“Live on your own money, you penniless woman, and don’t touch mine!” her husband shouted. But five minutes later, he regretted what he had said.
“Live on your own money, you penniless woman, and don’t touch mine!” her husband shouted.
Viktor slammed a thick folder of documents onto the kitchen table with all his strength. The papers fanned out across the smooth surface, almost hitting a pack of medicine. Marina sat opposite him, upright and calm, looking straight at the man with whom she had shared everyday life for the last thirty-two years.
A second earlier, she had simply asked him to add a small amount of money for maintenance medication for her blood vessels, since her modest salary as a medical receptionist at the district clinic had barely been enough that month to pay the utilities for their three-room apartment. Her husband’s answer was not merely rude; it became the final point in the story of their marriage.
Her husband was breathing heavily, looming over the table. His new position as deputy manager at a large trading company, which he had received six months earlier, had radically changed his behavior. He had changed his wardrobe, started buying expensive things, and began looking down on his wife with nothing but contempt.
“Yes, exactly!” Viktor continued, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m tired of carrying this dead weight on my back. Your endless pharmacies, your penny-pinching interests, your conversations about how hard it is at the clinic. Have you ever brought even one serious ruble into this family? Have you done anything at all for our real well-being?”
Marina did not look away. Her voice sounded even and firm.
“Viktor, don’t forget yourself. Who took care of your mother? For four years I never left her bedside. Because of that, I left a good position as a senior nurse at a private clinic and transferred to an ordinary receptionist job so I could work part-time and still have time to feed her with a spoon. You were gone from home for days, building your career. I gave this family all my strength and my health. And now you dare to call me penniless?”
“Don’t you dare drag my mother into this!” her husband barked, stopping abruptly. “My mother received this apartment for years of service. We are the rightful owners here. And you came here from your dormitory. If only you had been useful, but no. Listen to me carefully, I’m tired of all this sentimental nonsense. I’m a man in the prime of life. I earn huge money, and I have the right to live the way I want, not to look at your miserable face every evening.”
He pointed at the folder he had just thrown onto the table.
“Study it, if you know how to read complicated texts. This is the preliminary purchase and sale agreement for our apartment. I found a buyer. A businesslike, tough man. He’s taking the property in cash for a full redevelopment. Fifteen million rubles. For you, that’s a number from some parallel reality. You’ll never earn that kind of money in your whole life.”
Marina lowered her eyes to the top sheet. The text of the agreement stated that the transaction was in its final stage, and that the seller undertook to transfer the property free from any rights of third parties.
“You’re selling our home?” she asked, without changing her tone. “And where are you planning to move?”
“Not we. I am,” Viktor replied, with obvious superiority in his voice. “I’ve already paid a solid deposit on a modern townhouse in a guarded community. Fresh air, respectable neighbors. And you can pack your things. You have a sister in the village. Go to her. There’s plenty of space there. You can work in the garden and breathe fresh air. I’m not a greedy man, so I’ll give you one hundred thousand rubles to start with. That’s where our paths part.”
Viktor walked over to the closet in the hallway, pulled out a huge checkered bag, and threw it on the floor right in front of Marina.
“Start packing your belongings right now. The buyer is coming tomorrow morning with his people to sign the main contract and hand over the remaining amount. I want you gone by evening. You’re free.”
Every word from her husband was supposed to be a crushing blow. Thirty years of life together, all the difficulties they had overcome, the sleepless nights and mutual support had been trampled for the sake of a townhouse and his egoism. But instead of despair or tears, Marina felt an astonishing clarity of mind. The situation appeared before her without embellishment. The person standing in front of her was no longer a close family member. He had become a threat to her basic safety.
Marina slowly stood up. She walked over to the chest of drawers, opened the lower drawer, and took out a folder with her personal documents, which she had always kept in perfect order. After flipping through several files, she pulled out an old, slightly yellowed sheet with an official seal. It was an agreement transferring residential premises into citizens’ ownership, drawn up in the year 2000.
She returned to the kitchen and placed the document next to the preliminary purchase and sale agreement.
“Look at this, Viktor,” she said calmly.
“And what is this?” He glanced at the paper with disgust. “A privatization agreement. So what? It clearly says that I am the sole owner of the apartment. After my parents died, I re-registered the account and privatized the housing in my own name. Your name is not listed among the owners. Legally, you have nothing to do with this apartment. My realtor checked everything. The deal is clean. There are no encumbrances in the real estate registry extract. I can sell this concrete box at any moment.”
“My name really is not listed among the owners,” Marina agreed. “But let’s remember exactly how that procedure took place. In the year 2000, when the privatization was being arranged, we had already been married for a long time. I was officially and permanently registered at this living space. By law, I had absolutely equal rights with you to become a co-owner of this property.”
Viktor waved his hand dismissively.
“So you had them, and what of it? You yourself signed an official refusal at the notary’s office, giving up participation in privatization in my favor! You voluntarily gave up your share yourself! So the apartment is completely mine.”
“Yes, I signed the refusal,” Marina’s voice remained just as confident. “At the time, you convinced me that it would be easier to handle the documents that way, that we were one family and it was just a formality. I agreed to help you. But the law is very wisely constructed. There is Article 19 of the law on the enactment of the Housing Code. According to this provision, citizens who, at the time of privatization, had equal rights to use the residential premises and gave their consent to privatization while refusing a share, retain the right of indefinite use of that residential premises.”
