“— Who do you think you are?! Open the door right now, I don’t care—I’ll get in no matter what!”
Her mother-in-law’s voice thundered so loudly that indignant sighs echoed through the building.
“This is MY apartment, MY property! I’ll show you what happens when someone tries to lead my son by the nose!”
Vera stood with her back pressed to the cold door.
Her fingers trembled, but she didn’t touch the handle.
Seeing that woman was the last thing she wanted—especially after what happened yesterday.
“Open up! Immediately! Or we’ll call a locksmith—he’ll take off the lock and drag the door out with YOU attached to it!”
The mother-in-law continued to screech.
“We.”
Meaning Sveta was here too.
Of course—those two never came alone. Always as a pair, like some kind of detectives, except they had far more malice than brains.
“Antonina Fyodorovna, let’s talk tomorrow,” Vera tried to keep her voice steady.
“Right now is absolutely not the time.”
“Oh, not the time?!”
The mother-in-law’s laugh screeched like metal against glass.
“It’s NEVER the time with you! Meanwhile my Igor is God-knows-where because of YOU, you shameless woman!”
Vera stepped away from the door, went to the kitchen, and poured herself water.
Her hands shook so badly half of it spilled on the table.
Outside, a wet autumn fog hung thick over the window—just as murky and suffocating as her life the past few months.
Three months ago Igor left.
Silently shoved a few T-shirts into a backpack, wouldn’t even look her in the eyes, and said a phrase that burned through her heart:
“Sorry. I’m tired. She’s… different.”
Did it matter who that “different” woman was?
Eight years of marriage erased by one line.
The doorbell rang again—now insistently, without pause.
“Verochka!” Sveta squeaked.
“How long are you going to hide?! Mom’s apartment—she decides everything! The papers are almost ready!”
Vera let out a bitter smirk.
Papers. Of course.
Since the apartment was in her mother-in-law’s name, she believed she could dictate everyone’s fate.
Vera took out her phone and dialed.
“Olya, hi… Are you home? I really need to come over.”
Half an hour later Vera was already sitting in a trolleybus, surrounded by strangers’ umbrellas and strangers’ conversations.
The city slid down the windows in dirty streaks.
Olya welcomed her with the smell of cinnamon and hot tea.
“Start talking,” Olya said, seating her in an armchair.
“Who is it this time?”
“My mother-in-law has decided she has the right to evict me. Claims she’s selling the apartment.”
“Oh, so THAT’S it!” Olya shook her head.
“And what, you’re supposed to go nowhere?”
“According to them—yes.”
Olya looked out the window thoughtfully, then her eyes suddenly lit up.
“Vera. Let’s go see the woman your hero left you for.”
Vera wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength.
“…Fine. Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later they were standing outside the nine-story building where Igor now lived with his new flame.
They went up to the fourth floor and stopped at the door.
Vera was about to turn around—but the door swung open.
Igor looked awful.
Tired, crumpled, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Vera?.. What are you doing here?”
“Just delivering news from your mother,” she said calmly.
“Realtors are coming tomorrow. Your old home is being put up for sale.”
Igor went pale as if someone kicked the chair out from under him.
“Wh-what? Sell..? How..?”
From inside the apartment came an annoyed voice:
“Igooor! Who’s there? Am I supposed to expect visitors now?!”
A moment later Kristina appeared—tall, aggressive, cheap perfume, and bold eyes.
“Oh! It’s YOU,” she drawled.
“Came to whine?”
“No,” Vera replied in a quiet, even tone.
“I just wanted to see what kind of woman managed to steal my husband.”
Kristina smirked like a predator.
“He ran away from you by himself, in case you didn’t know! He was sick of your boring life!”
Vera had expected that to sting.
But there was nothing.
Just emptiness.
“Igor,” she looked him straight in the eye, “you should start looking for a place to live. Your mother is planning to ‘free the space’ quite forcefully.”
“Wait! Vera, please…” Igor grabbed her sleeve.
“Can I stay with you for a couple of days? Until Mom—”
“No,” she cut him off.
“That’s not my problem anymore.”
And she walked down the stairs.
But that evening brought something far worse.
Her own apartment door was open.
The lights were on.
Inside…
Chaos.
As if a tornado had ripped through the rooms.
Overturned shelves, torn clothes, shattered dishes.
And red words scrawled on the walls in paint:
“MENTALLY ILL.”
“UNSTABLE.”
“DANGEROUS.”
“This…”
Vera barely breathed, clutching the photos she found on the table.
Photos of her—taken secretly, in different places around the city.
“She was watching me…”
“She was preparing the ground,” Olya said quietly.
“She wanted you declared insane. Then she could throw you out without a fight.”
Olya called her brother—Maxim, a lawyer.
He arrived like a firefighter.
“We’re documenting everything. Tomorrow—report it.
Go to a doctor and get a mental-health certificate. That’ll neutralize her plan.”
For the first time in days, Vera felt she wasn’t alone.
The next morning was long—doctors, neighbors, the district officer, paperwork, statements.
Maxim walked beside her calmly, confidently.
By evening he said:
“We’ll stop her. She has no legal right to sell the place if you’re registered here. And if she tries—we’ll file a countersuit.”
Vera smiled for the first time.
So when the mother-in-law stormed in the next day—alone this time—Vera was ready.
“I’ll sell it anyway!” she hissed.
“I’m the owner!”
“Go ahead and try,” Vera laid a doctor’s statement and a police report in front of her.
“And then prepare for court.
I’ve got receipts for the repairs, witnesses, and a lawyer.”
The mother-in-law turned pale.
“What… do you want?”
“Just peace,” Vera said.
“I’ll move out when I decide. Until then, I live here on the same grounds your son did.”
For the first time ever, Antonina Fyodorovna left without slamming the door.
And after that, everything changed quickly.
Maxim started dropping by often—sometimes with documents, sometimes with pastries.
Then he invited her to the movies.
Then—to the riverfront.
“I know you need time,” he said.
“But I want you to know… I really like you.”
Vera never expected her heart to awaken so soon.
But it did.
And when Igor eventually tried to come back—it was far too late.
“Let’s start over?” he begged.
“No, Igor,” Vera said with calm certainty.
“What we had is over. And that’s the right thing.”
She turned—and saw Maxim’s smile.
A few months later they got married.
Maxim insisted on buying that very apartment—and Antonina Fyodorovna agreed to lower the price herself, just to get rid of her former daughter-in-law.
Vera stepped across the threshold as the real owner.
Confident.
Grounded.
At peace.
And Igor continued drifting between rentals, trying to understand how things turned out this way.
The answer was simple:
He left his wife…
but lost the woman who had once been everything to him.