Love checked the bank app notifications while she waited for the bus. Her salary as a sales manager at a large IT company allowed for a comfortable life—eighty thousand a month plus bonuses. Igor worked as a mechanic at a factory, earned about thirty thousand, and didn’t make much effort to look for anything better. He was used to his wife providing for the family.
At home, Lyuba found her husband on the couch with his phone. Empty chip bags and a beer bottle lay nearby.
“Lyubka, hi!” Igor didn’t even look up from the screen. “Listen, my mom called. She says they need nails and paint for the dacha. Can you give me three thousand?”
Lyubov tiredly took off her blazer. Another request for money. Lately, these conversations had been happening almost every day.
“Why do they need paint?”
“They’re going to paint the fence. It’s all peeling.”
“And why should I pay for that?”
Igor finally tore himself away from his phone and looked at his wife in puzzlement.
“Why? We’re family. My parents are asking for help.”
“Your parents,” Lyubov corrected him. “And they also have pensions.”
“Oh come on, what pensions!” her husband waved it off. “Pennies. And you earn well—what’s three thousand to you?”
Lyuba went into the kitchen without answering. Three thousand today, five yesterday, ten last week. It added up to a tidy sum over a month. And yet Tamara Viktorovna and Aleksandr Petrovich each received a pension of twenty thousand. Plus, Aleksandr Petrovich picked up shifts as a night watchman.
“Lyuban!” came the voice from the room. “So will you give me the money or not?”
“I will,” Lyuba sighed. “But I’m warning you for the last time—stop treating me like an ATM.”
Igor laughed.
“Oh, come on! Don’t be stingy. What’s ours is ours.”
But there wasn’t much “ours.” Lyubov paid for the apartment, bought groceries, covered the internet and utilities. Igor spent his salary on beer, cigarettes, and entertainment. And his family had gotten used to the daughter-in-law always helping out.
At work, her colleague Marina noticed her bad mood.
“Lyubasha, why so gloomy?”
“I’m just tired of everything,” Lyubov admitted. “I feel like a cash cow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Igor and his parents do nothing but ask for money. For the dacha, for medicine, for something else. And meanwhile they spend on little indulgences—go to cafés, buy new clothes.”
“And you can’t say no?”
“I’ve tried. Then come the hurt feelings and tears. They say I’m greedy, heartless. That I don’t value family.”
“Lyuba, they’re just using you!” Marina flared up. “They’re adults; they can take care of themselves.”
“I know,” Lyubov nodded. “But what should I do? It feels awkward to refuse completely.”
“Why awkward? It’s your hard-earned money!”
On the way home, Lyubov thought about her friend’s words. Really, when had this started? At first they asked occasionally, for something important. And now they didn’t even ask—they demanded it like it was owed.
At home, Igor greeted his wife looking pleased with himself.
“Lyubka, my parents say thank you! They bought the paint and nails. And they picked up some shashlik for dinner, too.”
“Shashlik?”
“Yeah, since they were at the store, they decided to get some meat as well. The holiday’s coming up.”
Lyubov closed her eyes. Three thousand for nails and paint had turned into a full-on spree. And tomorrow there would likely be a new request—for salads to go with the shashlik or for alcohol.
Two days later, Tamara Viktorovna called herself.
“Lyubochka, dear! How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Listen, do you happen to have five thousand? Aleksandr Petrovich made an appointment with a doctor and needs to do some tests.”
“What kind of tests cost five thousand?”
“Well, a full check-up. At a good clinic. The clinic’s better, you know. At the public polyclinic there are lines, and the doctors are rude.”
Lyubov thought about her own schedule. She herself had been putting off a dentist visit for half a year—no time and expensive. And her father-in-law had decided to get a full check-up at her expense.
“Can’t he go to the polyclinic under his insurance?”
“Oh, they do a poor job there when it’s free!” her mother-in-law protested. “We’re used to quality medicine.”
“Used to quality medicine at my expense,” Lyubov thought, but out loud she said:
“All right, I’ll transfer it.”
“Thank you, precious! You’re so good to us!”
After the call, Lyubov sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Numbers spun in her head. Over the past three months, her husband’s family had “borrowed” more than thirty thousand from her. For the dacha, medicine, gifts, car repairs. No one had even hinted at paying it back.
And Lyuba had her own plans. She wanted to visit her mother on vacation but postponed it—there wasn’t enough money. She planned to buy a new laptop, but again had to spend on her father-in-law’s needs.
The next week, the thing happened that broke the camel’s back.
Lyubov was at work going through sales reports. It had been a tough day—a demanding client, urgent tasks, a scramble to close quarterly numbers. At times like that, she especially longed to go home to peace and comfort.
