– Dasha, you’re crazy! – Mom said then. – Why do you need such debts on your own? Live with us, save up…
But Daria was adamant. Independence is above all, and owning your own home is the first step to independence.
Every month, while making her mortgage payment, Daria mentally noted how her share of the apartment was growing. First ten percent, then thirty, fifty… On the day she paid the last installment, she arranged a small celebration for herself – she opened champagne, ordered her favorite sushi and posted a photo of the apartment on a social network with the proud caption: “Now it’s completely mine!”
Back then, Daria couldn’t even imagine that just three years later, this apartment would become the cause of the biggest headache in her life.
I met Petya through mutual friends at Katya’s birthday party, her university friend. He was sitting opposite me at the festive table, not really fitting in with the noisy company – calm, with an attentive gaze. When everyone had already gone off in pairs and the apartment was filled with loud conversations and laughter, Petya sat down next to Daria.
“We seem to be the quietest ones here,” he smiled. “Maybe we should go out on the balcony to get some air?”
That evening they talked until three in the morning. Petya talked about his work in an IT company, his travels, his plans for the future. He seemed caring, interesting, with a good sense of humor. Unlike many other men, he did not try to impress with expensive watches or stories of business successes. “Modest, but with a sense of self-worth,” Daria thought then.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“I’m renting a one-room apartment in the center,” Petya shrugged. “So far. And you?”
“I have my own apartment,” Darya answered proudly. “In a new building, though, a bit far from the center. But at least it’s my own.”
“Cool,” Petya was sincerely delighted. “Did you earn it yourself?”
————————————————
— For the most part, yes, although my parents helped with the down payment. I only recently closed the mortgage.
Petya nodded respectfully, and Daria liked it. No envy or complexes – just recognition of her achievement.
The romance developed rapidly. Meetings two or three times a week, a weekend trip to a neighboring city, meeting the parents. Six months later, Petya proposed – without pathos and excesses, over dinner at a small Italian restaurant where they often went.
“Will you marry me?” he asked simply, taking out a small box with a ring.
Darya agreed without hesitation. Petya was exactly how she imagined her future husband – reliable, caring, with common interests and views on life.
The wedding was modest – in a small circle of friends and relatives. Petya moved in with Daria, although from the very beginning he emphasized:
– This is your territory, I understand everything. I will be as careful and unobtrusive as possible.
At first, it was like that. Petya seemed to try to occupy a minimum of space – he compactly placed his things in a closet, kept documents in a backpack, and did not interfere with the arrangement of furniture or the decoration of the interior.
“Do you need anything moved? Maybe my books somewhere else?” asked Darya, feeling awkward that her husband didn’t feel like the apartment was his home.
“No, no, everything is fine,” answered Petya. “It’s your apartment, it’s up to you to decide.”
But gradually the situation began to change. At first, imperceptibly. Petya removed Darya’s favorite carpet, explaining that he was allergic to it. Then he moved the sofa “for better access to light.” Then he took her collection of figurines off the shelf “so as not to collect dust.”
“Pet, where is my shelf with figurines?” asked Daria, returning from work and finding an empty space by the wall.
“Oh, I took it to your parents’ garage,” the husband answered carelessly, without looking up from his laptop. “It just took up space and was of no use.”
– But I spent ten years collecting this collection…
– Dash, well, it’s just a dust collector. It would be more practical to hang a plasma here, I’ve already found a bracket.
Darya remained silent, although everything inside her was seething. “Perhaps he’s right,” she tried to persuade herself. “We need to compromise for the sake of the family.”
But similar situations were repeated more and more often. The space of the apartment gradually changed, becoming less and less “Darya” and more and more “Petya”.
One day she invited her friends to a hen party – to watch a movie, to chat. Petya knew about it, but he stayed home anyway, demonstratively working in the kitchen and periodically looking into the room with a displeased look.
“Would you mind keeping it down?” he asked when the girls laughed especially loudly. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
After the friends left, a scandal broke out.
“You could have warned me that they would come so late and make so much noise,” Petya was indignant.
– I told you that the girls would be with us all evening. You could have gone somewhere if it bothered you.
– Where to go? This is my home!
This phrase struck Daria. Somehow, imperceptibly, the apartment she had bought before marriage became “his home” in Petya’s mind. And the strangest thing was that Daria noticed that Petya especially disliked those of her friends who had known her longer than he had.
“I’d be careful with this Katya of yours,” he said after his university friend’s visits. “She talks too much and sticks her nose into things that aren’t her business.”
