There is a very special, stubbornly resilient subspecies of mammals in nature. Their entire survival instinct is built on the masterful exploitation of those closest to them.
In zoology, creatures like that are called parasites.
In everyday life, they are called “your husband’s relatives.”
By the time I turned forty-two, after years of working as a financial analyst, I had learned one ironclad rule:
If your mother-in-law suddenly starts calling you “our clever girl” and gently pushes a little dish of homemade jam closer to you, stay alert. Somewhere deep in her mind, a plan to seize your property has already been drafted, approved, and put into motion.
I am an independent woman, and I stopped having illusions about human nature a long time ago.
My husband, Kostya, is not a bad man overall. But the moment his mother, Zinaida Pavlovna, enters the room, he instantly regresses into a single-celled organism: he shrinks, goes quiet, and survives only on whatever he is given.
That fateful Sunday, the entire clan gathered around the table.
At the head sat Zinaida Pavlovna herself. To her right was my sister-in-law’s aunt, Aunt Lyusya, a woman with the face of a lifelong martyr and the grip of a bull terrier.
To her left sat my husband’s cousin, thirty-year-old Vovik. Vovik’s greatest achievement in life was an unfinished tire-fitting course from 2012 and the ability to sleep with his eyes open.
“Verochka,” my mother-in-law began.
Her voice flowed like thick, sticky syrup, the kind that could trap a medium-sized fly.
“We had a little family discussion and decided without you…”
“Years are passing, you know. Health isn’t what it used to be. We want a bit of land, fresh air. A family nest! A country house!”
“A wonderful idea, Zinaida Pavlovna,” I said politely, cutting myself a piece of apple pie.
“And where exactly are you planning to find the money for this noble estate?”
My mother-in-law folded her plump little hands over her chest. Her eyes sparkled like two freshly polished coins.
“Well, we’re family, aren’t we? We’ll all pitch in together! You, Verochka, have an official salary, a good position, and a credit history as pure as a baby’s tear.”
“The bank will happily approve any amount for you! You just need to take out three or four million in your name. And we’ll pay it off together. The whole family! We’ll clear it in no time!”
“The whole family?” I raised an eyebrow. Somewhere inside me, a tiny satirist woke up and rubbed his hands with joy.
“Allow me to clarify the details of this grand investment project.”
“Of course!” Aunt Lyusya jumped in enthusiastically. “I’ll put money aside from my pension. Five thousand every month! Like clockwork!”
“And I’ll… you know… help with my hands!” Vovik rumbled in his deep voice, hiding his empty stare in his plate of aspic.
“I’ll pour the foundation. A buddy of mine works as a security guard at a cement factory. We can get bags cheap if he tosses them over the fence.”
I looked at this parade of pure, undiluted audacity and mentally applauded.
The plan was brilliant.
I would hang a multimillion-ruble debt around my own neck. The country house, of course, would be built on Zinaida Pavlovna’s land, meaning that legally it would belong only to her.
And they would repay the bank interest with Aunt Lyusya’s five thousand a month and Vovik’s imaginary stolen cement.
Within a month, I would hear, “Oh, Verochka, inflation, my blood pressure is acting up, Vovik can’t find work again. You pay this month, dear. You’re the rich one in the family.”
And so it would continue for the next fifteen years.
“Zinaida Pavlovna!” I exclaimed, throwing up my hands and painting religious ecstasy across my face.
“You are a genius! What worldly wisdom! Truly, a family nest! I’ll go to the bank tomorrow. And we won’t take three million. We’ll take five!”
“If we’re doing this, let’s do it properly. Two floors, a fireplace, and a real log sauna!”
Vovik choked on his aspic. Aunt Lyusya crossed herself dramatically toward the crystal chandelier. My mother-in-law blossomed as though someone had just handed her the keys to the Hermitage.
“My golden girl!” she sang, wiping away a tear that did not exist.
“Kostya, look what a wife you have!”
For the entire following week, I walked around mysterious and businesslike.
I asked Zinaida Pavlovna for copies of the land documents and spent long, thoughtful minutes tapping numbers into a calculator. My husband’s relatives were in absolute euphoria. In their minds, they were already grilling kebabs on my neck and sunbathing on my spine.
The next Saturday, I called a return “family council.”