Lyuba opened the banking app. “Card transaction: 55,000 rubles charged. Merchant: Restaurant Golden Palace.”
Lyubov stared at the screen, not believing her eyes. Fifty-five thousand? At a restaurant? Who could have spent that much?
Her heart clenched unpleasantly. The first thought—cheating. Igor dining with a mistress at an expensive restaurant on her dime. Her hands trembled as she dialed her husband’s number.
“Hello,” Igor answered reluctantly.
“Where are you?” Lyuba’s voice was tight.
“At home. Why?”
“Igor, just tell me honestly—where were you today?”
“At home! I didn’t go anywhere since morning. Lyub, what happened?”
Lyubov exhaled. So not cheating. Then who?
“Fifty-five thousand were charged from my card at the Golden Palace restaurant.”
“Ahhh,” Igor drawled. “Yeah, that was us—me and my parents had dinner.”
“How could you have dinner?” Lyubov’s voice broke into a shout.
“Well… it was Mom’s birthday. It was yesterday. We decided to go to a restaurant.”
“Igor, and why wasn’t I invited?”
“Well, you were working. Mom said we shouldn’t bother you.”
Lyubov felt blood pounding in her temples. So they had spent her money on a family celebration and hadn’t even invited her. They’d used her like an ATM, nothing more.
“Igor, don’t go anywhere.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
The remaining two hours of the workday dragged on painfully. Lyubov couldn’t concentrate; her thoughts ricocheted between hurt and fury. How could they do that? Spend a huge sum and not even warn her?
At home, Igor was waiting with a guilty look. But not too guilty—more like a child caught in a minor prank.
“Lyubka, don’t be mad. We didn’t mean anything bad.”
“Didn’t mean it?” Lyubov slammed the door. “Fifty-five thousand rubles! My money! Blown on a party I wasn’t even invited to!”
“Well, Mom said you get tired at work…”
“‘Mom said’!” Lyubov mimicked. “And you couldn’t ask? Give me a heads-up?”
Igor shrugged.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind. We’re family.”
“Family?” Lyubov’s voice shook with indignation. “What family? You didn’t even invite me!”
“Oh, don’t make a scene. It was just a regular family dinner.”
“For fifty-five thousand rubles?”
“Well… Mom ordered good wine. And picked expensive dishes. She said we rarely go to places like that.”
Lyuba sank into a chair, feeling helpless. Igor spoke so casually, as if they were talking about buying a loaf of bread.
“Igor, do you understand you spent half my salary?”
“I do. But what now? It’s already spent.”
“And you couldn’t ask me first?”
“I could, sure. But you would’ve allowed it anyway.”
Lyubov shot up from the chair.
“Are you out of your mind? Making me pay for a spree I wasn’t even invited to?”
The words burst out on their own, full of pent-up pain and humiliation. The last drop in an overflowing cup.
Igor frowned.
“Why are you yelling? Mom suggested we meet—I couldn’t refuse. It would’ve been awkward.”
“It was awkward to refuse your mother, but putting me in an awkward position is fine?”
“Lyuba, you know—family is sacred. Mom rarely asks.”
“Rarely?” Lyubov laughed bitterly. “Your mom asks for something every week!”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not! Three thousand for the dacha, five for the doctor, ten for the car repair. And now fifty-five for a restaurant!”
Igor looked away.
“So what? You have money.”
“I have it!” Lyubov exploded. “It’s my money that I earn! And you spend it as if it were yours!”
“We’re husband and wife. What’s ours is shared.”
“Shared? And where is your contribution to this ‘shared’? You spend your paycheck on beer, and feed your family with my money!”
“Lyubochka, why are you so angry? So we spent a little.”
“A little?” Lyubov’s voice cracked. “Fifty-five thousand is ‘a little’?”
“Well, for you it is. You earn well.”
Those words felt like a slap. To him, her money really meant nothing. Just an inexhaustible source to draw from without limits.
“You know what, Igor,” Lyubov suddenly felt a strange calm, “if fifty-five thousand is pocket change to you, then from now on live on your own salary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you will no longer have access to my money.”
Igor blinked in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tomorrow I’ll block all the cards you have access to. You’ll spend only your own money.”
“Lyubanya, you can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
That very night, Lyubov sat down at her laptop. She went into online banking, unlinked all cards from her husband’s phone, changed PINs, and set limits. The work took thirty minutes, and with each keystroke she felt lighter.
In the morning, Igor woke up in a foul mood.
“Lyuba, I went too far yesterday. Let’s just forget it.”
“No, Igor. The decision is made.”
