Julia straightened the tablecloth and moved a plate two centimeters to the right. For the eighth time in the last ten minutes. The perfect dinner just wasn’t happening. She heard the front door slam.
“Pasha, is that you?” she called from the kitchen.
“No, it’s the robbers!” her husband smirked, walking into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu today?”
“Lasagna. Your mom called—they’ll stop by in half an hour.”
Pavel grimaced.
“Again? Third time this week. Listen, I’ve got a report on fire…”
“I’ll take care of everything,” Julia wiped her hands on a towel. “They won’t be long.”
Her husband kissed her on the cheek and disappeared into his study. A typical evening in the Kovrov household. Julia sighed. Pavel, as always, was “on fire” at work, and she handled everything else. Including his parents.
The doorbell rang exactly twenty-seven minutes later.
“Yulechka, darling!” Valentina Mikhailovna hugged her daughter-in-law. She smelled of sweet perfume. “How are you, dear?”
“Everything’s fine, come in.”
Konstantin Petrovich nodded silently and went to the living room. He had never been much of a talker.
“And where’s our workaholic?” the mother-in-law asked.
“Pasha’s working. He’ll come out a little later.”
Over dinner they talked about the weather, the neighbors, the new shopping center. The usual small talk. Pavel did come out, but only for ten minutes—said hello, exchanged a few words, and went back to his spreadsheets.
“Yulya, can I borrow you for a minute?” Valentina Mikhailovna called her into the kitchen while Julia was clearing the plates. “I have a little matter… it’s even embarrassing.”
Julia tensed.
“What’s happened?”
“You see, your father-in-law and I had a small hiccup. The pension was delayed, and we need medicine urgently. Could you lend us five thousand until next week?”
“Of course, I’ll bring it now,” Julia went for her wallet.
“Just don’t tell Pasha,” the mother-in-law lowered her voice. “He’s gotten so nervous. All that stress at work… No need to upset him.”
Julia returned with the money.
“Here you go.”
“You’re our savior,” Valentina Mikhailovna quickly tucked the bills into her purse. “And remember—not a word to Pasha. He’ll be upset we didn’t come to him.”
A week later the story repeated itself. This time they needed ten thousand—for utilities. Three days after that—seven thousand to fix a faucet. Julia didn’t think much of it until she noticed the sums were growing and the gaps between requests were shrinking.
In the middle of the second month, Konstantin Petrovich asked for thirty thousand—supposedly for a new refrigerator. Julia took the money from her savings.
“Maybe we should tell Pasha?” she ventured timidly.
“Heavens no!” the father-in-law waved his hands. “He already has problems at work. Why burden him? He’s always been a bit… emotionally unstable.”
Julia frowned. Pasha had never seemed unstable to her. But who knows a son better than his parents?
That evening she sat over the family budget, counting. In a month and a half she had given her husband’s parents almost a hundred thousand. None of it had been paid back.
The phone rang at the worst possible moment.
“Yulenka, sweetie,” Valentina Mikhailovna’s voice sounded overly sugary, “we have a situation…”
Julia gripped the phone until her fingers hurt. She already knew what would come next.
“What situation?” she asked wearily.
“We urgently need fifty thousand. You see, Kostya… his blood pressure is acting up. He needs expensive medication.”
Julia closed her eyes. Fifty thousand. No joke anymore.
“Valentina Mikhailovna, maybe we should tell Pasha after all? He ought to know about his father’s health.”
The pause on the other end was so long Julia thought the connection had dropped.
“Don’t you understand?” the mother-in-law’s voice turned icy. “Pavlik mustn’t worry. He has an important project right now. Or do you not care?”
“Of course I care, but…”
“No ‘buts’! You don’t want our relationship with Pasha to sour, do you? He loves us so much.”
Julia felt a lump rise in her throat. This was outright blackmail.
“Fine, I’ll transfer the money,” she said quietly.
“Good girl. We’ll come by tomorrow.”
Julia tossed the phone on the couch and burst into tears. By the time Pavel came back from his study, she had managed to wash her face and pretend everything was normal.
“Why are you so red?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“I was cutting onions,” she lied. “How’s work?”
“Fine. Hey, have my parents called? I wanted to ask Dad about the dacha.”
Julia froze.
“No. Why the dacha?”
