Yulia straightened the tablecloth and moved a plate a couple of centimeters to the right. The eighth time in the last ten minutes. The perfect dinner wasn’t working out. She heard the front door slam.
“Pasha, is that you?” she called from the kitchen.
“No, it’s the robbers!” her husband chuckled as he walked into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
“Lasagna. Your mom called, they and your dad will drop by in half an hour.”
Pavel grimaced.
“Again? Third time this week. Look, I’ve got a report deadline…”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Yulia wiped her hands with a towel. “They won’t stay long.”
Her husband kissed her on the cheek and disappeared into his study. A typical evening in the Kovrov household. Yulia sighed. Pavel was always “burning out” at work, and she handled everything else. Including his parents.
The doorbell rang exactly twenty-seven minutes later.
“Yulechka, darling!” Valentina Mikhailovna hugged her daughter-in-law. She smelled of sweet perfume. “How are you, dear?”
“All good, come on in.”
Konstantin Petrovich silently nodded and went into the living room. He was never much of a talker.
“And where’s our workaholic?” the mother-in-law asked.
“Pasha’s working. He’ll come out later.”
Over dinner they chatted about the weather, the neighbors, the new shopping mall. Ordinary talk. Pavel did come out, but only for ten minutes—said hello, exchanged a few phrases, and went back to his spreadsheets.
“Yul, can I see you for a minute?” Valentina Mikhailovna called her into the kitchen when Yulia was clearing the plates. “I have this matter… it’s a bit awkward.”
Yulia tensed.
“What happened?”
“You see, your father-in-law and I had a little hiccup. Our pension got delayed, and we need medicine urgently. Could you lend us five thousand until next week?”
“Of course, I’ll get it,” Yulia went for her wallet.
“Just don’t tell Pasha,” the mother-in-law lowered her voice. “He’s so nervous these days. All that work stress… why upset him?”
Yulia returned with the money.
“Here you go.”
“You’re our savior,” Valentina Mikhailovna quickly hid the bills in her bag. “And remember—not a word to Pasha. He’ll get upset that we didn’t ask him.”
A week later, the story repeated itself. This time they needed ten thousand—for utilities. Three days later—seven thousand for a faucet repair. Yulia didn’t think much of it until she noticed the amounts growing and the intervals between requests shrinking.
In the middle of the second month, Konstantin Petrovich asked for thirty thousand—supposedly for a new refrigerator. Yulia took the money from her savings.
“Maybe we should tell Pasha?” she suggested timidly.
“Oh no, no!” her father-in-law waved his hands. “He’s got enough problems at work. Why burden him? He’s always been so… emotionally unstable.”
Yulia frowned. Pasha had never seemed unstable to her. But who knows a son better than his parents?
That evening she sat over the family budget, calculating. In a month and a half, she had given her husband’s parents almost a hundred thousand. Not a single ruble returned.
The phone rang at the worst moment.
“Yulenka, sweetie,” Valentina Mikhailovna’s voice sounded overly sweet, “we have a situation…”
Yulia clenched the phone until her fingers hurt. She already knew what was coming.
“What situation?” she asked wearily.
“We urgently need fifty thousand. You see, Kostya… his blood pressure. He needs expensive medicine.”
Yulia closed her eyes. Fifty thousand. That’s no joke.
“Valentina Mikhailovna, maybe we should tell Pasha after all? He should know about his father’s health.”
The pause on the other end was so long that Yulia thought the line had cut out.
“Don’t you understand?” her mother-in-law’s voice turned icy. “Pavlik mustn’t worry. He has an important project. Or don’t you care?”
“Of course I care, but—”
“No ‘buts’! You don’t want to ruin our relationship with Pavlik, do you? He loves us so much.”
Yulia felt a lump rising in her throat. This was outright blackmail now.
“All right, I’ll transfer the money,” she said quietly.
“Good girl. We’ll stop by tomorrow.”
Yulia threw the phone on the couch and burst into tears. By the time Pavel came out of his study, she had washed her face and pretended everything was fine.
“Why are you so red?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“Cutting onions,” she lied. “How’s work?”
“Okay. Hey, did my parents call? I wanted to ask Dad about the dacha.”
Yulia froze.
“No. Why?”
