Title: She Returned from a Business Trip to Find Her Ex-Mother-in-Law Living in Her Apartment – What She Did Next Was Brilliant

Sonya dragged her suitcase up the stairs, exhaustion radiating from every step. Two grueling weeks of business meetings in Novosibirsk had drained her completely. All she wanted now was to collapse into bed and sleep for half a day.

But as she opened the front door, something immediately felt off. A strange smell—fried fish?—wafted from the kitchen.

“Sonya! Finally!” a voice called out cheerfully. Her stomach dropped.

Standing in the kitchen doorway, like she owned the place, was Vera Pavlovna—her former mother-in-law. Wrapped in a bathrobe, towel over one shoulder, she looked perfectly at home.

“What are you doing here?” Sonya asked, stunned.

“I live here now,” Vera Pavlovna replied casually. “Just for a while. Anton said it’s okay.”

Sonya stepped inside slowly, noticing the changes. Her framed photos were gone, replaced by garish knickknacks. A sickly sweet air freshener lingered. Someone else’s tablecloth with roses was spread across her kitchen table.

“This is my apartment,” Sonya said, trying to stay calm. “You had no right to move in without my permission.”

“Oh, don’t be so emotional,” Vera Pavlovna waved a hand dismissively. “I’m only staying while they fix up my place. Anton agreed.”

“Anton?” Sonya pulled out her phone. “Let’s clear this up right now.”

As she waited for her ex-husband to answer, Vera Pavlovna began calmly plating stew, completely unfazed.

“Sonya?” came Anton’s wary voice.

“What on earth were you thinking, letting your mother move into my home?”

“She’s got nowhere to stay—just for a little while,” he muttered. “You’re not really going to throw her out, are you?”

“We divorced two years ago. This apartment is mine. She has no right to be here.”

“She’ll be gone soon. Don’t make a scene.”

Sonya hung up, furious. She turned to Vera Pavlovna. “Start packing. You’re leaving.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the older woman said calmly, stirring her pot. “You don’t have the right to kick me out.”

“This is my property!” Sonya snapped.

“Sweetheart,” Vera Pavlovna smiled condescendingly. “Are you sure about that?”

That night, Sonya didn’t sleep. She was already forming a plan.

The next morning, she met with her lawyer friend, Mikhail.

“If someone promised during a divorce to remove someone’s name from a property agreement but didn’t… can that be fraud?”

“Do you have any proof?” Mikhail asked.

“I have texts. And witnesses—it was said in front of a realtor.”

“Then yes. At the very least, a legal complaint might push him to act.”

Sonya called Anton again that day. “You have 24 hours to move your mother out, or I file a fraud report. I’ve got evidence and witnesses.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

She didn’t wait. That evening, she had the locks changed.

When Vera Pavlovna returned from a walk, she found herself locked out.

“What’s this?!” she demanded.

“Security upgrade,” Sonya smiled. “Can’t be too careful.”

Next went the internet router. “Broken,” Sonya shrugged. “Might take weeks.”

Then groceries stopped appearing. “I’m eating out now,” she said sweetly.

But the final blow? She let it “slip” to a neighbor:

“Did you hear? Vera Pavlovna might try to claim my apartment. I might need to go to the media.”

Within hours, a pale Vera rang the bell. “What’s this about the press?”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to claim the place? I must’ve misunderstood.”

“Stop! Don’t involve the press,” she panicked.

“Then you’ll sign a voluntary removal?”

“Yes, yes. Just give me a week to pack.”

The psychological chess game had begun. Sonya turned up the pressure, slowly but surely. She left brochures for upscale retirement homes lying around. Quiet calls to social services—just enough for Vera to hear, not see.

One morning, Sonya overheard her behind closed doors:

“Anton, I can’t take this anymore! Yesterday she brought in realtors and talked about selling the apartment. And now she’s asking about nursing homes!”

“Mom, what do you want me to do?” Anton sighed. “I barely have space as it is.”

“Your sister has room!”

“Elena said no. After the inheritance mess…”

That same evening, Elena herself showed up.

“I just wanted to say,” she began without small talk, “I admire how you’re handling this. Mother’s… difficult.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“She tried to take my house too,” Elena said, pulling out documents. “Here’s proof—she’s pulled the same stunt multiple times. Registers, court claims… everything.”

“You mean this is a pattern?”

“Exactly. You’re not her first target.”

Armed with evidence, Sonya orchestrated one final scene: documents casually laid out while gossip-prone neighbors were visiting.

“Fifth attempt already,” Sonya said loudly. “Same game—move in, try to claim ownership…”

Vera turned ghost white and locked herself in her room.

An hour later, Anton called again. “What did you do to her?”

“Just told the truth. And I have the papers to back it up. Want me to send them to City Herald?”

Silence.

“Give me two days,” Anton finally muttered.

“You have one. Tomorrow, I expect a solution.”

The next day, Vera stayed in her room. By afternoon, Anton arrived with movers.

“We’re taking her things,” he said stiffly. “She’s moving in with me.”

“I thought your place was too small?”

“I found a bigger one,” he grumbled.

Vera dashed from room to room, packing feverishly and trying to take everything in sight. At the door, she turned:

“You’ll regret this.”

Sonya looked her in the eye. “No, I won’t. Your time here is over.”

After they left, Sonya scoured the apartment, removing every trace. In a forgotten box, she found old property documents. Soviet-era.

Preparing to build a case, she thought. Typical.

In the weeks that followed, she gathered legal documentation of all Vera’s past schemes—just in case.

Months later, Sonya bumped into Anton at the store. He looked exhausted.

“How’s your mother?”

“She moved in with Elena,” he sighed. “My girlfriend left. Said one mother-in-law was more than enough.”

Sonya smiled, nodded, and walked away—finally free. Finally home.