Anna woke up to the sound of a baby crying and glanced at the clock—half past six in the morning. Thirty-two years old, her birthday, and of course it began the usual way: feeding five-month-old Artyom.
The baby was crying insistently, waving his tiny fists, and Anna thought that motherhood meant even holidays bow to the feeding schedule.
Sasha had already left for work—the business needed daily oversight. Three 24-hour car washes in different parts of the city; the partners were reliable, but without the owner’s eye any enterprise can start losing money.
After the feeding, Anna made breakfast. Katya had spent the night with them—yesterday had run late as they sat talking about plans for the birthday. At noon her husband brought out the hidden cake, and Anna made a wish and blew out a modest candle. Her sister-in-law decided not to go back to her studio.
“Katya, up!” Anna knocked on the guest room door. “You’ve got university today.”
“I only have one class,” came the sleepy voice through the door. “A seminar on journalism theory. I can skip it.”
At twenty-one she considered herself a seasoned professional, discoursing about the media space and global trends, yet somehow the simple practical things in life eluded her.
The story of the sister-in-law’s move had begun two years earlier, when she was accepted to a Moscow university. The dorm was far from the center, the conditions unacceptable for a young woman.
Rent an apartment—why bother? Sasha suggested his sister temporarily move into Anna’s studio. A tiny place, only twenty-three square meters, but the location was excellent—ten minutes to the metro, almost in the very center.
Anna had bought that studio before she got married, at twenty-six. They sold her grandmother’s two-room apartment, her parents added some savings, and Anna herself had managed to put some money aside. It turned into a nice investment. A new building, modern renovation, windows onto the courtyard—quiet and cozy.
Right after the purchase, Anna began renting the studio to students. At first she charged forty thousand, then raised it to fifty. A steady little income that helped a lot with everyday life—you could afford a better vacation, nicer clothes, not count every penny or hunt for supermarket discounts.
The sister-in-law moved in. Anna lost a steady fifty thousand rubles a month. Now, on maternity leave, she felt that loss especially sharply.
Not that the family was struggling. Sasha earned well from the car washes; the business was gradually expanding. Anna received maternity benefits and a partial top-up from her employer—the company valued its key employees. But an extra fifty thousand a month would have made life noticeably more comfortable, especially with a small child.
As for Katya’s expenses—many people paid them, just not Katya herself. Tuition at the university was covered by her mother—Sasha’s and Katya’s mom. Tutors in English, French, and Chinese—a hefty line item.
Utilities for the studio, internet, and mobile service were paid by Sasha. Katya bought food with the money her brother regularly transferred to her card. Plus pocket money—cafés with friends, taxis, clothes, cosmetics, entertainment. It came to thirty thousand a month, sometimes more.
The sister-in-law absolutely did not want to work. Studies were her main business, she said, and part-time jobs only distracted from getting an education.
And she really did study well—mostly B’s and A’s, top marks in languages. Professors praised her, classmates respected her. But all of this excellence was paid for by relatives.
By evening Anna had prepared a festive table. Nothing special—Olivier salad, herring under a fur coat, a hot dish, and a bakery cake. A small birthday in a tight circle, without pomp or extra expenses. She invited only the closest friends—people her own age, with whom she felt comfortable and at ease.
Sasha came home from work tired but in a good mood. Things at the car washes were going well; they even had some regular corporate clients now. The partners turned out to be capable, each responsible for his own area. The prospects were encouraging, though they required constant effort and time.
Katya came out of the bathroom as the guests arrived. She was wearing a new dress—Sasha’s gift from last week. Expensive, stylish, very becoming. The sister-in-law looked like a million—young, beautiful, confident. At twenty-one, the whole world seems open for conquest.
The first to arrive were Irina and her husband Denis—Anna’s former colleagues. Then Lena and Maksim, the neighbors they’d befriended even before Artyom was born, showed up. A small group, all peers, all in the same life stage—careers, family, plans for the future.
They sat down, opened some sparkling wine, and congratulated the birthday girl. Anna got juice. Conversation flowed easily and naturally—work, vacation plans, news about mutual friends. Artyom slept in the nursery, making a peep now and then, but not disturbing the celebration.
From the start, Katya took the central spot in the conversation. She pulled out her phone, showed photos from the university, talked about professors, shared news. She spoke a lot, animatedly, with youthful absolutism. The guests listened with interest—youth is always compelling, especially when it’s full of energy and ambition.
“And we, girls, have such plans for the summer!” Katya’s eyes lit up with a special gleam. “We’re going to Lake Baikal with a big group. Imagine—two weeks in nature, tents, campfires, real romance!”
“Sounds wonderful,” Irina smiled. “I’ve always dreamed of going there, but it never worked out.”