“Thinking of redoing the roof. They were planning to go there next week, right? Dad said he’d saved up for the repairs.”
Yulia clenched her teeth. Saved up, huh. From what money, she wondered?
The next day her in-laws arrived as if nothing had happened. Konstantin Petrovich looked perfectly healthy. No sign of blood pressure issues.
“Yul, where’s our money?” Valentina Mikhailovna pulled her aside in the kitchen while Pavel showed his dad something on the laptop.
“Here,” Yulia handed her an envelope. “But listen… I can’t keep doing this.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” the mother-in-law squinted. “What about family? We’re your husband’s parents!”
“Pasha mentioned the dacha yesterday. About your savings for the repairs…”
Valentina Mikhailovna turned pale.
“You told him?!”
“No. But I’m thinking of telling him.”
“Don’t you dare!” the older woman grabbed her elbow. “If you tell him, we’ll say you’ve been squeezing money out of us. Who will he believe—his mother or you?”
Yulia pulled her arm away. Suddenly she felt sick to her stomach.
From that day on, it only got worse. The in-laws came more often, asking for larger amounts. In three months, Yulia gave them almost all her savings—three hundred thousand rubles. She stopped sleeping at night. Lost weight. Started snapping at Pasha.
Then October came—his birthday month. And Yulia decided she’d had enough. Time for a surprise. A big family surprise.
“We’re celebrating your birthday this Saturday, right?” she asked her husband over breakfast.
“Yeah. Just don’t go overboard, okay? We’ll invite my parents, your sister and her husband, that’s all.”
“Of course, honey,” Yulia smiled. “No excesses. Just the essentials.”
Saturday morning Yulia rushed around the apartment like crazy. She polished the parquet until it shone, arranged flowers in vases, and baked Pavel’s favorite Napoleon cake.
“Don’t overwork yourself,” her husband said, watching her fuss. “It’s just a birthday, not a wedding.”
“I want everything to be perfect,” Yulia waved him off. “Go iron your shirt instead.”
Guests were due at six. At half past five, the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” Yulia peeked through the peephole.
“It’s us!” Valentina Mikhailovna’s voice was festive. “Open up, Yulechka!”
The in-laws entered, loaded with bags. Konstantin Petrovich carried a big box with a bow.
“Pashenka not ready yet?” Valentina Mikhailovna glanced around the hallway.
“In the shower,” Yulia helped them with their coats. “Go to the living room. Tea?”
“Better tea. Listen, while no one’s here…” the mother-in-law lowered her voice. “We have a little emergency. Seventy thousand till next week. Can you?”
Yulia stared at her, unable to believe her ears. Right now? On her son’s birthday?
“Yul, why are you silent?” Valentina Mikhailovna frowned.
“I… let’s talk later, okay?” Yulia forced a smile. “It’s his birthday, after all.”
“You’re refusing?” the older woman pursed her lips. “After all we’ve done for you…”
“Mama?” Pavel came out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. “You’re already here! Where’s Dad?”
“In the living room, unpacking the gift,” Valentina Mikhailovna instantly changed her tone. “Happy birthday, son!”
Soon the rest of the guests arrived—Yulia’s sister and her husband, two of Pavel’s friends with their wives. The table was full of snacks. Yulia was all smiles, but inside she trembled. She knew what she had to do, but she was scared to death.
“And now—gifts!” she announced after everyone had eaten. “Who’s first?”
Guests handed over their presents one by one. Pavel got a tool set from his friends, an expensive shirt from Yulia’s sister, and a new smartphone from his parents.
“And where’s your gift?” Pavel hugged his wife.
“Right here,” Yulia went to the bedroom and came back with a large leather-bound album. “Here.”
“A photo album?” Pavel accepted the gift, puzzled. “Thanks, but…”
“Open it,” Yulia said softly. “It’s a special album.”
Pavel began flipping through the pages. Photos from their life together—the wedding, Turkey vacation, dacha, cozy evenings at home. His parents were in many of them. Everyone smiled, reminiscing.
“This one’s my favorite,” Valentina Mikhailovna pointed to a photo of them all around the table. “Such a friendly family!”
“Turn to the last page,” Yulia told her husband.
