A Dream Home Turns into a Family Dispute
“She needs it more,” he declared about his mother, stepping into someone else’s affairs, and I had to drop the subject.
Inna had long harbored a dream of a seaside home. She recalled her childhood days sitting at the tiny table in the cramped kitchen of their panel apartment, flipping through seaside photos with her parents as they envisioned living in their cozy home while listening to the soothing sounds of the waves.
“Once I retire, my daughter,” her father, Sergey Ivanovich, used to say, caressing newspaper clippings of houses for sale along the Black Sea coast, “your mother and I will start living like royalty. We’ll enjoy coffee on the terrace in the morning and head straight to the beach!”
As time passed, Inna grew up, earned her degree, and married Viktor. The dream seemed to recede into the background amidst the daily grind. However, each weekend visit to her parents’ home reminded her of how her mother, Sviatlana Petrovna, still carefully kept the folder filled with clippings, often adding new listings.
When her father’s health deteriorated, the decision to buy a house surfaced. Doctors urged a change in climate as the harsh winters in the Moscow region became increasingly challenging for Sergey Ivanovich, particularly with his heart condition.
- Inna worked as a financial consultant at the bank, consistently saving money.
- Her parents contributed by selling their old country house, which had long been unused.
- Even with all their savings combined, they could not afford something truly worthy.
- Then luck struck—an unexpected bonus for a successful project and a small inheritance from her cousin, Sviatlana Petrovna, made the total finally adequate.
The search began that spring. Inna sifted through myriad listings, made calls to agents, and arranged viewings. Viktor showed no interest whatsoever.
“Vik, want to join me this weekend in Gelendzhik? I found an interesting option,” Inna suggested one day.
“Why?” Viktor didn’t even look up from his phone. “You handle it well on your own. They’re your parents; you know best what they’ll like.”
Sometimes, Inna felt hurt by such indifference, but she quickly dismissed those feelings. After all, she and Viktor had agreed before their wedding that each would support their own parents. Viktor regularly helped his mother, Valentina Sergeevna—bringing groceries, paying utility bills, and purchasing medications—while Inna took care of hers.
In June, Inna discovered the perfect option—a small one-story house just a fifteen-minute walk from the sea. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and, most importantly, a spacious terrace with a stunning view of the mountains. Inna knew immediately: this was the one. The plot was small but well-kept, with fruit trees and rose bushes—her mother would be thrilled, as she loved tending to flowers.
The paperwork was completed swiftly. By mutual agreement, the house was registered in the name of her parents—Sergey Ivanovich and Sviatlana Petrovna. Inna believed it was the right decision: the house was purchased for them, part of the money was from their savings, and it felt more secure—no legal complications in case things went wrong.
Upon returning from the trip where she finalized the documents, Inna was practically radiant with joy. Her long-held dream had finally become a reality! Her parents had started packing, getting ready to move in a month.
“Vik, can you believe it? Everything worked out!” Inna exclaimed, placing the folder of documents on the table. “Look at this beauty!”
She opened her phone gallery to show photos:
“Here’s the terrace, the view is simply breathtaking. This is the parents’ bedroom. And this is the kitchen—small but functional! Dad is already planning how he’ll barbecue in the backyard.”
Viktor set his phone aside, glanced at the photos without notable enthusiasm, and merely nodded. No excitement, no: “Great job, dear, I’m happy for you and your parents.” Just an indifferent look and a slight nod.
Inna continued her narration, oblivious to her husband’s odd behavior:
“The moving date is set for mid-July. Dad has already arranged for movers and booked a truck. Can you imagine how lovely it will be visiting them in winter when there’s snow and cold here, and it’s still warm there…”
Suddenly, Viktor interrupted her monologue:
“You bought a house for your parents in the south? Wonderful! Only my mom will live there—she needs it more, for her health.”
Inna froze, holding her phone with the picture of the house—her triumph, her joy, her gift for her parents. Initially, she thought Viktor was joking, but the seriousness of his expression made her realize otherwise.
“What do you mean, your mom?” Inna blinked in confusion. “The house was bought for my parents. We’ve talked about this countless times.”
“So what?” Viktor shrugged. “My mom has hypertension; the doctors have advised her to move to a southern climate. She’s sixty-eight, older than yours. It makes sense that she should be prioritized.”
