Elena sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a travel magazine. The glossy pages were filled with pictures of Italy — Rome, Venice, Florence. Canals, cathedrals, narrow streets lined with colorful houses. A dream. The very dream she had been carrying in her heart for years.
“Dima, look how beautiful this is,” she said, showing the photo to her husband, who was sitting across from her with his phone.
Dmitry looked up and nodded.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”
“We’re definitely going there one day,” Elena said with a smile. “I’ve read so much about Italy already. I know where we’ll go and what we’ll see.”
“We will,” her husband agreed. “Once we save enough.”
Save enough. That phrase had been repeated in their conversations for the past six months. Elena and Dmitry had been living together for eight years. Both were nearing forty. They had an apartment, jobs, a steady, predictable life. But something was missing. Color. Excitement. A sense of newness.
Italy became the goal that united them. Dmitry seemed just as excited about it. They studied routes together, picked hotels, and worked out the budget.
“We need two hundred fifty thousand,” Elena said, closing the magazine. “For flights, accommodation, and excursions. If we set aside thirty thousand a month, we’ll have enough in nine months.”
“Let’s do it,” Dmitry nodded. “We’ll start next month.”
And they did. Elena was the first to transfer money into a separate account. Dmitry joined in. Every month they both contributed, denying themselves many little pleasures.
Elena stopped buying new clothes. Dmitry gave up the expensive gadgets he used to want. They cooked at home instead of going out to restaurants. They saved on everything they could.
“Just a little longer, and we’ll finally go,” Elena would say, watching the amount in the account grow.
Dmitry would nod, hug his wife, and it felt as though they were completely on the same page.
But there was one постоянное source of tension in their lives: Svetlana Nikolaevna, Dmitry’s mother.
She lived alone in another part of the city. She called her son every day. Sometimes several times a day. She complained about her health, her loneliness, the neighbors.
“Dimochka, my head is hurting again,” Svetlana Nikolaevna would say. “It must be my blood pressure. Or maybe something even worse.”
“Mom, go see a doctor,” Dmitry would advise.
“A doctor… They don’t understand anything there. They don’t care about old people.”
Elena heard those conversations and grimaced. Svetlana Nikolaevna was a master manipulator. She always knew how to make her son feel guilty.
“Dimochka, you haven’t visited in so long. I’m all alone here. What if something happens to me? Who will help?”
“Mom, I was there last week.”
“Well then cooome today.”
And Dmitry would go. He would drop everything, get into the car, and drive to his mother’s place. He would spend three hours there listening to complaints, then come home exhausted and drained.
Lena tried talking to her husband.
“Dima, your mother is manipulating you.”
“Don’t say that. She’s alone. It’s hard for her.”
“But she calls every single day! She demands that you always be there!”
“She’s my mother. I can’t just abandon her.”
“No one is saying you should abandon her. But there need to be boundaries.”
Dmitry would frown and turn away.
“You just don’t understand. Your parents are healthy and living their own lives. My mother is sick and lonely.”
Elena would press her lips together. Arguing was pointless. Dmitry always took his mother’s side.
Svetlana Nikolaevna knew about their plans to go to Italy. And she did not approve.
“Dimochka, why do you need Italy?” she would say over the phone. “You’d be better off helping me. My apartment needs repairs.”
“Mom, we’re saving for a vacation,” Dmitry would explain patiently.
“A vacation? So your mother should live in a falling-apart apartment, is that it?”
“Mom, your apartment is fine.”
“Fine? The faucets are leaking, the wallpaper is peeling off! But of course going abroad matters more to you!”
Dmitry would sigh. Elena heard those conversations and boiled inside.
“Dima, don’t fall for her provocations,” she would tell him after another phone call.
“She’s not provoking me. She really does need help.”
“Then help her fix a faucet. That doesn’t require our savings.”
“I’ll help her. Don’t worry.”
The months went by. The account kept growing. Elena watched the numbers eagerly. Just a little more, and they would be able to book the tickets.
One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Dmitry’s phone rang. Svetlana Nikolaevna.
“Hello, Mom,” Dmitry answered, getting up and stepping into the hallway.
Elena listened. Her mother-in-law’s voice sounded upset, almost hysterical. Dmitry answered in a quiet, soothing tone.
He came back ten minutes later, his face tense.
“What happened?” Elena asked.
“Mom feels bad. Says her heart hurts. She wants me to come over.”
“Now? It’s already ten at night.”
“She feels awful, Lena.”
“Maybe call an ambulance?”
“She’s afraid of ambulances. Says they’ll take her to the hospital and ruin her there.”
Elena sighed.
“Fine. Go.”
Dmitry left. He came back at one in the morning.
“So? How is she?” Elena asked, unable to sleep.
“She’s fine now. Calmed down. We checked her blood pressure — it was normal. She just got upset.”
