Natasha clenched the phone in her hand, staring at the message from her husband:
“Mom is coming tomorrow at 10 a.m. Clean the apartment, especially the kitchen. Last time she found crumbs under the fridge.”
She took a deep breath. Today had been hell at work—reports, client complaints, and in the evening a project deadline. But, as always, Igor’s plans were more important.
“Igor, I’m up against a deadline,” she said carefully as she walked into the kitchen. “Maybe you could meet your mom alone?”
He didn’t even look up from his phone as he scrolled through his social media feed.
“Don’t you get it? Mom is coming specifically to check how you manage the household. If everything isn’t perfect, I’ll have to listen for a month about how I married a slob.”
“And if I can’t handle it?” Natasha couldn’t help herself.
“Then you’ll fix it,” Igor replied coldly.
She gritted her teeth. It was always like this. His mother—a sacred cow, and her fatigue, job, feelings—meant nothing.
The next morning Natasha got up at six to manage everything: wash the floors, dust, arrange things on the shelves exactly how her mother-in-law liked it. She even bought a new tea set—the very one the older woman had casually mentioned on her last visit: “My neighbor has such a beautiful one, and yours is all kind of cheap.”
At exactly 10:01 the doorbell rang.
“Well, finally!” On the threshold stood Lyudmila Petrovna, her painted lips shining. “I was already thinking you were still asleep.”
She walked in without taking off her shoes and headed straight to the kitchen.
“Oh, and what is that stain on the countertop?” she ran a finger across the surface.
“That’s… just a shadow,” Natasha tried to explain.
“A shadow?” her mother-in-law snorted. “I have never had shadows on furniture in my house.”
Then she opened the fridge and froze.
“And you call this food? The shelves are half-empty! How does my son even survive with you?”
“We buy groceries for a week at a time, and today is exactly the day we—”
“Excuses,” Lyudmila cut her off. “A real housewife always has a full fridge.”
Natasha clenched her fists. She had spent half the day on her feet, blown half her salary on that tea set, and now she was also to blame for not having a strategic stockpile of food.
“Mom, don’t nitpick,” Igor finally spoke up, but his voice sounded more formal than truly protective of his wife.
“I’m not nitpicking, I’m teaching,” his mother replied and walked into the living room.
Her gaze fell on a vase with flowers.
“Who put this here crooked like that?”
“I did,” Natasha admitted.
“Of course you did,” Lyudmila sighed. “Everything you do is crooked.”
Igor said nothing.
And for the first time, Natasha thought: How much longer can this go on?
A week had passed since the mother-in-law’s visit, but the bitter aftertaste remained. Natasha still heard her sharp remarks echoing in her head. And today a new “trial period” awaited—a family dinner for her father-in-law’s birthday.
She was standing at the stove stirring borscht when Igor walked into the kitchen.
“Why are you so gloomy?”
“I have to submit a report tomorrow, and I’ve already been standing at the stove for three hours,” Natasha banged the spoon sharply on the edge of the pot.
“So what? How can your report compare to a family celebration?”
She wanted to answer, but at that moment the doorbell rang.
Her sister-in-law Katya was the first to enter, with her husband. She headed straight for the kitchen, heels loudly clicking.
“Oh, borscht!” Katya peered into the pot. “I hope it’s not like last time—water with potatoes?”
“Last time it was vegetable soup,” Natasha said through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, sure,” Katya waved her hand. “By the way, you didn’t forget that tomorrow you need to pick up Mom’s fur coat from the cleaners?”
Natasha froze.
“Me?”
“Of course you!” Katya laughed. “You don’t work, you have plenty of free time.”
“I do work!” burst out of Natasha.
“Oh right, your ‘freelance,’” Katya made air quotes. “Well then all the more reason—you loaf around at home, so go do something useful.”
Igor, standing in the doorway, stayed silent.
When everyone had gathered at the table, her father-in-law raised his glass.
“Well then, I wish our family health and…”
“And for us to stay as close-knit as we are now!” the mother-in-law cut in, giving Natasha a meaningful look.
“Yeah, real close-knit,” Natasha muttered under her breath.
“Did you say something?” Lyudmila asked sharply.
