“After the divorce, Mom will move in here,” Oleg said. “You’ll clear out the small room completely. If you need any of the furniture, you can take it with you.”
For several seconds, I stared at my husband, trying to understand exactly when our conversation about divorce had turned into a discussion about evicting me.
“Where am I supposed to take the furniture?”
Oleg put his phone aside and replied, already sounding irritated.
“Ira, are we really going to go around in circles again? I’ll stay here, and Mom will move in with me. You’ll find yourself a smaller apartment. You’re going to be living alone anyway, so you don’t need two rooms.”
We were sitting in the kitchen of the apartment I had bought in 2015. We got married in 2019, and after the wedding, Oleg moved in with me.
All those years, I had called the apartment our home. It had never occurred to me to remind my husband that there was only one legal owner.
Apparently, Oleg had drawn a very different conclusion from that.
“Why are you the one who gets to stay?” I asked.
He spoke in the tone of someone explaining an obvious, practical fact.
“Because I’ve lived here for seven years. My job is nearby, my gym is nearby, I know all the stores around here. You work from home. What difference does it make where you live? Mom also said this makes more sense.”
“You’ve already discussed this with your mother?”
“Of course. She’s moving here after the divorce.”
Our conversation about the divorce wasn’t even over, yet they had already decided where I would live, where Oleg would stay, and which room Svetlana Viktorovna would get.
The next day, my mother-in-law came over herself.
I was working in the small room when I heard her voice in the hallway.
“Oleg, give me the measuring tape. If Irina takes the desk, my dresser will definitely fit here.”
I walked out of the room.
Svetlana Viktorovna was standing by the wall, measuring the empty space. Oleg was looking at his phone and writing down the measurements.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
My mother-in-law turned toward me with complete calm.
“We’re checking which pieces of my furniture will fit here. It would be a shame to leave the dresser behind. You’ll take the shelves with you, since you need them for work.”
“Take them where?”
She frowned.
“To your new apartment. Oleg said you two had already decided.”
“Oleg decided.”
My husband immediately interrupted.
“Ira, we discussed all of this yesterday.”
“You presented me with a finished plan yesterday.”
Svetlana Viktorovna folded the measuring tape and said in a conciliatory tone:
“Why argue over wording? You’re separating anyway. Oleg is used to living here. It’ll be easier for you to find another place.”
I looked at the measuring tape in her hand.
“And why do you need to move in with Oleg?”
My mother-in-law actually looked surprised by the question.
“I want to rent out my apartment. Why let it sit there unused? I’ll live here with my son, and tenants will live there. It works for everyone.”
Now their plan finally became completely clear.
Oleg got to keep the familiar neighborhood and the apartment. Svetlana Viktorovna would move in with her son and gain the opportunity to rent out her own home.
I was the only person expected to change addresses, search for a new place, pack up my things, and rebuild my daily life from scratch.
And this wonderful plan existed entirely at the expense of my apartment.
“Don’t take the dresser apart yet,” I said. “No one has agreed to you moving in here.”
Oleg frowned.
“And what do you suggest? That I rent somewhere when this apartment is available?”
“It’s available to me, Oleg. Not to you.”
“I’ve lived here for seven years.”
“I remember.”
Svetlana Viktorovna intervened.
“No one is taking anything away from you. You can separate peacefully. It’s more convenient for Oleg here, and for me too. You’re a young woman. You’ll find yourself a nice place.”
“So separating peacefully means you two get convenience, while I get to move.”
My mother-in-law irritably put the measuring tape back into her handbag. Before leaving, she told her son that they would discuss everything calmly later.
Apparently, she no longer intended to discuss anything with me.
Two days later, Oleg sent me a listing for a small apartment in another neighborhood.
Under the link, he wrote:
“Take a look. It’s more than enough for you alone.”
I opened the photos.
It was an ordinary apartment. One room, a kitchen, a hallway. I started checking the distance to public transportation and imagining where I might put my desk.
That evening, I found a few more options.
Even now, I find it difficult to explain why I started doing it at all. Maybe when two people spend several days behaving as though a decision has already been made, it becomes surprisingly easy to start looking for a way to adapt to their decision.
Oleg noticed the apartment listings on my phone and visibly relaxed.
“See?” he said. “There are perfectly good options. The main thing is not to cling to one particular neighborhood.”
I looked at him.
Oleg himself categorically refused to leave this neighborhood precisely because he was used to it.
He didn’t even notice the contradiction.
The next day, I closed all the listings and took out the documents for the apartment.
The purchase agreement had been lying among my other papers for years. I didn’t need to keep checking it to remember when I had bought the place.
We got married in 2019.
That same day, I got legal advice and clarified what I needed to do next. The main thing they explained to me was simple: proceed calmly with the divorce, keep my documents in order, and avoid taking matters into my own hands. If Oleg refused to move out voluntarily, the issue would have to be handled through the proper legal procedure.
That was enough for me.
I returned home and deleted the apartment listings I had saved.
That evening, Oleg asked me himself:
“So? Did you find anything suitable?”
“I did.”
He immediately became interested.
“What neighborhood?”
“This one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m staying here. Now you’re the one who gets to look for a new apartment.”
