They would call once everything was ready.
Emily thanked the clerk and stepped outside. Evening had already begun to settle over the city. Snow crunched under her boots. Everywhere, the streets were preparing for the holidays: store windows glowed with strings of lights, and in the square, workers were setting up a Christmas tree.
The next morning, the locksmith arrived at ten. He was a young man with a toolbox in one hand and the brisk manner of someone who had done this a hundred times. He asked no unnecessary questions and worked quickly. An hour and a half later, the apartment door had brand-new locks. He handed Emily two sets of keys, had her sign the work order, and left.
Emily closed the door behind him and turned the key. The click sounded different now—sharper, firmer, more certain. The old keys lay on the shelf in the entryway, nothing more than useless scraps of metal.
That evening, her husband came home as usual. He climbed to the third floor, took out his key, and pushed it into the lock. It would not turn. He frowned and tried again. Still nothing.
He rang the bell.
Emily opened the door.
“Why doesn’t my key work?”
“I had the locks changed.”
Her husband froze on the threshold.
“What do you mean, you changed them?”
“I called a locksmith. He installed new locks. Here’s your key.”
Emily held out one of the new sets. Her husband took it and stared at the unfamiliar keys in his palm.
“Why?”
“For safety. Who knows where the old keys might have ended up?”
“Who else would have had them besides us?”
Emily did not answer.
He stepped inside and shrugged off his coat.
“You did this because of my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious?” He turned around sharply. “You changed the locks so my mother couldn’t get in?”
“That’s exactly why.”
“She doesn’t even have a key! She always rang the bell!”
“Now I know for sure she doesn’t.”
He dropped his bag onto the floor.
“Do you understand what you’re doing? She’s my mother!”
“I understand. But this is my apartment.”
“There it is again.” His voice rose. “How many times are you going to repeat that?”
Emily took a folder from her bag and placed it on the table.
“Look at these. The inheritance documents. The property records. The apartment is registered only in my name. You have no ownership share in it. You live here because I allowed it.”
Her husband snatched up the papers and scanned them quickly. The color drained from his face.
“So you think that gives you the right to throw my mother out?”
“Yes. And I’ve already used that right.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can. The law is on my side.”
He slapped the documents back onto the table.
“So the law matters more to you than family?”
“My peace matters more to me. Your mother has made my life unbearable. I’m done enduring it.”
“Mom hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“She moved in without asking. She acts as if this place belongs to her. She says you ‘got lucky’ because you married into an apartment. You think that’s normal?”
He said nothing. Instead, he turned toward the window.
“She only wanted to be closer to her son.”
“At my expense. In my home. Without my consent.”
“You could have put up with it.”
“I could have. But I don’t want to.”
He turned back to her.
“What am I supposed to tell my mother now? That my wife changed the locks and won’t let her into the apartment?”
“Tell her the truth. Or don’t tell her anything. It makes no difference to me.”
That ended the conversation. Her husband went into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Emily stayed in the kitchen. She made tea and sat by the window. Outside, the snow kept falling without pause.
Two days later, the phone rang. It was her mother-in-law. Emily saw the name on the screen and let it ring. Her husband answered.
“Son, I’ll be there in an hour,” his mother announced. “Open the door for me. My hands will be full.”
“Mom, wait… there’s something going on here.”
“What do you mean, something? I’m already on the bus!”
Her husband hesitated and looked at Emily. Emily merely lifted one shoulder.
“Mom, maybe don’t come today.”
“Why not? I told you I was coming back.”
“Emily changed the locks.”
Silence settled over the line.
“What does that mean, she changed the locks?”
“There are new locks. Your keys won’t work.”
“And where are my things?”
“In the storage unit.”
For a moment, his mother said nothing. Then her voice turned sharp.
“You tell that ungrateful woman I’m coming anyway! I’ll get my belongings, and I’ll have a proper talk with her!”
Her husband looked at Emily again. Emily shook her head.
“Mom, don’t. We’ll do it another time.”
“What other time? I’m already on my way!”
“Then come if you want. But Emily isn’t going to open the door.”
“We’ll see about that! I’ll call the police!”
“The apartment belongs to her. It’s in her name on paper. The police won’t do anything.”
His mother swore into the phone and hung up. He lowered the phone onto the table.
“Are you satisfied?” Emily asked.
“No,” he said. “But I’m not going to argue. I’m tired.”
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
It was loud and demanding.
Emily went to the door and looked through the peephole. Her mother-in-law stood outside with two large suitcases.
“Open up!” the woman shouted. “I know you’re in there!”
Emily said nothing.
“Do you hear me? Open this door right now!”
Silence.
Her mother-in-law pressed the bell again. Then she began pounding on the door with the flat of her hand.
“Have you completely lost your mind? This is my son’s home! Open the door!”
Emily stood in the entryway and listened.