“Makes sense?” Inna felt an icy chill within her. “Viktor, we’ve discussed this for years. You knew the house was for my parents. Your mom hasn’t even mentioned wanting to move to the south once.”
“Because she knew we couldn’t do it,” Viktor replied dryly. “But now we can.”
“The house is registered to my parents,” Inna began to speak slowly, as if explaining obvious things to a child. “They contributed money. This is their property.”
“Family is family,” Viktor dismissed her. “Aren’t you willing to help my mom? Why should your parents be more deserving than mine?”
Inna felt as if she had been punched in the gut. How could she explain to someone that they couldn’t just seize someone else’s home? How could she convey that this wasn’t about a carton of milk from the fridge, but a house bought for specific people?
“Viktor, you can’t just take your mom and move her into my parents’ house. That… is completely absurd!”
“Nothing absurd about it,” he stood up and headed for the door. “Think about it. My mom is a lonely elderly woman; your parents have each other. It’s only fair.”
Inna couldn’t sleep all night. She lay looking at the ceiling, contemplating what had happened to the man she married. Viktor breathed evenly beside her, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, as if he hadn’t just obliterated years of planning and dreaming with one single statement.
In the morning, Inna awoke to the sound of his phone conversation. Viktor stood by the window, talking to someone.
“Yes, Mom, the house is fantastic; you’ll love it. Yes, it’s close to the sea… No, don’t worry, everything will be fine. I’ll check about moving your things.”
Inna sat up in bed, unable to believe her ears. Viktor hadn’t even deemed it necessary to resume their conversation from yesterday. He simply acted as if the decision had already been made.
“Viktor,” she called to him. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to my mom,” he covered the microphone with his hand. “Mom, I’ll call you back.”
After hanging up the phone, Viktor turned to Inna:
“Is something wrong?”
“Everything is wrong,” Inna got up from the bed. “You’re calling your mother and discussing her moving into my parents’ house. Without my approval. Without theirs. As if you have the right to do this.”
“And why not?” Viktor frowned. “Is your selfish wish more important than my mother’s health?”
“Selfish?” Inna breathed in shock at his audacity. “Viktor, this is my parents’ home! They are the owners! They contributed the money! How can you…?”
“How can you be so callous?” Viktor retaliated.
Inna seized her phone, her hands trembling. She needed to call her parents, to warn them. She had to do something!
“Mom, are you home?” Inna’s voice quivered with anxiety.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Sviatlana Petrovna immediately sensed something was off.
“Mom, I need to come over, to talk to you. It’s about the house.”
“Is there something wrong with the documents?” Sviatlana Petrovna asked worriedly.
“No, everything’s fine with the documents. It’s just… I’ll come and explain.”
Viktor watched the conversation with a stony face, and when Inna finished, he merely said:
“Don’t complicate things. It would be better if my mom moves there. She has health issues.”
Inna looked at her husband with a long gaze. After five years of marriage, she had never seen him so… foreign. As if a mask had fallen, and before her stood an entirely unfamiliar person.
An hour later, Inna sat in her parents’ kitchen. Sergey Ivanovich furrowed his thick brows, while Sviatlana Petrovna nervously fiddled with the kitchen towels she planned to pack for the move.
“I’m sorry this happened,” Inna looked at her hands, smoothing nonexistent creases on her jeans. “I didn’t realize Viktor would act this way.”
“Sweetheart, what do you have to do with it?” Sviatlana Petrovna sat down beside her daughter. “Don’t apologize for him.”
“But I ruined our joy. Now, instead of a happy move, we have this… situation.”
Sergey Ivanovich, who had been listening in silence, slammed his palm on the table:
“Inochka, don’t say nonsense. The house is ours. We’ll decide who will live there.”
“But Viktor thinks…”
“I don’t care what he thinks,” Sergey Ivanovich rarely raised his voice, and now his calm firmness acted better than any shout. “The paperwork is in our and your mother’s names. We invested our money. And we will move, as planned.”
“Viktor could cause problems,” Inna recalled how resolute her husband was when speaking with his mother over the phone.
“What problems?” Sergey Ivanovich shrugged. “Let him try.”
The next day, Sviatlana Petrovna and Sergey Ivanovich went to the local administration and filed for registration of permanent residence in the new house. Now, even formally, the house became their official residence.