“What do you mean?” Daria was perplexed.
– Well, her questions about my work, about our plans… It’s obvious that she’s jealous.
Darya didn’t understand where such hostility came from. Katya had always been tactful and friendly. But gradually Darya’s circle of friends narrowed – Petya found fault with almost all of her friends.
At first he simply avoided meetings, finding excuses why he could not attend. Then he began to openly sabotage visits.
– Why didn’t you warn them that they were coming? – He greeted the guests from the doorway, even if Daria had spoken about the planned visit the day before.
At some point, Daria caught herself thinking that she was afraid to invite friends to her own home. It was easier to meet somewhere in a cafe, away from her husband’s disapproving gaze.
“Petya, I think I feel like a guest in my own home,” she finally decided to say after another argument.
The husband shrugged:
– So, we need to do some renovations to feel cozy. Let’s redo everything in a new way.
– But I liked the way it was before…
– Come on, Dash. You said yourself that we should create a family nest together. And now this is just your apartment where I live. Is that comfortable for you?
There was a reproach in Petya’s voice, and Daria retreated again. “Maybe he’s right? Maybe I’m holding on to the past too much?”
The situation worsened when Petya lost his job. Or rather, as he explained, he left himself due to a conflict with his superiors. Darya supported her husband, although this meant that all the expenses fell on her shoulders.
“It’s okay, dear, you’ll find something better,” she consoled. “Maybe you’ll even open your own business, you’ve wanted to for a long time.”
Petya was inspired by this idea. He spent whole days sitting at the computer, studying business plans, talking to some partners. But there were no real results. But “joint plans” appeared – Petya wanted to equip a studio on the balcony, buy new equipment on credit, renovate the bedroom.
“Yes, but now is not the best time for such expenses,” Daria objected cautiously. “Let’s decide on work first.”
“If you always wait for the perfect moment, you’ll never get anything done,” the husband retorted. “Besides, the studio is an investment in my future business.”
This went on for almost half a year. Petya was enthusiastically making plans, but he was reluctant to go to interviews, always finding fault with potential employers. And Daria increasingly felt like an ATM that had to provide his ideas.
The last straw was a business trip. Daria was offered to go to St. Petersburg for a week to present a new project to partners.
“I’m with you,” Petya said immediately. “I’ve wanted to go to St. Petersburg for a long time.”
“But this is a business trip, not a vacation,” Darya was surprised. “I’ll be in meetings all day long.”
– So what? We’ll go for a walk in the evening. Besides, it’s a great opportunity for networking, I’ll be able to talk to useful people.
Daria tried to explain that the company would not pay for her husband’s flight and accommodation, and that she had a busy schedule and would hardly have time for walks.
– So you don’t want me to go? – Petya’s voice took on an offended tone. – Are you embarrassed to show me to your colleagues?
– Petya, this is simply illogical. Why spend money on your ticket if I’ll be busy anyway?
– I see. You just don’t think about my interests. In these five months, you haven’t asked me once how my project is going! You only care about your work!
Darya left alone, despite her husband’s demonstrative resentment. The business trip was successful, the project was approved, and on the way back on the plane she met an old acquaintance who offered an interesting opportunity for cooperation.
When Daria, inspired, returned home, Petya greeted her coldly.
“You must have had a good time,” he said instead of greeting. “And you weren’t bored at all.”
– Petya, I worked! Yes, successfully, but it was work, not entertainment.
– And that guy in the photo at the airport? Is that also a job?
Darya was taken aback. It turns out that Petya was monitoring her social networks and saw a photo of her in the waiting room talking to a former colleague.
– This is Andrey, we worked together three years ago. We met by chance at the airport.
– And, of course, I immediately needed to take a photo, – Petya grimaced. – You know, Dasha, you don’t respect me at all. You leave without me, talk to whoever you want, and then you put it on display. Although what’s surprising… You always emphasize that this is your apartment, your money, your life. And I’m just an appendix.
“That’s not true!” Daria was indignant. “I never…”
– No, really! – Petya interrupted, raising his voice. – You bought this apartment before me and you won’t let me forget about it! Every time I suggest changing something, you say: “This is my apartment, I’m used to it.” If you really loved me, you would have re-registered half of it to me long ago – we are husband and wife! But as it is… this is just your territory, where you allow me to live.
Darya looked at her husband, and for the first time in two years of marriage, she saw his true face. A man who believes that he has the right to what she has worked so hard to get. Who has been methodically pushing her out of her own space for two years, and now makes her out to be the one to blame.