“Nothing,” Natasha forced a strained smile.
“I’m just curious,” Katya deliberately clinked her spoon loudly, “when are you two finally going to have kids? You’re both over thirty, and you’re still playing dolls.”
An awkward silence fell over the room.
“We’re not ready yet,” Natasha said quietly.
“Yeah, sure!” Katya snorted. “You just don’t want to ruin your figure.”
“Katya, that’s enough,” Igor finally stepped in, but there was no firmness in his voice.
“What do you mean ‘enough’? I mean well!” Katya spread her hands. “It’s just strange: all normal women have children, and our Natasha…”
“I can’t have children!” Natasha suddenly shouted.
Dead silence. Everyone froze.
“You see?” the mother-in-law was the first to recover. “And here I thought you were just selfish.”
Natasha jumped up from the table, knocking over her glass. Red wine spread across the tablecloth like blood.
“Congratulations, you got what you wanted,” her voice trembled. “Now you all know. Happy now?”
She ran out of the room, slamming the door.
In the hallway Natasha leaned against the wall, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Voices drifted through the door:
“What a hysteric!”
“Igor, how do you live with her?”
“Mom, oh come on…”
And then Natasha clearly heard the phrase Lyudmila said in a whisper—quiet, yet exactly loud enough for her to hear:
“A barren hen…”
In that moment something inside Natasha snapped. She slowly wiped away her tears and firmly decided: enough with being the victim.
Tomorrow she would start gathering documents for a divorce.
But before that… before that she would show them all what a “barren hen” was capable of.
Two weeks had passed since that cursed dinner. On paper, Natasha was still married to Igor, but in her heart she’d already said goodbye to this marriage. She methodically collected evidence, recorded conversations, saved money. For now she pretended everything was as usual.
On Saturday morning the phone rang. Natasha looked at the screen—mother-in-law. She inhaled deeply and answered.
“Natasha, you and Igor need to come over immediately. Family council.”
Lyudmila’s voice sounded like she was summoning a subordinate to the boss’s office. Natasha wanted to refuse, but curiosity got the better of her.
An hour later they were sitting in Lyudmila’s living room. Besides them were Katya with her husband and Igor’s younger brother Denis with his fiancée Alena.
“Well then, congratulations to our family!” the mother-in-law began ceremoniously. “Denis and Alena have finally set their wedding date!”
Everyone applauded. Natasha smiled automatically.
“The wedding will be on September 15,” Denis announced proudly. “We’ve booked the ‘Eden’ restaurant.”
“Oh, that’s the most expensive place in town!” Natasha exclaimed.
“Well, yeah,” Alena smiled smugly. “We want everything to be top-notch.”
“Exactly!” the mother-in-law chimed in. “And that’s why we’ve gathered this family council. We need to discuss the financial side.”
Natasha felt her hands go cold.
“What kind of expenses exactly?” she asked cautiously.
“What do you mean what kind!” Katya snorted. “Restaurant, photographer, host, dress, honeymoon in Bali…”
“In Bali?” Natasha couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Yes, we want to go right after the wedding,” Denis explained. “That alone will be about six hundred thousand.”
Natasha looked at Igor, but he studiously avoided her gaze.
“And what’s the total?” she asked, already guessing the answer.
“Around two million,” the mother-in-law said cheerfully. “We’ve already calculated. Our side of the family will gather one million, and you and Igor will take a loan for the other million.”
Silence fell over the room. Natasha felt blood rush to her face.
“Are you serious?” she said slowly. “You want us to take out a million-ruble loan for someone else’s wedding?”
“What do you mean someone else’s?” Lyudmila was outraged. “This is family! Denis is Igor’s own brother!”
“Natasha, don’t be stingy,” Katya chimed in. “You don’t have kids, you’ve got nothing to spend money on.”
Natasha jumped up. Her hands were shaking.
“You’re insane! We have a mortgage, my mother is sick, and you’re suggesting we go into debt for your little show?”
“That’s not a show, it’s an important event!” the mother-in-law shouted. “Igor, say something to your wife!”
Igor finally raised his eyes.
“Mom, maybe it really is too much?” he began timidly.