Inna didn’t inform Viktor about the legal actions her parents had taken. The tension in their apartment was palpable. The couple barely talked, exchanging only necessary phrases about household chores.
Three days later, Viktor unexpectedly changed his tone. Returning from work, he brought a bottle of wine and prepared dinner—for the first time in a long while.
“Inna, I wanted to talk,” Viktor began, pouring wine into glasses. “Maybe we overreacted to the situation.”
“We?” Inna raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, I did,” Viktor corrected himself. “Listen, nothing catastrophic occurred. I think we can find a compromise.”
“What kind?” Inna didn’t even touch her glass.
“Mom could live in the house at least for the summer,” Viktor suggested in a conciliatory tone. “Three months a year. We can work it out.”
Inna shook her head slowly:
“No, Viktor. It won’t work like that.”
“Why not?” Viktor’s voice regained its harsh edges. “Don’t you even want to discuss it?”
“I don’t want to discuss what you already decided without me,” Inna spoke calmly, astonished at her own composure. “You didn’t ask. You decided for me. For my parents. And you did it as if you have the right to do so. But you don’t.”
After this conversation, a stifling silence settled in the apartment. Viktor demonstratively moved to the couch in the room they used as an office. One day, two days, three days—he walked around gloomy and irritated, but even attempted no apologies. Moreover, Inna could sense in his gaze judgment and confusion, as if she were to blame for the entire situation.
On the fourth day, Inna packed a suitcase. Viktor watched her preparations, leaning against the door frame:
“Are you leaving?” His voice sounded deliberately indifferent.
“I’m going to help my parents with the move,” Inna folded her clothes into neat stacks. “I need to help them arrange the house, buy furniture.”
“When will you be back?”
Inna paused for a moment. Good question. Did she want to return?
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Two weeks at the seaside home flew by in a blink. Inna assisted her parents in settling in, accompanying them for groceries, and together they selected curtains for the windows and tableware for the kitchen. Each evening, they sat on the terrace, sipping tea and watching the sunset. No one demanded more from Inna than she was willing to give. No one manipulated her, accused her, or attempted to make her feel guilty.
Before she left, Sviatlana Petrovna hugged her daughter tight:
“Inochka, you know you can always come back here? This is now not only our home, but yours too.”
“Thank you, Mom,” Inna hugged her mother back. “I know.”
Returning to the Moscow apartment, Inna felt like a guest. Viktor greeted her warily, as if expecting a quarrel or reproaches. But Inna had no intention of arguing or blaming him. She merely brought back a piece of the serene sea into this home.
“How are your parents doing?” Viktor attempted to seem friendly, but tension lingered in his voice.
“They’re great,” Inna smiled. “They love the house.”
“I’m happy for them,” he replied dryly.
In the evening, they sat in the kitchen, each absorbed in their own tasks. Suddenly, Inna caught herself wondering: when did Viktor become so estranged? Or had he always been this way, and she just hadn’t noticed? Once, it had seemed that the walls of this apartment provided a refuge for their shared space, their love. Now the walls felt like a prison, where two people had accidentally ended up in the same cell.
“Vik,” Inna quietly called. “I want to talk.”
“About what?” Viktor looked up from his phone.
“About us. About what happened. You didn’t even apologize.”
“For what?” Viktor genuinely seemed surprised. “For wanting to help my mother?”
Inna looked at her husband and understood: the person sitting across from her did not see himself as guilty. He saw nothing wrong in his actions. And he never would.
“You know,” Inna spoke these words with a calmness that surprised even herself, “I think we need to part ways.”
“Over the house?” Viktor frowned. “Seriously?”
“Not over the house,” Inna shook her head. “Over what you revealed about yourself. I don’t want to live with someone who views me as a resource. Just an accessory to his plans.”
Viktor had something to counter, but Inna raised her hand:
“No need. I didn’t betray our family. I simply refused to be a silent accessory to someone else’s decisions. And that’s not negotiable.”
That summer, when Moscow became stifling with heat and city smog, Inna took time off and spent two weeks at the seaside. With her parents, who met her at the door with hugs and gratitude in their eyes. And sitting on the terrace in the evening, gazing at the darkening sky, Inna thought something crucial—sometimes, you must lose something familiar to find the true value—self-respect.