Anna stood quietly by the window, holding a cold cup of coffee to her lips. The beverage had long since lost its warmth, much like everything else that once felt comforting. The yard ahead of the house was overgrown with weeds; a jacket lay carelessly on the porch, accompanied by a pair of sneakers that clearly weren’t hers.
«My dream house,» she told herself a year ago.
«A home I fell for at first sight, like a foolish ninth grader crushing on an older classmate.»
Back then, at least, the boy didn’t claim your bed as his own room.
Meanwhile, her husband Oleg was noisily searching for his keys in the hallway. He wore an oversized sweater that once concealed a toned abdomen now replaced by the remnants of midnight snacks and his mother’s homemade sauerkraut.
«I told you!» Anna glanced sharply at the sneakers. «Nobody should come here uninvited! This is my house, Oleg. Mine. I paid for it. I signed the mortgage alone.»
Oleg’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, as if he had just finished a night shift at a factory, despite only making a couple of Zoom calls daily.
«Anya, come on… It’s Mom. You can’t just kick her out in the rain. She’s tired. Her leg hurts. You know that pain with her lasts forever—like politics: unfixable, but constantly discussed.»
Setting down her cup, Anna slowly turned toward him, her eyes reflecting a mix of hurt, despair, two years of marriage, and decades of disappointment with men always stuck between mother and wife, like a tree caught between an axe and a carpenter.
«It’s not her leg that’s hurting,» she said quietly. «Her ego is swollen. She just needs to be the boss everywhere.»
«Why do you say that?» Oleg shrugged helplessly. «You know she’s from the old school. She was used to controlling everything. Her home was her fortress. She just wants to help…»
«Help?» Anna interrupted with a sharp laugh. «She painted the kitchen walls green yesterday. She said it was a ‘noble shade,’ not my dull gray color like a morgue. I spent two months choosing that color. And she shows up with a bucket of paint and ruins it.»
Oleg stepped back toward the coat rack, as if trying to hide behind the outerwear.
«Well, you can’t just kick her out…» he muttered again.
Anna did not shout. Her voice was calm, like the silence before a storm. The kind that sends chills down anyone’s spine.
«I never invited her. She comes by herself, takes off her sneakers on her own, and treats this house as hers. Do you know what she told Andrey yesterday? ‘If Annyusha leaves, the house will stay with Oleg. He won’t let it fall apart.’»
«That’s just words,» dismissed Oleg. «You’re taking it too personally.»
«Because you take it too lightly!» Anna snapped. «Oleg, they think you have rights to everything. And you think so yourself. You didn’t even put any money into this.»
«Wait,» he frowned. «I supported you morally. We picked the land together, remember?»
«Morally?» she laughed heartily. «While I ran around collecting documents and visiting banks, you were lying on the couch, ‘morally’ choosing between ‘Dream Cottage’ and ‘Let Them Talk’?»
He fell silent just as footsteps echoed on the stairs.
«Oh, here comes the queen,» Anna muttered looking at the ceiling. «Time for her morning briefing with orders.»
Tamara Petrovna, 67, wearing a leopard-print robe and sporting an expression as if summoned once again for a teachers’ council, entered the kitchen.
«Anya, dear, I made you porridge. Oatmeal with water. Just like you like it—tasteless and dull, like your interior.»
«Thanks, but I prefer my breakfast in silence.»
«Oh, of course,» her mother-in-law replied with a smile reserved only for funerals, and even then, for a neighbor. «You’re the mistress now. Everything the way you want. The house is yours. The husband is yours. But the atmosphere here… it feels like a bachelor pad. Like you live alone.»
«Funny,» Anna responded, locking eyes with her. «Because that’s exactly how I feel.»
Tamara plopped onto a stool, spreading out a newspaper.
«I called the notary today,» she said matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. «Asked about the share. Oleg is my son, after all. He lives here; I’m his mother. You’re formally the owner, yes, but family means everything is joint.»
Anna opened her mouth, then closed it. Approaching the kettle, she filled it with water that hissed as if preparing for battle rather than boiling.
«Tamara Petrovna, I’m going to tell you something very simple. Ready?»
Her mother-in-law pretended to finish reading a joke.
«Uh-huh. Just don’t yell—I have high blood pressure.»
«I’m changing the locks today. If you want to see the grandkids, meet them at a cafe or the circus. That’s your style of interaction.»
Tamara set down the paper and stood up.