“What?” Lyudmila went white with rage. “Are you against your brother now? You want him to have a modest little wedding like yours?”
Natasha watched her husband shrivel under his mother’s gaze.
“Fine,” he dropped his head. “We’ll think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?” Natasha couldn’t believe her ears. “Igor, are you out of your mind? We can’t afford that loan!”
“Enough, Natasha!” Igor suddenly barked. “This is my family, and I decide!”
At that moment Natasha understood once and for all—this man would never be on her side. She slowly stood up.
“Fine. Let Igor take the loan. But only in his name. I won’t sign a single document.”
“Oh, is that so?” the mother-in-law also rose, stepping close to her. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be in this family at all? Since you don’t want to be part of it.”
Natasha looked at each of them in turn: the enraged mother-in-law, the smug Katya, the frightened Igor. And suddenly she laughed.
“You know what? You’re right. I really don’t want to be part of such a ‘family.’ Congratulations on the engagement, Denis. I hope your wedding is worth it.”
She turned and walked out, slamming the door. In the elevator Natasha took out her phone and opened her banking app. She knew exactly what she was going to do next—she transferred all her savings to a separate account Igor knew nothing about.
And that evening, when Igor came home grim as a thundercloud, she calmly said:
“I’m filing for divorce.”
He didn’t even look surprised.
Rain drummed against the window ledge as Natasha sat in the kitchen with a cup of cooling tea. Three days had passed since she’d announced the divorce. Igor kept quiet, slept on the couch, and left in the morning, slamming the door.
Today he was working late. Natasha was about to go to bed when his phone, forgotten on the nightstand, buzzed with a message. She hadn’t planned on checking it, but she noticed the sender’s name—“Mom.”
“Igor, don’t forget to transfer the money by tomorrow. 50,000 for the repairs, as we agreed. And don’t tell Natasha, or she’ll throw a fit again.”
Natasha froze. She carefully swiped the screen and opened the banking app. The last transfer—50,000 rubles three days ago, exactly when she told him about the divorce.
Her hands trembled as she opened the transaction history. Over the last month—five transfers to his mother totaling 120,000. And just a week ago Igor had said they didn’t have the money to treat her cat Marquis, who suffered from urinary stone disease.
“Marquis…” Natasha whispered, looking at the ginger cat sleeping in the corner.
She picked him up and hugged him. This cat had been with her for ten years, had lived through her parents’ divorce, a move to another city, her meeting Igor… And now he was dying because her husband thought his mother’s home repairs were more important.
The front door key turned in the lock. Natasha quickly put the phone back and moved to the window.
Igor walked in, soaked from the rain, and tossed his briefcase on a chair.
“You’re still up?”
“No.”
He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“Where’s the food?”
“I didn’t cook.”
“Perfect,” he slammed the door. “You sit at home all day and can’t even make a normal meal.”
Natasha took a deep breath.
“Igor, why didn’t we take Marquis to the vet? You said we didn’t have the money.”
He froze halfway to the hallway.
“Because he’s just a cat! He’ll die soon anyway, why waste money?”
“Just a cat…” Natasha slowly walked over to the nightstand and picked up his phone. “And 120,000 in a month for your mother’s repairs—those aren’t ‘wasted’?”
Igor turned pale.
“You went through my phone?”
“Answer the question!” her voice rose to a shout.
“That’s different!” he snatched the phone out of her hands. “My mom needs help, and that old cat…”
“Marquis has been with me for ten years! He’s family to me! And your mom…” Natasha clenched her fists. “Your mom is just leeching off us!”
Igor stepped toward her sharply.
“Shut up! Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“Or what?” For the first time Natasha didn’t back down. “You’ll hit me, like at that dinner? Go on, show everyone what a ‘real man’ you are!”
They stood there, breathing heavily, face to face. Suddenly there was a soft meow. Marquis, frightened by the shouting, had hidden under the couch.
Igor turned away.
“I’m sick of you both.”
He slammed the bedroom door.
Natasha sank to the floor and reached out a hand to the cat.
“I’m sorry, baby…”
Marquis cautiously came out and pressed his nose into her palm. She stroked him, looking at the bedroom door behind which her husband was snoring.
