Inessa checked the numbers in the spreadsheet for the hundredth time. Everything seemed to add up, but it was best to double‑check before the presentation—her boss loved nit‑picking. Presenting the quarterly report at a major bank was serious business; the figures had to be perfect. The clock showed eight in the evening—time to go home.
On the way, Inessa reflected on how her life had unfolded over the past six months. Meeting Gleb at a mutual friends’ corporate party, a whirlwind romance, a proposal. Just like in the movies—except without the happy ending.
The apartment where Inessa now lived with her husband had come to him from his grandmother: a two‑room flat in a good neighborhood—real wealth by today’s standards. The hitch? One of the rooms still belonged to his mother. As Gleb explained, Tamara Ivanovna didn’t want to live alone. “Mom promised not to interfere; she’ll be happy to have a young hostess in the house,” Gleb had assured Inessa before the wedding. She’d believed him—for nothing.
The moment she crossed the threshold of her new home, Inessa felt a strange tension. Her mother‑in‑law greeted her with a strained smile, but her gaze was cold and appraising.
“Well, you’re the second mistress of the house now,” Tamara Ivanovna had said, handing Inessa an apron. “I hope you can cook something besides sandwiches?”
The first week went by relatively peacefully. Inessa tried to ignore her mother‑in‑law’s remarks. But each day the control grew harsher.
“You’re folding the towels wrong,” Tamara Ivanovna would announce, rearranging the linen in the wardrobe. “That’s not salt, that’s death for borscht,” she’d sigh, watching Inessa cook. “How much did those tomatoes cost? Are you crazy? They’re cheaper at the store next door,” she’d fume, inspecting supermarket receipts.
When Inessa complained, Gleb only shrugged: “Don’t pay attention—she’s always like this. Better give in; it’ll cost you less.”
When Inessa suggested a shared budget, Gleb suddenly balked. “We’ve always done things differently,” he mumbled. “Mom handled the money—she knows how to save.”
“But we’re our own family,” Inessa argued. “We need to learn to manage expenses ourselves.”
“Why change anything? Mom’s managed fine all her life. Now it’s your turn to help,” Gleb replied, as if stating the obvious.
“My turn?” Inessa didn’t understand.
“Well, I used to give money for the household, now you will,” Gleb explained. “It’s not hard for you, is it?”
Inessa was taken aback. So her husband had been looking not for a life partner but a new wallet? Thinking back, their relationship had moved fast—Gleb insisted on marriage after just three months, while Inessa had suggested living together first. “Why wait? I already know you’re my destiny,” he’d said. Maybe he’d just wanted a hardworking bride with a good salary.
The nastiest surprise came a month after the wedding. During Sunday lunch, Tamara Ivanovna suddenly put down her fork and cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Inessa, I’ve been thinking—every wife should help her husband’s parents. It’s tradition,” the mother‑in‑law began, carefully adjusting her napkin.
“What do you mean?” Inessa asked warily.
“Financial help, of course,” Tamara Ivanovna replied, as though explaining basic truths. “My pension isn’t enough for anything. I devoted my youth to my son, spent sleepless nights. Now it’s your turn to care for me.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand… Care how exactly?” A knot tightened in Inessa’s stomach.
“You’ll transfer part of your salary to me every month,” the mother‑in‑law said calmly. “Twenty thousand to start. We’ll see after that.”
Inessa couldn’t believe her ears. Was this serious? She looked to her husband for support.
“Gleb, you agree with this?”
“What’s the problem?” he said with indifference. “It’s fine. I don’t mind if Mom gets some money.”
“Some? Twenty thousand is a fifth of my salary!” Inessa protested. “I already pay most of our expenses!”
“Oh, come on, don’t exaggerate,” Gleb grimaced. “That’s how it’s done in our family. Mom deserves it.”
There was no point arguing further. Inessa realized the decision had been made without her. Apparently the plan had existed long before the wedding—maybe it had even been the main reason for it.
That evening Inessa tried once more to talk to her husband.
“It’s strange to demand money from me for your mom,” she said when they were alone in the bedroom. “I don’t mind helping, but not like tribute.”
“Stop making a mountain out of a molehill,” Gleb waved her off. “It’s just twenty K. Peanuts for you, but it’ll please Mom.”
“It’s about principle! Why me? Why not you?”
“I’m short on cash right now, you know that,” Gleb sighed. “Once sales pick up, I’ll help.”
Inessa snorted silently. She’d heard those promises before. In reality Gleb earned only for his own lunches, gym membership, and outings with friends; Inessa covered rent, groceries, cleaning supplies.
The first month after “the money talk” passed quietly. Inessa pretended to agree but made no transfers. Her mother‑in‑law shot sidelong glances but waited.
During that time Inessa assessed the situation: she was supporting both husband and his mother and getting only criticism in return.
“Got a plan?” she asked Gleb. “Maybe look for a steadier job? We could save for our own place.”
“Why? We already have a place to live. And a job’s a job—who cares where money comes from? You’re managing,” he said, genuinely puzzled.
That answer clarified everything: Gleb had no intention of taking responsibility.
A month later the scandal erupted. Coming home from work, Inessa sensed trouble. The smell of pies—bad sign. Tamara Ivanovna baked only for special occasions or serious talks.
“Here comes our breadwinner!” the mother‑in‑law greeted her in a falsely cheerful tone. “Checked my bank account—didn’t see your transfers.”