“Oh, it’ll be unforgettable! There are eight of us from our group. We’ll rent two cars—definitely SUVs, so we can drive the mountain roads. And we’re planning to rent ATVs for a few days—they say riding them through the forest around there is just fantastic.”
Katya scrolled through photos online, showing views of Baikal, mountain landscapes, tourist routes. She marveled at the beauty of nature and described the group’s plans with such enthusiasm it was as if the trip were already settled.
“And also,” she went on, eyes shining with anticipation, “Nastya and Anya want to take a helicopter tour. They say the views from above are otherworldly. I’m still scared—heights are a problem for me—but maybe I’ll do it anyway. A chance like that may not come again.”
Anna listened to her sister-in-law’s stories and mentally tallied the sums. A month ago her friend Svetlana had described her trip to Baikal with her husband in detail. They’d spent about three hundred thousand rubles for the two of them, and that was without special frills—just decent lodging, standard excursions, normal meals. And here was a group of eight students with such ambitious plans…
“And what about the finances?” Anna asked carefully. “That can’t be cheap.”
“Oh, nothing special,” Katya waved it off. “We’re saving little by little, pooling our money. Besides, I’m a straight-A student in all subjects—I deserve to be spoiled.”
“About how much per person?”
Katya paused for a second, clearly doing the math in her head.
“Well, we haven’t counted exactly. Maybe a hundred fifty thousand, two hundred. Depends on the program we choose.”
“And with all your activities included?” Anna pressed. “Car rentals, ATVs, helicopter tours aren’t cheap.”
Katya tensed slightly, sensing a trap.
“Maybe it’ll be more. So what, is there some problem?”
“No, I’m just curious. It’s quite a serious sum for students.”
“We’re not beggars,” Katya said with a touch of irritation. “We’re normal people; we can afford a good vacation.”
“Of course,” Anna agreed. “I’m simply curious how you’re funding such a trip. Are you working, doing part-time jobs?”
“Oh, come on!” the sister-in-law laughed. “What work, with our course load? Our program is packed—languages, internships. There’s no time for side jobs.”
“Then where is the money for Baikal coming from?”
Katya hesitated, realizing she’d cornered herself.
“Well… the family will help. Parents understand you have to enjoy your youth.”
“Your parents are ready to lay out a quarter of a million for your vacation?”
“A quarter of a million?!” Katya flared up. “Where are you getting those numbers?”
“From real life. If you count all your plans honestly, it won’t be less. Maybe more.”
Tension settled over the table. The guests sensed the conversation heading someplace unpleasant. Sasha watched his sister intently, waiting for her answer.
“So what?” Katya straightened in her chair, taking a combative posture. “We have enough money for a proper vacation.”
“We?” Anna echoed.
“Of course!” Katya’s voice grew louder. “And anyway, who was I supposed to consult? You’re asking all these questions, but what’s the point? Is Sasha willing to pay for my trip or not?”
Anna felt a chill spread inside her.
“Sasha is supposed to pay for your vacation?” she asked quietly.
“Who else?!” Katya shot back, eyes flashing with indignation. “Mom’s on vacation now; she’s got her own expenses. Sasha is my brother; he’s responsible for me. Or are you against helping your husband’s own sister?”
The guests exchanged glances, not knowing where to look. The festive mood was swiftly evaporating; the conversation was turning into a scene.
“Katya,” Anna said cautiously, “expenses like that should be discussed in advance. A quarter of a million rubles is a lot of money.”
“For whom is it a lot?” Katya shouted.
“They’re not your money, Katya.”
“How are they not mine? Family money! And who made you mistress of the family budget?”
“I just think—”
“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Katya finally lost control. “You live off my brother! You sit at home on maternity leave, and Sasha supports you completely! And I’m not even allowed a proper vacation?”
The room fell deathly silent. Sasha froze with his glass in hand, staring at his sister wide-eyed. The guests sat as if spellbound, unable to believe what they’d heard. Anna’s face went white as chalk.
“Repeat what you just said,” she murmured.
“What I said!” Katya insisted, realizing she’d gone too far but unwilling to back down. “You’re on maternity leave, earning nothing; Sasha keeps you in clover. And I need to study, learn languages, build my future!”
Anna slowly rose from the table and walked to the window. She stood silently for a moment, looking out at the evening city, gathering her thoughts. Then she turned to her sister-in-law, and everyone saw cold steel in her eyes.
“All right, Katya. Let’s figure out who’s living at whose expense here.”
“Let’s,” Katya said defiantly.
“You live in my apartment,” Anna began in a calm, businesslike tone. “In the studio I bought when I was twenty-six.”
Katya said nothing, but her face started to blanch.
“Do you pay me rent for that apartment?”
“No, but—”
“No. Not a kopeck. Before you moved in, I rented that studio out. Fifty thousand rubles a month in steady income. In the two years you’ve lived there, I’ve lost one million two hundred thousand rubles. And that’s only lost income, not counting utilities.”