Tomorrow she would take Marquis to the clinic. She’d take out a loan in her own name. And after that…
After that she would make sure Igor regretted every ruble he’d ever sent his mommy.
She took out her phone and opened the gallery. There were screenshots of all his transfers.
“Family, huh…” she whispered. “Well then, soon you’ll find out what a real family looks like.”
Marquis purred on her lap, and outside the window a cold autumn rain poured down.
The white banquet hall of the “Grand” restaurant was decorated with gold balloons and photos of the guest of honor. Today was Lyudmila Petrovna’s 55th birthday, and she’d demanded the celebration be “like normal people’s.” Natasha stood by the entrance, adjusting the uncomfortable dress her mother-in-law had insistently recommended she wear.
“What, you’ve got that sour face again?” Igor yanked her by the elbow. “Mom expects a perfect evening today.”
“Don’t worry,” Natasha gave a fake smile. “Everything will be ‘perfect.’”
She walked into the hall where all the relatives had already gathered. Katya, in a tight red dress, immediately came up to them.
“Finally! We thought you weren’t coming. Mom started worrying that her daughter-in-law would let her down again.”
“As if she actually cares about me,” Natasha muttered.
“What?” Katya frowned.
“Nothing,” Natasha walked past her to the table.
The festivities began with endless toasts. Every relative praised Lyudmila, calling her “the rock of the family” and “the perfect mother.” When it was Natasha’s turn, she slowly stood up.
“Lyudmila Petrovna…” She paused, looking at the expectant faces. “You truly are a unique woman. In five years of marriage to your son, I’ve learned… to endure.”
Tense silence fell over the hall.
“What is that supposed to mean?” the mother-in-law paled.
“It means,” Natasha set her glass on the table, “that I’m no longer going to endure your humiliation.”
“Natasha!” Igor jumped up.
“No, let her talk,” Katya smiled nastily. “I’m curious what else our ‘barren hen’ has come up with.”
That nickname, once casually thrown out by her mother-in-law, had become the last straw. Natasha spun toward Katya.
“You know what, Katya? I really can’t have children. But you know what’s worse? Being as fertile as you and raising the same vile egotists as yourself.”
“How dare you!” Katya sprang to her feet, knocking over her glass. Red wine spilled across her expensive dress.
“Oh, how awkward,” Natasha shook her head in mock sympathy.
“You… you…” Katya was breathless with rage. “Igor, are you hearing what your bitch of a wife is saying?”
Igor strode toward Natasha, his face twisted with anger.
“Have you completely lost it? Apologize to my sister!”
“To this bitch?” Natasha laughed. “Never.”
A sharp crack rang out—Igor had slapped her across the face. There were gasps around the hall. Natasha felt the heat spread across her cheek but didn’t lower her eyes.
“There’s your ‘true son,’ Lyudmila Petrovna,” she wiped the blood from her lip. “Ready to hit a woman just to keep Mommy happy.”
“Get out of my house!” the mother-in-law shrieked.
“With pleasure,” Natasha picked up her bag. “But first…”
She pulled an envelope from it and threw it on the table.
“These are copies of all the transfers Igor made to you over the last year. Six hundred and fifty thousand rubles. While he claimed we had no money even for medicine.”
“That’s fake!” Igor shouted.
“No, those are bank statements,” Natasha turned to the guests. “Congratulations, you all helped support this ‘ideal family.’ Hope you’re not ashamed.”
She headed for the exit but stopped by the gift table. Among the presents was a huge bouquet from Igor with a card that read: “To the best mom in the world.”
Natasha slowly picked up the vase and poured the water out onto the floor right in front of her mother-in-law.
“That’s for you, ‘best mom.’ So you don’t drown in your own lies.”
As she walked out of the restaurant, she heard Lyudmila scream behind her:
“You are no longer my son’s wife!”
Natasha didn’t look back. She was already pulling out her phone to dial her lawyer.
In the taxi she took off her shoes and relaxed. Today she had finally stopped being a victim.
And tomorrow the war would begin.
Three days after the scandal at the birthday party, Natasha was staying at her friend Lena’s place. Her phone kept ringing with calls from Igor, but she only picked up yesterday—to coolly inform him that she was filing for divorce.