“Because of what?”
“A neighbor said something nasty.”
Elena said nothing. She lay down and turned toward the wall.
It kept happening like that. Svetlana Nikolaevna would call, demand, complain. Dmitry would drop everything and rush to her.
Elena felt the irritation building inside her. But she tried not to show it. She didn’t want conflict.
Seven months passed. There were already two hundred thousand in the account. Only fifty more to go.
“Dima, I want to book the hotel,” Elena said over breakfast. “I found a great option. In the center of Rome, with a view of the Colosseum.”
“Let’s wait until we have the full amount,” Dmitry said without looking up from his phone.
“But if we book now, it’ll be cheaper. Prices will go up later.”
“Let’s wait one more month. Definitely.”
Elena frowned, but agreed.
A week later, she opened her banking app. She wanted to check how much money was in the account. Maybe they could finally book the flights.
She opened the account and froze. The balance showed thirty thousand rubles.
Elena refreshed the page several times. The number didn’t change. Thirty thousand. Instead of two hundred.
Her heart started pounding. Her hands trembled. Where was the money? Where had the hundred and seventy thousand gone?
Elena opened the transaction history. Scrolled through it. And saw it. A transfer. One hundred and seventy thousand rubles. Recipient: Svetlana Nikolaevna Ivanova.
Elena stared at the screen. She could not believe it. The transfer had been made three days earlier. From the account Dmitry also had access to.
Dmitry. Her husband. The man she had been saving for a shared dream with. He had simply transferred all the money to his mother.
Elena sat down on the couch. Put the phone beside her. Breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.
Dmitry came home that evening. Walked in and shrugged off his jacket.
“Hi, Lena. What’s for dinner?”
Elena stood up. Walked over to him. Held out the phone with the banking app open.
“Explain.”
Dmitry took the phone. Looked at the screen. His face went pale.
“Lena, I wanted to tell you…”
“When?” Elena’s voice was icy. “When exactly were you planning to tell me that you stole our money?”
“I didn’t steal it!” Dmitry took a step back. “That’s not theft!”
“Then what is it?!” You took money out of the account without my knowledge! What do you call that?!”
“Mom needed money! Urgently!”
“For what?!”
“For treatment! It’s her heart! The doctor said she needs surgery!”
Elena laughed. Bitterly. Angrily.
“Surgery. Of course. And without asking me, you transferred all our savings to her.”
“I was going to tell you! I just didn’t know how!”
“You didn’t know how?!” Dima, we saved for that vacation for eight months! We denied ourselves everything! And you just took it all and gave it to your mother!”
“Lena, try to understand, she needs surgery! Without it she could die!”
“Show me the documents.”
Dmitry froze.
“What?”
“Show me the doctor’s papers. The surgery referral. Anything.”
“Lena, I…”
“You don’t have them,” Elena crossed her arms over her chest. “Because there is no surgery. Your mother fooled you again.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“I will say it! Because it’s true! Svetlana Nikolaevna always finds a way to squeeze money out of you! And you fall for it every time!”
Dmitry clenched his fists.
“My mother doesn’t lie! She really is unwell!”
“Then where are the papers?! Where are the documents?!”
“She told me over the phone! She was crying, saying she was dying!”
Elena shook her head.
“And you believed her. Of course you did. Because mommy said so.”
“Lena, she’s my mother! I couldn’t refuse her!”
“But you could refuse me!” Elena shouted. “We were saving for a dream! Our dream! And you just destroyed it!”
“I’ll pay it back! Somehow I’ll pay it back!”
“When?! In a year? In two?!”
“I don’t know! But I will!”
Elena sat down on the couch and covered her face with her hands.
“Leave.”
“What?”
“Leave. I need to think.”
“Lena…”
“Leave!” She raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes were red. “Leave me alone.”
Dmitry stood there for a moment, then went into the bedroom. Elena remained on the couch, staring at one point in space.
Betrayal. That was what she felt. Not just because of the money, although the money mattered. But even more than that — trust. Dmitry had betrayed her. He had taken their shared money and given it to his mother. Without asking. Without telling her.
Elena had always known that Svetlana Nikolaevna had influence over her son. But she had believed that when it came to important matters, Dmitry would stand by her side. She had been wrong.
That night Elena did not sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about what to do next.
In the morning Dmitry came out of the bedroom. He looked rumpled and sleepless.
“Lena, let’s talk.”
“About what?” his wife asked, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee.
“You stole our money. That’s what happened.
“I didn’t steal it! Mom needed help!”
“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you do it in secret?”
Dmitry dropped his gaze.
“I was afraid you’d say no.”
“Of course I would have said no!” Elena set the cup on the table. “Because that was our money! For our trip! Not for your mother!”
“She’s sick!”
