The bonus blindsided me. Right before lunch my boss called me into his office and handed me an envelope, smiling like a man who’d just done a good deed. I didn’t even understand at first what it was for—maybe for the annual plan we’d beaten by twenty percent, maybe simply because it was that pre-New Year’s season when everyone wants to feel generous. But when I slipped into the restroom, opened the envelope, and counted the bills, my heart started hammering with joy.
Eighty thousand.
I was already dividing it in my head: twenty thousand into the summer vacation fund, thirty toward a new living-room sofa—ours had completely collapsed—another ten tucked away “just in case,” and with the rest I’d finally buy myself a proper winter coat. Not some fast-fashion thing, but something good—something I could wear for five years. Or maybe boots. Real boots.
I floated home.
Andrey met me in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. He’d taken dinner on himself since I’d been late. He usually cooked… so-so, but he tried, and I appreciated that.
“I’ve got news,” I said, hanging up my jacket.
“Me too,” he answered without turning around. “You go first.”
“I got a bonus. Eighty thousand.”
He turned, and I saw an expression I didn’t like flicker across his face. Not happiness for me. Not pride. More like… mental arithmetic.
“Seriously? Wow!” He set the pot aside, walked over, and hugged me. “Well done, my clever girl.”
I leaned into him, but the anxiety didn’t leave. Something in his tone was wrong.
“Okay, now you,” I said. “What’s your news?”
Andrey pulled back and scratched the back of his head.
“Well… Lena called. She asked…” He hesitated. “You know New Year’s is coming, and the kids’ phones are awful. Kirill’s screen is cracked, and Nastya’s is ancient—it freezes all the time. Lena says at school everyone has decent ones and they…”
A chill spread down my spine.
“And?”
“She asked us to help.” He tried to sound reasonable. “I mean, you know, things are hard for her after the divorce… Maksim pays practically nothing in child support, her salary is tiny…”
“What salary?” I cut in. “Does she even have a job?”
“Well… not exactly. Something temporary. She’s looking, but she hasn’t found anything ‘suitable’ yet. It’s hard with the kids—she needs a flexible schedule.”
I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Lena had been “looking for a job” for eight months. Eight months during which she regularly asked her brother for money: utilities, clothes for the kids, groceries. At first it was small—three thousand here, five there. Then the amounts grew.
“Andrey,” I said, “how much have we given her in these months?”
He turned back to the stove.
“I didn’t count…”
“I did.” My voice went flat. “One hundred twenty-seven thousand rubles. In eight months.”
“Natalya, she’s my sister. It really is hard. Maksim dumped her, she’s alone with two kids…”
“Maksim didn’t dump her,” I said sharply. “They divorced. By mutual agreement. And he pays support—small, yes, but he pays. And no one forced her to quit a decent job right before the divorce.”
“She didn’t quit, she got laid off…”
“Andrey.” I stepped closer until he had to meet my eyes. “She was fired for skipping work. She told me herself in September—when she was drunk at your birthday. Remember her crying in the bathroom? She told me everything.”
He swallowed.
“Well… it happens. She was stressed—divorce, emotions…”
“It happens,” I agreed. “But why are we paying for it? Why did your October bonus go to her credit debt? Why did half my November paycheck go to Kirill’s tutor when Lena promised it was ‘the last time’?”
“Natalya, they’re kids…”
“Kids their mother is supposed to provide for!” I felt my voice climbing toward a shout, and I forced it back down. “Listen, I’m not heartless. I get that it’s difficult. But she isn’t even trying. She sits at home, scrolls social media, and every so often calls you in tears saying everything is ‘completely hopeless.’ And you rush to save her like she’s disabled—when she’s a healthy thirty-seven-year-old woman with two hands and a degree.”
Andrey turned away; his shoulders tightened.
“So what do you want?” he snapped. “Abandon her? Let her end up on the street with the kids?”
“Don’t manipulate me,” I said wearily. “No one is ending up on the street. She has an apartment. She has child support. She has arms and legs. Let her work—at a store, as a cleaner, anywhere. But she doesn’t want to. It’s comfortable living off you.”
“She’s not—”
“She is,” I cut him off. “And you know it. You just refuse to admit it because she’s your baby sister you’ve protected all your life. But Andrey, she’s thirty-seven. She’s an adult. She can support herself.”
Silence dropped like a weight. I heard a car pass outside, then a TV click on in the neighboring apartment.
“Lena asked for phones for New Year’s,” Andrey said at last, quietly. “Good ones, so the kids don’t feel embarrassed. Around thirty thousand each. Sixty total.”
Something inside me clenched.
“And?”
He turned back to me, and his face held such pleading hope that for a second I almost felt sorry for him.
“Well, you’ve got the bonus… eighty. It’ll cover the phones and we’ll still have some left. Just think—these are kids. It’s New Year’s. A holiday. They want it so badly—they’re teenagers, it matters to them what they have, how they look in front of friends… We’ll buy phones for the nieces and nephew with your bonus…”
And that was it. My patience snapped like an over-tightened string.
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean, no?”
“No. We’re not buying phones with my bonus. And we’re not giving Lena any more money. Not one ruble.”
