My husband told me to move into his mother’s storage room so his brother could take my apartment… But when he opened the front door, his face went completely pale. Full story in the comments.
The silence in the apartment was heavy, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sounds of the twins nursing and the hum of the city outside. I was exhausted. Not the kind of tired that a nap fixes, but a bone-deep weariness that settled into my marrow. It had been three months of sleepless nights, a C-section incision that still throbbed when it rained, and the crushing weight of doing it all alone.
I didn’t hear Gregor come in until his shadow fell over me.
I looked up, hoping for a glass of water or a kind word. Instead, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking at me and our children with a detachment that made my stomach turn.
“Get ready,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “We’re moving to my mother’s house tonight.”
I blinked, my brain sluggish. “What? Gregor, we can’t move. The babies are finally on a schedule. Why would we—”
He cut me off, checking his watch. “My brother, Stefan, and his wife are taking this apartment. They’re expecting their first, and they need the space more than we do. You and I will stay at my mother’s place.”
I froze. This apartment wasn’t just “space.” It was my apartment. I had bought it three years before we even met, using the trust fund my grandmother left me—a fact Gregor always seemed to conveniently forget.
“Gregor,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm so I wouldn’t startle the babies. “This is my home. My name is on the deed. Stefan can’t just ‘take’ it. And where exactly are we sleeping at your mother’s? She turned the guest room into a sewing room last year.”
Gregor let out an impatient sigh, the kind he saved for when he thought I was being particularly difficult. “The storage room in the basement. Mom cleared it out this morning. It’s fine. It’s warm enough.”
The air left my lungs. “The storage room? It has concrete floors, Gregor. No windows. You want to put two three-month-old infants in a basement storage room so your brother can live in my luxury apartment?”
“You’re being dramatic,” he snapped, stepping closer, his height suddenly looming over me. “My family comes first. Stefan is struggling. We have to help. You don’t need all this space just to sit around and breastfeed all day. It’s temporary. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“I’m not going,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I clutched my children tighter. “I am not taking my babies to a damp basement.”
Gregor’s face twisted into a sneer. “I don’t need your permission, Talia. I’m the head of this household. You’ll do what I say, or I’ll make sure the courts see you as unfit. You think you’re so tired now? Imagine doing this without a husband.”
The threat hung in the air, toxic and sharp. Tears pricked my eyes—not from sadness, but from a sudden, blinding rage. He had spent the last year isolating me, making me feel small, making me feel like his family’s needs always trumped my basic dignity.
“Start packing,” he ordered, turning his back on me. “Stefan will be here with the moving truck in an hour.”
I opened my mouth to scream, to tell him to get out, but the doorbell rang. It was a sharp, demanding sound that echoed through the tense hallway.
Gregor jumped. He smoothed his shirt, running a hand through his hair. “That’s probably Stefan early. Try to look presentable, Talia. You look like a mess.”
He strode to the door, unlocking it with a flourish, ready to welcome his brother and hand over the keys to my life.
“Hey, I told you to give us an hour, but—” Gregor started, swinging the door wide.
The words died in his throat.
It wasn’t Stefan.
Standing in the hallway were two men in impeccably tailored charcoal suits. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated an energy that sucked the oxygen out of the room.
My brothers. Cristof and Bastien Marrec.
We hadn’t spoken in six months—not because of a fight, but because Gregor had intercepted their calls, deleted their messages, and convinced me they were “too busy running their empire” to care about me. He had successfully estranged me from the only family I had left.
But they were here. And they looked furious.
Gregor took a step back, his arrogance evaporating instantly. He knew who they were. Everyone knew who they were. Marrec Industries practically owned the skyline of this city. But Gregor, in his infinite narcissism, had never actually met them face-to-face. He only knew them as the “stuck-up rich brothers” he claimed hated him.
“Can I… help you?” Gregor stammered, his voice cracking.
Bastien didn’t even look at him. His dark eyes swept past Gregor’s shoulder, locking onto me sitting on the couch, tears streaming down my face, clutching two crying babies.
“Talia,” Bastien said, his voice low and dangerous.
Cristof stepped forward, forcing Gregor to retreat further into the hallway. Cristof was the calm one, the negotiator, which usually made him the scarier of the two. “We received an alert from the building’s security system,” Cristof said smoothly, though his eyes were cold as ice. “It seems you authorized a moving truck for a Mr. Stefan Vorkov? For this unit?”
Gregor swallowed hard. “I… well, yes. It’s a family matter.”
“Funny,” Bastien said, stepping into the apartment. The room suddenly felt very small. “Because this building belongs to Marrec Real Estate. And this specific penthouse is held in a trust for our sister. Transfer of occupancy requires her signature. Or ours.”
Gregor looked between them, sweat beading on his forehead. “I—I’m her husband. We make decisions together.”
“I heard the decision,” I said, my voice shaky but gaining strength. I stood up, adjusting the blanket over the twins. “He told me I’m moving to a storage room in his mother’s basement. He’s giving my home to his brother.”
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Bastien turned his head slowly to look at Gregor. “A storage room?”
Gregor held up his hands, laughing nervously. “It was… it was a joke. Just a misunderstanding. Talia is hormonal, you know how women get after—”
“Stop,” Cristof said. It wasn’t a shout, but the command was absolute. He walked over to me, his expression softening instantly as he looked at the babies. “Pack a bag, Talia. Just the essentials for the twins.”
“Now wait a minute!” Gregor tried to muster some bravado. “You can’t just walk in here and take my wife. I have rights—”
Bastien moved so fast I barely saw it. He didn’t hit him, but he invaded Gregor’s personal space so aggressively that Gregor stumbled back over his own feet and fell onto the entryway table.
“You have nothing,” Bastien hissed. “The only reason you are breathing right now is because my niece and nephew are in the room. You threatened my sister? You tried to evict her from her own home to put her in a cellar?”
“It’s a finished basement!” Gregor squeaked.
“Get out,” Cristof said calmly from my side. He had already picked up the diaper bag.
“What?” Gregor blinked.
“Get out of the apartment,” Cristof repeated. “You wanted Stefan to have a place? He can have your spot in your mother’s storage room. Because as of this moment, you are trespassing.”
“But… my clothes… my things…”
“We’ll have them burned and the ashes mailed to your mother,” Bastien said, opening the door and pointing into the hallway. “Leave. Now. Before I forget that I’m a CEO and remember that I used to be a boxer.”
Gregor looked at me, pleading with his eyes for me to intervene. To save him. To be the dutiful wife he had trained me to be.
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw nothing but a small, weak man who had preyed on my kindness.
“Goodbye, Gregor,” I said softly.
He scrambled out the door without another word. Bastien slammed it shut, the sound echoing like a gavel striking a desk.
I collapsed back onto the sofa, the adrenaline fading, leaving me shaking. Cristof sat beside me, gently taking one of the babies from my arms.
“We’re sorry we stayed away,” he whispered. “We thought… we thought you didn’t want us here.”
“He told me you didn’t care,” I sobbed.
“We always care,” Bastien said, kneeling in front of me and wiping a tear from my cheek. “And nobody is ever going to treat you like that again.”