“Who pays for your university?” Anna continued methodically.
“Mom,” Katya whispered.
“Correct. Four hundred thousand rubles a year. Plus tutors in three languages. That’s over half a million just for education.
“Who pays the utilities in the studio, the internet, your mobile plan?”
“Sasha…”
“Sasha. That’s another twenty thousand a month, two hundred forty thousand a year. What do you use to buy food?”
“The money Sasha gives me…”
“Sasha’s money. And your pocket expenses—cafés, taxis, clothes, entertainment—also on him. How much do you spend a month?”
Katya was silent, her lips trembling.
“At least thirty thousand. I know, because Sasha tells me how much he transfers to your card. That’s three hundred sixty thousand a year.”
Anna spoke clearly, each word hitting like a hammer.
She paused, calculating in her head, then shook it slightly.
“You know what, Katya, let’s add it up. Your mother covers university—half a million a year with tutors. Sasha supports your housing and gives you spending money—another six hundred thousand a year, give or take. And I’m losing income because of you—I could be renting out my studio and getting money every month.”
Katya sat red-faced, eyes brimming with tears.
“Almost two million rubles a year goes to you alone. And you’re telling me I’m living off someone else?” Anna shook her head. “I’ve been on maternity leave four months. Before that I worked my tail off for five years, earned a salary, paid taxes. Childcare benefits are my right. And how much have you earned in your life? Even one ruble?”
“I’m studying!” Katya finally squeezed out.
“You’re studying on other people’s money. Living on other people’s money. Eating on other people’s money. Having fun on other people’s money. And you accuse me of living at the family’s expense?”
Sasha set his glass down and gave his sister a hard look.
“Katya, do you understand what you’ve just said?”
“Sasha, I didn’t mean—”
“You insulted my wife,” his voice was quiet but stern. “On her birthday. In our home. A woman who has put up with your antics for two years without a word and never once complained about the income she lost.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone…”
“You didn’t? What did you mean? To get a quarter of a million for entertainment while humiliating the person who’s supporting you?”
Katya burst into loud tears, but Anna was relentless:
“You know what, dear sister-in-law? As of tomorrow, everything changes drastically.”
“What do you mean?”
“In two weeks you’re moving out of my apartment. To a dorm, a rental, anywhere—but not my property.”
“Anna, why—”
“All funding from our side stops. Pocket money, food money, paying the utilities—everything is canceled.”
“But how am I supposed to live?”
“That’s your problem. Get a job, pick up shifts. Learn the hard way what money costs.”
“And my studies?”
“Let your mother keep paying for school—that’s her decision. But we’re done supporting you like a princess.”
Katya sobbed, clutching at Sasha’s hand.
“Sasha, say something! I didn’t mean it! It just slipped out!”
Sasha gently but firmly freed his hand.
“I fully support my wife. You’ve crossed every line.”
“But we’re family!”
“Family is when people respect each other,” Anna said. “Not when some support and others demand and insult.”
The rest of the evening passed under a cloud. The guests tried to keep the conversation on neutral topics, but the mood was ruined. They left earlier than usual, leaving the birthday girl to sort out the family mess.
Katya left. Anna was clearing the table when the phone rang—it was her mother-in-law calling from her vacation in Turkey to congratulate her again and ask how the party went.
Sasha told his mother in detail what had happened. She listened silently and said briefly:
“You did absolutely the right thing. I raised that girl; her character is difficult. There’s no managing without strict measures. I fully support Anna.”
“And what about the dorm?” Sasha asked. “Maybe we should give her another chance?”
“No chances,” his mother said firmly. “Katya needs to understand that you answer for your words. Especially words like those.”
In the morning the sister-in-law showed up at the apartment with eyes swollen from crying.
“Anna, can I talk to you?”
“You can.”
“I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I was just nervous, exams are coming, I’m anxious…”
“At twenty-one it’s time to take responsibility for your words,” Anna replied calmly.
“I understand. And I accept all your conditions. Only… could I stay one more month? Until I get a place in the dorm and sort out the paperwork?”
Anna sipped her coffee in silence, considering the request.
“One month, not a day more. But the funding stops today. And no more talk about Baikal.”
“Understood,” Katya said quietly.
A week later Katya got a job as a waitress at a café near the university—she worked on weekends and when she had time between classes. The pay was small, but at least it was her own money. The Baikal trip had to be canceled—she couldn’t even afford a ticket to Irkutsk.
A month later the sister-in-law found a place in the dorm and moved out of the studio. The apartment was quickly rented to new tenants—a young couple from the provinces, tidy and reliable. Fifty thousand in monthly income returned to the family budget.
And Anna learned the main thing: a birthday can sometimes become not just a celebration, but an occasion to dot every “i.” Especially when words spoken in the heat of the moment come back to haunt the one who said them.
