Alexey spoke as if he were casually announcing the weather forecast.
Marina didn’t immediately grasp the gravity of his words. He sat at the table wearing a smug expression. A stack of papers lay before him. He leaned forward, watching her reaction intently.
“You’re joking, right?” Her voice trembled for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. “Do you really think you can claim what you never put a single penny into?”
He shrugged, tilting his head slightly.
“The law is the law, Marina. We’re married, so everything is shared.”
His tone was smooth, almost syrupy, with a careless edge. A faint smile played on his lips, as if he were savoring the moment. Marina noticed how his fingers nervously fiddled with the edge of the documents—a subtle reveal of his hidden anxiety. But compared to the storm raging inside her, it was nothing.
That morning had begun with such wonderful news. Marina had received a message: “Documents have been registered. Congratulations.” She stood by the window and cried tears of joy for the first time in a long while.
Marina had always known that owning her own apartment was more than just walls—it was freedom. Freedom to close the door and be in a space where she didn’t have to explain herself, apologize, or please anyone. Especially living with a mother-in-law.
Galina Sergeyevna, Alexey’s mother, was a commanding woman with firm ideas about how her family should live. Every morning began with criticisms: Marina slammed doors too loudly, folded laundry incorrectly, brewed coffee not to Alexey’s liking.
“My dear,” she’d say in a tone that mixed feigned care with venom, “you should be thinking about your future, not these silly apartments. Look at Nastya—she’s expecting her third already, and you’re still obsessed with work.”
Marina swallowed the remarks silently. She worked as a freelance designer, saving every ruble. Three years without vacations, restaurants, or new clothes. Alexey, her husband, never supported the idea of buying an apartment.
“We’re fine as is. Mom cooks, cleans, keeps everything under control. You and your fussing.”
But when the realtor Olga called and said there was a perfect two-bedroom apartment in a new building, Marina rushed to see it—bright walls, spacious kitchen, park view. And now, the apartment was hers. Or was it?
She stood by the kitchen table, clutching a long-cold cup of tea. In the far corner, a clock ticked softly, marking the seconds of her old life. Alexey sat opposite her, lazily tapping a pen against a stack of papers. His eyes glowed with a strange, almost brazen calm.
“Everything acquired during marriage is split in half. That’s the law,” he repeated.
From the next room came a muffled voice. Galina Sergeyevna, as if choosing the perfect moment, appeared.
“Alexey, have you discussed everything already?” Her voice was soft but carried an icy undertone. She entered the kitchen, casually leaning on the doorframe. Triumph gleamed in her eyes, carefully masked as sympathy.
Marina looked up at her. Thin lips pressed into a tight smile, posture straight, gaze sharp and calculating.
“You knew?” Marina felt her hands weaken and gripped the cup tighter.
Galina took a slow step forward—graceful like a cat stalking prey.
“Darling, we’re just thinking about your future. It’ll be easier if you agree. Without all this… stress.”
Without all this stress.
Marina laughed softly, but it was dry and hollow. She didn’t believe a word of it. They had planned everything. Talked behind her back. Alexey knew she had worked tirelessly, saving every kopek for the apartment. And now that she’d reached her goal, he was ready to take her efforts away as if they meant nothing.
“So that’s it.” She set the cup down with a dull thud. “You were with me only for the apartment?”
Alexey smirked, leaning back in his chair.
“Don’t exaggerate. It just happened.” He spoke casually, but his fingers kept nervously drumming on the table.
Marina took a slow breath, feeling anger rising inside—not a fiery rage that made her shout or smash dishes, but a cold, burning fury from within.