This morning she had returned to the empty apartment—Igor was at work. Natasha methodically packed her things when she noticed his forgotten laptop.
“I’m not going to check it,” she thought, but her hand reached for the lid on its own.
The desktop was cluttered with files. She opened the “Work” folder and… froze. Among the documents was a “Personal” folder containing nude photos of a woman. Natasha recognized her instantly—Olga, Igor’s colleague, the one he was always talking about with admiration.
With trembling fingers she opened their chat.
“Darling, today that idiot Natasha threw another tantrum. I’m so sick of her…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be together soon. You promised to divorce her after your mom’s birthday, remember?”
“Of course. She has no idea you’re pregnant. Can’t wait to see her face!”
The date of the last message—yesterday.
Natasha closed her eyes. Everything fell into place: why Igor had so easily agreed to a divorce, why he’d been sending money to his mother instead of paying for the cat’s treatment…
She took screenshots of the messages and uploaded them to the cloud. Then she opened the bank statements—over the past six months Igor had transferred 200,000 rubles to Olga.
At that moment the lock clicked in the hallway.
“Natasha?” Igor’s voice called. “You here?”
She quickly closed the laptop.
“Yes, I’m packing.”
He walked into the room, gloomy.
“Happy now? After your little show, Mom’s blood pressure shot up.”
“How tragic,” Natasha replied indifferently.
“You don’t even feel guilty?” he clenched his fists.
“And you?” she looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you feel guilty for spending our money on your lover?”
Igor turned pale.
“What are you talking about…”
“Olga. She’s pregnant. Divorce after the birthday party,” Natasha listed the facts. “Want to see the messages?”
He was silent for a second, then lunged forward:
“Delete it! That’s my private business!”
“Too late,” she backed toward the window. “Everything is saved.”
“You…” rage distorted his face. “You won’t get a penny! I’ll challenge everything!”
“Go ahead,” Natasha suddenly smiled. “By the way, I wonder how your mommy will react to the news that her ‘perfect son’ has been cheating on his wife for a year. And got another woman pregnant before the divorce?”
Igor froze.
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“Oh, I would. Not only dare—I will. I’ll send her the screenshots. And to all your relatives. And to your boss—by the way, does he know you’ve been using your work laptop for porn?”
His phone rang. “Mom” flashed on the screen.
“Go on, pick up,” Natasha smirked. “Tell her her son isn’t a saint, just a common cheat.”
Igor grabbed his suitcase and stormed out, slamming the door.
Natasha walked to the window. Down below, Igor was shouting into his phone, waving his arms around.
She picked up her own phone and opened the gallery. There were fresh photos—just before he came home, she had photographed his chat with Olga.
“Well, family,” she whispered, “ready for another dose of truth?”
She hit “send” and selected all the contacts from the “Igor’s relatives” group.
The war was only just beginning.
Two weeks after the exposure flew by in a blur. Natasha methodically prepared her counterstrike, collecting proof and planning every step. That morning she woke up with a clear plan—it was time to act.
First she went to the bank and withdrew all the money from their joint account, leaving exactly half—legally hers. Then she headed to Igor’s office.
“I need to see the head of HR,” she told the receptionist. “On a personal matter.”
Ten minutes later Natasha was sitting in the office of a strict woman in her fifties.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m Igor Smirnov’s wife. Or rather, ex-wife,” Natasha laid the printouts on the desk. “I think you’ll be interested to know that your employee uses his work laptop for personal intimate correspondence. And spends company time on a romance with a colleague.”
The HR manager studied the documents carefully, then looked up:
“These are serious accusations.”
“I can provide more proof,” Natasha took out a flash drive. “Here’s their correspondence for the last year.”
She left the office feeling lighter. Her next stop was the dry cleaner’s, where her mother-in-law’s fur coat was being held.
“I’d like to pick up an item,” Natasha smiled, handing over the ticket.
“Of course, Lyudmila Petrovna already called to ask about it,” the clerk said.
“Yes, she asked me to pick it up,” Natasha signed the paperwork.
An hour later the coat was hanging on Avito with the caption: “Mink coat for sale, almost new. Reason for sale—the moral obsolescence of the owner.” The price—three times below market.
