Svetlana had never liked Fridays. Before, when she stayed home with the children, Friday meant Igor would come back from work exhausted and spend two days sprawled on the couch, demanding quiet. Now Friday had become payday—and somehow that pleased her even less.
She walked from the metro at a brisk pace, pressing the bag with the envelope of cash to her side. The official part of her salary went to the bank, to her card. And the envelope with the main part she handed directly to Igor. Before, Svetlana hadn’t seen anything odd about this. Before, a lot of things had seemed normal.
In the kitchen, as usual in recent months, sat Lena—Igor’s sister. She was flipping through some magazine, and a pot of soup was bubbling on the stove. Svetlana’s soup, from Svetlana’s groceries, in Svetlana’s pot.
“Hi,” Lena nodded lazily without looking up. “I decided to make soup. Hope you don’t mind?”
“I do,” Svetlana thought, but aloud she only said:
“The potatoes were for tomorrow’s salad.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know,” Lena smiled with the kind of smile that said she didn’t care in the least. “It’s fine, you’ll buy more.”
Svetlana walked silently into the room, kicked off her shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed. Beyond the wall she could hear Igor’s voice—he was on the phone, judging by his tone, with one of his partners. He sounded pleased, confident. He was always like that when it came to work or his own interests. But whenever she tried to talk about her problems, he became distracted, distant.
Lena hadn’t appeared in their lives right away. At first she’d drop by once a week, then twice. Then she began staying for lunch. Svetlana didn’t object—family was family, and besides, Lena always had problems. Either her husband didn’t earn enough, or the kids needed one thing or another. Svetlana knew all too well what it was like to stretch a family budget. She herself hadn’t been working then, and money was barely enough.
“Sveta, you’re home?” Igor poked his head into the room. His face looked troubled. “Listen, Lena urgently needs money again. Andrei promised by the end of the month, but you know how his work is. Can you lend a few thousand?”
That was two years ago. “A few thousand as a loan” turned into a fixed expense. And then Svetlana got a job.
At first it was at a small firm, as a client relations manager. The salary was laughable—it barely covered transportation and lunches. But Svetlana liked it. She liked being needed not just at home, by the stove. She liked talking to people, solving problems, getting thanks from clients. She worked hard, studied, learned new software in the evenings when everyone at home was already asleep.
Six months later she was promoted. Then once more. Her salary nearly tripled. Svetlana was happy—finally she didn’t have to count every penny, she could buy the kids something decent without waiting for a sale, put a little aside for the future.
But Igor had his own plans for her money.
“Sveta, can you imagine what happened to Lena?” he burst into the apartment that night as if scalded. Svetlana was making dinner, Nastya and Dima were doing homework in the kids’ room.
“What happened?”
“Andrei left. Just up and left. For some young acquaintance of his. Lena’s got two kids on her hands, they rent, and she doesn’t work anywhere at all. What is she supposed to do now?”
Svetlana felt a tickle of indignation inside. She genuinely felt sorry for Lena—being left alone with two children and not a kopeck to your name is terrifying. But even more terrifying was Igor’s look. A look that said: “You have to help.”
“Of course, that’s awful,” she said carefully. “But what can we do? We have our own kids, our own expenses…”
“Sveta, she’s my sister!” Igor raised his voice. “She’s practically out on the street. Don’t tell me you’re so hard-hearted.”
Hard-hearted. The word lodged like a splinter. Svetlana had helped everyone who asked her all her life—parents, friends, neighbors. And now she was hard-hearted because she didn’t want to hand over the last of what they had?
Though “the last” was an exaggeration. Her salary was now comparable to Igor’s. And he knew that perfectly well.
Lena moved in with them a week later. Temporarily, of course. Until she found a job, until she got back on her feet. The children stayed with their father for the time being—he, for all his faults, wasn’t refusing to support them. Lena explained that this way it would be easier to look for work and sort out her life. Svetlana nodded, pretending she believed it.
The first month was tolerable. Lena really did go somewhere, supposedly to interviews. She came back in the evening tired, complained that everywhere the salaries were too low, or the requirements too high, or the teams unpleasant. Svetlana cooked for everyone, Lena sometimes washed the dishes. Sometimes.
By the second month, tolerance started to evaporate. Lena stopped even pretending to look for work. She sat at home, watched TV shows, scrolled on her phone, sometimes made herself coffee. The groceries disappeared at an incredible rate. Svetlana calculated how much they were now spending on food, and her heart sank.
Then Igor started asking about her salary.
“How much did they give you this month?” he’d ask casually, as if discussing the weather.
At first Svetlana answered honestly. Then she realized honesty only hurt her.
“As usual,” she began replying evasively.
“No, specifically?” Igor pressed. “Lena needs help. She’s got no money at all.”
“And I do?” Svetlana wanted to shout. “I’m the one earning it, by the way! I get up at six in the morning, cross the entire city, work ten hours, learn new things, listen to unhappy clients. And what are you doing for your sister—besides giving away my money?”
But she kept quiet. She handed over part of her salary to Lena “as a loan” that would never be repaid. Three thousand, five thousand, seven thousand. Lena took it silently, without thanks, as if Svetlana owed it to her.