I dressed in a strict gray suit, placed a thick folder of papers on the table, and swept the room with the heavy gaze of an inquisitor.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the concession,” I began in the voice of a news anchor announcing the start of nuclear winter.
“I have excellent news. The bank has preliminarily approved five million for us. At a very favorable rate.”
My mother-in-law clapped her hands. Vovik made a happy grunt.
“But,” I lifted one finger, “because the amount is substantial, the bank’s security department has set several strict conditions. The loan is targeted. The bank knows we will all be paying together, so they have prepared joint liability agreements.”
The smile on Zinaida Pavlovna’s face began slowly sliding down, like a snowman melting in spring.
“What kind of… liability?” she squeaked.
“Joint liability!” I confirmed cheerfully.
“You will all officially be co-borrowers and guarantors. But that is not all. The bank requires solid collateral.”
“From my side, I am putting up the car that Kostya and I own. Aunt Lyusya, the bank requires your one-room Khrushchev apartment as collateral.”
“And from you, Zinaida Pavlovna, they require your lovely three-room apartment.”
“My apartment?!” my mother-in-law grabbed her chest. Her complexion took on the fascinating shade of old broccoli.
“Of course!” I widened my eyes with maximum innocence and pulled forms out of the folder.
“Here are the collateral agreements. All you need to do is sign. You said it yourselves: we’ll pay it off in no time. Lyusya will help with money, Vovik with cement. What is there to fear?”
“You weren’t planning to dump the entire loan on me alone, were you? We’re honest people, aren’t we?”
“But… but what if we suddenly can’t pay?” whispered Lyusya, pressing herself into the chair as if she wanted to merge with the wallpaper.
“Then the bank will legally seize your apartments and sell them at auction,” I said calmly, with the faint smile of a serial killer.
“But we’re a team! We won’t allow any missed payments. By the way, Vovik, the bank checked your history. They want your garage as collateral. And mandatory life insurance.”
“If something goes wrong, the bank will sell the garage, and you’ll be sent to forced labor. Just kidding. You’ll simply end up on the street.”
The room became so quiet that I could hear the clock ticking in the hallway — and the sound of other people’s castles in the air collapsing with a beautiful crash.
It was psychological aikido in its purest form: I simply took their shameless plan and attached their own real responsibility to it.
“You know, Verochka…” my mother-in-law croaked, rubbing her chest nervously.
“I’ve been thinking… What country house? I have sciatica. I’ll die out there in those garden beds, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes, yes!” Aunt Lyusya supported her with panic in her voice. “And my blood pressure keeps jumping! What five thousand? I barely have enough for my heart drops!”
“And I need my garage,” Vovik muttered, pushing his chair away from the table as if my folder were emitting radiation. “My winter tires are stored there.”
I sighed heavily.
“What a shame. And I believed so deeply in our family unity. So we’re canceling it? No one is willing to risk their own property for the sake of our shared family nest?”
They all nodded so vigorously and in such perfect sync that they could have been sent straight to the Olympics.
“Well, in that case…” I gracefully closed the folder with the fake bank forms and pulled another document from my handbag. “Since you have officially refused, I solved the matter differently.”
I placed a fresh property registry extract on the table, along with a photo of a charming little Finnish-style cottage by a lake.
“Yesterday, my mother bought this country house. As a loving daughter, I added the missing amount from my personal savings — money I had before marriage.”
“So legally, neither I nor, especially, my husband have anything to do with this property. No loans. Just silence, pine trees, and one hundred percent ownership by my mother.”
Zinaida Pavlovna opened her mouth, then slowly closed it.
Her eyes displayed a complex palette of emotions: unwilling admiration for my devilish foresight mixed with deep, hopeless despair. She had been outplayed elegantly, flawlessly, and by every rule of the art.
“And what about… us?” my mother-in-law squeezed out, staring at the photo of the cottage. “We’ll be able to visit, won’t we? Get some fresh air…”
I smiled warmly as I put the documents back into my bag.
“Of course, Zinaida Pavlovna. I’ll be expecting all of you in August. You can weed twenty hundred square meters of virgin soil, and Vovik can dig a well. We’re family, after all. We must help one another. Completely free of charge.”
Since then, no one in our house has ever brought up loans or joint property again.
And whenever Zinaida Pavlovna meets my eyes now, she swallows nervously for some reason.
Perhaps she understands one thing at last:
Parasites stand no chance against predators.