“She manipulates you! She’s been manipulating you your whole life! And you let her!”
“Lena, you don’t understand…”
“I do understand!” Elena stood up. “I understand that your mother matters more to you than I do! More than our plans, our relationship!”
“That’s not true!”
“Then why did you choose her? Why did you give her the money instead of talking to me?”
Dmitry said nothing.
“Exactly,” Elena walked past him. “You always choose her.”
“Lena, I love you…”
“But you love your mother more.”
“Not more! Just differently!”
“Differently,” Elena let out a bitter little laugh. “Yes. Differently. You’re willing to do anything for her. And me… I’m secondary to you.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is true!” Elena turned around. “Every time your mother calls, you drop everything and run! Every time she asks for money, you give it! And what do I do? I endure it! Stay silent! Hope that one day you’ll put me first!”
“You are first!”
“Then get the money back.”
Dmitry froze.
“What?”
“Get the money back. Call your mother, tell her you made a mistake. Ask her to return it.”
“Lena, I can’t…”
“Exactly,” Elena nodded. “You can’t. Because your mother matters more.”
“She’s sick!”
“Show me the medical certificate! Show me anything proving she needs surgery!”
“I… I don’t have…”
“Of course not. Because there is no surgery. Your mother simply decided she needed money. And you gave it to her. Like always.”
Dmitry sank into a chair.
“Lena, what was I supposed to do? She was crying, saying she was dying…”
“You wanted to help…”
“No,” Elena sat down across from him. “You wanted your mother to praise you. To tell you what a wonderful son you are. That’s what you wanted.”
Dmitry stayed silent.
“And you know what?” Elena went on. “I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want. But I can’t live like this any longer.”
“What do you mean?”
Elena exhaled.
“This apartment is in my name. Mine alone. I bought it before we started living together.”
“Lena, where is this going?”
“It means you’ll be removed from the registration here. Pack your things and leave.”
Dmitry turned pale.
“You’re joking?”
“No. I’m completely serious. Pack your things. Leave.”
“Lena, wait! Let’s discuss this!”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You made your choice. You chose your mother. Go live with her.”
“I didn’t choose my mother! I just helped!”
“Helped,” Elena laughed bitterly. “Yes. Helped. By stealing our money.”
“I didn’t steal anything!”
“Then what do you call taking money from the account without permission?!”
Dmitry stood up.
“Lena, just give me a chance! I’ll return it! Somehow I’ll return it!”
“No need. The thirty thousand you contributed is still there. Take it and go.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“To your mother. She’s sick, dying, remember? Take care of her.”
“Lena, don’t do this…”
“I have to,” Elena stood up. “For eight years I put up with your mother interfering in our life. For eight years I hoped you would choose me. But you chose her. And I don’t want to be second anymore.”
“You’re not second!”
“Then call her. Right now. Tell her you made a mistake. Ask for the money back.”
Dmitry took out his phone. Looked at the screen. Then slipped it back into his pocket.
“I can’t.”
“Exactly,” Elena nodded. “You can’t. Because you’re afraid of upsetting her. But upsetting me — that you can do.”
“Lena…”
“Pack your things. You have two days.”
Elena went into the bedroom. Closed the door. Sat on the bed.
Her hands were shaking. Inside, everything was boiling — anger, hurt, disappointment. Eight years together. Eight years she had endured Svetlana Nikolaevna. Hoping Dmitry would grow more independent. That he would learn to tell his mother no.
He hadn’t. And he never would.
That evening Dmitry started packing. Silently folding clothes into bags. Elena sat in the kitchen drinking tea. She didn’t help. She didn’t interfere.
“Lena, I really wanted to return the money,” Dmitry said, coming out with a bag. “It’s just… Mom… she was crying so hard…”
“Dima, your mother always cries when she wants money. You know that.”
“But what if she really is sick?”
“Then show me the documents. A certificate. Anything.”
Dmitry was silent.
“Exactly,” Elena finished her tea. “Go to her. Find out the truth. And if she really does need surgery, I’m not a monster. I’ll help. But first, documents.”
Dmitry nodded and left.
Elena stayed alone. The apartment felt empty and quiet. But there was relief too. For the first time in a long while — relief.
The next day Dmitry called.
“Lena, Mom says the certificate is still with the doctor. She’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
Tomorrow turned into the day after. Then into next week. No certificate appeared.
Elena called herself.
“Svetlana Nikolaevna, hello. Where is the certificate confirming the need for surgery?”
“What certificate?” her mother-in-law’s voice was cold.
“The one for which Dmitry gave you our savings.”
“Oh, that. You know, Lenochka, I changed my mind about having surgery. The doctor said I could manage without it.”
Elena gripped the phone tighter.
“So the money was not for surgery.”
“Well, partly. I also bought some furniture. I’d wanted it for a long time.”
