Elvira stood by the window, looking out at the rainy October street. Three days earlier, the money from selling her late grandmother Raisa’s apartment had hit the bank account. Twenty million rubles—a sum that could change a life. The deal had been done officially through a notary; all the documents were in a folder on the writing desk.
The apartment in the old neighborhood had been on the market for a long time. A two-room Khrushchyovka with low ceilings and a leaky roof didn’t attract many buyers. But the land under the five-story building turned out to be a gold mine—the city planned to demolish the dilapidated housing and build a new residential district. The developer offered a price no one could refuse.
Elvira worked as a merchandise manager in a grocery store, her husband Viktor was a fitter at a factory. Their money covered only the essentials. They lived with Viktor’s mother, Nina Vasilievna, in her three-room apartment. They didn’t have a place of their own, and housing prices were rising faster than their wages.
The unexpected inheritance opened up many possibilities. They could buy an apartment, a car, put money away for old age. Or invest in education, start a business. Elvira had been weighing the options for several days, but hadn’t made a final decision.
That evening the family, as usual, gathered in the kitchen for dinner. Nina Vasilievna set fried chicken with rice on the table and sliced a cabbage salad. Rain drizzled outside; the lamps cast a cozy glow.
“Today they announced a bonus at the plant,” Viktor said, cutting the chicken into portions. “For exceeding the plan. Not much, but still nice.”
Elvira listened in silence as her husband and his mother exchanged meaningful glances. They were plotting something—you could feel it in the air. Nina Vasilievna kept glancing at her daughter-in-law, as if gauging the right moment to speak.
“Elia,” Viktor suddenly turned to his wife, setting down his fork and turning his whole body toward her. “You know what? I think it’s time to tell Mom the good news.”
Elvira raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. Viktor beamed and declared ceremoniously:
“Mom, we’re rich now—Elka got twenty million, so you’re getting the dacha fixed up!”
Nina Vasilievna clapped her hands and nodded with delight.
“Good girl! You’ll do everything right! I told you that apartment of Grandma’s would turn into a blessing!”
Elvira frowned and tilted her head, trying to process what she’d heard. When exactly had her husband and his mother discussed plans for her money? And why did they decide they could dispose of the inheritance without her?
“Just imagine, Mom,” Viktor went on, inspired, “they’ll rebuild that shed at the dacha into a real cottage! We’ll pour a new foundation, insulate the walls, put on a metal-tile roof. You’ll have a palace!”
“Oh, Vit’ka,” Nina Vasilievna giggled, “and will we do a glassed-in veranda? And dig a new cellar? The old one’s falling apart.”
“Of course! And we’ll install a modern septic system instead of the pit. And drill a well for water. You’ll live like a queen!”
Elvira just looked at her husband, as if checking whether Viktor was truly naive enough to think it was possible to spend someone else’s money without asking the owner. Or was it calculation?
“It’s my money,” Elvira said quietly. “And I’ll be the one to decide how to use it.”
An awkward silence fell. Viktor stopped gesturing and stared at his wife in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected any pushback.
“Well, yes, of course, yours,” he agreed in a conciliatory tone. “But Mom’s taken care of us for so many years—cooking, cleaning. It’s time we repaid good with good.”
“I’m like a mother to you,” Nina Vasilievna chimed in, pressing a hand to her heart. “We’ve lived together for years, and I’ve never said a bad word. Always supported you, helped you.”
Elvira remembered the endless reproaches from her mother-in-law about cooking, cleaning, and spending money. The constant remarks about the “right” way to wash, iron, and fold clothes. Where was the support in that?
“Elia, think about it,” Viktor scooted closer to his wife. “Mom’s getting on. She needs peace and fresh air. The city apartment is cramped and stuffy. Out at the dacha there’s nature and quiet.”
“Vitya’s right,” Nina Vasilievna supported her son. “At my age, my health isn’t what it was. The doctors say I should spend more time outdoors. And here’s the perfect chance—to put the dacha in order.”