“I’m thinking of redoing the roof. They were going to go out there next week, right? Dad said he’s saved up for repairs.”
Julia clenched her teeth. Saved up, did he. With what money, she wondered.
The next day her in-laws arrived as if nothing had happened. Konstantin Petrovich looked perfectly healthy. No signs of blood pressure troubles.
“Yulya, where’s our money?” Valentina Mikhailovna drew her into the kitchen while Pavel showed his father something on the laptop.
“Here,” Julia handed her an envelope. “Only, you know… I can’t keep doing this.”
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” the mother-in-law narrowed her eyes. “What about family? We’re your husband’s parents!”
“Yesterday Pasha mentioned the dacha. Your savings for the repairs…”
Valentina Mikhailovna turned pale.
“You told him?!”
“No. But I’m thinking of telling him.”
“Don’t you dare!” the mother-in-law seized her by the elbow. “If you do, we’ll tell Pasha you were the one coaxing money out of us. Who do you think he’ll believe—his mother or you?”
Julia jerked her arm away. A wave of nausea washed over her.
From that day it only got worse. Her in-laws came more often, asked for more. In three months Julia gave them nearly all her savings—three hundred thousand rubles. She stopped sleeping at night. Lost weight. Started snapping at Pasha.
Then October came—his birthday month. And Julia decided she’d had enough. Time to give everyone a surprise. A big family surprise.
“We’re celebrating your birthday this Saturday, right?” she asked her husband at breakfast.
“Yeah. Just no extravagance, okay? We’ll invite my parents, your sister and her husband, and that’s it.”
“Of course, honey,” Julia smiled. “No extravagance. Only the essentials.”
On Saturday morning Julia whirled around the apartment like clockwork. She polished the parquet until it gleamed, arranged flowers in vases, and baked Pavel’s favorite cake—Napoleon.
“Don’t overdo it,” her husband said, watching her bustle about. “It’s just a birthday, not a wedding.”
“I want everything to be perfect,” she waved him off. “Go iron your shirt instead.”
The guests were due at six. At five-thirty the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” Julia looked through the peephole.
“Us!” Valentina Mikhailovna’s voice sounded festive. “Open up, Yulechka!”
The in-laws came in loaded with bags. Konstantin Petrovich carried a big box with a bow.
“Is Pashenka not ready yet?” Valentina Mikhailovna looked around the hall.
“He’s in the shower,” Julia helped them with their coats. “Go on into the living room. Tea?”
“Tea’s better. Listen, while no one’s here yet…” the mother-in-law lowered her voice. “We’ve run into a need. Seventy thousand until next week. Can you?”
Julia stared at her, unable to believe her ears. Right now? On her son’s birthday?
“Yulya, why are you silent?” the mother-in-law frowned.
“I… let’s discuss it later, all right?” Julia forced a smile. “It’s a birthday, after all.”
“Are you refusing?” the mother-in-law pursed her lips. “After everything we’ve done for you…”
“Mom?” Pavel came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. “You’re already here! Where’s Dad?”
“In the living room, opening his present,” Valentina Mikhailovna answered quickly, her tone changing in an instant. “Happy birthday, son!”
Soon the other guests arrived—Julia’s sister with her husband, two of Pavel’s friends with their wives. The table was groaning with appetizers. Julia was the picture of hospitality, but inside she was trembling. She knew what she had to do, but she was scared to death.
“And now—gifts!” she announced after everyone had eaten. “Who’s first?”
The guests presented their presents one by one. Pavel got a tool set from his friends, an expensive shirt from Julia’s sister, and a new smartphone from his parents.
“And where’s your present?” Pavel asked, hugging his wife.
“Just a moment,” Julia went to the bedroom and returned with a large leather-bound album. “Here.”
“A photo album?” Pavel accepted the gift in surprise. “Thanks, but…”
“Open it,” Julia said quietly. “It’s a special album.”
Pavel began to flip through the pages. Photos from their life together—the wedding, a vacation in Turkey, the dacha, cozy evenings at home. His parents were in many of them. Everyone smiled, looking at the pictures and reminiscing.
“This one’s my favorite,” said Valentina Mikhailovna, pointing to a photo of them all sitting at the table together. “Such a close-knit family!”
“Turn to the last page,” Julia told her husband.