Andrey stared at me as if I’d suggested murdering his mother.
“Are you… Natalia, are you serious?”
“Completely,” I said, crossing my arms as anger boiled. “I’m tired. I’m tired of feeding your sister. Tired of the fact that every time we get ahead, your first thought is how to hand it to Lena. Tired of us postponing our life—our plans—while she sits comfortably at home and waits for us to fix her problems again.”
“But she’s family…”
“Family is you and me!” I shouted. “You and me, Andrey! And Lena is your relative who should have grown up years ago and learned to be responsible for herself!”
“I can’t just leave her…”
“No one is saying ‘leave her!’” I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. “I’m saying stop financially carrying her. Helping once is normal. Twice—fine. But this has been eight months, Andrey. Eight months of constant cash injections. And there’s no end.”
“She has kids…”
“They have a father. Maksim pays child support. Not much, but he pays. If it’s not enough, let her demand more from him—through court, through whatever legal route. But not from us!”
Andrey stood there, eyes on the floor. I could see him wrestling with himself—torn between “being a good brother” and the obvious truth.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Maybe you’re right. But right now… it’s New Year’s. Let’s do it just this last time, and then—”
“No,” I cut him off. “No ‘last time.’ It’s always ‘last time,’ and then it’s again and again. Enough.”
“But what am I supposed to tell her? She’s expecting it…”
“Tell her the truth,” I said. “That we can’t afford it. That we’re barely managing ourselves.”
“But you have the bonus…”
“My bonus is my money,” I said coldly. “I earned it. And I decide what it’s spent on.”
Andrey looked at me as if he’d never seen me before—hurt, confused, and something else, too. Maybe resentment.
“So that’s it,” he said slowly. “Now we have ‘your money’ and ‘my money’?”
“Didn’t we already?” I shot back. “When you gave Lena your entire October bonus, did you ask me? No. You just informed me afterward: ‘Lena needed it urgently, I already transferred it.’ Remember?”
He stayed quiet.
“And now,” I continued, softer, “I’m simply saying: no. It won’t happen.”
We stood in the kitchen, heavy silence between us, and I felt a wall rising. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—step back. I’d been quiet for too long. I’d agreed for too long. I’d compromised for too long.
Andrey’s phone rang. He jolted, glanced at the screen—and I saw his face drain of color.
“Lena,” he said.
“Don’t answer,” I said quickly.
“I have to… she’s waiting for an answer…”
“Andrey, don’t. She’ll start pressing, manipulating, and you’ll cave. Let’s decide together first, and then—”
But he’d already picked up.
“Len, hi,” he said, and his voice sounded guilty. “Listen, we’ve got a situation—”
I couldn’t take it. I walked up, snatched the phone from his hand, and hit speaker.
“—I just wanted to check,” Lena’s voice came through, anxious and a little teary. “You talked to Natasha, right? She agreed? I already told the kids they’ll have new phones for New Year’s, they were so happy…”
“Lena,” I said into the phone, and there was so much ice in my voice that Andrey actually flinched. “It’s Natasha.”
A pause.
“Oh. Hi,” Lena’s voice turned wary. “Where’s Andrey?”
“He’s here. Listening. You’re on speaker.”
Another pause—longer.
“I… I just wanted to ask… You know how hard it is for us right now, and the kids—”
“Lena, there won’t be any phones,” I said evenly. “And there won’t be any money anymore. None.”
The silence on the line was deafening. Then:
“What? Natasha, what’s wrong with you? They’re kids, they need— Andrey, are you really letting her—”
“Andrey will not be financing you anymore,” I continued, not letting her finish. “You’re thirty-seven years old. You have a degree, two arms, two legs, and a functioning brain. You can work. And you will. We’re not your ATM.”
“Natalya!” Lena’s voice cracked into tears. “You don’t understand! I have children! I’m alone! Maksim pays pennies! I can’t feed them!”
“You can live on that money if you don’t sit around doing nothing,” I snapped. “Go work. Anywhere. A store. A café. Waitressing.”
“With my education, in a store?!” Lena’s voice jumped into a shriek. “I’m an economist! I graduated with honors! I won’t—”
“Then go be an economist,” I said, exhausted. “But stop asking us.”
“Andrey!” Lena was sobbing now. “Tell her! You’re my brother! You can’t abandon me! Mom would—”
“Don’t bring Mom into this,” Andrey said quietly, and I saw his hands trembling. “Mom would want you to be independent.”
“Traitor,” Lena hissed. “Bastard. Henpecked loser. She’s completely scrambled your head, hasn’t she? You’re rejecting your own sister because of her!”
I felt my last restraint burn away.
“Lena,” I said very softly—so softly that something in my tone made her fall silent. “You want us to keep helping you?”
“Yes! Of course! I—”
“Then listen carefully. If you ask us for money even one more time, I will tell the entire family—your mother, Andrey’s mother, all your aunts and uncles—who Nastya’s real father is.”
A silence fell so absolute I could hear my own heartbeat.