Elvira stood up from the table and began gathering the plates. Her hands trembled slightly with suppressed irritation.
“I haven’t decided anything yet,” Elvira said coolly. “I need time to think it all through.”
Viktor waved her off, not taking her seriously.
“Oh come on, what’s there to think about? The money’s just sitting there. We’ll do a good deed—help Mom.”
And Nina Vasilievna, helping clear the table, muttered under her breath:
“Give a woman money and she’ll only waste it.”
Elvira spun around sharply, but her mother-in-law had already turned to the sink, pretending to be busy with the dishes. Viktor nodded approvingly to his mother.
That night Elvira couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. She tossed and turned, listening to her husband’s even breathing. Thoughts spun in her head, giving her no peace.
Twenty million was a huge amount. With that kind of money you could buy a good apartment in the city center. Or invest in a business that would generate steady income. You could travel, study, grow.
And now it turned out that Viktor and his mother had already decided everything. A cottage at the dacha, landscaping, new outbuildings. All for Nina Vasilievna, who in seven years of living together had never once offered to help the young family.
When Elvira and Viktor got married, they couldn’t afford to rent. Out of generosity, Nina Vasilievna let them live with her, but never stopped reminding them of it. The young couple should be grateful for a roof over their heads, she implied.
Her mother-in-law never said directly what she didn’t like. But she knew how to create an atmosphere of guilt and awkwardness. The food wasn’t cooked right, the cleaning wasn’t done properly, the money wasn’t spent wisely.
Now that there was a chance to get out from under all that, Nina Vasilievna was immediately laying claim to her daughter-in-law’s inheritance.
Elvira got out of bed and quietly went to the kitchen. She brewed tea and sat by the window. It was still drizzling outside; the streetlights dimly lit the empty road.
Tomorrow she would have to make a decision. And that decision would determine the rest of her life.
The next day Viktor went off to work as usual, saying goodbye and reminding her that in the evening he wanted to discuss the plans for the dacha renovation. Nina Vasilievna headed to the clinic for a routine check-up. Elvira waited until the house emptied out, then went to the bank in the morning.
The trip to the central branch took forty minutes by bus. Elvira rode in silence, thinking through every step. Her bag held the inheritance papers and her passport. Her decision had finally solidified.
At the bank, a consultant named Sveta listened carefully to her request.
“You want to open a deposit account with restricted access?” Sveta clarified, studying the documents. “Only the owner can withdraw funds?”
“Exactly,” Elvira answered firmly. “And transfer the entire sum from my current account there.”
The paperwork took an hour and a half. Elvira moved the money from her old account to the new one, to which only she had access. Twenty million rubles were placed somewhere safe, where no one could touch them without her written consent.
Her next stop was the notary’s office. Elvira had long dreamed of opening her own children’s goods store. There were only two big chains in the city, and their prices were painfully high. Young parents constantly complained about the lack of quality, affordable products for their kids.
“Do you plan to register as a sole proprietor or a limited liability company?” asked the notary, an elderly man in a strict suit.
“An LLC,” Elvira decided. “I want to build a serious business, maybe open several locations.”
Elvira invested part of the sum in the small venture she’d been planning. Four million rubles went toward registering the company, renting a retail space for six months, and purchasing the first batch of goods. She set aside another two million for renovating the premises, buying equipment, and a marketing campaign.
Elvira put all the documents in her own name, carefully saved every receipt and contract. The papers fit neatly into a new folder bought especially for this purpose. Every page was numbered and filed.
By six in the evening Elvira was back home. Dinner was already underway in the kitchen—Nina Vasilievna was frying fish cutlets, and Viktor was washing his hands after work.
“Well, here’s our millionaire,” her husband greeted her cheerfully. “How was your day? I hope you were thinking about our plans?”
“By the way,” Nina Vasilievna joined in, flipping the cutlets in the pan, “I called our neighbor Valentina about the dacha today. Told her about our plans. She’s so jealous! Says she wants to fix up her cottage too, but doesn’t have the money.”
