Vera was wiping dust off the windowsill when Maksim walked into the room and handed her a sheet torn from a notepad.
“Here, sweetheart—these are my mother’s bank details. Take them to payroll so your salary will go to her.”
She froze, rag still in her hand.
“What?”
“Send your salary to Mom. She’ll manage it better. You’re young—silly. You’ll waste it on nonsense.”
Vera slowly lowered the rag. They’d been married three weeks. They’d furnished the apartment with wedding money—bought a couch, a table, a refrigerator. She thought they were going to live together now. The two of them.
“Maksim… are you serious?”
“Of course. I already transferred my salary to her on Thursday. She put it in a savings account. Says it’ll come in handy for our future.”
Vera didn’t yell. She didn’t slam doors. She just stood there and looked at her husband—who was already taking off his shoes and heading to the shower as if nothing had happened.
The sheet with the bank details stayed on the windowsill. Vera picked it up, folded it in half, and tore it into tiny pieces.
The next day she came home from work and went straight to the kitchen. Maksim was already sitting at the table, scrolling on his phone. When she set a plate of buckwheat and a boiled egg in front of him, he looked up.
“What’s this?”
“Dinner.”
“And where’s the meat?”
Vera sat across from him and served herself the same.
“There’s no money. I was counting on you helping with groceries. But since you gave everything to your mom, this is all we can afford.”
Maksim frowned.
“Vera, what’s gotten into you? You have a salary.”
“I’ll take mine to my mom. You said it yourself—older people know better.”
He froze with his spoon in midair. His face flushed.
“Are you mocking me?!”
“No. I’m just doing the same thing you did.”
Maksim shoved his chair back with a screech and stood up.
“Vera, enough! Do you even understand what you’re doing?! Tomorrow you go and get the money back!”
“You get yours back first. I’ll follow you.”
He grabbed his jacket and slammed the door so hard the glass rattled. Vera finished her buckwheat, washed the dishes, and went to bed. Maksim came back after midnight, lay down beside her, and turned to the wall.
That’s how four days passed. He ate at Raisa’s, she ate at her parents’. At home—silence. Maksim was angry, slammed doors, came home late. Vera stayed calm, though at night she kept thinking: what if he never understands?
On the fifth evening he came home earlier. He sat in the kitchen, staring at the table. Vera was washing dishes. He was quiet for a long time, then cleared his throat.
“My coworkers asked today why I eat lunch at my mom’s. They laughed. Said I’m a mama’s boy.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Vera… let’s make a deal. I’ll take my salary back from Mom. You keep yours. We’ll manage our budget ourselves.”
She nodded.
Maksim took out his phone and dialed. Raisa answered quickly.
“Mom, I need to take the money back. Vera and I decided to handle the budget ourselves.”
A pause. Raisa’s voice turned sharp—Vera could hear her shouting something.
“Mom, I’m not asking permission. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”
Another pause. The voice in the receiver got louder.
“That’s it, Mom. I’ll come tomorrow and pick it up.”
He set the phone on the table and exhaled.
“She said you’ll bleed me dry.”
Vera wiped her hands and came closer.
“I won’t.”
Maksim covered her hand with his—the first time in a week.
For three weeks it was quiet. They kept a joint budget, saved a little. Raisa called less; her voice was cold, but she didn’t meddle. Maksim relaxed. Vera didn’t.
One evening he came home and put a bag of groceries on the table—expensive stuff they never bought.
“Where’d you get this?”
“Mom gave it to me. Said they had extra.”
Vera looked at the bag, then at her husband.
“Maksim, we had an agreement.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s groceries. Not money.”
She didn’t argue. Put everything in the fridge. But something lodged inside her: here we go again.
A week later Maksim showed up in new sneakers. Expensive ones.
“Where’d those come from?”
“Mom gave them to me. For my birthday.”
“Your birthday is in two months.”
“She bought them in advance.”
Vera said nothing. Went to bed. Lay there thinking: he’s taking from Raisa again—he’s just calling it “gifts” now.