“I never promised to send you money,” Inessa replied calmly, taking off her coat.
“What do you mean ‘never promised’?” Tamara Ivanovna was taken aback. “We agreed! You said yes!”
“I just didn’t argue,” Inessa explained, heading to the kitchen for water.
“Ungrateful girl!” her mother‑in‑law shrieked. “We took you into the family, gave you a roof! Who do you think you are? Every decent daughter‑in‑law helps her mother‑in‑law! It’s the law!”
“There’s no such law,” Inessa retorted. “And no one gave me the flat—I pay more in utilities than rent would cost.”
“City girl manners!” the older woman snapped. “Big words, but you’re just a greedy egoist! You have duties to the family! To your husband! To his mother!”
Gleb appeared, listening without defending his wife.
“Do you hear her?” Tamara Ivanovna turned to her son. “She begrudges her mother‑in‑law money! I’m stuck on one pension here!”
“Inessa, what’s the big deal?” Gleb finally said. “Mom needs just a little.”
“It’s not about difficulty,” Inessa tried to explain. “It’s why I should support your mother. She has a pension—and you. Why me?”
“Because you’re family now!” the mother‑in‑law yelled. “And families share!”
“What has your family shared with me?” Inessa asked. “Or is sharing a one‑way street?”
The quarrel lasted nearly an hour. Realizing talk was useless, Inessa decided to step back.
Next evening she stayed late at the office. Home meant more reproaches. While shuffling papers she wondered how her life had turned absurd in six months.
The phone rang—Gleb.
“Where are you?” he barked.
“Still at work, finishing the report.”
“When are you coming home? Mom’s furious—why didn’t you send her money? She ordered you to transfer it every month!”
A switch flipped inside Inessa. Her husband was acting as if his mother were her boss and she’d broken an order. That was the last straw.
“I’ll be there soon,” she said calmly and hung up.
Time to decide. She took documents from the office safe—her own apartment’s lease contract, bank statements, the prenup she’d insisted on—and withdrew a large sum from the bank: enough to live on while finding a new place.
At home two sullen faces awaited. Mother‑in‑law on the couch, arms crossed; Gleb pacing.
“Oh, finally!” Tamara Ivanovna exclaimed. “Care to explain yourself?”
“Mom’s furious—why no money!” Gleb repeated the phone line, pouncing.
Inessa walked past them to the bedroom, pulled out her travel bag, and began packing essentials.
“Going somewhere?” Gleb asked from the doorway.
She said nothing, kept packing documents, clothes, cosmetics, chargers.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Gleb raised his voice.
“Let her go,” his mother said. “She thinks we’ll beg.”
No words would change anything. Inessa zipped the bag, grabbed her phone and wallet.
“At least tell me where you’re heading?” Gleb asked as she passed.
“Far away from here,” she replied and left.
She spent the night in a modest but clean hotel, slept only toward dawn. In the morning, after coffee, she texted Gleb: “Thanks for the experience. From now on I pay myself.”
She took a day off, needed to find housing quickly. A colleague, Marina, called and offered a spare room—her former roommate had moved out. That evening Inessa moved in: a small, tidy room in a three‑bedroom flat with Marina and the elderly landlady, a retired teacher. Quiet—no orders, no inspections.
Days passed in a daze. Work, simple dinners, laptop series, and blessed silence.
On the third day Gleb’s calls began—first indignant, then pleading, then accusatory. She didn’t answer. Tamara Ivanovna called from different numbers; texts arrived accusing her of destroying the family. Inessa blocked them all, asked coworkers to share nothing.
Within a month life settled. She found a small studio near work; tenants left her own one‑bedroom, but she kept renting it out—the income covered the studio’s rent. Finances eased; she no longer pinched pennies. Inside, she felt freer than ever.
One evening the intercom buzzed.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Gleb’s voice, unusually gentle. “Can we talk?”
“We have nothing to discuss.”
“I brought flowers and apologies. Give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? That you wanted an ATM wife for you and your mom?”
“No, it’s not like that! I just didn’t get it. Mom won’t interfere anymore, promise!”
“This is my life now,” she said and shut off the intercom. Watching from the window, she saw him linger, then leave the bouquet on a bench.
Through a mutual acquaintance Inessa learned that Gleb and his mother were now renting out the two‑room flat and living together in her tiny one‑room place. Clearly, her mother‑in‑law had found a new target for her schemes—maybe even the tenants.
Six months later, sitting in a café, Inessa overheard a girl at the next table arguing with her boyfriend: “But my mom thinks…” How familiar it sounded—men forever tied to “Mama says,” seeking not a wife but another caretaker with a wallet.
Inessa had thought a lot about her failed marriage. It wasn’t just the money, or even the mother‑in‑law. She’d linked her life to someone not ready for family, who wanted service, not partnership.
Now she knew for sure: no one is obliged to live by someone else’s rules. Neither mother, nor husband, nor tradition is more important than self‑respect. And she spent her money only on herself and what mattered to her.
On a day off Inessa woke to rain drumming on the roof. Gray sky outside, a mug of cooling tea on the table. Simple, quiet life. She stretched and smiled at her thoughts.
Everything that belonged to Inessa—was hers again: money, life, freedom. And no one told her anymore where, to whom, or how much she had to give.
