Alexandru Dumitrescu was known as one of the city’s top real estate lawyers.
Though three years had passed since their last meeting, Elena still remembered his number perfectly.
“Good evening, Mr. Dumitrescu. This is Elena Vasilescu, Maria Vasilescu’s granddaughter. We met three years ago regarding my grandmother’s inheritance.”
“Of course, Ms. Vasilescu, I remember you well. How can I assist you?”
Elena took a deep breath before explaining, “I need to initiate eviction proceedings against a tenant occupying the apartment I inherited from my grandmother.”
“I see. Is there a formal lease agreement?”
“No, it’s an informal arrangement — a verbal, temporary agreement that somehow became permanent without my consent.”
An hour later, Elena ended the call with a clear plan in mind.
Setting the phone down, she glanced at the family photos hanging in her kitchen—the ones where Adrian smiled warmly, holding her and the children close. How false that image felt now.
While Adrian and her mother-in-law basked in Dubai’s sunshine, Elena methodically gathered evidence of the family’s finances—bank statements showing large transfers to Ileana’s account and her extravagant spending.
The most crucial piece was a medical document proving that Ileana Mihăilescu was perfectly healthy both physically and mentally when she claimed to be “unable to support herself,” the very reason she moved into Elena’s apartment.
On the seventh day of their absence, Elena’s phone rang. It was Adrian.
“Hey, darling, how’s everything at home? Are the kids well?” His voice was calm, almost dreamy, as if his absence was no burden to the family.
“All under control,” Elena replied steadily.
“When are you coming back?”
“In two days. Mom loved it here so much that we extended the stay.”
“Of course,” Elena said. “The apartment will be ready for your return.”
Adrian hesitated, surprised by her tone.
“Are you upset?”
“No, Adrian. I’m busy. I have to go.”
On the morning they returned, Elena stood outside the building where Ileana Mihăilescu lived, accompanied by lawyer Dumitrescu and a court bailiff carrying all necessary documents.
Her heart pounded fiercely, but her determination was stronger than ever.
The taxi from the airport pulled up. Adrian and Ileana stepped out, tanned and smiling, until they noticed the trio waiting for them.
“Elena? What’s going on?” Adrian asked, confused.
“Hello, Adrian. Mrs. Mihăilescu, I’d like you to meet Mr. Dumitrescu, my attorney, and Mr. Iancu, the court bailiff.”
Ileana’s face paled.
“What does this mean?”
Elena handed her a folder.
“It means you have thirty days to vacate the apartment that legally belongs to me. I also demand payment of 18,000 for unpaid rent over the last three years.”
Adrian looked overwhelmed.
“Elena, what are you doing? She’s my mother!”
“And I’m your wife and mother of your children, Adrian—the children you weren’t there for when Petru had a 39-degree fever while you were at a pool in Dubai.”
Ileana grew impatient.
“You can’t do this! Adrian, tell her!”
“I can, and I have,” Elena said, pushing the documents toward the bailiff.
“The apartment will be assessed today, and your belongings cataloged.”
Adrian reached to grab her arm.
“We need to talk.”
“I tried for three years, Adrian. Now it’s time for action.”
A week after that confrontation at the airport, Elena sat once again at her kitchen table.
This time, across from her was Adrian, with deep bags under his eyes and a defeated expression.
“I signed the divorce papers,” he said, sliding a folder across the table. “Everything you asked for.”
“Thank you,” Elena replied briefly.
“Do you really have to sell the house?” he asked, looking around. “It was our home.”
“It was our home, Adrian. Now it’s an investment to help me and the children start fresh.”
“And your mother?” he asked cautiously.
Elena smiled sadly.
“Ileana Mihăilescu is a very capable woman, as I’ve learned. She owns three rental apartments in this city, all hidden from you and the tax office. I’m sure she’ll manage.”
Adrian looked stunned.
“How do you know?”
“When you left for Dubai, I hired a private detective. Surprisingly effective.”
Adrian slowly stood.
“I never thought you’d go this far.”
Elena looked him straight in the eyes.
“I never thought you’d choose your mother’s comfort over our child’s health. We’re even.”
Six months later, Elena sat on the terrace of her new, bright, modern apartment.
Petru ran freely in the garden below, fully recovered after intensive treatment made possible by the sale of their old home and the rent from her grandmother’s apartment.
Her phone vibrated on the table.
A message from Adrian: “Can I pick up the kids for the weekend?”
Elena replied briefly: “Of course. I’ll have them ready by 10:00.”
Setting down the phone, her gaze landed on a red folder on the bookshelf—a reminder of the moment she took control of her life.
Sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones that free us.
As the sun set over the city, Elena sipped her tea, feeling satisfied.
Somewhere, in a rented apartment on the city’s outskirts, Ileana Mihăilescu still wondered how her gentle, submissive daughter-in-law had found the courage to change everything with just one phone call.
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