“Furniture.” Elena closed her eyes. “I see.”
“Lenochka, why are you angry? I’m Dima’s mother. I have a right to help.”
“You do. But not at the expense of our plans.”
“What plans? That silly Italy trip of yours? Dimochka is perfectly happy in Russia.”
Elena ended the call. Then she called Dmitry.
“Your mother bought furniture. With our money.”
“What?” Dmitry sounded confused.
“There was no surgery. She bought furniture. And she lied to you.”
“Lena, I didn’t know…”
“Of course you didn’t. Because you never checked. You just took her word for it.”
“I’ll talk to her…”
“No need. Just come and pick up the rest of your things.”
“Lena, let’s try again…”
“No.”
“But I didn’t mean to do this!”
“Dima, you gave our money to your mother, who lied about surgery. She bought furniture. And you didn’t even bother to verify it. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“I’ll return the money!”
“When? In a year? Five years? I’m already thirty-nine, Dima. I don’t want to wait until you finally find the courage to say no to your mother.”
“Lena…”
“Come by on the weekend and collect your things.”
Elena hung up.
On Saturday Dmitry came. He packed the rest of his belongings while Elena watched in silence.
“Lena, I really meant well,” he said, standing at the door.
“I know. But it turned out the same way it always does.”
“We can try again. I’ll talk to Mom, set boundaries…”
“How many times have you said that?”
Dmitry lowered his head.
“A lot.”
“And how many times have you actually done it?”
Silence.
“Exactly.” Elena opened the door. “Go, Dima. This is no longer your home.”
Dmitry stepped out and turned back.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve already forgiven you. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.”
The door closed. Elena leaned against it and let out a long breath.
The following weeks were spent dealing with paperwork. Elena had Dmitry removed from the apartment registration. She filed for divorce. The process moved quickly — there was no shared property and no children.
Dmitry kept trying to call. Asked to meet, to talk. Elena refused. There was nothing left to discuss.
One day he sent a long message. He apologized, promised to change, begged for another chance.
Elena read it and replied with one short word:
“Too late.”
The divorce was finalized two months later. Elena received the papers and felt relief. The weight she had carried for eight years finally fell from her shoulders.
Svetlana Nikolaevna never returned the money. She did not even try. Elena hadn’t expected her to.
But then Elena received a bonus at work. Unexpectedly, for a successful project. Fifty thousand. Elena looked at the amount and smiled.
The bonus added to the remaining thirty thousand made eighty thousand. Not enough for Italy, but enough for a short trip.
Elena opened a booking site and looked through the options. She found a tour to Prague. One week, a nice hotel, excursions included. Exactly eighty thousand.
Prague. Not Italy, of course. But still a dream. The Old Town, Charles Bridge, castles.
Elena booked the tour. Paid for it. And felt a spark of excitement.
Her friend Marina, after hearing about the divorce, called her.
“Lena, how are you? Holding up?”
“I’m great. I’m going to Prague.”
“Seriously? Alone?”
“Yes. I want to see the city and get some rest.”
“Good for you. And Dmitry?”
“Dmitry is with his mother. They’re very happy together.”
Marina laughed.
“You’re wicked. I like it.”
“Not wicked. Free.”
And that was the truth. Elena felt free. For the first time in eight years.
She no longer had to adjust her life around Svetlana Nikolaevna’s phone calls. No longer had to wait while Dmitry ran to his mother. No longer had to tolerate someone else interfering in her life.
As Elena packed her suitcase, she thought about how good it was that everything had finally ended. Yes, she regretted the lost money. She regretted the lost eight years. But better late than never.
She went to the airport with a light heart. Check-in, boarding, takeoff. The plane rose above the city. Elena looked out the window and smiled.
Prague welcomed her with rain. But Elena was not upset. Rain washes away the old and makes room for the new. That was what her grandmother used to say.
Elena checked into the hotel, unpacked, and went outside. The city was beautiful and old — cobblestones, narrow lanes, colorful houses.
She walked, took pictures, drank coffee in little cafés. She didn’t think about anything. She simply enjoyed the moment.
That evening, sitting in her room with a glass of wine, Elena turned on her phone. A message from Dmitry: “How are you?”
Elena smiled and replied: “Wonderful. I’m in Prague.”
The answer came quickly: “I’m happy for you.”
Elena put the phone away. Finished her wine. Looked out the window at the city lights.
Life was going on. New, free, interesting. Without Dmitry and his mother. Without other people’s problems and manipulations.
Elena planned to return home and start saving again. For Italy. Or for another dream. It didn’t matter. The important thing was that this money would belong only to her. And only she would decide what to spend it on.
Freedom. That was what Elena received in exchange for the lost money and the broken relationship. And that freedom was worth every single ruble.
