My Ex-Husband Tried to Steal My Apartment With His Mother — But My Response Left Them Speechless
“You came here with nothing, and you’ll leave the same way — together with your whole family!” I told him. But I had no idea just how cruelly my prophecy would come true.
“So this is where you live, son. You’ve done quite well for yourself,” the woman with dyed chestnut hair looked appraisingly around the hallway, lingering on the antique shelving unit. “Spacious, bright. Very cozy, just like in a magazine. I always knew you had good taste, you’ve strived for the best since childhood.”
“Mom, let’s start with introductions,” Artyom looked embarrassed, shifting his gaze from his mother to Svetlana. “No need to start making comments the moment you walk in. We’ve only just come in, we haven’t even taken our shoes off.”
“Artyom, what’s going on?” Svetlana froze with a dish towel in her hands. “You said you’d be back in the evening. It’s only noon, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. You’ve always kept your word, you always came back exactly at the agreed time.”
When the key turned in the lock, she had just finished washing the dishes after a late breakfast. It was Sunday, noon. Artyom had left on Friday for his village, saying his mother needed help around the house, and promised to return by Sunday dinner. They had been living together for seven months now, and his trips to his parents’ home happened regularly, but he usually returned when he said he would. His punctuality was one of those endearing traits she valued in him. Now that trait had somehow evaporated.
“Plans changed a bit,” he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, dragging a huge, battered suitcase into the hallway. “Svetlana, meet my mom, Nina Petrovna, and my sister Viktoria. They came back with me, decided it would be more convenient for everyone to be together.”
A young girl with the same nose and chin as Artyom’s gave a faint smile from behind his shoulder, holding an enormous travel bag cinched with a strap. Her eyes quickly slid over Svetlana, as if sizing her up from head to toe.
“Nice to meet you,” Svetlana said automatically, though there was little pleasant about this situation. There was a lump in her throat, and fragments of thoughts rushed through her head, refusing to come together into a coherent picture. Why hadn’t he warned her? Why were they here with luggage?
“Hello,” Viktoria nodded, hesitantly extending her hand. Her handshake was limp and cold, as if she were doing it against her will.
“Hello, hello, beautiful,” Nina Petrovna ran an appraising glance over Svetlana but didn’t offer her hand. Instead, she took off her coat and hung it on the rack as if she were at home. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Artyomka. Finally I can meet my daughter-in-law, it just never worked out before. He’s told us so much about you, we already feel like we’ve known you for ages.”
Svetlana flinched at the word “daughter-in-law” — she and Artyom had never discussed marriage. The word sounded so strange and out of place, as if it had been thrown into the conversation on purpose just to unsettle her.
“Are you… staying with us for long?” Svetlana asked, trying to cope with her growing confusion and force her voice to sound steady. She was clutching the towel in her hands, feeling the moisture seeping into her palms.
“With you?” Nina Petrovna raised an eyebrow and walked into the apartment without taking off her shoes, leaving wet footprints on the clean floor. “Interesting way to put it. My son lives here, so I came to see my son. This is his home too, am I right? He’s registered here, he lives here, keeps his things here.”
“Mom,” Artyom raised his voice, “Svetlana and I live together, this is her apartment. We’ve already talked about this. You know perfectly well how everything is arranged.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the woman waved it off and went into the living room, inspecting every corner with the air of an expert. “My God, so many books! Who even reads nowadays? They just take up space. Collect dust. But your TV is good — big, modern. And the books… that’s a relic of the past.”
Svetlana set the half-washed plate down and slowly wiped her hands, trying to pull her thoughts together. What was happening felt like a bad dream she couldn’t wake up from. She automatically glanced at the photo of her parents on the wall — her father in a tweed jacket was smiling, as if encouraging her, reminding her that this home was her fortress.
“Artyom, can I talk to you for a minute?” she nodded toward the kitchen, feeling she had to get clarity now, before the situation completely slipped out of control.
In the small kitchen, separated from the common space, Svetlana pulled the door almost closed and lowered her voice to a whisper:
“You didn’t warn me. Why did they come with suitcases? What is going on? I don’t understand. You left to help with the housework and came back with your family and their baggage.”
Artyom rubbed the bridge of his nose — a gesture that appeared when he was under heavy stress and didn’t know what to do.
“You see, they’ve run into some problems. Serious problems. They need somewhere to stay for a while. They can’t stay where they were before. The situation has become very difficult.”
“Stay for a while?” Svetlana felt a chill spreading inside, as if she’d been doused with ice water. “For how long? Wasn’t there any other way to solve the problem? Maybe help them financially?”
