We came for the property”—the heirs who skipped the funeral but demanded their share.

“Pasha, Pasha, where are you?” Vasiliyna called out to her husband. It was already 6 AM. They had argued the night before, and he had spent the night outside on the porch. There, in the summer kitchen, was an old topchan—a worn-out sofa repurposed for sleeping. Usually, by this time, he would already be tending to the chickens and their goat, Mashka, before coming inside for breakfast. But today, there was only silence. No sound of the front door slamming, no footsteps, just the faint bleating of Mashka outside.
“Maybe he’s just late feeding the animals?” she thought. But an uneasy feeling crept in. What if he had left after their argument? Her heart pounded as she struggled to get up. “I need to start breakfast anyway. Maybe I’ll make thin pancakes with honey—his favorite.”
Dragging herself outside, she reached the kitchen table—and then she saw him. Pavel lay motionless, his body stiff, head tilted unnaturally back, arms outstretched. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Vasiliyna collapsed onto a chair, her breath hitching.
“He’s dead.”
She reached out with trembling fingers, touching his forehead. Cold. Rigid. “It must have happened last night,” she murmured. Panic threatened to take over, but her mind refused to function. She sat there in shock, replaying the argument from the previous evening.
They had three children. From the moment they were married, Pavel had worked tirelessly—first on the collective farm, then later as a mechanic for a private landowner. His life revolved around fields and machinery. Vasiliyna had worked just as hard, first as a milker, then raising calves. They never knew poverty. Their farmyard was always full of livestock, their table always filled with food. They raised their children, funded their weddings, and even helped them buy apartments. Even in retirement, they continued supporting their children with food and money, never asking for anything in return.
Then, three years ago, everything changed. One winter morning, Vasiliyna slipped on the ice while fetching water for the livestock. The fall shattered her hip, leaving her bedridden for months. Pavel had called their children, pleading for help—someone needed to care for their mother or at least manage the farm. Not one of them came. Left with no choice, Pavel gradually sold off the livestock. He kept only a few hens, a rooster, and one last cow. When Vasiliyna returned from the hospital, he slaughtered the cow and bought a goat for milk.
Still, their children never visited. They knew their mother had been hospitalized, knew their father was struggling alone, but never even called. The rejection stung. Pavel, proud and stubborn, made a decision. “If they don’t need us, we don’t need them,” he had told her. “Don’t call them, Vasiliyna. We’ll manage on our own.” And she obeyed.
Instead, it was their neighbors who stepped in. Ivan and his wife, Nastya, brought food, helped with chores, and even took care of their garden. When Pavel had a stroke a year ago, it was Ivan who called the ambulance, not their children. When Vasiliyna had reached out to them, their eldest daughter had dismissed her. “We’re busy, Mom. Dad should go to the hospital. We’ll visit later.” Their middle son ignored the calls until finally answering, only to say he was too far away to help. Their youngest daughter, Mashenka, was the cruelest of all. “You have money, Mom,” she sneered. “Hire a caregiver. After all, Dad sold the livestock and never gave us a share.”
That night, Vasiliyna had sat in the dark, silent and broken. Her own children—whom she had given everything—had abandoned them. Yet Ivan and Nastya, unrelated by blood, were always there.
It was then that Pavel made up his mind. “We’ve suffered alone for four years, Vasiliyna,” he said. “We raised those children, gave them everything, and yet, where are they? It’s Ivan and Nastya who have been here every day. They are better to us than our own. So, I’ve decided—we’ll leave everything to them.”
And they did. A week ago, they had gone to the notary and signed a will. The house, the land—everything would go to Ivan and Nastya, with the condition that they would care for Pavel and Vasiliyna until the end.
Now, Pavel was gone. Ivan was the first to arrive when he heard the news, calling the ambulance and the authorities. The whole village attended Pavel’s funeral—except his children. They hadn’t been invited. That had been Pavel’s wish.
Three days later, they arrived. All three children, along with their own families, swarmed into the house. They hadn’t come to grieve. They came for the inheritance. The first thing they did was open the refrigerator.
“Mom, why is there no food here? Where’s the meat? The supplies? What are we supposed to eat?”
“There’s nothing,” she answered. “No one stocked up. If you’re hungry, go buy something.”
Their faces fell. “We thought everything would be here.”
“There’s a store. Go shop,” she repeated coldly.
Annoyed, they decided to eat at a cafeteria. While they were gone, Nastya came with a pot of soup and a plate of cutlets for Vasiliyna. “You need to eat, Grandma Vasya. Stay strong.”
When the children returned, they wasted no time getting to business.
“Mom, you can’t stay here alone. You’re old, you can barely walk. We’ve arranged for you to go to a nice nursing home.”
“A nursing home?” she scoffed. “And what will happen to my house?”
“We’ll sell it,” her son announced matter-of-factly. “The money will be split evenly among us. No point in letting the place rot.”
Vasiliyna chuckled bitterly. “You think you can just take everything?”
“We’re your children. We inherit automatically.”
She leaned forward, locking eyes with each of them. “There is no inheritance. Your father transferred everything to me before he died. And before you get any ideas, I have already willed it all to Ivan and Nastya.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
The son’s face twisted in fury. “That’s not fair! You can’t just give away our family home!”
“Family?” she spat. “You weren’t even at your father’s funeral. You never visited. You abandoned us. Why should you get anything?”
Furious, they threatened legal action, but when they took the matter to court, their claim was denied. The will was legal. The house belonged to Ivan and Nastya, who continued to care for Vasiliyna until her passing a year later, on the anniversary of her husband’s death.
When her children finally returned, hoping to claim their inheritance, they found the gate locked. Strangers now lived in the home that had once been theirs. Vasiliyna’s children had lost everything—not because of bad luck, but because they had chosen to abandon the very people who had given them life.
And so, the house remained with those who had truly earned it.