The call from the notary’s office caught Varvara off guard. The spoon with her morning porridge froze halfway to her mouth as soon as she heard the first words about her grandmother’s inheritance. Alexey, Varvara’s husband, turned away from the stove with a questioning look.
«Yes, yes, I understand. In six months, I’ll have to come back to you again to finalize the paperwork,» Varvara said, putting down the spoon and reaching for a pen to write down important details. «Thank you, I will definitely come by today.»
After the call ended, a strange silence hung in the kitchen. Alexey, without turning off the gas under the frying pan with eggs, came over and put his hands on Varvara’s shoulders.
«What’s wrong? Is something up with Marya Stepanovna?»
Varvara nodded, looking off to the side. Her grandmother was the last link connecting her to childhood, to her family home, to the forgotten feeling of safety. Three months ago, she had passed away.
«The notary said Grandma left me the house. You know, the one on Maple Street…» Her voice trembled. «She made a will even before she got sick.»
Alexey froze strangely. The eggs in the pan quietly hissed, nearing the critical point between «done» and «burnt.»
«Well, well, well!» her husband suddenly brightened, turning off the gas. «That’s interesting news, you know!»
Alexey’s expression changed; there was something new in his eyes. Not sympathy for the loss, not support, but some kind of calculation, a gleam of anticipation. He didn’t even ask how Varvara was feeling.
«It’s a whole house in the city center! A good neighborhood, developed infrastructure. Do you know how much a square meter costs in that area now?»
Varvara frowned at his straightforwardness. Until that moment, she hadn’t even thought about the house in terms of its market value. For her, it was simply Grandma’s house — warm, cozy, imbued with the smell of freshly baked cookies and old books.
«Wait, Lyosh, I haven’t even processed this yet…» Varvara stood up, gathering dishes from the table.
«Of course, of course,» Alexey waved her off, grabbing his phone. «I’ll call my mom; she’ll be glad.»
That phrase made Varvara freeze with plates in her hands.
«Your mom? What does she have to do with it?»
But Alexey was already dialing, moving into the hallway to talk.
Varvara stayed in the kitchen, confused. For some reason, a vague unease crept under her skin. She had always thought Alexey was too attached to his mother, Tatyana Mikhailovna, but until now, that attachment hadn’t intruded into her personal space. And now…
«Mom, you won’t believe the news!» her husband’s excited voice came from the hallway.
Great news — her grandmother’s death. Varvara sank heavily into a chair. She couldn’t be angry at Alexey; he had always been practical to the point of bluntness. But now this trait stung unpleasantly. As if a part of her soul had opened up, and Varvara saw something ugly for the first time.
Calls from Tatyana Mikhailovna began the next day. At first, they seemed casual — about health, weather, prices at the store. But every conversation ended the same way:
«And what have you decided about the house? How much could it be worth these days?»
Varvara answered evasively. She understood this was only the beginning.
On Friday evening, when Varvara returned from work, Tatyana Mikhailovna met her in the apartment building herself. The mother-in-law looked festive — an expensive suit, a new haircut, heavy gold earrings.
«Varenka, I was driving by,» Tatyana Mikhailovna announced, although their house was in the opposite direction from her apartment.
«Hello, Tatyana Mikhailovna,» Varvara tried to smile, taking out her keys. «Come in.»
At the apartment, the mother-in-law immediately took her favorite place at the kitchen table — at the head. Varvara mechanically put the kettle on.
«I’ve been meaning to come by,» Tatyana Mikhailovna began, spreading some papers on the table. «Here, I printed some tips on selling property. And marked some good agencies.»
Varvara turned toward the stove, trying to hide her confusion. Only three days had passed since the notary’s call.
«Sell it? I haven’t thought about that yet…»
«What’s there to think about?» Tatyana Mikhailovna interrupted. «The house is old, it needs repairs, utilities are expensive. Sell it — and no worries. And you can invest the money wisely.»
«Invest wisely how?» Varvara put the cups on the table.
Tatyana Mikhailovna brightened:
«That’s what I’m saying! Lyosha and I have already discussed everything. We have two options. Either we expand our apartment — the neighboring room is becoming free, we can buy it out. Or we help Andryusha, Lyosha’s brother, with the down payment on an apartment. The boy’s already started working; he needs support.»
Varvara slowly sat down. A strange feeling of unreality washed over her.
«And did you even ask me?» her voice was quiet but firm.