«Have you lost your mind? You want to throw us out? Us—Oleg’s family?!»
Oleg looked up.
«Anna, you’re going too far. This is extreme.»
«No,» Anna stepped closer, unwavering. «This is my limit. Enough. Since childhood, I dreamed of a home where no one shouts, no one invades, no one commands. But you all came here like it’s a summer house and decided it’s yours now.»
«Ungrateful,» hissed Tamara. «We accepted you, and you…»
«You didn’t accept me,» Anna interrupted. «You decided I’m part of your communal chaos.»
She walked to her room, slamming the door behind her. Moments later, she heard Tamara say to Oleg:
«I warned you. Women with ‘I do everything myself’ eyes end up crying to lawyers.»
«Come on,» he muttered. «We’ll figure it out.»
Anna sat on the bed and, after many months, opened a browser tab titled ‘Real estate lawyer’ on her phone. For the first time in years, she felt not like a wife, stepdaughter, or an investment holder, but simply herself.
Yet, deep inside, a wave of unease pulsed: «This is just the beginning.»
The next morning was rainy—not romantic, not cinematic tears but the gloomy, grimy drizzle typical of Moscow, with streaks trickling down glass like an accountant’s tears on December 30th.
Anna woke early, so early even Tamara did not intercept her like a dormitory monitor.
The kitchen smelled of dampness, cheese, and someone’s audacity.
The kettle bubbled loudly; so did Anna.
Outside, the old thuja tree—planted by her mother-in-law «to mark a new chapter in their lives»—stood wet and steadfast, unlike the people inside.
Anna stared at her laptop screen, with a locksmith’s webpage open. Anatoly, a balding man who looked like he had been divorced twice and changed locks for himself both times.
«So, how many entrance doors?» Anatoly’s voice resembled a hotline operator warning that sobriety is a way of life.
«Two. One on the veranda, but it’s nailed shut,» Anna said briefly.
«Honestly, it’s best to replace them all—new cylinders, handles. Italian quality. Given your mother-in-law’s culinary ‘attacks,’ only those will hold.»
She smiled, already liking this Anatoly.
«When can you come?»
«In an hour.»
Exactly one hour later, an old Fiat reminiscent of a 90s breakup pulled up. A slightly bald man with two large bags got out, surveying the house, the address plate, and Anna.
«Does anyone else live here?» he asked.
«Temporarily. Very temporarily.»
He nodded, no questions asked. A true professional.
Within twenty minutes, the front door lay unlatched, like a blank canvas ready for anything but another visit from Tamara.
«Now the main entrance,» Anatoly announced with a wry smile. «You don’t need Sherlock here. Looks like someone’s already been picking.»
«She tried to put her own code lock on,» Anna explained. «Says that’s how it was done back in her day at summer cottages.»
«Sure, but conscience came with the locks back then.»
While he worked, the intercom buzzed.
«It’s Oleg,» said the voice.
Anna ignored him.
Half an hour later, Oleg battered the door like a heartbroken telenovela husband.
«Anna! What did you do? Why won’t you let me in?»
«This is my sanctuary now, Oleg,» she shouted loudly. «And you with your rules won’t enter.»
«You changed the locks without telling me?»
She opened the window.
«Am I the housing chief? I didn’t hold a meeting here; I was saving myself.»
«Mom wants to talk!»
«Let her go to the notary. He enjoys listening to nonsense—especially when he’s paid for it!»
Below stood Tamara Petrovna, wearing a coat over her robe, holding a container with food.
«It’s borscht!» she cried. «You aren’t eating properly!»
«I eat quietly and on schedule,» Anna replied sharply. «I don’t allow toxicity or chlorine in my borscht.»
Oleg rolled his eyes.
«Anna, you can’t do this! This is our house!»
«Yours?» she scoffed. «Great. Then show me the papers. Where’s your signature? Where did you get the mortgage? When did you talk with the bank while I was stuck with 7% interest for 30 years?»
He fell silent. Tamara kept rustling like an old newspaper that can’t be stopped.
- «We are family, Anna. You can’t just evict us. We’ve been here all along.»
- «You’ve been nearby, but never with me, never for me. Only beside me. Now you’ll stay behind the fence.»
- «You’ll regret it. A house doesn’t make a family—you’ll wither alone,» Tamara retorted bitterly.
Anna gazed at the windows, the clean sills, the walls, now gray once more, just as she wanted.
«Maybe alone. But at least without the rotating door visitors.»
