“So my bank card is paying for your family’s vacations now?” Marina hurled the bank statement straight at her husband. “Forty thousand to your mother, twenty to your sister! But when I ask for a new washing machine, suddenly there’s no money?!”
“Marish, please, just listen—”
“No, you listen to me for once! I’m working two jobs, saving every last penny, and you’ve been secretly bankrolling your mommy with her ‘bad knees’—knees that somehow don’t stop her from going to the country and digging up potato beds!”
“They’re my family. I can’t just refuse to help them!”
“And who am I, then? Your unpaid servant?”
Marina woke up at five in the morning to the sound of her alarm. Andrey was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like a starfish. Quietly, she slipped out from under the blanket, threw on her robe, and went into the kitchen. She needed to get his lunch ready before work.
They had been married for three years. Their wedding was modest—just relatives, an average restaurant, nothing fancy. Marina had dreamed of a white dress and a limousine, but Andrey had said, “Why waste money showing off? Better to save for an apartment.”
So they saved. Marina took a second job, doing manicures at home in the evenings. She put aside every extra bit she earned. Andrey promised he would save from his engineer’s salary too.
“Mom, can you lend me fifteen thousand until payday?” Andrey said into the phone while Marina chopped salad. “Yeah, I’ll transfer it today.”
“Again? You’re sending money to your mother again?” Marina frowned.
“Why do you always start? Her pension is tiny, and medicine is expensive.”
“Andryusha, we’re supposed to be saving for the down payment…”
“We are saving. Don’t be stingy. She’s my mother.”
His mother, Valentina Pavlovna, lived alone in a three-room apartment in the city center. Ever since her husband died, she loved repeating that she had been left “with nothing at all.” Yet every summer she managed to vacation in Crimea, and every winter she complained about her health.
The washing machine broke at the worst possible moment—just when Marina was preparing for a big bridal manicure booking for a bride and all her bridesmaids.
“Andrey, we need a new washer. The repairman said the old one can’t be fixed.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand if we want a decent one.”
“Where are we supposed to get that kind of money? Let’s look for something cheaper.”
“We’ve been washing in that wreck for three years! I earned this money myself doing manicures!”
“Wait until payday. We’ll see.”
Payday came. Andrey said there was no money—his sister Olga urgently needed help with repairs because a pipe had burst.
So Marina washed everything by hand. Her knuckles turned red and rough. Even her clients started noticing.
“Marina, what happened to your hands? You’re a nail tech!”
“Oh, just housework…”
That evening Andrey came home with a bouquet of daisies.
“I’m sorry. I’ll earn more and buy you the best washing machine there is.”
Marina melted. She hugged him and kissed him. How foolish she was, getting angry at him for helping his family.
The truth came out by accident. Andrey forgot to log out of the banking app on the tablet. Marina only wanted to look up a pie recipe, but instead she saw the transfer history.
“Valentina P. — 40,000 rubles. Purpose: vacation”
“Olga K. — 20,000 rubles. Purpose: Turkey”
“Valentina P. — 15,000 rubles. Purpose: fur coat”
Her hands began to shake. Marina kept scrolling. Over the past year, Andrey had transferred more than three hundred thousand rubles to his mother and sister.
Three hundred thousand.
While she had been cutting corners on everything. Buying groceries only on sale. Denying herself even a new pair of tights.
She opened her mother-in-law’s social media. The latest photos were from Sochi. Valentina Pavlovna, posing in a new swimsuit against the sea, had captioned the photo: “Life is beautiful! Thank you, son, for the vacation!”
Olga’s stories showed videos from a hotel in Turkey. “All-inclusive is heaven!”
“So my card is paying for your family’s vacations?” Marina waited for her husband to come home from work, the printed statement clenched in her hands.
“What are you talking about?” Andrey tried to look surprised.
“Don’t pretend! Three hundred thousand in a year! While I’m scrubbing laundry until my hands bleed, your mommy is sunbathing in Sochi!”
“Marina, calm down…”
“I am calm! Explain to me why there’s no money for a washing machine, but there is money for your mother’s fur coat!”