Tatyana Mikhailovna looked at Varvara as if she had said something improper.
«What is there to ask?» the mother-in-law raised her eyebrows. «You’re family. Lyosha is my son. The house will have to be sold anyway — what else can be done with it? You sell the house and give the money to us. We and my son will decide what to do.»
At that moment, the front door slammed. Alexey entered the kitchen, and Varvara turned to him, expecting a reaction. Surely her husband would put his mother in her place, explain that you can’t dispose of someone else’s property like that.
«Lyosh, I explained our idea about the house to Varvara,» Tatyana Mikhailovna said. «She’s asking some questions.»
Alexey looked at his mother, then at his wife, and… just nodded. That silent nod said more to Varvara than any words could. Her husband agreed with his mother. Without objections, without doubts, without considering her opinion.
Dinner passed in a strange atmosphere. Tatyana Mikhailovna spoke for two — for herself and her son. Alexey agreed. Varvara was silent, feeling something inside freeze and drift away. When the mother-in-law finally left, Varvara gathered her strength to talk. But Alexey beat her to it:
«Let’s not today, okay? Tomorrow. I’m tired.»
And he went to watch TV, leaving Varvara alone with her buzzing thoughts.
The night passed without sleep. Varvara lay staring at the ceiling, thinking. About her grandmother, about the house, about how in one week her family life suddenly showed its true face. Nearby, Alexey snored — the man she married five years ago. Back then, Varvara considered him reliable and caring. But today she realized she had never truly known him.
In the morning, Varvara got up earlier than usual. She got ready and left the apartment, leaving a note on the table: «I’ll be late. Eat without me.»
The notary received her without an appointment. He listened to her halting story and reassured her:
«Varvara Sergeyevna, you are the rightful heir. According to the will, the house passes exclusively to you. No one else has any rights to it. It is your property, and only you decide its fate.»
«And if…» Varvara hesitated but asked anyway, «if I want to keep this house for myself?»
«That is entirely your right,» the notary nodded. «In six months, you will be able to complete all the paperwork.»
On the way home, Varvara felt an unusual resolve. She already knew the house had only one legal owner. And that no one had the right to decide for her.
The apartment was quiet and empty. Varvara took out an old photo album — the one where she is still a little girl sitting with her grandmother on the porch of that very house. Childhood, home warmth, and the certainty that you are in your place.
In the evening, Alexey came home from work with a bouquet of chrysanthemums and a guilty smile.
«Truce?» he offered, handing her the flowers.
Varvara accepted the bouquet and met her husband’s gaze.
«We don’t talk about the house anymore,» she said calmly and firmly. «Neither with you nor with your mother. It’s my inheritance, my memory, and my decisions.»
Alexey wanted to argue but stopped himself when he saw his wife’s expression. This was a new Varvara — one he had never known before.
Varvara opened the calendar on her phone and marked the date six months ahead. By that day, she must decide how to live going forward. With the house, with her husband, and with herself.
Weeks passed. The calendar slowly flipped through days, but in the couple’s conversations, the topic of the house seemed to cease to exist. Alexey, as if by unspoken agreement, did not mention the inheritance. Only sometimes Varvara caught his thoughtful look — as if her husband was calculating something, waiting for something.
The silence was broken by Tatyana Mikhailovna. Calls from the mother-in-law became a real trial for Varvara.
«Varenka, I just wanted to ask,» the mother-in-law began softly. «The house is empty; someone should keep an eye on it. What if a pipe bursts or the old wiring shorts out? Lyosha can go check.»
Varvara politely but firmly refused. A week later, Tatyana Mikhailovna called again:
«You know, realtors are circling your block. They might stir things up — rumors will start that the house is ownerless, this and that… Maybe you should contact an agency in advance?»
Varvara recorded every such call in a diary with the date and content of the conversation. For some reason, she felt she needed to collect these facts like evidence of a crime still being planned.
On the third month of patient silence, Varvara received an unexpected message. An unknown number in the messenger, brief: «Hello, Varvara. I am your grandmother’s neighbor, Nikolay Petrovich. Marya Stepanovna gave me your number before she went to the hospital. May I call you?»
Varvara called back herself. The elderly man’s voice was calm and reassuring.
«Your grandmother asked me to look after the house, and after you too, even though you are grown-up,» Nikolay Petrovich said. «The house is fine. Sometimes people come by asking if it’s for sale. I tell them there’s an owner. If you need anything, call me. I’m always ready to help.»
