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.
She looked at the documents—strange letters, unfamiliar decisions. As if written without her consent, as if she were invisible.
“You understand I won’t let this go quietly, don’t you?” she finally said, looking him straight in the eyes.
Alexey smiled again, but in the corners of his eyes flickered something… doubt.
Marina didn’t move. At that moment she realized these people—her husband and his mother—had always seen her as an outsider. She was a temporary guest in their home, now being pushed out the door.
But they were wrong. She wasn’t leaving empty-handed.
The next day, she took a day off and began to act. Her plan was simple: fight back.
First stop—the bank.
“Statements for the last three years. Everything related to this account,” her voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed her tension.
“Of course, one moment.” The young clerk shuffled papers awkwardly before disappearing into the back office.
Marina kept her gaze fixed on the table, forcing herself not to think about how Alexey was probably already celebrating his anticipated “victory.” Twenty minutes later, she held a document confirming: not a single ruble of family money. All funds were hers alone. The apartment money came from her grandfather’s inheritance, held in that very account.
Next stop—the lawyer’s office. The room was stuffy, smelling of coffee and paper.
“Your case is strong,” the lawyer slowly flipped through the documents. “Inheritance is personal property. And here are records showing all renovation costs were paid from your personal account.”
“But they will pressure you,” Marina said, cracking her knuckles.
“Let them try. They have no legal basis, only emotions. We have facts.”
She left the office with newfound confidence. The next days were filled with meetings, calls, and collecting contracts from clients. Everyone cooperated: signing, providing receipts, certifying documents.
Court day arrived. At the building’s entrance waited a whole delegation. Alexey, his hair perfectly groomed; Galina Sergeyevna clutching her purse; and several friends dressed as if heading to a gala instead of a courtroom.
One of them, Elena Petrovna, a retired notary, stepped forward, smiling sweetly.
“Maybe we can settle?” Her voice was smooth, almost melodic. “Give Alexey half, and we’ll part peacefully.”
Marina tilted her head, considering the offer. Then she gripped her folder tighter and walked past without a word.
Inside the courtroom, it was cool and smelled of old wood and paper. Alexey sat relaxed, swinging his leg. When Marina entered, he gave her a smug look and smirked.
The judge appeared, and the chatter died down.
“We’re here to hear the case on property division,” his deep voice announced.
Marina stood calmly, her voice firm.
“Your Honor, according to the law, property acquired during marriage using funds from the sale of an inherited apartment is not subject to division. Here are the inheritance documents and proof that renovations were paid from personal funds.”
The bank statements, client contracts, and receipts spoke volumes.
Silence filled the room.
Alexey tensed, fists clenched. His lawyer frowned, flipping pages nervously. Galina Sergeyevna smoothed her hair anxiously.
“But…” Alexey began, his voice lacking its former confidence.
The judge studied the documents closely.
“You claim the apartment was bought with joint funds?” he asked, looking up.
“Yes, we…” Alexey faltered. He glanced at his mother, who lowered her eyes silently.
“There is no evidence to support your claim,” the judge said coldly. “Based on the evidence, the property belongs to the plaintiff.”
Alexey opened his mouth but said nothing. Galina Sergeyevna turned pale.
“The court rules: the division of the apartment is denied. The defendant’s claims are dismissed.”
Outside, the air was cold, but Marina felt like she was breathing fully for the first time in years. She slowed her steps, stopped, and looked up at the sky. Gray clouds drifted over the city, blocking the sun, but for Marina, this day was bright and clear.
Behind her, muffled voices sounded. Alexey spoke to his mother in a harsh, irritated tone, but she no longer cared.
“I told you,” he spat. “She’s stubborn.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” Galina Sergeyevna replied quietly but firmly. “You should’ve negotiated.”
Marina closed her eyes, inhaled deeply. No negotiations. They had made their choice long ago. She had made hers.
She didn’t look back.
That evening, sitting in her apartment surrounded by the sounds of her new, free life, the silence no longer oppressed. It felt light, calm, and familiar. A cooling cup of mint tea filled the room with gentle aroma.
Her phone screen blinked with her mother-in-law’s name.
For a few seconds, Marina stared at it, then tapped “block.” No more talks, no more excuses or attempts to explain. Everything had been said. They had tried everything to take away even this small victory she’d earned. But she had won—not the court, but herself. Her right to live without them.
Six months later, she ran into Galina Sergeyevna at the supermarket.
“Marisha, we often think of you…” her voice was falsely gentle, eyes sharp and appraising.
Marina met her gaze and smiled—not with bitterness or scorn, but ease.
She walked on.
Sometimes the best answer is silence.
And the greatest revenge is happiness itself.