The apartment door was standing open, even though I was absolutely sure I had locked it twice. I stepped inside, and the cloying, sweet smell of Corvalol hit my nose, mixed with some strong, expensive perfume. A bizarre cocktail.
Carefully, I set my bag down on the ottoman. Zinaida Karolovna’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. She wasn’t speaking—she was rattling off words as if reading the evening news on state television:
“Monday, exactly at ten. Notary Baranov, Lenin Street. Yes, Irochka, everything’s fine. She’ll sign—what choice does she have? I know her, she’s like clay. She’ll cry a little and then she’ll sign. The important thing is the deposit is already with me. Everything’s fine—pop the champagne!”
My body tensed, but not from fear. It was more like a disgusting, sticky feeling, as if I had stepped into mud. The conversation was about my apartment—not the small studio Anton and I rented. This was the inheritance from my grandmother.
I had saved for years, and now that we were planning to have a child, I was renting it out and putting the money aside for the future.I walked into the kitchen. The scene was almost painterly: Zinaida Karolovna sat enthroned at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle in front of her, slices of lemon laid out as if nothing unusual was happening.
Anton, my husband, sat opposite her, holding his head as if in repentance, yet hoping he might somehow get away with it.“Oh, Polina!” Zinaida Karolovna said without even looking at me. “We’re celebrating. Sit down.”
“What are we celebrating?” My voice was hoarse. “The sale of my apartment?”Anton flinched but still didn’t look at me. Zinaida Karolovna slowly took a sip, then bit into a lemon slice.“Not yours, dear—ours. A family matter. Anton got into trouble.
Serious trouble. He urgently needs money. Your little apartment will be just enough.”I turned to my husband.“An investment? Anton?”Finally, he looked up, his eyes red and cloudy.“Pol… I wanted the best… I invested in crypto, the guys recommended it… I lost everything.
It’s on interest now… debt collectors are calling… Mom said she’d help.”“And you decided to solve it at my expense?” My fingers curled into fists. “You didn’t even ask me?”“Why would we?” Zinaida Karolovna chuckled. “You’d make a scene.
This way it’s already arranged. I found buyers—friends of mine. I already handed over the deposit, three hundred thousand rubles, to Anton’s people. So there’s no turning back. Monday, we sign the sale.”
“I’m not selling,” I said firmly. “Anton can work two shifts. He can sell his car. My apartment is untouchable.”Zinaida Karolovna stood up and loomed over me with her full weight.“You don’t understand, Polina. The deposit has already been given.
If the deal falls through, I’ll have to return double. I don’t have that kind of money. And Anton certainly doesn’t. Do you want someone to ruin your husband’s life? Or for a pensioner to go bankrupt?”
“Those are your problems,” I sighed. My legs could barely hold me up.“Then this is how it will be,” her voice turned to steel. “On Monday, you’ll go to the notary. Bring everything you need and put on a cheerful face. Or your life in this city will become hell. I have connections everywhere. I’ll wipe you out.”
She drained her glass, packed her bag, and left. Anton sat there in silence.“You let her go through my things?” I asked quietly.“Pol… I was scared… serious people…”“And you weren’t scared for me?”Silence. That was when I understood: my husband was gone.
All that was left was a frightened little boy hiding behind his mother.The weekend passed like a dream. I felt sick, nauseous—nerves, or maybe because of the little secret I had known for a week: I was pregnant, and I had wanted to surprise Anton. Now it all felt like cruel irony.
On Sunday evening, I called a lawyer, an old acquaintance of my mother’s. Ten minutes were enough. The plan was set.Monday morning was gray and rainy. We sat in the taxi in silence. Anton nervously fidgeted with his coat button while I stared at the wet asphalt through the window.
At the notary’s office, Zinaida Karolovna was already waiting. An elderly, intelligent-looking couple stood beside her—most likely the “buyers.”“You’re late!” she snapped. “Let’s go, the notary is waiting.”She grabbed my arm, squeezing hard.“Don’t you dare say anything stupid in there,” she whispered. “Smile.”
The office smelled of paper and perfume. A stern man with gold cufflinks sat at the desk—the notary.We took our seats. The buyers looked at me with hope.“A wonderful apartment, Polina,” said Vera Pavlovna. “Zinaida told us everything. It’s for our grandson—he’s come here to study.”
For a moment, I felt sorry for them. Then I remembered my mother-in-law’s smile in the kitchen.“Documents?” the notary asked dryly.Zinaida Karolovna nudged me sharply.“Well? Show the papers!”Calmly, I opened my bag and took out the blue folder. My mother-in-law smiled triumphantly.
I opened it. Inside was a single sheet: a childhood drawing of mine from when I was five years old—a little house with a chimney.The notary raised an eyebrow.“This is… what?”“That’s all,” I said evenly. “The original documents are in the bank. I have the key. This is what you’ll be getting.”
Silence. The ticking of the wall clock echoed in every corner.“You—” Zinaida Karolovna’s face flushed red in patches. “What have you done? The papers were in the wardrobe!”“Just copies,” I smiled at her. “I haven’t kept the originals at home for a long time. You never know—thieves, curious relatives…”
“Polina!” she screamed. “Sign immediately! The buyers are waiting! I’ve already spent the money!”That sentence struck like lightning. Boris Ivanovich turned pale.“Excuse me,” his voice trembled. “Zinaida, you said the owner agreed. You took three hundred thousand as a deposit from us… You spent it?”
“I… I’ll return it!” my mother-in-law stammered. “Eventually… Polina, don’t be a monster! Help your husband!”I stood up.“Dear notary, dear buyers,” I said, “I am not selling the apartment. I never intended to. This woman deceived you to cover her son’s gambling debts at my expense.”
“Gambling?” Vera Pavlovna gasped. “Zina… you said it was for serious medical treatment…”Anton had shrunk into his chair in the corner, clearly wishing he could disappear.“Polina, I’ll kill you!” Zinaida Karolovna screamed. “You’ll walk out of here with nothing!”
“I’ll walk out easily,” I replied. “But you, Zinaida Karolovna, will have to answer to the police. Boris Ivanovich, you should file a fraud complaint immediately. Do you have a receipt?”
“Yes,” the man nodded, confused.
I picked up my childhood drawing and walked out.“Polina!” Anton called after me. “Wait! What about me?”I turned in the doorway.“Anton, you’re a grown man. You’ll have to swallow what you’ve cooked. Your mother will help—you always have her.”
I stepped out into the fresh, clean air after the rain. Finally, I could breathe more easily.My phone kept ringing, but I turned it off. The future divorce, the arguments, the real estate circus—none of it mattered anymore.
The most important thing was that I had kept something worth more than any apartment—my own dignity.