A couple of minutes later, Varvara received photos of the house from different angles. A neat, though not new, wooden house with a sturdy porch and shutters. Grandma’s lilac bushes by the fence. The old apple tree that Varvara still remembered as a small sapling.
Varvara looked at the photos, feeling something warm and important return, take shape.
Nikolay Petrovich called back a couple of days later, and that conversation gave Varvara what she had been missing these months — the feeling that she had real roots and a connection to the past.
«Marya Stepanovna always said: ‘My granddaughter will grow up smart and stand on her own two feet,’» Nikolay Petrovich recounted. «And she saved the house for you, often said: ‘It will go to Varvara, no one else.’»
After that conversation, something changed inside Varvara. As if she had received a blessing, permission to make her own decisions.
At home, Alexey began to start conversations more often, as if probing the situation:
«So, would you want to live there?» he asked, watching his wife’s reaction.
But in her husband’s eyes, there was no genuine interest — only cold calculation, which Varvara had learned to notice.
«It’s not up for discussion,» Varvara replied dryly, closing the topic.
When there was one month left until the end of the six-month period, Alexey started showing impatience. Tatyana Mikhailovna called almost every day, «just to chat.» Varvara smiled politely and made no promises.
On the appointed day, without telling anyone a word, Varvara took a day off work and went to the notary. The certificate of inheritance rights lay in a folder — blue, with gold embossing. Such an official document that changes your life.
Leaving the office, Varvara did not go home. Instead, she headed to Maple Street — to her house. Now officially hers.
Nikolay Petrovich met her at the gate — as if he knew Varvara would come today. A small, thin old man with a sharp gaze under bushy eyebrows.
«So the heiress has grown up,» the neighbor smiled, handing Varvara the keys. «Marya Stepanovna told me to give them to you when the time came.»
Varvara entered the house. The smell of grandmother’s herbs, old wood, warm silence. The house seemed to wait for her, preserving the peace and warmth of the past. On the wall — photos. Parents, herself as a little girl with braids. Grandmother. Family.
«I saved Grandma’s little chest,» Nikolay Petrovich said when Varvara stepped onto the porch. «She asked me to give it to you when you got stronger. Looks like now is the time.»
The small carved chest held letters, jewelry, some documents. And a note from Grandma, written in large, shaky handwriting: «Varenka, live with your own mind and your own heart. The house is your anchor, don’t betray it. Grandma.»
Back home, Varvara quietly went to the bedroom and put the inheritance certificate in the drawer with documents. She pulled out a suitcase and began packing the most necessary things. Without rush, without hysteria — just understanding that the decision had matured and only awaited execution.
Alexey found out about the inheritance two days later — his contacts at the registration office had worked. That evening, the husband came home earlier than usual, unusually lively.
«So, now can we talk about selling?» Alexey started right away, not even taking off his jacket. «Mom found a buyer ready to pay the full amount immediately. No delays.»
Varvara silently looked at her husband — the man she had lived with for five years. Alexey seemed to feel the gaze but avoided eye contact, nervously shuffling some papers on the table.
«Mom has already prepared the documents,» Alexey continued. «Just need to sign, and…»
«I filed for divorce,» Varvara said calmly.
Alexey froze, finally looking up.
«What?»
«The papers are already at the registry office,» Varvara spoke quietly but firmly. «I’m not claiming our apartment or shared property. Everything I need — I already have.»
«This house, right?» Alexey suddenly changed expression. «That old, falling-apart…»
«No,» Varvara interrupted. «It’s not a house. It’s the chance to decide for myself. To live without those who see me only as a source of profit.»
Two weeks later, after collecting her last things, Varvara closed the door on the apartment that was no longer her home. Tatyana Mikhailovna called every day, shifting from persuasion to accusations, from accusations to threats. But Varvara didn’t listen — she just declined the calls.
On the porch of her grandmother’s house — now her own — Varvara stopped. She breathed in the scent of autumn, looked at the setting sun through the branches of the old apple tree. Inserted the key into the lock and easily turned it — the door opened as if it had always been waiting for her.
Sometimes inheritance is not just property. It’s a reminder of who you were and who you can become. A path to yourself, lost in others’ expectations. Varvara understood this, standing on the threshold of her home, where now no one decides for her who gets what and how to manage her life.
Things can be inherited. But dignity — only through choice. And Varvara made hers.
