Natalia stood in the kitchen, examining the documents for the apartment. The old papers had yellowed with age. But the ownership was clearly registered—under her name. After all these years, she still hadn’t quite gotten used to the thought that this was her home. Nearby lay her will. Natalia had no children of her own, so the apartment would go to her sister Tonya and her daughter Polina. Natalia smiled. The apartment would be of use to others as well.

Victor came home from work, looking tired.
“Hi, dear,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “What are you looking at?”
“Just going through some papers,” Natalia said, folding the documents into a folder. “How was your day?”
“Fine. Mom called, asking about the weekend.”

Natalia felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Valentina Petrovna had been calling more frequently in recent months. Every conversation inevitably came back to one thing—the apartment.
“And what did she want?” Natalia asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“She invited us over on Sunday,” Victor said, taking milk from the fridge. “She said she hasn’t seen us in a long time.”

Natalia nodded, though a chill ran through her. Visits to her mother-in-law had become true trials. Valentina Petrovna had a special talent—she spoke as if about trivial matters, but every word hit its mark.

“Will Artem be there?” she asked.
“No, he’s in another city. He has exams at university.”

Natalia breathed a sigh of relief. Their eighteen-year-old stepson had never lived with them. He came rarely, mostly for holidays. But each visit was accompanied by long conversations from her mother-in-law about what a good boy he was.

The phone rang. Natalia glanced at the screen—Valentina Petrovna.
“Hello, Natalia, dear,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded sickly sweet. “How are you? How’s your health?”

“Thank you, everything’s fine,” Natalia said, gripping the handset tightly.

“Listen, I was thinking… You have such a wonderful apartment. Spacious, bright.”

Natalia tensed. Here it comes again.

“Yes, we like it,” she replied cautiously.
“You know, I was talking to my neighbor yesterday. She was telling me how her son bought an apartment,” Valentina Petrovna paused meaningfully. “She said that housing is the foundation of a family. Especially for the younger generation.”

“Yes, probably,” Natalia understood where this was going.
“And I was thinking… Artem is already grown. Soon he’ll marry, have children. Where will he live?”

Natalia closed her eyes. Her mother-in-law never spoke directly, but the hints were becoming increasingly clear.

“Valentina Petrovna, he’s still studying…”
“Well, yes, he’s studying. But time flies. In a couple of years he’ll start his own family,” the woman’s voice became more insistent. “And anyway, is it right to leave property to someone else?”

Natalia went pale. “Someone else”? Was she talking about Tonya and Polina?

She and Victor had been married five years. Quietly, without scandals, without loud arguments. She considered herself part of the family.
“I don’t quite understand,” she said softly.

“What is there to understand? The apartment should stay in the family. For my future grandchildren,” Valentina Petrovna now spoke openly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Natalia didn’t know what to say. Victor pretended not to hear the conversation, but she saw his shoulders tense.

Finally, Natalia admitted,
“I need to think about it.”

“Of course, dear. Think about it. Just not too long. Time doesn’t wait.”

Valentina Petrovna hung up. Natalia lowered the phone, her hands trembling.
“What did she say?” Victor asked quietly.
“The same as always. The apartment. Artem. That’s all she cares about.”

Victor went to the window and looked out onto the street.
“She’s right about one thing. Artem is my son.”
“And what does that mean?” Natalia turned to him.
“Nothing. Just… maybe it’s worth thinking about?”

Natalia froze. So even her husband was on her mother-in-law’s side. Her apartment had suddenly become a bargaining chip.
“Thinking about what?”

“The future. About fairness.”

Fairness? Natalia shuddered. She understood—this fight was only beginning.

The following weeks became a slow torment. Valentina Petrovna called every day, as if by chance. But every conversation inevitably concerned the apartment. Natalia saw her husband growing increasingly tense.

“Mom called again,” Victor said one evening. “She’s worried about Artem’s future.”

Natalia set aside her book. Her husband’s eyes avoided hers.
“And what is she suggesting?” she asked evenly.

“Well… she thinks we should consider re-registering it,” Victor said slowly, as if choosing his words. “We have to think about our son’s future.”

Natalia froze. So the mother-in-law had reached him. Convinced him that someone else’s property should go to her grandson.

“Your son,” she corrected coldly.
“Our son,” Victor raised his voice. “We’re family.”
“Family?” Natalia stood from her chair. “Then why don’t I have the right to decide the fate of my own apartment?”

Victor turned toward the window. His silence spoke louder than any words. Natalia understood—this was an attempt to strip her of control over her property. They didn’t want to ask for her consent. They simply demanded she give it up.

“I don’t want to give the apartment to someone else,” she said quietly.

“Artem isn’t someone else!” Victor spun around sharply. “He’s my son!”

“One who has never lived here. Who comes twice a year.”

“But he’s family! Don’t you understand?”