They left quietly, as though defeated in an election.
Anna was left with silence.
«An hour later, a message from the lawyer arrived.»
«Summons to court. Tamara Petrovna filed a lawsuit claiming joint residence and ownership share through family ties.»
Anna set the phone down, sat, and pursed her lips.
It was the real show now—not a TV series but a true courtroom battle. Grandma versus daughter-in-law. A game with no rules. But this time, the ending would be different.
She was prepared to fight until the last brick and the final word.
The court session took place in an aging building with peeling walls, the stale scent of cheap paper, vending machine coffee, and broken dreams. The atmosphere smelled of unfulfilled hopes and lawyers who charge by the hour.
Anna sat on a bench, her eyes fixed on the plastic clock above the door: 09:57.
In exactly three minutes, the hearing would begin—the moment she would officially become the «ruthless daughter-in-law» shattering a sacred Russian tradition: living in a crowded home where everyone owns nothing but claims everything.
Sitting beside her was her lawyer—a young woman with a sharp nose and the tone of an algebra teacher.
«Are you sure you don’t want to settle?» she asked softly, adjusting her folder.
«I tried to negotiate for ten years. Now, I want to live,» Anna answered without looking back.
Tamara Petrovna entered, dressed as if for a funeral but without flowers. Her robe replaced by a stern suit in the color of «wounded righteousness,» clutching a neat folder containing documents and photographs showing her cutting salad in the summer kitchen.
«Here,» she said to the judge. «Proof I lived there! Me by the fridge! On the veranda! Washing the floor!»
The judge, a man about sixty with a weary expression, glanced at the photos.
«Did you live there or just help with cleaning?»
«I helped! But I also lived there! Sometimes stayed overnight, cooked meals, tended the garden!»
«A garden in a mortgaged house?» the judge raised an eyebrow.
«Because we are family!» she insisted. «This is all JOINT!»
Anna clenched her fists.
«May I speak?» the judge asked.
«Yes, Anna Sergeyevna, you have the floor.»
She stood.
«I was the only one registered at this address. I bought the house, took the loan, and paid all on my own. My mother-in-law came by uninvited, using a key given by my ex-husband.»
The judge scanned the papers.
«These documents show no familial tie between you and Tamara Petrovna.»
«Correct. Only emotional ties like ‘you are like a daughter to us,’ but in reality, she’s an unauthorized tenant.»
«I’m the mother!» Tamara yelled. «It’s family! We share everything!»
Anna faced her.
«We? Tamara Petrovna, there never was a ‘we.’ There was your son who stayed silent. You who ruled someone else’s house. And me, pretending everything was fine.»
The judge sighed tiredly.
«Very well. No property rights established. The claim is dismissed.»
Anna exhaled deeply. Tamara raised her head.
«How can it be dismissed? I planted flowerbeds!»
«Flowerbeds don’t establish property rights,» the judge said with a slight chuckle. «Next case.»
They left the courtroom in utter silence. In the corridor, Oleg stood nervously twisting his cap like a schoolboy facing the principal.
«Congratulations,» he mumbled without meeting her eyes. «You won. Happy?»
Anna turned to him.
«Do you really think I did this to win? I only wanted to breathe. No more of your mother’s borscht, no ‘our furniture’ syndrome, no daily ‘who do you think you are in this house’ talks.»
«And what about me?» he asked bitterly. «Did I stop you from breathing too?»
She was silent for a long moment.
«You stood next to me. Didn’t hinder but didn’t help either. Sometimes, that’s worse.»
Oleg smirked.
«You’ve changed. Too confident now.»
«And you haven’t. Still hiding behind your mother.»
Silence filled the corridor. Then Tamara hissed:
«You’ll wither alone in your house. No kids, no husband. Just yourself, like a fool.»
Anna stepped close.
«At least without you. And that’s a celebration.»
After they left, she stood alone amid the scent of legal cynicism. Later, she stepped outside. The sun shone.
This could have been the end, but life isn’t a series scripted with fanfare. Real endings come with grocery bags from the store in hand.
Riding the bus home, Anna held a fresh copy of the court ruling on her lap. Sitting in her favorite chair by the window, she slipped off her shoes and turned on the kettle.
Her phone lit up with a new message:
«Hi, it’s Vlad. Remember we met at Natasha’s birthday? If you’re free, how about coffee?»
She smiled softly.
Her reply was brief:
«Now I’m definitely free. How about Friday?»