Pavel obediently turned it—and froze. On the last page was a printout of bank transfers. And the amounts with dates written out. He frowned.
“What’s this?”
“The money I gave your parents over the last three months,” Julia replied calmly. “A total of three hundred and twenty thousand rubles. They asked me not to tell you.”
Silence fell over the room. Valentina Mikhailovna’s face went pale, then blotched red.
“What nonsense is this?” she finally managed. “Pasha, she made it all up!”
Pavel slowly shifted his gaze from the statement to his mother’s face, then to his father, who had suddenly become absorbed in the tablecloth pattern.
“Is it true?” Pavel’s voice was unusually quiet.
“Son, you don’t understand…” began Valentina Mikhailovna.
“I asked—Is. It. True?” Pavel slapped his palm on the table. The glasses clinked.
The room was so quiet Julia could hear the kitchen clock ticking. Her sister and brother-in-law exchanged glances. Pavel’s friends shifted awkwardly in their seats.
“Maybe we should go,” one of them suggested.
“Sit,” Pavel cut him off. “Since my parents staged this show in front of everyone, they can explain themselves in front of everyone.”
Konstantin Petrovich finally raised his eyes.
“Son, we really did need the money.”
“For what?” Pavel flipped through the pages with the transfers. “Medicine? Repairs? A vacation in Turkey?”
Julia flinched. She hadn’t known about Turkey.
“We wanted to surprise you…” the mother-in-law muttered.
“What kind of surprise costs three hundred thousand?”
“We were going to buy you a share of a dacha plot next to ours,” the mother-in-law blurted out. “So you could build a house. Julia ruined everything!”
Julia shook her head.
“Enough, Valentina Mikhailovna. Yesterday you asked for another seventy thousand.”
“You’re lying!” the mother-in-law jumped to her feet.
“God, Mom, stop it!” Pavel stood up too. “I can see it’s true. Why didn’t you come to me?”
“You’re always busy,” grumbled Konstantin Petrovich. “And Julia… she’s part of the family.”
“Whom you used and blackmailed,” Pavel put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Yulya, why didn’t you tell me?”
“They asked me not to. They hinted that you had problems at work, that you were nervous, that you couldn’t handle it…” Julia spoke softly but clearly. “And they threatened that if I told you, they’d convince you I’d been the one asking them for money.”
The guests sat in stunned silence. Valentina Mikhailovna collapsed into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
“We’re leaving,” said Konstantin Petrovich, getting up. “We’re clearly not welcome here…”
“Sit,” Pavel ordered in a tone that made his father obey automatically. “No one leaves until we clear this up.”
The next half hour was excruciating. The parents admitted they had spent the money on apartment renovations and a vacation in Turkey. They had simply decided that Julia was easy prey since she worked from home as a designer and had access to the family finances.
“From this day on,” Pavel said calmly but firmly, “all your financial issues go through me. No secrets, no loans behind my back. I’ll help you monthly, as we agree. And this money,” he pointed at the statements, “you’ll pay back. In installments, but you’ll pay it back.”
“But Pasha, we’re your parents!” sobbed Valentina Mikhailovna.
“Exactly. And she’s my wife. And you humiliated her for three months.”
When the guests left and his parents, chastened, had gone home, Pavel hugged Julia.
“Forgive me. I should have noticed.”
“It’s not your fault,” Julia buried her face in his shoulder. “I was afraid of ruining the relationship. Silly, right?”
“No. You meant well. But no more secrets, agreed?”
A month later, his parents began paying back the debt.
Small amounts, but regularly. When she saw Julia, Valentina Mikhailovna was embarrassed and no longer brought up money. Pavel now personally managed financial help to his parents—he transferred a fixed amount every month.
And Julia… Julia finally stopped being afraid. She realized that setting boundaries doesn’t destroy a family; it makes it stronger. And she learned that her husband was always on her side.
“You know,” she told Pavel six months later, as they sat in the kitchen over tea, “that nightmare with your parents… it brought us closer.”
“Definitely,” Pavel nodded. “By the way, Mom called. She’s inviting us to the dacha this weekend. Says she wants to apologize to you. Personally and in front of everyone.”
“Shall we go?”
“Of course. We’re family.”
Julia smiled. Now that word sounded completely different.