Natalia stared at her husband for a long moment. The question sounded strange, as if he doubted the answer.

Soon, Valentina Petrovna arrived for dinner. Natalia had spent the entire day preparing, hoping to avoid unpleasant conversations. But her hopes were in vain.

“What a cozy apartment you have,” her mother-in-law remarked, surveying the living room with the air of a hostess. “Spacious, bright. Perfect for a family.”

Natalia placed a salad on the table. Her hands shook, but she tried to remain composed.

“Thank you, we like it,” she replied.

“You know, Natalia,” Valentina Petrovna set down her fork and looked her straight in the eye, “I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”

“What conversation?” Natalia sat down opposite her.

“The apartment. About fairness,” the woman spoke slowly, with weight. “Register the apartment under my grandson. Housing should stay in the family.”

Natalia froze. Her mother-in-law said it outright, without pretense. The demand sounded like an order.

“Valentina Petrovna, this is my apartment,” she said, her voice trembling.

“For now it’s yours,” the woman smirked. “But family is more important than property.”

“Whose family?” Natalia stood up from the table.

“Ours. Artem is my blood. And you…”

Her mother-in-law didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Natalia was an outsider—a temporary link in someone else’s family strategy.

“And what about me?” she asked quietly.

“You’re a good woman,” Valentina Petrovna said patronizingly. “But grandchildren are more important. And why did you decide to leave the apartment to your sister? Don’t you have a husband? And Artem?”

For Natalia, it was a shock. No one was considering her feelings. She was perceived only as an obstacle to the apartment.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this today,” Victor tried to intervene.

“Yes, we should!” the mother-in-law raised her voice. “It’s time to speak plainly. The apartment is needed for the boy.”

Natalia looked at her husband. He remained silent, offering no defense. He agreed with his mother.

“I will not give up the apartment,” she said firmly.

“We’ll see,” Valentina Petrovna stood. “Time will tell.”

The woman left, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

For three days, Natalia gathered her strength. Then she decided enough was enough. She dialed her mother-in-law and said firmly:

“Valentina Petrovna, come tomorrow evening.”

“For what?” the woman’s voice was wary.

“To talk. Seriously and openly.”

Natalia spent the whole night preparing, choosing her words and arguments carefully. Her heart pounded with a mix of anxiety and anger.

The next day, mother and son arrived together.

“Sit down,” Natalia indicated the sofa. “I have something to say.”

She stood before them, gathering all her resolve.

“The apartment is my personal property,” she began slowly. “And no one has the right to impose decisions on me regarding it.”

“But we are family,” Victor tried to interject.

“Family?” Natalia turned to her husband. “You’re echoing your mother, forgetting me!”

Victor blushed but remained silent. Valentina Petrovna sat with a stone face.

“You’ve chosen a side, Victor,” Natalia continued. “And it’s not mine.”

“We’re thinking of the future,” the mother-in-law intervened coldly. “Of the grandchildren.”

“Of people who are strangers to me!” Natalia’s voice broke. “Artem is no one to me!”

“How dare you!” Valentina Petrovna jumped up. “He is part of our family!”

“Your family, not mine!”

The conflict escalated with every passing second. Accusations flew from both sides. Natalia saw her husband flounder between them, unwilling to defend his wife.

“I demand respect!” she shouted through tears. “And an end to this pressure!”

“You’re selfish!” her mother-in-law retorted. “Only thinking of yourself!”

“And you only think about the apartment!” Natalia wiped her tears with her sleeve. “You don’t care about my rights!”

Victor finally lifted his head.

“Mom is right, Natalia. Family comes first.”

“Whose family?” Natalia stared at her husband. “Yours and hers? Then where do I fit?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Victor muttered.

“I will not give up!” Natalia declared firmly. “I will not relinquish my right to my home!”

Valentina Petrovna stood, taking her son by the hand.

“Let’s go, Vitya. They don’t understand us here.”

Victor hesitated for a second, then obediently followed his mother. At the door, he looked back:

“Think about it, Natalia. It’s not too late to make things right.”

The door slammed. Natalia was left alone in oppressive silence.

Victor did not return that day, nor the next. The week dragged painfully. Natalia realized—her husband had made his choice.

On the morning of the eighth day, she went to a lawyer.

“I want a divorce,” she said calmly.

The papers were filed three days later. Victor received the notice silently. He did not call, he did not come.

A month later, the divorce was finalized. Natalia remained alone in her apartment. No one contested her full ownership anymore.

The first weeks were hard. The silence was oppressive, the loneliness frightening. But gradually, relief came.

Natalia realized—this was not just liberation from pressure. It was the beginning of a new life, where respect and independence were valued.

She looked out at the evening city. The apartment was her home. A true home. And no one could dictate terms to her ever again.

A real family is not only about blood ties. It is about mutual respect and freedom of choice. Natalia learned this lesson at a high cost, but she learned it forever.