12/05/2025
The news of her grandfather’s death caught Yana in the middle of the workday. She was sitting at the computer when a message from her mother arrived: “Grandpa Misha died. Heart. Come as soon as you can.”
Yana did not cry – she and her grandfather had not been particularly close in recent years. But something broke inside, as if a part of the world that seemed unshakable had disappeared. Grandfather Mikhail Stepanovich had always been there. He simply was – with his habit of drinking tea from a saucer, with stories about the war, with the eternal smell of to***co and apples.
Two weeks after the funeral, Yana learned that her grandfather had left her a house as an inheritance. The same one where she spent every summer until she was fifteen. Two-story, log, with a veranda and a garden where apple and cherry trees grew. With a small bathhouse on the edge of the plot and a well with ice-cold water.
“He made a will five years ago,” said the mother, handing the documents to Yana. “He wanted the house to stay in the family. All these years he was afraid that it would be torn down or sold.”
Yana remembered this house down to the smallest details. The creaky stairs to the second floor. The stove, which gave off heat in the mornings. The floorboards, which you couldn’t walk on barefoot on especially cold days. The attic, where she hid with a book on rainy days.
The house stood on the outskirts of the village, half an hour’s drive from the city. A small plot of six hundred square meters with an old but still fruitful apple tree, currant and gooseberry bushes. The place was quiet, but with good transport accessibility.
When Yana told her husband about the inheritance, Kirill reacted with unexpected enthusiasm.
– A country house? That’s great! – the husband’s eyes lit up. – How many rooms are there? Is the plot big?
“Five rooms, if you count the kitchen,” Yana answered. “The plot is small, but cozy.”
“We need to go and have a look,” Kirill was already taking out his phone, checking his schedule. “Can we do it this weekend?”
Yana was planning to go alone – she wanted to be there, remember her childhood, say goodbye to her grandfather. But her husband’s enthusiasm was so sincere that she agreed:
– Okay, let’s do it on Saturday morning.
The house greeted them with the smell of dust and stale air. Yana opened the windows, letting in the spring air. Kirill walked through the rooms, knocking on the walls, checking the floors.
“It’s a solid house,” the husband pronounced his verdict. “It needs repairs, of course, but the foundation is good, the walls are dry. Everything can be arranged here perfectly.”
“I wasn’t planning on doing any major renovations,” Yana noted. “I like how everything is done here. It’s a memory of my grandfather.”
“I understand,” Kirill nodded. “But at least it needs to be freshened up. New wallpaper, maybe change the floors. And paint the outside.”
Yana agreed – yes, some updating wouldn’t hurt. They spent the whole day in the house, discussing what and how could be changed without violating the general spirit of the place. Kirill enthusiastically photographed the rooms, made notes on his phone. Yana liked his enthusiasm.
“It’s great that we now have a country corner,” Kirill said as they drove home. “In the summer we’ll come here on weekends to barbecue. We can invite friends.”
“Here we are,” Yana noted to herself. However, they had been married for three years already, so formally Kirill had the right to consider the house partly his own. And Yana didn’t object – they both needed a place to rest from the bustle of the city.
A week later, Kirill unexpectedly suggested:
– Let’s take Mom to see the house? She’s dreamed of a dacha her whole life.
“We’ll take it, of course,” Yana agreed. She had an even relationship with her mother-in-law – without much warmth, but without conflicts either.
On Saturday, the three of them arrived. Nina Viktorovna, Kirill’s mother, walked around the house as if she were assessing a potential purchase.
“It’s a nice place,” the mother-in-law finally said. “But there’s a lot of work to do. The wallpaper is all stained, the floors creak. And the color is terrible. Who in their right mind paints their walls green?”
“It was Grandpa who chose it,” Yana felt a pang of resentment. “He liked this color.”
– Well, Grandpa has already left, and you have to live here, – Nina Viktorovna snapped. – Everything needs to be repainted. And new furniture. Throw out these Soviet wardrobes right away.
Yana didn’t argue, although she liked these old cabinets and chests of drawers with carved details. They had a soul, a history, unlike the typical IKEA that her mother-in-law was proud of.
The following weekend, Kirill brought his older sister Lyudmila with her husband Sasha and children home. He warned Yana at the last moment:
– I told Lyuda that we now have a house outside the city. She was so happy! Her children have been asking to go out into nature for a long time.
“We have it,” Yana noted again, but again remained silent. After all, the house is really big, there’s enough space for everyone. And the children will have fun playing in the garden.
Then came Kirill’s aunt, Vera Ivanovna, a woman with a commanding voice and a habit of rearranging everything “for convenience.” She brought with her a tape measure and a notebook, where she wrote down something while measuring the rooms.
“What are you doing?” Yana couldn’t resist.
“Well, I’m just figuring it out,” Vera Ivanovna answered evasively. “We need to know what kind of wardrobe will fit in here, what kind of sofa.”
“Why do you need to know this?” Yana was surprised.
To be continued in the comments👇👇👇
