“Your wife isn’t going anywhere. Her money is needed for my daughter,” my mother-in-law declared, standing in the middle of the kitchen and waving my spa voucher in the air. “Sveta needs money for her wedding, and this one has already started dreaming about resorts!”
“Mom, this is none of your business,” Viktor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. “Natasha has been saving for that trip for three years.”
“Saving? With your family money! While my Sveta is working herself to the bone at college, this one is planning a wellness getaway? Absolutely not. Hand over the voucher. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
I froze in the doorway, grocery bag clutched in my hand. A lump rose in my throat—not from hurt, but from anger.
Valentina Petrovna had moved in with us two months earlier. “Temporarily,” Vitya had said at the time. “Just until Sveta finishes college.” Temporary had turned into a nightmare that seemed to be only beginning.
The first week, she simply surveyed the territory. She rummaged through our cupboards, inspected grocery receipts, and tried to calculate my salary.
“So how much do you make?” she asked one evening over dinner.
“Enough,” I answered shortly.
“Enough is not an answer. I’m Viktor’s mother. I have a right to know.”
“Mom, stop it,” my husband cut in.
“What? They live together, so the money is shared. And Sveta is getting married. She needs help.”
Sveta was my sister-in-law, Vitya’s younger sister. Twenty-three, finishing a teaching degree by correspondence, and working at a café. Her fiancé, some Zhenya from a neighboring district, seemed like an ordinary enough guy from the couple of times I’d seen him.
“We’ll help within reason,” Viktor said then.
“Within reason? Are you serious? Your own sister is getting married once in her life!”
From that day on, the money drain began. A dress for Sveta. Shoes for Sveta. A veil for Sveta. Vitya kept handing over cash. I kept quiet—it was his sister, his money. But my mother-in-law didn’t stop there. She decided my money was fair game too.
Three weeks earlier, Valentina Petrovna had barged into my room without knocking.
“Is Natasha home? Sveta called me. She and Zhenya are short on money for an apartment.”
“And?”
“And what do you mean, and? You need to help. You got a bonus last week.”
I nearly choked on my tea.
“How do you know about my bonus?”
“Vitya told me. So, will you give fifty thousand?”
I stared at her.
“Valentina Petrovna, that’s my money. I’m saving for a vacation.”
“A vacation? Listen to her—some kind of princess. Sveta needs it more. She’s getting married.”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes like a cat about to pounce.
“We’ll see what Vitya says.”
To his credit, Vitya had been on my side. But his mother knew exactly how to wear him down—tears, heart complaints, a bottle of валидол in hand. By evening, he caved.
“Natash, maybe we should give it to them? They’ll pay it back later.”
“Vitya, I’ve been saving for this spa trip for three years. My back is wrecked after that accident. I need treatment.”
“I know, but Mom is beside herself…”
In the end, I didn’t give them the money. But I had already bought the voucher—paid online two days before that conversation. I thought I’d gotten lucky.
“So why are you standing there like a post?” Valentina Petrovna snapped now, noticing me in the doorway. “Give me the spa papers. I said so.”
“I won’t.”
“What did you say? Who do you think you are?”
“Someone who should have said this a long time ago. That voucher is mine. I paid for it with my own money.”
“You ungrateful little wretch! Vitya, do you hear the way your wife is talking to me?”
My husband was sitting there, staring at his phone. He looked up—tired, defeated.
“Mom, enough. Natasha is right.”
“She’s right? I raised you. I gave my whole life to you and Sveta. And now your own sister is getting married, and you’re both being stingy?”
I walked into the kitchen and set the grocery bag on the table. My hands were shaking with anger.
“Valentina Petrovna, we already gave Sveta a hundred thousand. Vitya sold his car.”
“It’s not enough! A wedding is serious! And she’s planning spa trips while we’re all here—”
“Stop,” I said, turning to face her. “We? You’ve been living in our home for two months, paying nothing, eating on our dime, and still making demands. Maybe that’s enough?”
Her face turned crimson.
“How dare you! Vitya! Choose—either me or her!”
Silence fell over the room like an axe hanging in the air. Viktor stood up slowly and walked over to his mother.
“Mom, go pack your things.”
“What?!”
“You heard me. Pack your things and go home.”
“Vitya, you’re throwing out your own mother for this—”
“For my wife,” he said firmly. “The woman who has put up with your behavior for two months. The woman who works two jobs after an accident just to get her health back. Enough.”
Valentina Petrovna clutched at her chest—her signature performance.