Viktor launched back into the dacha talk, enthusing about the bathhouse they’d build, where they’d plant flowerbeds, how they’d arrange the relaxation area. He spoke animatedly, waving his hands, as if he already saw the dream made real.
“I’ve already picked out materials,” he continued. “Good dry timber. And quality roofing—not some cheap knockoff. Pricey, yeah, but worth it.”
Elvira listened in silence, calmly taking a thick folder from her bag. She set it in the middle of the kitchen table, right between the plates of cutlets.
“The money’s been invested,” Elvira said, opening the folder and showing its contents. “It will feed me and our daughter.”
Viktor froze, blinking, unable to believe his wife had acted so quickly and decisively. Nina Vasilievna turned off the stove and spun around sharply.
“What do you mean, invested?” her husband said slowly, scanning the documents. “What are these papers?”
“A certificate of LLC registration, the lease for a retail space, contracts with suppliers of children’s goods,” Elvira listed calmly, pointing to each document. “Everything’s official, and taxes will be paid on schedule.”
“How dare you?!” flared Nina Vasilievna, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “We discussed everything! The family needs the dacha, and you’re off on some nonsense!”
Elvira closed the folder without so much as a glance toward her mother-in-law.
“No one discussed anything,” she replied evenly. “You made the decision for me without bothering to ask my opinion. And I acted at my own discretion.”
“Elia, what are you doing?” Viktor grabbed his head with both hands. “Mom’s right—we wanted to make the family comfortable! And you stuffed the money into some questionable business!”
“Into a clear and promising business,” Elvira corrected him. “One that will generate stable income. Unlike a dacha, which only demands constant spending.”
“But Mom needs the dacha!” Viktor protested. “Where will she live in the summer, get fresh air, grow vegetables?”
“At the same dacha as before,” Elvira replied, unruffled. “The garden bears just fine without my money.”
Nina Vasilievna boiled with anger, but she understood—the situation was already irreversible. The money was spent, the documents signed; the decision couldn’t be taken back.
“So your husband’s mother is a stranger to you,” she said with hurt in her voice. “For eight years I’ve treated you like my own daughter, and this is how you repay me.”
“Enough,” Elvira cut her off sharply. “No one has considered me a daughter. I’m an adult, independent woman capable of making my own decisions. And I will make them when it comes to my money.”
“But that’s family money!” Viktor wouldn’t let up. “We’re husband and wife—everything should be split in half!”
“Joint money is what’s earned together,” Elvira explained. “An inheritance is my personal property under the family code. And I alone have the right to dispose of it.”
With a show of indignation, Nina Vasilievna took off her apron and headed out of the kitchen.
“I’m not eating,” she declared. “I’ve entirely lost my appetite from such ingratitude.”
After she left, Viktor spent another hour trying to change his wife’s mind. He talked about how his mother had worked all her life, how she deserved a peaceful old age, how she’d dreamed of a comfortable dacha.
“Mom isn’t asking for anything excessive,” he pleaded. “She just wants to live comfortably. Is that so much after all she’s done for us?”
“Maybe not much,” Elvira conceded. “But let the ones she raised provide that comfort. This has nothing to do with me.”
From that moment on, talk of renovating the family dacha stopped for good. For two weeks, Nina Vasilievna sulked ostentatiously, cooked only for her son, and completely ignored her daughter-in-law. Viktor tried to play mediator, but gradually accepted that the situation wouldn’t be reversed.
A month and a half later, the children’s goods store opened with due fanfare. Elvira ran it herself—advising customers, processing orders, managing deliveries. The business took off. Young parents quickly appreciated the quality products at fair prices and the excellent service.
The fourteen million rubles remaining in the bank were prudently divided into three parts. The first she set aside for expanding the business—she planned to open a second location in another part of the city. The second she invested in an education fund for future children. The third she reserved for buying an apartment of her own.
Elvira finally understood the main rule: her money must work for her family and her future—not bring to life someone else’s dreams of a carefree old age at a refurbished dacha.