The next day, Daria filed for divorce.
Petya didn’t believe it at first.
“Are you kidding? Because of one argument?” He chuckled, sure that his wife was just showing her temper.
– No, Petya. This is not one quarrel. This is two years of disrespect, manipulation and attempts to appropriate what does not belong to you.
– Oh, so we’re back to the property issue! – the husband boiled over. – Yes, please! I don’t need anything from you! I’ll find a woman who will value me, not square meters!
But his mood changed when Daria actually filed the documents with the court. Then Petya came home with an unexpected statement:
“After the divorce, the apartment will naturally remain mine!” Petya declared, crossing his arms over his chest.
Daria froze, not believing her ears.
– What did you say?
– You heard everything correctly, – the husband sprawled on the sofa that Daria had previously chosen with such love. – We have been married for two years, I have invested a lot of time and effort into this apartment, I have furnished it. According to the law, in a divorce, property is divided in half.
“Petya, I bought this apartment long before we met,” Daria explained slowly, as if to a child. “I paid the mortgage for five years. This is my personal property.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Petya waved his hand. “I am legally registered here. I created this space, did the renovation. Besides, we are a family. And family property is divided.”
– Petya, I’m giving you two weeks to pack your things and move out.
Her husband laughed in her face:
– I’m not going anywhere. Until the court decides, I’m living here. And anyway, I own something here too.
The following days turned into a real nightmare. Petya occupied the bedroom, declaring that the sofa was bad for his back. Darya huddled in the living room, trying to cross paths with her husband as little as possible. But Petya seemed to be specifically looking for meetings – he appeared in the kitchen at the same time as Darya, spoke loudly on the phone in the hallway when she was getting ready for work.
A week later, Daria learned from mutual friends that Petya had filed a counterclaim. In it, the husband stated that he had lived in the apartment for three years (adding a year to the actual term), actively participated in its arrangement and development, due to which the housing “had long since become common.”
– Dash, did you hear what Petya is saying? – Katya, that same university friend, called. – He says that you are “screwing him over for housing” and “throwing him out on the street like a dog.”
– What? – Daria almost dropped her phone. – He said that?
– Yes, yesterday at a meeting with Misha and Lena. Can you imagine, he claims that you planned the renovation together, that he invested “a lot of money” into it… In general, he’s turning everyone against you.
It turned out later that Petya had called all their mutual friends, relatives, and even her parents. The same story everywhere: his cruel wife throws him out into the street without a penny, taking away everything they had acquired together.
Darya realized that the matter was much more serious than it seemed. In the evening, after waiting for Petya to go out to meet his friends, she took out all the documents related to the apartment. The purchase and sale agreement, the mortgage payment schedule, bank statements, payment receipts, even receipts from the furniture store where she bought the furniture.
Everything was dated before the marriage. The only major purchase made during the marriage was the TV that Petya wanted so much. And even that was paid for in full by Daria with her card.
The next day, Daria contacted a lawyer.
“The situation is quite simple,” assured Sergei Mikhailovich, an experienced lawyer with twenty years of experience. “If the apartment was purchased before marriage, it is not considered jointly acquired property. But you will have to prove that your spouse did not invest significant funds in improving housing conditions.
“And what about the time and effort spent?” asked Daria, remembering Petya’s arguments.
“It has no legal force,” the lawyer replied. “Only financial investments can be taken into account.”
The trial was scheduled for the end of November. Two weeks before the hearing, Daria lived like she was on a powder keg. Petya either ignored her, or became emphatically polite, or started threatening again.
“You’ll regret this,” he said, running into Daria in the hallway. “I’ll tell everyone what you’re really like.”
The day of the trial was cloudy and cold. Darya arrived half an hour before the start of the session, nervously clutching a folder with documents. Petya appeared at the last moment – a perfectly ironed suit, a confident smile, a young lawyer with an expensive briefcase next to him.
“Where did he get the money for such a representative?” flashed through Daria’s mind. In two years of marriage, her husband had not demonstrated any particular financial success.
The judge, a middle-aged woman with a penetrating gaze, listened attentively to both sides. Petya spoke first, confidently, with a slight note of resentment in his voice.
– Your Honor, I lived in this apartment for three years, put my soul and effort into it, – Petya threw up his hands. – My wife and I planned the renovation together, chose the furniture. I gave up career opportunities to devote more time to our family nest. And now they are simply throwing me out on the street!
Petya’s lawyer presented “before and after” photographs of the apartment – indeed, the space had changed, it had become more modern, but all these changes were made at Daria’s expense and often against her wishes.