Back home, Natasha brewed strong coffee and sat down at the computer. She opened a blog on Yandex.Zen she’d created a month earlier under a pseudonym.
“My mother-in-law is a monster. Story of one divorce”—that was the title of her first post. She attached photos of the transfers, screenshots of Igor’s correspondence with his mistress, even a recording from the birthday party where her mother-in-law had called her a “barren hen.”
“Hashtags…” she considered each one: #toxicfamily #divorceandrevenge #motherinlawfromhell
Before posting, Natasha hesitated for a moment. This was the final step—there would be no going back.
She hit “publish.”
An hour later her phone exploded with calls. The first was from Katya:
“Have you completely lost your mind?! Delete that post right now!”
“Oh, what happened?” Natasha asked, feigning innocence.
“You aired our dirty laundry in public! You’re going to get sued!”
“Go ahead and try,” Natasha said calmly. “I have all the evidence. By the way, Katya dear, how do you think your husband will react when he finds out you’ve been taking money from the family budget for gifts to your young lover?”
Dead silence on the other end.
“How did you…”
“Have a nice day,” Natasha hung up.
The next call was from Igor. He was yelling so loudly she moved the phone away from her ear:
“You ruined my career! They’ve summoned me to a disciplinary hearing!”
“What a pity,” Natasha bit her lip not to laugh. “Maybe your mommy will help?”
“I’ll kill you!”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I have copies of all our conversations. Including your threats. If anything happens to me, they’ll go straight to the police.”
She hung up and blocked his number.
That evening Natasha sat on the balcony with a glass of wine, watching the view count on her post climb. Ten thousand… twenty thousand… The comments were full of support:
“Good for you!”
“That’s exactly what these bastards deserve!”
“Write a sequel!”
She smiled and took a sip. This was only the beginning.
Tomorrow she would go to court to file a suit for division of property. And the day after tomorrow…
The day after tomorrow she would start a new life. But first she would finish off the old one—so that Igor and his “perfect family” would remember it forever.
Three months later Natasha was standing by the window of her new apartment, watching the first snow fall. The court battles were over: she had gotten half of their marital property, and Igor—dismissal for cause and a lawsuit from the company for using work equipment for personal purposes.
In her hand she held her phone with a new message from her friend Lena:
“You won’t believe it! Your Zen post has 300,000 views! The editorial team is offering you a contract for a series of articles!”
Natasha smiled. Her story had resonated with thousands of women in similar situations. She was about to reply when the phone rang. An unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Natasha, it’s Lyudmila Petrovna,” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded strained. “We need to talk.”
“We’ve said everything there was to say in court.”
“No, not everything!” there was almost a plea in the woman’s voice. “Igor is out of a job, Olga left him after your post, and now…”
“And now what?” Natasha walked to the window.
“He’s having heart problems. The doctors say it’s pre-infarction. You got what you wanted! Happy now?”
Natasha stared for a long time at the snowflakes sticking to the glass.
“Tell me, Lyudmila Petrovna, have you ever, even once in all these years, regretted how you treated me?”
“What are you…”
“You see? And as for Igor—tell him to get treatment. I don’t care.”
She hung up and took a deep breath. In the corner of the room Marquis was purring—after an expensive surgery, the cat was recovering.
A ticket lay on the table. Just one. One way. Bangkok—Phuket—unknown.
That evening, packing the last of her things, she came across a wedding photo. Young Igor looked at her with a smile that had once seemed sincere.
“What an idiot I was,” Natasha said aloud and tore the picture in half.
At the airport she went into a café and opened her laptop. A new blog post was already drafted:
“How I started life from a clean slate.”
She added a photo of the ticket and hit “publish.”
When the plane left the ground, Natasha closed her eyes. Behind her were scandals, betrayal, humiliation.
Ahead of her was only the sky.
Epilogue
Six months later a new article appeared on a popular travel blog: “How to Find Yourself in Thailand.” Under a photo of a smiling woman holding a ginger cat was the caption:
“Natasha Smirnova. Former victim. New life.”
And in a distant Russian city, Igor would open that blog every evening and clench his fists.
But there was nothing he could change anymore