Oleg stared at me for several seconds.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
He pushed his chair back.
“And where am I supposed to go?”
“You open the listings and choose.”
“Ira, I’ve lived here for seven years. My job is nearby. My whole routine is built around this place.”
“Then you can look for something nearby.”
“Do you have any idea how difficult that is?”
“I do. You’ve been suggesting exactly the same thing to me for the last few days.”
Oleg walked irritably around the kitchen.
“And Mom? She was already preparing to clear out her apartment.”
“She has somewhere to live.”
“I promised her the room.”
“You promised her someone else’s room. Now you can explain that to her yourself.”
That sentence changed the situation more than all our previous conversations combined.
Until then, Oleg had behaved as if some unfortunate misunderstanding had arisen between his mother and me, and it was somehow my responsibility to resolve it.
Now the responsibility had returned to the person who had invented the entire plan.
A few minutes later, he called Svetlana Viktorovna.
“Mom, don’t dismantle the furniture yet. And don’t make any decisions about your apartment.”
I couldn’t hear her reply, but Oleg said his next words louder.
“Because Irina is staying here.”
A few minutes later, my phone rang.
“Irina, what do you mean you’re staying?” Svetlana Viktorovna asked. “Oleg promised me that room.”
“Then talk to Oleg.”
“I’ve already told people that I’m planning to rent out my apartment.”
“Then you’ll have to change your plans.”
“Do you understand what kind of position you’re putting us in?”
“I do. A few days ago, you put me in exactly the same position. Except you even had time to measure the wall.”
My mother-in-law indignantly said that adults should resolve these matters as a family.
“I agree,” I replied. “The conversation should have started with the owner of the apartment.”
After that, she ended the call.
Oleg came over to me looking irritated.
“Did you really have to speak to Mom like that? She believed me.”
“Exactly. Which is why you’re the one who has to explain everything to her now.”
He wanted to argue, but remained silent.
The following evening, Oleg opened the apartment listings.
At first, he limited the search to our neighborhood.
He rejected the first option because it was too far from public transportation. He didn’t like the kitchen in the second. The third was farther from work than he wanted.
After a while, he turned his phone toward me.
“Look. It would be inconvenient for me to commute from here in the morning.”
I glanced at the screen.
“The main thing is not to cling to one particular neighborhood.”
Oleg immediately recognized his own words.
He put the phone away and said nothing else.
Over the next few days, he went to several apartment viewings. Gradually, the search area expanded, while his list of essential requirements became shorter.
After returning from another viewing, Oleg irritably took off his jacket.
“It’s not easy to find a decent place. In one apartment the kitchen is too small, in another the commute is inconvenient.”
“I know.”
“You only looked for two days.”
“And during those two days, you somehow managed to decide what was suitable for me.”
He looked at me and didn’t continue the conversation.
Svetlana Viktorovna also stopped visiting with her measuring tape.
One day, she came over just before Oleg was leaving for another apartment viewing.
“Maybe don’t rent anything yet,” she told her son. “What if Irina changes her mind?”
“She won’t.”
“Talk to her again. Explain that you already promised me.”
Oleg was clearly tired of the conversation.
“Mom, I promised you a room that I had no right to give you. That’s it. I’m looking for somewhere else to live.”
Svetlana Viktorovna looked in my direction.
“And where am I supposed to go, then?”
“Stay in your apartment for now.”
“You told me something completely different.”
“I made a mistake.”
I no longer needed to intervene.
After some time, Oleg found a suitable apartment.
It was in another neighborhood. His commute to work would be longer. But the apartment was in good condition and ready for him to move in.
It had one room.
When Oleg told his mother about it, Svetlana Viktorovna immediately asked:
“And where am I going to live?”
“Mom, you’re staying in your apartment.”
“What about renting it out?”
“That won’t be happening for now.”
“Wonderful. First you promise me one thing, and now you’re saying something completely different.”
Oleg replied wearily:
“I already told you I made a mistake.”
On moving day, Svetlana Viktorovna came to help her son with the boxes.
She didn’t mention the small room anymore.
Oleg took his clothes, books, personal electronics, and the belongings that were his. We had discussed everything in advance, so there were no new arguments.
The last thing he took from the closet was a sports bag. It was the same bag he had brought with him when he moved into my apartment after our wedding.
In the hallway, Oleg removed the apartment keys from his keyring and placed them on the cabinet.
“I never thought I’d be moving out of here,” he said.
“For several days, I was convinced I’d be the one leaving too.”
He looked at me more carefully.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I checked the documents. And I stopped solving your housing problem with my apartment.”
Oleg said nothing.
He picked up his bag and walked out.
The divorce was finalized after we were already living separately.
Svetlana Viktorovna stayed in her own apartment. She abandoned the idea of clearing it out so she could move in with her son.
Oleg began getting used to his new neighborhood and a different route to work.
A few times, he came back to collect things he had forgotten. The last item was a charger left in the closet.
In a message, Oleg wrote:
“I think it’s still at your apartment.”
I found the charger and gave it to him the next time we met.
He returned the keys. Svetlana Viktorovna remained in her own home. The small room went back to being used solely as my office.
Her dresser stayed at its original address.