“Well, the apartment will naturally remain mine,” Petya confidently declared, finishing his speech. “I’m the husband, I lived here!”
Darya exchanged glances with Sergei Mikhailovich. It was their turn.
Darya’s lawyer methodically presented the documents point by point. The apartment purchase agreement – three years before she met her husband. Bank statements – all payments were made from Darya’s personal account. Receipts for furniture, appliances, repair materials – everywhere only her signature and her card.
– In accordance with the Family Code, – Sergei Mikhailovich said calmly, – the property that belonged to each of the spouses before marriage remains their personal property. The apartment was purchased by my client long before the marriage, entirely with her own funds. The defendant did not make any financial investments in this housing.
– That’s not true! – Petya jumped up. – And who did the repairs? Who rehung the cabinets? Who looked after the plumbing?
“Provide payment documents,” Darya’s lawyer retorted calmly. “Receipts for payment of materials, services of specialists, checks from construction stores.”
Petya began to explain incoherently that he had paid in cash, that he had not kept the receipts, and that he had done some of the work himself.
“But then where did you get the money if, according to the tax return submitted to the court, you had no official income for the last eight months?” the judge asked.
Petya fell silent, clearly not expecting such a turn of events.
Darya’s friends acted as witnesses. Katya told how Petya gradually tried to isolate his wife from her friends, how unfriendly he greeted guests, how he made a scene at Darya’s birthday party because she invited colleagues.
“He didn’t act like a master, but like a tenant with his own habits,” said Olga, another friend of Daria’s. “He kept saying that this was ‘her territory,’ but at the same time he set his own rules.”
“And his statement about the renovation is just ridiculous,” Katya added. “Petya took Dasha’s favorite shelf out to her parents’ garage, calling it “cleansing the space.” That’s what his entire contribution looked like.
By the end of the hearing, it was clear that Petya had no legal claim to the apartment. Even his lawyer looked confused.
The judge retired to make a decision and returned to announce:
— The court recognizes the apartment at the address… as the personal property of the plaintiff, Darya Andreyevna Sokolova, as acquired before the marriage and not recognized as jointly acquired property. The defendant, Pyotr Vasilyevich Ignatyev, is ordered to vacate the premises within 14 days from the date the decision comes into legal force.
Darya felt the tension of the last months release. She had won. Justice had been served.
But Petya was not going to give up with dignity.
“This can’t be!” he jumped up when the judge finished reading the decision. “This is unfair! I wasted three years of my life on her!”
Petya’s lawyer tried to calm his client down, but he didn’t listen.
– You don’t understand! She used me! – Petya shouted to the whole room. – Daria, you can’t do this!
Darya silently collected the documents and headed for the exit. Sergei Mikhailovich walked next to her, ready to protect the client at any moment.
Petya caught up with them at the courthouse. His face was distorted with anger, and his eyes were a mixture of resentment and rage.
– It was all for love! – he shouted, grabbing Darya by the hand. – I loved you! And all this time you were thinking only about your apartment!
Sergei Mikhailovich stood decisively between them:
– Young man, stop. One more touch and I’ll call the police.
Darya looked into her ex-husband’s eyes – now she clearly saw what she had not noticed before. Egoism. A sense of ownership. A desire to appropriate someone else’s.
“Goodbye, Petya,” Darya said calmly. “I hope that in your next relationship you’ll be looking for a partner, not a sponsor.”
She turned and walked toward the lawyer’s car. Behind her, Petya’s cries could be heard, but they were becoming quieter.
“Where to now?” asked Sergei Mikhailovich, opening the car door.
“To your office,” Daria answered decisively. “We need to file an eviction notice. I don’t want to take any more risks.”
A month later, when all the formalities were completed and the apartment was once again hers alone, Daria threw a small party for close friends. Katya, Olga, colleagues from work – those who supported her in difficult times.
The apartment was transformed – Daria returned her favorite shelf with the collection, hung the paintings that she liked, not Petya, arranged the furniture according to her taste. The space again became her refuge, a place of strength and peace.
“To a new life!” Katya raised her glass.
“And for learning from your mistakes,” added Daria.
Looking at her friends, she thought about how important it is to value yourself and your space – both material and spiritual. And how dangerous it is to let those who do not respect your boundaries into it.
Now Daria knew for sure: sometimes love is not just feelings and promises. It is respect for what is dear to another person. And someone who tries to appropriate someone else’s – be it an apartment or personal space – is unlikely to be capable of true love.