“Oh, my heart! I’m not well!”
“Mom, stop the show. Your pills are in your purse.”
She looked at her son as though he had betrayed her. Then she turned to me.
“You turned him against me. Snake.”
“No, Mom. I figured it out myself. Finally.”
She stormed out of the kitchen. Half an hour later, the front door slammed.
A week passed. Sveta called every day—crying one moment, threatening the next. Viktor didn’t answer. On the third day, she came in person.
“Have you lost your mind?” she shouted. “You kicked Mom out!”
“Sveta, Mom has her own apartment,” he said calmly. “And a decent pension.”
“But it’s hard for her to live alone!”
“She’ll manage. Just like we managed while she was bleeding us dry.”
“Bleeding you dry? I need money for the wedding!”
“Sveta,” I cut in, unable to stay silent, “how much does your Zhenya make?”
“None of your business!”
“It is my business if you keep reaching into our pockets. He owns his own business, doesn’t he?”
She flushed red.
“So what? A wedding is a tradition. Family is supposed to help.”
“Supposed to help doesn’t mean obligated to fund everything. We helped. That’s over.”
“You bitch! Vitya, did you hear that?”
“I did,” he said. “And I agree. Leave, Sveta.”
She left, slamming the door so hard a framed photo fell off the wall.
A month later, I came back from the spa. My back barely hurt anymore, and I felt wonderful. Vitya met me at the airport with flowers.
“I’m sorry,” he said right there in the arrivals hall. “I should have stopped it sooner.”
“It’s done,” I said. “How’s home?”
“Quiet. Peaceful. Mom called a couple of times. I didn’t answer.”
He was right. The apartment was peaceful. No one digging through cupboards. No one counting money. No hysterics. Bliss.
The next day, a neighbor called.
“Natasha, you won’t believe this. Sveta’s wedding is off!”
“What do you mean, off?”
“The groom ran away a week before the ceremony! They say Sveta and her mother drove his parents crazy with all their demands, and they convinced him to back out. And guess what? Zhenya is already seeing someone else—a girl from a simple family where nobody is constantly begging for money!”
I hung up and burst out laughing. Vitya looked at me questioningly.
“Sveta’s wedding fell apart. The groom ran off.”
“Seriously?” he whistled. “Well, that’s something.”
“Do you think your mother will try to come back now?”
“Let her try. I changed the locks just in case.”
Six months passed. One evening, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Valentina Petrovna—older-looking, thinner, worn down.
“Vitya, son… forgive me.”
“What happened, Mom?”
“Sveta… well… she’s pregnant. By Zhenya. And he won’t marry her. Says the baby isn’t his. But it is, I swear, she wasn’t with anyone else—”
“And what does that have to do with us?” Viktor asked.
“Vitya, help us. I can’t manage alone. My pension won’t cover a baby.”
My husband looked at me. I shrugged. It was his decision.
“Mom, we’ll help Sveta with the baby. I’ll buy a stroller, a crib, clothes for the first months. But you are not moving back in here. And you are not going to run our lives again.”
“But Vitya…”
“That’s final. Take it or leave it.”
She nodded and shuffled toward the elevator. At the door, she turned back.
“Natasha… forgive me. I was wrong.”
I nodded. There was nothing more to say.
Sveta gave birth to a boy. She named him Vitya, after her brother. We really did help—diapers, formula, baby clothes. But the boundaries were firm.
One day Valentina Petrovna called.
“Natasha, could I ask you to watch the baby for a few hours? I need to go to the doctor.”
“Of course. Bring him over.”
She arrived with the little boy. While I fussed over the baby, she sat quietly in the kitchen. Then suddenly she said:
“You know, all my life I believed children owed their parents. I raised them, so they had to repay me. But it turns out no one owes anyone anything.”
“You figured that out rather late.”
“Yes. But at least I figured it out. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For standing up to me. If you hadn’t, I would have devoured both of you.”
Little Vitya began to cry. I picked him up and rocked him gently.
“Valentina Petrovna, family isn’t about debt. It’s about love and respect.”
“I know that now,” she said quietly. “It’s a shame I learned it so late.”
She left an hour later. After that, our relationship became… normal. Not warm, but respectful. She no longer interfered in our lives, and we helped with the baby.
Sveta never did get married. She works and raises her son on her own. Zhenya pays child support—the bare minimum, but at least it’s something.
And me? I learned the most important thing of all: I am the only one who gets to decide how I live my life and how I spend my money.
Even if the person trying to decide for me is my husband’s own mother.