“But how am I supposed to live?”
“On your salary. Like millions of other people.”
“And if something urgent comes up?”
“Borrow from friends. Or go to the bank for a loan.”
Igor looked lost. For the first time in years of marriage, he would have to budget on his own.
Two days later, Tamara Viktorovna called.
“Lyubochka, what’s Igor talking about? You blocked some cards?”
“Hello, Tamara Viktorovna. I decided everyone should spend their own money.”
“How can it be ‘their own’? You’re a family!”
“A family that spends fifty-five thousand at a restaurant without inviting me.”
“Oh come on! It was a celebration; we were in high spirits. We thought you were working.”
“Tamara Viktorovna, if you had spent your own money, I wouldn’t say a word. But spending mine without asking is disrespectful.”
“Lyubochka, how can you! We’re family!”
“Family asks permission before spending someone else’s money.”
“Why are you acting like a stranger! How cruel you’ve become!”
Lyuba hung up. “Cruel”—because she didn’t want to be an ATM. How convenient.
Aleksandr Petrovich didn’t wait long either. He came by in the evening when Igor wasn’t home.
“Lyubov, we need to talk.”
“I’m listening, Aleksandr Petrovich.”
“What did you do to my son? He’s beside himself.”
“I didn’t do anything. I just restricted access to my money.”
“What do you mean restricted? He’s your husband!”
“Husband doesn’t mean owner of my account.”
“What’s gotten into you? You’ve become so stingy!”
“Aleksandr Petrovich, you get a twenty-thousand pension plus another twenty for your watchman shifts. Forty thousand for the two of you is decent money.”
“Decent? It’s pennies!”
“Then find additional income. Don’t live at my expense.”
Her father-in-law reddened with indignation.
“At your expense? We accepted you into the family!”
“Accepted me to support you?”
“How dare you!”
“I dare. This is my home, and I have the right to say what I think.”
Aleksandr Petrovich left, slamming the door. And Lyubov felt a surge of strength. For the first time in years of marriage, she had dared to speak the truth to their faces.
Igor started coming home later and later. His salary was only enough for the essentials, and he wasn’t used to denying himself entertainment. His mood worsened by the day.
“Lyubka, how long is this going to go on?” Igor whined. “Give me the cards back.”
“No.”
“But why? I get it; I was wrong!”
“No, Igor, you don’t get it. You’re just angry the ATM broke.”
“Why are you so heartless! We’re family!”
“Family asks for your opinion, they don’t present you with a fait accompli.”
“Fine, I’m at fault! I won’t do it again!”
“I don’t believe you. How many times have you promised already?”
The fights became more frequent. Igor grew irritated by having to economize, while Lyubov felt the opposite—relief. At last, her money was being spent on her needs.
She made a dentist appointment, bought herself a new dress, set aside money for a vacation to visit her mother. Things she hadn’t had funds for before because of the constant “loans” to her husband’s family.
A month later, Igor snapped. He came home aggressive, drunk on beer, and started a scene.
“Lyubov! Enough of this! Either you return the cards, or I’m leaving!”
“Where will you go?” his wife asked calmly.
“To my parents! They’ll understand me!”
“Understanding parents,” Lyuba smirked. “The ones who also need supporting. They don’t need you empty-handed.”
“Shut up!” Igor shouted. “I’m sick of you! Greedy, mean!”
“Igor, if you don’t like it—the door isn’t locked.”
“You think I won’t leave?”
“I think without my money you’re no use to anyone. Not even your parents.”
Her husband flushed with rage.
“That’s it! Last warning—either the cards or a divorce!”
Lyubov silently walked to the front door and threw it open.
“Don’t let the doorknob hit you on the way out.”
Igor stared at his wife in shock. Apparently, he’d expected her to be frightened by the threat of divorce.
“Are you… serious?”
“More than ever. Go.”
“But I’m not ready…”
“I am. I’ve been ready for a long time.”
Igor slowly walked to the door, still hoping she would change her mind. But Lyuba stood firm.
“Lyuban, think it over…”
“I already have. For five years. That’s enough. No one is going to live at my expense anymore and call it love.”
Her husband left, and Lyubov locked the door with all the bolts. Silence settled in the apartment. Long-awaited, healing silence.
She went into the kitchen and brewed tea. For the first time in years, she didn’t have to tally up how much she’d spent, who she’d given money to, what they’d ask for tomorrow.
Her phone was quiet—no calls from her mother-in-law with requests, no demands from her husband. Just peace.
It was raining outside, and in her soul, for the first time in a long time, it was sunny. Tomorrow a new life would begin—honest, fair, and free of people who saw her only as a source of income.