“It’s my money. I earn it.”
“Yours?” Marina nearly choked on the word. “And the fact that I’m killing myself at two jobs so we can save for an apartment—that doesn’t count? I save on everything. I haven’t bought myself lipstick in two months, while your sister is lounging in Turkey on our money!”
“Not our money. Mine. And anyway, when you helped your mother, I didn’t say anything.”
“Five thousand for medicine is ‘help’?! Your mother is healthier than both of us put together!”
Andrey said nothing, staring at the floor.
“You know what?” Marina slid off her wedding ring. “Go live with your mommy. Since she matters more to you than your wife.”
Andrey moved in with his mother a week later. Valentina Pavlovna welcomed him with open arms.
“My poor boy, I told you she was never right for you! Always unhappy, always greedy!”
“Mom, maybe I was wrong…”
“Oh, nonsense! You did the right thing. No man should grovel before his wife. Stay with me for a while, get some rest, and then maybe we’ll find you a proper girl—not some miser.”
The first week was almost pleasant. His mother cooked his favorite cutlets, ironed his shirts. He came home from work to peace and quiet—no complaints, no arguments.
By the second week, the calls began.
“Son, my refrigerator is acting up. I need a new one. Something around fifty thousand.”
“Mom, money’s tight right now…”
“Tight? How can it be tight? You’re not spending on two people anymore!”
A month later, Olga called.
“Bro, I need money for makeup courses. Only thirty thousand.”
“Olya, I can’t right now.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? You always helped me. Or did that Marina of yours twist your mind again?”
“We broke up.”
“Well, that’s even better! So what about the courses?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t have the money.”
“Andrey, are you serious? I’m your sister! You’re supposed to help me!”
Supposed to.
That word lodged in his mind like a splinter.
Andrey remembered that Marina had never once said, “You’re supposed to.” She asked. She suggested they figure things out together. She was grateful for every little thing.
That evening, his mother made a scene.
“Why did you transfer only twenty thousand? I need money for a sanatorium trip!”
“Mom, that’s half my salary…”
“So what? You used to send more! This is all because of that ex of yours. She ruined you. Made you stingy!”
Andrey looked at his mother—at her carefully groomed hands with a manicure that wasn’t nearly as neat as Marina’s, at her new robe, at the refrigerator filled with expensive food.
And then he remembered Marina.
How she came home exhausted after two shifts and still cooked dinner. How she got excited over a cheap lipstick from a clearance sale. How her hands cracked from washing clothes by hand.
Andrey stood outside the door of their old rental apartment holding a bouquet of roses.
“Marina, open the door! I understand everything now. Forgive me!”
Silence.
“I was an idiot! Mom and Olga were just using me! Let’s fix this. Let’s start over!”
The lock clicked.
Marina stood in the doorway. She had lost weight, but there was something different about her now—something calm and unshakable.
“Andrey, go home.”
“Marina, please forgive me! I’ll buy you a washing machine, we’ll go on vacation—”
“I already bought myself a washing machine. On my own. And I’m going on vacation too. Also on my own.”
“But… we love each other!”
Marina gave a faint, bitter smile.
“Love means thinking about someone besides yourself and your mommy. You made your choice, Andrey. Now live with it.”
“I’ll change!”
“Do you know what your mother said when she found out we split up? ‘At last you got rid of that little beggar.’ Tell her this little beggar now earns more than you do. And spends it only on herself.”
The door closed.
Andrey drove back to his mother’s place. She met him with complaints.
“Where have you been? I’m out of groceries—go to the store! And Olga needs money for a new phone. Don’t forget to send it!”
He sat down on the couch in his mother’s apartment. Took out his phone. Opened the photos.
There they were at the sea—their only vacation in three years. Marina was laughing, holding him, happy.
He deleted the photo.
Now he was free.
Free to support his mother and sister for the rest of their lives.
And maybe for the rest of his own.
In the apartment next door, a brand-new washing machine hummed to life. Marina loaded the laundry, turned on her favorite series, and uncorked a bottle of wine.
Expensive wine.
She wasn’t saving on herself anymore.
