“I’m not dividing anything! The apartment belongs to me — end of discussion!” I shot back, staring straight into my husband’s eyes.
Jenna pushed open the door to her apartment and, as she had done countless times over the past few years, paused at the threshold. The living room stretched out before her, spacious and airy, with high ceilings and tall windows that flooded the space with sunlight. The hardwood floors beneath her feet had been laid by her parents’ own hands years ago.
The three-bedroom place downtown had come to her as an inheritance after they passed away. Every inch of it held traces of them — evenings spent together, bursts of laughter, the quiet warmth of family life.
When Eric proposed, Jenna didn’t hesitate. She immediately suggested he move into her place. There was more than enough room. He agreed without a second thought, pulled her into his arms, kissed her, and called it a perfect plan. Their wedding was modest, free of extravagance. Once the honeymoon ended, they turned their attention to making the apartment feel renewed.
Jenna worked as an interior designer, while Eric was employed at an IT company. Together they decided to remodel the space. A new couch replaced the old one in the living room. Heavy curtains gave way to sleek blinds. The kitchen was completely redesigned — pale cabinetry, built-in appliances, clean modern lines. Jenna was delighted with every update. Gradually, the apartment transformed from her childhood home into what she believed was their shared sanctuary.
Eric often invited friends over. They would gather around the kitchen table, drinking beer, debating sports scores or the latest video games. His friends would glance around appreciatively and say things like:
“Eric, you’ve really landed on your feet. A place like this, and such a beautiful wife. You’re one lucky guy.”
Eric would simply grin and accept the praise without correction. Jenna overheard these remarks more than once, yet she didn’t take offense. The apartment was beautiful — that was true — and it felt natural to share it with her husband.
The first six months of marriage passed peacefully. Jenna worked from home, usually seated at her desk in the study, sketching layouts and drafting concepts on her computer. Eric often returned late, tired but satisfied after a long day. Evenings were calm: dinner together, a few episodes of a series, casual conversations about weekend plans. Life flowed evenly, undisturbed by conflict.
Everything began to shift when her mother-in-law started appearing more frequently. Linda lived in a neighboring district in an aging two-bedroom apartment she had rented for years. Before the wedding, her visits had been rare — mostly holidays or special occasions. After the ceremony, however, she seemed to find reasons to stop by more and more often.
At first, she came bearing pastries.
“Jenna, dear, I baked something. You must try it. My Eric has always loved apple pie.”
Jenna thanked her politely and set water to boil for tea. Linda would sit at the table, sip her drink, then rise and wander slowly from room to room.
“What a lovely place. So bright, so thoughtfully arranged. And the renovation is fresh — you can tell it was done with care.”
“Thank you, Linda,” Jenna replied with measured courtesy.
Her mother-in-law would step into the bedroom, inspect the wardrobes, then peek into the study.
“And what’s this? A home office?”
“Yes. I work remotely.”
“How convenient. An entire room just for work. That’s quite a luxury.”
Her tone sounded admiring, but Jenna sensed something beneath the compliment. It wasn’t envy exactly — more like quiet calculation. As if Linda were evaluating the space, considering how it might be put to different use.
The visits continued. Sometimes Linda arrived with pastries; other times she claimed she was “just in the area.” On several occasions she showed up during the day while Eric was at work. Jenna would open the door and let her in, though an uneasy feeling had begun to grow inside her. Her mother-in-law examined the apartment too thoroughly, asked too many detailed questions — about the layout, the square footage, the market value of properties in the neighborhood.
One afternoon, Linda stopped by the window in the study and looked out over the courtyard below.
“Such a pleasant view. It’s quiet, plenty of greenery. A place like this is worth a fortune.”
“Yes, my parents adored this neighborhood,” Jenna answered.
“Your parents, you say? So the apartment came from them?”