything back.”
I flipped through the papers.
“Returning the documents doesn’t erase how she got them.”
“Lena, why are you being so tough?”
I closed the folder.
“Who am I being tough on?”
“Inna.”
“She opened my safe and took the documents to get money.”
— She really crossed the line, I won’t argue with that.
— Yesterday, you suggested I should pay.
He looked away.
— I wanted to save the deal.
— And I’m the one saving it now.
Dmitry stared at the steering wheel for a few seconds.
— So what’s going to happen between us now?
My hand lingered on the car door.
— That doesn’t depend on the statement.
— Then what does it depend on?
— It depends on whether you still think it’s okay to give someone part of my money just so they would return my own documents to me.
Dmitry ran his hand over the steering wheel.
— I don’t think that’s normal.
— Yesterday, you thought it was acceptable.
— Because I was scared.
— Well, you can deal with that yourself.
He looked at me.
— Will you at least tell me how this will all end?
— The deal isn’t over yet.
I closed the car door and walked away.
Tatiana was already standing at the office entrance. She was holding the same beige folder with printouts that she’d brought when viewing the apartment.
— Good morning, she said. — Is everything still on?
— Yes, everything’s on.
— Did your relative return the documents?
I held up the blue folder.
— Last night.
Tatiana raised her eyebrows slightly.
— So we didn’t need to restore anything yesterday after all.
— No. Yesterday, it really was necessary.
She looked at me more closely.
— Why?
— Because yesterday I had no way of knowing if they’d ever be returned. And you weren’t required to wait for my family to sort things out.
Tatiana nodded.
— That’s exactly what convinced me to stay.
We went inside. Document checking took a while. There were no grand moments: we sat at the table, compared details, passed papers back and forth, and answered questions.
I put my phone on silent. When everything was ready for signing, my screen lit up again.
Inna.
A message followed: “Did you withdraw the statement? You have the originals, right? I returned everything.”
I read it and put the phone down beside me.
Tatiana noticed I’d moved.
— Everything okay?
— Now it is.
Inna called again. I could have ignored her, but I answered.
— What do you want? she asked immediately. — Dima told me you got the folder.
— I got it.
— Then I expect you to fix what you’ve done.
The prepared documents were in front of me. Tatiana sat next to me, and the person across the table waited for us to finish the call.
— Fix what?
— Don’t mess with me. Withdraw the statement.
— I won’t withdraw it.
— Lena, I gave everything back! What more do you want?
— Nothing.
— Then why?
— So that what happened is officially recorded as it happened.
Inna started speaking faster:
— Right now you’re sitting there with your duplicates acting like you’ve won, but you know that without my folder, who knows how things would’ve ended.
I looked at Tatiana. She averted her gaze, not wanting to interfere.
— Inna, yesterday you said: “I opened the safe, now I’ve got the documents.”
— So what?
— That’s all. Just let that memory stay with you too.
— What does memory have to do with this?
— Because today the deal depends on more than where you decided to hide my papers.
She spoke louder:
— You only got the folder because I gave it back!
— No. I got the folder because you were scared of my statement. And I got back my right to sell the apartment long before that.
I turned off my phone. It didn’t ring anymore.
Tatiana looked at me.
— Your relative?
— That’s her, alright.
“Honestly, after a conversation like that, I’d need a whole week just to recover.”
I put my phone face down on the table.
“Yesterday, I was convinced I couldn’t handle any of this, either.”
“And today?”
I picked up a pen.
“Today is deal day.”
We went on. Once everything was signed and checked, Tatyana was the first to put her pen away.
“Congratulations, Elena.”
I looked at the documents in front of me. Just two days ago, Inna thought she only had to take the folder so I’d no longer have any control over my own apartment.
But she was wrong—not because some obscure law slipped her mind, but because she believed I’d rather lose the deal than refuse her terms.
She was almost right. Almost.
Outside, I turned my phone back on. There was a single message from Dmitry: “Text me if the deal went through.”
I replied: “It did.”
Then I slipped my phone into my bag. The blue folder was there too—back in my possession.
But somehow, that wasn’t the most important part anymore.
