Marina stood in front of the mirror, tugging at her hair until it looked somewhat presentable. She wasn’t trying to look glamorous—just decent. People at work had often joked that she’d given up on herself. That wasn’t true. It was just that lately, she had no energy, no time, and, truthfully, no motivation to care.
Behind her, Sergey lay stretched out on the sofa, flicking through TV channels with mindless ease. A year ago, she might have snapped at him. But now, she just turned away, buttoned up her blouse, and kept getting ready for work in silence.
“Are you working late again?” he asked, still not looking at her.
“Yes. Month-end reports,” she replied.
She worked as an accountant at a large company. The job was demanding, but at least it provided her with structure—and stability, both financial and emotional.
“Do you even have a plan today?” she had asked him this same question countless times.
Sergey sighed, exaggerated and tired, his eyes fixed on the screen.
“We’ve been through this. It’s hard to find a decent job these days.”
“Do you actually try?” she asked quietly, not even expecting an answer.
The regret of saying anything settled in instantly. Another ruined morning. And ahead of her—a long, draining day.
Over eight years of marriage, Marina had come to expect little from Sergey in terms of career. He’d started off as an enthusiastic construction worker, switched to sales, dabbled in IT, then quit again to take some online courses. None of his ventures ever lasted. And for the past year, he hadn’t lifted a finger.
Every burden had fallen on her. Bills. Groceries. Rent. Emotional labor. The marriage was being held up solely by her will.
As she reached for the door, a thought crept in—one she had buried so many times before. But it was louder now. Clearer.
“You going to just stand there all day?” Sergey’s voice snapped her out of it.
Without answering, she left and slammed the door. Not to make a point—just to let out something, anything.
That evening, Marina dragged herself home, emotionally drained. She checked her phone in the elevator—three missed calls from her mother-in-law. The last person she wanted to deal with. Tamara had always been a complicated presence. At first, she’d appeared kind and welcoming. But it hadn’t taken long for Marina to see the truth: her affection extended only to her son. Everything that went wrong in his life, Tamara blamed squarely on Marina.
The apartment had become a battleground early on. Tamara acted as if it was her son’s domain, not Marina’s. And Sergey never corrected her. If anything, he encouraged the idea that Marina should be more accommodating.
Lately, Tamara’s visits had increased. She walked in like she owned the place, commented on Marina’s every move, and constantly defended her son’s “sensitive soul.”
“A woman must be wise,” she would lecture in the kitchen. “Men need space. They need to be understood, not nagged.”
Marina never argued. She had long learned that nothing good ever came from it. Tamara didn’t listen. She only reaffirmed whatever narrative suited her. And Sergey—he just let her.
As Marina neared the door, she decided not to call Tamara back. Whatever drama awaited could wait a little longer. Her life was full of noise already.
But it had become clear: this wasn’t a marriage anymore. Sergey was no longer a partner—he was a weight. Tamara was no longer just family—she was a wedge. And Marina? She was running on empty.
Every night brought more fights. Marina, exhausted, would cry out that she was sick of supporting a grown man who refused to grow up. Sergey would respond with wounded pride, claiming she didn’t appreciate him. Tamara, if present, would swoop in and call Marina heartless.
The next day, during her lunch break, Marina walked into the courthouse and filed for divorce. The sense of relief was immediate and overwhelming.
Now came the hard part—telling Sergey.
She returned home that evening, reached for her keys—and froze. The lock looked… off. She tried her key. It didn’t fit. She tried again. Nothing.
She rang the bell. No response.
She tried calling Sergey. No answer.
Worry started to seep in. What if something had happened? What if he was sick or unconscious inside?
Marina rang the neighbor’s bell. Silence.
Back at the apartment door, she rang the bell again, longer this time. Still nothing.
Then she noticed something near the wall. Suitcases.
Her suitcases.
She stepped closer. Her clothes. Her books. Her toiletries. Even the little box of childhood photos she kept at the back of the closet—it was all there, stacked neatly in a pile.
Her hands began to shake. Rage bubbled up from somewhere deep.
She rang again, harder.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell. She turned, expecting to see Sergey—but it wasn’t him. It was Tamara, climbing the stairs with a smug look on her face and keys in hand.
Tamara walked past her and opened the door. Marina tried to enter, but Tamara raised an arm and blocked her.
“My son will continue living here,” she said sharply. “And you—you’re done. You’ve tortured him long enough.”
Marina stared at her, stunned.
“What are you talking about? This is my apartment.”
“It was,” Tamara snapped. “He’s your husband. He lives here now. You don’t.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s not here. And there’s nothing more to say.”
“You changed the locks?”
“Legally, you let him live here. You let him in. He’s your husband. The apartment’s not just yours now.”
Marina stepped back, her pulse racing. Sergey had kicked her out—silently, spinelessly, hiding behind his mother.
“I’ll call the police,” she warned.
“Go ahead,” Tamara sneered. “They won’t help you. It’s a domestic matter.”
The door slammed in her face.
Only then did the tears come. She sank to the floor, her body trembling.
But then something shifted inside her.
She stood up, wiped her tears, and whispered, “This isn’t over.”
She marched straight to the nearest police station. There, she explained everything. The officer was polite, but firm.
“You’ll need to take it to court. And get a good lawyer.”
The next morning, Marina found a lawyer, explained the situation, and filed a legal claim against the illegal eviction.
“These cases take time,” the lawyer warned. “They’ll fight it. Especially with a lawyer of their own.”
“I’m ready. I have every document—the deed, the inheritance papers, everything.”
Thank God she’d taken her documents with her when she went to file the divorce.
The battle wasn’t easy. Sergey and Tamara lied, claiming Marina had willingly given up the apartment. But the truth spoke louder. Her name was on every legal paper. The changed locks were the final blow.
The judge ruled in Marina’s favor.
“The apartment remains the legal property of Marina Viktorovna,” the decision read.
She was awarded compensation, and Sergey and Tamara were ordered to vacate the premises.
Tamara screamed something on her way out, but Marina didn’t even glance at her.
This was her victory. And it was complete.
Stepping back into her apartment, Marina felt… strange. The place was foreign now. The furniture was in the wrong place. Their things—now just clutter.
She threw open the windows and breathed deeply. Then she knew exactly what to do.
She used the compensation money to start over. New paint. New furniture. She got rid of every single item that reminded her of her old life. The place began to feel hers again.
She started spending time with her neighbor, Anna, and found herself drawn to painting. She reconnected with old friends. Her life began to grow again—rooted in her own choices.
One day, she spotted Sergey sitting on a bench near the building. Disheveled, empty-eyed.
“Can we talk?” he asked as she passed.
“There’s nothing left to say,” she replied. “The lawyers said enough for both of us.”
“I was wrong,” he muttered. “You were right about everything. My mom—she’s impossible. And you… you were the best thing I ever had.”
“Too late,” Marina said, walking past him. “I’ve stopped carrying dead weight.”
She closed the door behind her and stood at the window. Sergey remained on the bench, looking lost.
Marina turned away.
The past had no place in her home anymore. Trust is everything in a relationship—but so is self-respect. And she had reclaimed both.
What she learned was simple: never let someone who doesn’t value your worth decide your place in the world. And never, ever let anyone else hold the keys to your life.