Pavel obeyed. And froze. On the last page was a printout of bank transfers. With amounts and dates. He frowned.
“What’s this?”
“The money I gave your parents over the last three months,” Yulia replied calmly. “A total of three hundred and twenty thousand rubles. They asked me not to tell you.”
Silence hung over the room. Valentina Mikhailovna’s face went pale, then blotched red.
“What nonsense is this?” she finally spat. “Pasha, she’s making it all up!”
Pavel slowly shifted his gaze from the printout to his mother’s face, then to his father, who suddenly found the tablecloth pattern fascinating.
“Is this true?” Pavel’s voice was unusually quiet.
“Son, you don’t understand…” Valentina Mikhailovna began.
“I asked—is it true?” Pavel slammed his palm on the table. Glasses clinked.
The room went so quiet Yulia could hear the ticking clock from the kitchen. Her sister and brother-in-law exchanged glances. Pavel’s friends shifted uncomfortably.
“Maybe we should leave?” one of them suggested.
“Sit,” Pavel cut him off. “Since my parents staged this show in front of everyone, let them explain themselves in front of everyone.”
Konstantin Petrovich finally raised his eyes.
“Son, we really did need the money.”
“For what?” Pavel flipped through the printouts. “Medicine? Repairs? A vacation in Turkey?”
Yulia flinched. She hadn’t known about Turkey.
“We wanted to surprise you…” Valentina Mikhailovna mumbled.
“What kind of surprise costs three hundred thousand?”
“We were going to buy you a share of the plot next to our dacha,” the mother-in-law blurted. “So you could build a house. Yulia ruined everything!”
Yulia shook her head.
“Valentina Mikhailovna, enough. Yesterday you asked for another seventy thousand.”
“You’re lying!” the older woman jumped up.
“God, Mom, stop it!” Pavel stood too. “I can see it’s true. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“You’re always busy,” Konstantin Petrovich muttered. “And Yulia… she’s family.”
“Whom you used and blackmailed,” Pavel hugged his wife’s shoulders. “Yul, why didn’t you tell me?”
“They asked me not to. Hinted you had problems at work, that you’re nervous, that you couldn’t handle it…” Yulia spoke quietly but clearly. “And they threatened that if I told you, they’d convince you I’d been begging them for money.”
The guests sat in stunned silence. Valentina Mikhailovna collapsed onto a chair and covered her face with her hands.
“We’re leaving,” Konstantin Petrovich stood. “Since we’re not welcome here…”
“Sit down,” Pavel ordered in such a tone that his father obeyed automatically. “No one leaves until we clear everything up.”
The next half hour was painful. The parents confessed they had spent the money on apartment renovations and a vacation in Turkey. They simply decided Yulia was easy prey since she worked from home as a designer and had access to the family finances.
“From now on,” Pavel spoke calmly but firmly, “all your financial matters go through me. No secrets, no loans behind my back. I’ll help you monthly, as we agree. And this money,” he pointed to the printouts, “you’ll return. In parts, but you’ll return it.”
“But Pasha, we’re your parents!” Valentina Mikhailovna sobbed.
“Exactly. And she’s my wife. And you humiliated her for three months.”
When the guests left and the parents, ashamed, went home, Pavel hugged Yulia.
“Forgive me. I should have noticed.”
“It’s not your fault,” Yulia buried her face in his shoulder. “I was afraid to ruin the relationship. Stupid, right?”
“No. You meant well. But no more secrets, agreed?”
A month later the parents began repaying the debt. Small amounts, but regularly. Valentina Mikhailovna felt awkward around Yulia and never brought up money again. Pavel personally handled financial support for his parents now—transferring a fixed amount each month.
And Yulia… Yulia finally stopped being afraid. She realized that standing up for her boundaries doesn’t destroy a family—it makes it stronger. And she also learned that her husband would always be on her side.
“You know,” she told Pavel six months later as they sat in the kitchen over tea, “that nightmare with your parents… it brought us closer.”
“Definitely,” Pavel nodded. “By the way, Mom called. Invites us to the dacha for the weekend. Says she wants to apologize to you. In person and in front of everyone.”
“Shall we go?”
“Of course. We’re family, after all.”
Yulia smiled. Now that word sounded completely different.