“What?” Lena whispered. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” I said, staring straight at Andrey as his face turned white. “Maksim told me everything. In September, when we ran into each other at the mall. He was drunk, furious, and he spilled it all: how he found out by accident that Nastya wasn’t his; how he secretly did a DNA test; how you admitted it when he cornered you; how he couldn’t forgive it and walked away.”
“That’s… that’s not true,” Lena’s voice was barely audible. “He’s lying. He wants to punish me for—”
“Don’t,” I said, tired. “Nastya is your former boss’s daughter. The same boss who explained all those ‘late shifts’ and ‘business trips.’ Maksim found out, filed for divorce, and left. And the whole family thinks he just ‘couldn’t handle responsibility,’ because he kept quiet—he didn’t want to traumatize the kids or drag you through the mud. But if you keep living off us, I won’t stay quiet.”
“Natalya…” Andrey whispered. “Are you… serious?”
I looked at him—at his pale face, his shocked eyes.
“Completely,” I said. “Maksim asked me to stay silent. He said he didn’t want the children to suffer. He wanted to protect both Nastya and Kirill. I agreed. But that was before your sister decided to park herself on our backs.”
On the line I could hear harsh, broken breathing. Then a sob.
“You… bitch,” Lena exhaled. “You won’t dare. If you tell them, I’ll—”
“What?” I asked, almost gently. “What will you do, Lena? Complain to your brother? Call Mom so she can scold me? But then you’d have to explain why I said it. And the truth would spill out anyway. Your cheating. Your lies. Thirteen years of lying, Lena.”
“Shut up,” Lena sobbed openly now. “Shut up, shut up…”
“I will,” I said. “I will stay silent if you leave us alone. No more calls asking for money. No more ‘just this once.’ No more ‘the kids need it.’ You go get a job—any job. You start living on what you earn. And if in six months you prove you’re actually trying, then maybe we’ll help—not with cash. Maybe groceries. Maybe clothes. But it will be our choice, not your demand. Understood?”
Silence.
“Lena,” I repeated, “do you understand?”
“I… yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Then goodbye. And Lena?”
“What?”
“Happy New Year. I truly hope you find work.”
I ended the call and handed the phone back to Andrey. He stared at me like I was a ghost.
“Nastya… isn’t his?” he whispered.
“No.”
“And you knew? This whole time?”
“I found out in September. Maksim asked me to keep quiet. I did—until today.”
Andrey sank onto a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“My God. The whole family… we all thought he was a monster. That he abandoned her with the kids. And he…”
“He’s the victim,” I said quietly. “And he’s a real man, because he still pays support for both children even though he knows Nastya isn’t his—because he doesn’t want a little girl to suffer for the fact that her mother… isn’t a decent person.”
I’d used a different word in the moment. A harsher one. It had sounded sharp and ugly. But I didn’t regret it.
“And you really would’ve told everyone?” Andrey looked up at me, fear in his eyes.
I hesitated. Would I have actually destroyed Nastya’s life by exposing that secret?
“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly. “Maybe not. Maybe I was bluffing. But Lena doesn’t know that. The important thing is—she believed me.”
“So you manipulated her.”
“Yes,” I said, sitting across from him. “The same way she manipulated you for months—tears, pity, guilt. I just used a tool that worked faster.”
“That’s cruel.”
“Maybe,” I shrugged. “But otherwise it would never end. She’d keep pulling money out of us year after year. And we’d keep postponing our life—our plans. For what? So she could keep sitting at home and waiting for us to rescue her?”
Andrey stared at the floor.
“She’s my sister,” he said finally.
“I know,” I answered more gently. “And I’m not asking you to cut her off forever. I’m asking for limits. Helping is one thing. Supporting someone who refuses to stand on their own is another. You see the difference?”
He nodded, slowly, uncertainly.
“Are you angry with me?” I asked.
Andrey raised his head and looked me in the eye. There was a lot in his expression—pain, confusion, resentment. But also something else.
Relief.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I… I need time. To process all of this.”
I nodded.
“Take the time.”
We sat in the kitchen for a long while, barely speaking. The porridge in the pot had gone cold long ago; dinner was forgotten. But I didn’t regret what I’d done.
Three days later Lena posted a photo in the family group chat: her standing at the entrance of some shop in a sales uniform. “Started work,” she wrote—short, dry, no emojis, no exclamation marks.
Andrey’s mother immediately sent a long message about what a wonderful girl Lena was, how she was coping, how proud everyone should be. I read it and smirked.
For a few days Andrey was restrained and quiet. Then, little by little, he softened. One evening while we were watching a movie, he suddenly pulled me into his arms and held me tight.
“Thank you,” he whispered into my hair.
“For what?”
“For stopping me. I would’ve kept going. Until we crashed completely.”
I smiled and settled more comfortably against his shoulder.
A week later a parcel arrived: the coat I’d ordered with my bonus. Beautiful, warm, well made.
I stood in front of the mirror and admired myself—not only happy with the purchase, but satisfied in a deeper way. Because I’d finally defended my interests. My life. My money.
My phone buzzed—a message from Maksim.
“Lena got a job. I don’t know what you said to her, but thank you. Maybe now she’ll learn to live like an adult.”
I smiled and deleted it.
Some secrets should stay secrets.
And some boundaries should never move.