She paused, looking straight into her husband’s eyes.
“In legal practice, this is called privatization immunity. And this means, Viktor, that I cannot be deregistered from this apartment without my personal consent. Not through court, not by your wish, and not even after the apartment is sold. This right remains for life. Even if you sell the property, the new owner will buy it together with me. I will live in my room, use the common areas, and no bailiff will evict me from here. What do you think? Will your businesslike buyer pay fifteen million for a property where a strange woman will legally live forever?”
A heavy silence hung in the room. Viktor’s face began to change rapidly, losing its arrogant expression. His confidence evaporated before her eyes.
“You… you’re making this up,” he said hoarsely, taking a step back. “There are no such laws. The owner is always right.”
“Check it,” Marina replied. “You have a phone. Call your realtor. Ask him directly whether the deal will go through if a person is registered in the apartment with an indefinite right of residence because of a refusal to participate in privatization.”
Viktor’s fingers trembled as he took out his smartphone. He hurriedly dialed Oleg, the agent handling the deal. Turning on speakerphone, Viktor tossed the phone onto the table.
“Yes, Viktor Sergeyevich, good evening!” the realtor’s cheerful voice rang out. “Everything is going according to plan. Tomorrow at ten in the morning we meet at the bank. The buyer has already prepared the cash, and the lawyers have given the green light.”
“Oleg… one small issue has come up,” Viktor said with a dry throat. “My wife… she claims that since she was registered here in 2000 and wrote a refusal to take part in privatization, she has some kind of indefinite right. We’ll be able to evict her through court after the deal, won’t we?”
There was a long, anxious pause on the other end of the line. The cheerfulness instantly vanished from the agent’s voice.
“Viktor Sergeyevich… are you joking?” Oleg’s tone became tense. “Your wife was registered at the time of privatization and refused her share?”
“Yes,” Viktor forced out. “But I’m the sole owner!”
“Do you even understand what you’ve done?” the agent’s voice broke into a shout. “Why did you hide this information when preparing the property? Your wife is absolutely right. This is rock-solid privatization immunity. She cannot be deregistered. No judge in the country will issue a decision to evict such a resident.”
“So what do we do?” Viktor clutched his head in his hands.
“The deal is canceled, that’s what!” Oleg answered harshly. “The buyer is an extremely serious man. He has business roots from the nineties. Tomorrow his lawyers will request an archived extract, see your wife, and tear us apart. Nobody will buy housing with that kind of encumbrance.”
“Wait, Oleg, we can terminate the preliminary agreement! I’ll just return his one-million-ruble deposit!” Viktor shouted in panic.
“Viktor Sergeyevich, did you even read the preliminary agreement?” the realtor’s tone turned icy. “The clause on penalties. In the event that the deal falls through due to the seller’s fault because of concealment of significant encumbrances, the deposit is returned in double amount according to Article 381 of the Civil Code. You now owe the buyer two million rubles. Payable by tomorrow morning.”
“Two million?! I don’t have that kind of money! I already transferred my million to the townhouse developer!”
“Then you’ve lost the deposit for the townhouse too, because you won’t be able to pay the remaining amount, and you owe two million to an extremely dangerous man,” the realtor stated. “I wash my hands of this. Deal with these problems yourself.”
The call ended. Viktor slowly sank onto a chair. His entire house of cards built from ambition, wealth, and a new life had collapsed in just ten minutes. He sat there limp, lost, and deathly frightened.
“Marina… Marinochka…” he began babbling, looking at his wife pleadingly. “Please… deregister voluntarily. We’ll go to the passport office tomorrow morning. I’ll give you half the money! I swear! Otherwise this buyer will flatten me into the asphalt over the debt. You heard Oleg!”
Marina carefully put her document back into the folder.
“You told me yourself to live on my own money, Viktor. I am staying in my own home. This is my only housing, and I am not going to risk it to save a man who just tried to throw me out onto the street with a bag.”
“But they’ll come tomorrow!” Viktor shook with panic. “They’ll come to squeeze two million in penalties out of me! What am I supposed to do?”
And at that moment, something happened that Marina had not expected at all. The man who had so recently reveled in his own power jumped up from the chair and rushed into the hallway. He grabbed the very same checkered bag he had prepared for her, flung open the closet doors, and began feverishly throwing his expensive suits, shoes, and shirts inside, raking everything into one pile.
“Tell them we had a fight! Tell them I left in an unknown direction!” he muttered, zipping the bag with trembling hands. “Tell them you have no idea where to look for me! I’ll hide out at my brother’s dacha until everything calms down!”
Marina silently watched as her husband, bending under the weight of the sack, hurriedly put on his jacket. In his eyes there was only animal fear of creditors and the realization of his own fatal mistake.
He did not say goodbye. He simply threw open the front door and quickly went down the stairs, not even waiting for the elevator.
Marina walked over to the door, calmly turned the key twice, and slid the upper latch shut. Absolute peace settled over the apartment. She returned to the kitchen, poured herself fresh water, and walked over to the window. Ahead of her lay a quiet, measured life in her own apartment, where no one would ever again dare to call her a burden. The man who had tried to leave her with nothing had exiled himself from his own home, forever becoming a hostage to his greed.