That evening, Polina climbed the stairs to her apartment with a lightness in her step. Her heart was full—finally, the renovation was complete. Three long months of juggling contractors, navigating hardware store aisles, and dealing with delays had come to an end. Now, the space she had inherited from her beloved grandmother was no longer worn and weary—it radiated warmth and comfort.
“We can finally breathe,” Polina whispered to herself, tracing her fingers along the smooth, newly painted wall. Though the paint had long dried, the act still felt meaningful.
The transformation was striking. The outdated wallpaper had been replaced with soft, calming tones. The old, creaky parquet was gone, swapped for elegant laminate flooring. And in the kitchen stood a milk-chocolate-colored set she had dreamed of for years.
Polina made her way to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She had purposely left work early today—she wanted to soak in this moment of peace. Nikolay, her husband, was still at the office. That gave her time to breathe and decide where the last little touches should go.
From the cupboard, she took out a delicately patterned teacup—a gift from a close friend. As the kettle started to hum, the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” she called out as she walked toward the door.
“Hi, I’m Marina—your neighbor. I really need to speak with you,” a woman’s voice replied, slightly unsteady.
Polina opened the door to see a woman in her mid-thirties with tired eyes and a nervous expression. She was clutching the strap of her bag, fingers fidgeting.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” Marina said softly. “But this is important. I know your mother-in-law—Oksana Ivanovna—and her son.”
Polina’s smile froze. Ever since her wedding, things had been tense with her mother-in-law. Oksana was controlling, endlessly meddling in their lives under the guise of care.
“You can come in,” Polina offered.
“No, it’s better if we speak here,” Marina replied, glancing around anxiously. “Please, just hear me out. I live in the apartment below, but years ago, I lived in the city center. That’s when I met Oksana.”
Polina leaned against the doorway, listening.
“She seemed so lovely at first,” Marina continued, her voice trembling. “She’d visit me, bring pastries, ask about my family. Eventually, she introduced me to her son.”
“Nikolay?” Polina asked, her stomach tightening.
“Yes. It all felt like a dream—dates, flowers, promises. And then came the talk of a business idea. They convinced me to use my apartment as collateral. Said it was just temporary.”
Polina’s breath caught. Just a week ago, Oksana had casually brought up the idea of combining properties to make it easier to buy something “better for the family.”
“I lost everything,” Marina whispered. “They made me sign documents I didn’t fully understand. I thought I was helping, but by the time I realized the truth, my apartment had been sold. I had nothing left.”
Polina’s voice was faint. “Didn’t you go to the police?”
“I did,” Marina nodded grimly. “But everything was done under my name. No one could prove deception. They’re good at what they do. Oksana speaks like a saint, and Nikolay… he plays the role of the perfect man flawlessly.”
Suddenly, Polina’s own memories flooded back. How she had met Nikolay through Oksana, who had invited her for coffee. How he’d happened to show up, charming and polite. Their romance had ignited instantly.
“Why are you telling me this now?” Polina asked, though a part of her already feared the answer.
“Yesterday, I saw Oksana speaking with a realtor outside. I recognized him—he was involved with my apartment. That’s when I knew I had to warn you.”
At that moment, Polina’s phone buzzed. A message from Oksana lit up the screen: “Dear, I’ll stop by tomorrow with some documents. We need to go over the apartment plans with Kolya.”
Polina’s hands went cold. She remembered how Nikolay had started staying late at work, how Oksana had been visiting more frequently, and how Nikolay had begun asking more and more questions about the apartment ownership.
“Thank you,” Polina said quietly. “Let’s exchange numbers.”
After Marina left, Polina stood motionless by the door, her mind racing. A recent conversation with Oksana played in her head: “Why cling to this old apartment, dear? You and Kolya should look for a family home, somewhere big and cozy. We could all live together, raise grandchildren.”
At the time, Polina had dismissed it. But now every word echoed with warning.
The doorbell rang again. Oksana stood there, a folder in her hands and her smile firmly in place.
“Polinushka, how perfect that you’re home! I’ve brought the documents. We need to discuss a little something.”
“I’m not signing anything,” Polina said firmly after hearing her out.
Oksana’s smile wavered for just a moment before returning. “You’re being emotional. This is for your own future. Kolya agrees—it’s already decided.”
Later that night, Nikolay’s frustration boiled over.
“Why are you making this so difficult?” he snapped. “We could live in a beautiful home, all of us together.”
Polina’s voice remained steady. “What I want matters too. This is my grandmother’s home. It’s not for sale.”
“You’re clinging to the past!” he barked.
From that moment, the pressure intensified. Oksana visited almost daily, trying new angles. Nikolay grew distant and short-tempered. The man Polina had once adored now felt like a stranger.
One day, coming home early, she overheard Oksana on the phone just outside.
“Don’t worry. The papers are almost ready. Polina will sign soon. Kolya’s handling it.”
Polina’s stomach churned. That evening, Nikolay returned, beaming and carrying that same ominous folder.
“Let’s wrap this up tonight,” he said. “Everything’s ready.”
Polina looked him in the eye. “Get your things. And leave your key. We’re done.”
The next afternoon, a panicked call from Marina shook her.
“They’re trying to get into your apartment!” she cried.
“But I kicked him out—he doesn’t have keys!”
“They do. I called the police. Come fast!”
When Polina arrived, a patrol car was already there. Marina stood guard at the entrance. Oksana and Nikolay were nearby, clearly flustered. The officer held a set of keys.
“Were these made without your knowledge?”
Polina nodded, heart racing.
“I want to file charges. Attempted break-in. Fraud.”
“You’re my wife!” Nikolay finally shouted.
“Not anymore,” Polina replied coldly. “As of this moment—you’re my ex.”
The weeks that followed were exhausting but liberating. With Marina’s help, Polina filed for divorce and pressed charges. Other victims came forward, painting a disturbing pattern of manipulation and deceit. Nikolay didn’t contest the divorce—he feared exposure.
Polina kept her apartment. Her sanctuary. And more importantly, she rediscovered herself.
“You’ve changed,” Marina said one day as they sipped tea in Polina’s kitchen.
“I’ve woken up,” Polina smiled. “I finally understand what peace feels like.”
She started yoga, adopted a cat, and even got a promotion at work. She laughed more. She walked with purpose. And when new acquaintances asked about her home, she simply smiled and said she was renting—her real treasures didn’t need to be flaunted.
Because now, everything that mattered—her freedom, her strength, her peace—was truly hers. And she would never let anyone take that away again.