The next day she opened a second bank account and transferred part of her salary into it. She didn’t tell Maksim.
A month and a half went by. Vera saved every time—little by little, but regularly. Maksim didn’t notice. He kept bringing things from Raisa: groceries, socks, once even a frying pan. Vera stayed quiet.
One evening he said the car needed repairs—serious repairs. They sat down to do the math. They were short.
“We’ll have to borrow from Mom.”
Vera pulled out her phone and showed him the screen.
“We won’t. I have it.”
He stared at the numbers.
“Where did you get this?!”
“I set it aside.”
Maksim went pale.
“So you’re hiding money from me?!”
“And you’re hiding what you take from Raisa.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. Stood up abruptly and paced the room.
“It’s small stuff! Groceries! What’s the difference?!”
“The difference is that you’re depending on her again. And I decided to protect us.”
Maksim stopped by the window with his back to her. Silent. Then he turned around.
“I really didn’t want to… She offered, and it seemed stupid to refuse.”
Vera stood.
“And it seemed to me that if I don’t protect us, we’ll end up back in her pocket.”
Maksim took out his phone and dialed. Raisa answered cheerfully:
“Maksimushka, hi!”
“Mom, don’t bring anything anymore. No groceries, no gifts. We’ll handle it ourselves.”
Something loud and offended burst from the receiver.
“Mom, I’m serious. Thank you, but we don’t need it.”
He ended the call and looked at Vera.
“Better now?”
She nodded.
Raisa didn’t call for two weeks. Then she called Vera—herself. For the first time.
“Vera, dear, can I have a minute?”
Her voice was syrupy. Vera tensed.
“I’m listening.”
“I was thinking… Maksim works so hard, he puts in so much effort. And you’re probably tired too? Maybe pay him a bit more attention? He complained you’re always busy.”
Vera went still. Maksim had never complained to her about anything.
“Raisa… he told you that?”
“Not directly. But I’m his mother—I can see. He’s tense. Try harder, dear.”
Vera hung up without saying goodbye. Sat on the couch and stared at the wall. Raisa was planting doubt: “He complained.” “You’re busy.” “Try harder.”
When Maksim came home, she met him with a question:
“Did you complain about me to your mother?”
He blinked, thrown off.
“What? No. What are you talking about?”
Vera repeated the conversation. Maksim listened, his face turning to stone.
“She said that?”
Vera nodded. He took out his phone and called. Raisa answered brightly:
“Maksimushka!”
“Mom, did you call Vera?”
“Well, yes, I wanted to see how things were…”
“And you said I’m complaining about her?”
A pause. Then her voice turned wounded.
“I wanted to help! You said you were tired…”
“I said I’m tired from work! Not from my wife!”
Raisa started making excuses, but Maksim cut her off.
“Mom, enough. Don’t meddle in our relationship. I’ll call when I think it’s necessary.”
He hung up. Sat next to Vera and hugged her.
“I’m sorry. I thought she’d calmed down.”
Vera leaned into him.
“She won’t calm down. Not while we listen to her.”
“Then we won’t.”
Raisa sent a long message—how hurt she was, how she tried, how ungrateful they were. Maksim read it and showed Vera.
“Are you going to reply?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“No. Let her cool off.”
A week later Raisa called again. Maksim answered briefly:
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
Her voice was strained-cheerful. They talked five minutes—about the weather, about work. Not a word about Vera. When he hung up, Vera asked:
“Well?”
“Seems fine. But I told her we won’t be visiting anytime soon. We’re busy.”
Vera smiled.
“Good job.”
That evening they sat on the couch. Maksim scrolled on his phone; Vera read. Quiet. Calm. The phone rang—Raisa. Maksim looked at the screen and tapped “decline.”
“I’ll call back later.”
He put the phone away. Vera looked up. He caught her gaze and smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… that’s the first time you’ve done that.”
He shrugged and wrapped an arm around her.
“I’m learning.”
She leaned into him. Outside, it was getting dark. Inside the apartment, it was quiet—for the first time in a long time, truly quiet.