The breaking point came one Friday evening. Svetlana came home exhausted—it had been a hard day, a belligerent client, and she’d spent two hours convincing him not to terminate the contract. Her head was splitting; she just wanted to lie down and not think about anything.
But Igor and Lena were waiting for her in the kitchen. Both wore expressions as if Svetlana should have arrived an hour earlier and was at fault.
“Where have you been?” Igor didn’t even say hello. “I called; you didn’t pick up.”
“I was in a meeting, my phone was on silent,” Svetlana replied wearily, hanging up her coat.
“Sveta, I urgently need money,” Lena sat at the table without looking at her. “Until Monday. I really need it.”
“How much?” Svetlana felt her fatigue turn into irritation.
“Twenty thousand.”
“What?!”
“Well, fifteen then. I need to buy the kids things for school—they’re with Andrei, but he won’t give money, the jerk. Says let their mother buy it.”
“Len, but I gave you money last month…”
“You gave, you gave!” Lena suddenly flared. “What, are you stingy or something? You’ve got a salary now, and you’re pinching pennies on your own family!”
Svetlana looked at Igor, bewildered, expecting support. But he stared past her, jaw clenched.
“Igor, say something!”
“What am I supposed to say?” he shrugged. “Lena’s right. You’ve got money. She’s my sister, and she’s got kids. Is it really so hard to help?”
“Help?” Svetlana felt everything inside her explode. “I’ve been ‘helping’ for three months! I’ve given over thirty thousand that no one’s returned! I’m feeding an extra mouth, paying for water and electricity for three instead of two! And I’m the hard-hearted one?!”
“Don’t yell,” Igor cut her off coldly. “The kids will hear.”
“Let them hear! Let them know what their father—”
“Shut up.”
Svetlana fell silent. Not from fear—out of shock. Igor had never spoken to her like that. Not even in the worst times, when they had no money at all and fought over every little thing.
Lena got up from the table and demonstratively left the kitchen. Igor followed her with his eyes, then turned to Svetlana.
“Listen to me carefully,” he began quietly, but in a way that made goosebumps run down her back. “I’ve put up with your moods, your complaints. I didn’t object when you decided to work, though I could have. I didn’t make a scene when you started disappearing at that job of yours for ten hours a day. But I have a family. I have a sister who needs help. And if you consider yourself part of this family, then…”
“Igor!…”
“Put your salary on the table. I won’t repeat myself,” he said, and there was such icy certainty in his voice that Svetlana involuntarily stepped back.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen and didn’t recognize the man she had lived with for fifteen years. This wasn’t her Igor, not the man who had carried her in his arms after the wedding, who had rocked the babies through sleepless nights, who had promised always to protect her.
This was a stranger. Hard. Demanding. Indifferent.
“I don’t understand,” she managed to force out. “Why am I supposed to support your sister? She’s a grown woman; let her find a job!”
“She’s looking.”
“For three months? Igor, she doesn’t even get off the couch! She sits here all day, gobbling up our groceries, using our internet, scattering her things all over the apartment! And you demand that I…”
“I demand that you be human!” Igor barked, and Svetlana flinched. “That you understand what family and kin mean! And you only think about yourself!”
“About myself?” she laughed—nervously, hysterically. “I’ve spent twenty years thinking only about others! About you, about the kids, about your parents, about your friends I fed and watered! I’ve never once bought myself anything expensive—everything went to the kids, to the family! And now that I’ve finally started earning, you want to take even that from me?”
“No one’s taking anything. I’m asking you to help my sister.”
“You’re not asking. You’re demanding.”
Igor clenched his fists, and for a moment Svetlana felt afraid. But he only exhaled, turned away, and then left, slamming the door. Svetlana stood in the kitchen, feeling tears run down her cheeks.
The next two weeks a heavy silence hung over the house. Igor barely spoke to her; Lena ostentatiously ignored her. The children sensed the tension and tiptoed around.
Svetlana kept handing over money—less than they demanded, but she still did. She hoped it was temporary, that Lena would really get on her feet and move out. She hoped Igor would come to his senses.
But a month passed, then a second, then a third. Lena settled in more and more. Svetlana watched her savings melt away, watched their plans for the future disappear—vacation, redecorating the kids’ room, a new refrigerator that had long needed replacing.
And one evening, when Igor once again demanded she give all her salary to Lena because “she needs to go see the kids and bring them gifts,” Svetlana snapped.
“That’s it! Enough!” She threw the envelope on the table so hard that the money scattered. “Do you even understand what you’re doing?! You’ve turned our family into a charity! Your sister has climbed onto our shoulders and doesn’t even think of getting off! And you’re helping her do it!”
“Sveta, she’s in a difficult situation…”
“The entire country is in a difficult situation! But people somehow work, earn, and don’t mooch off others! Why should Lena be an exception?!”
“Because she’s my sister!”
“And what am I?!” Svetlana screamed, not caring that the kids were in the next room. “I’m your wife! The mother of your children! I’ve worked myself to the bone for fifteen years so this house would be a home, so the children would be fed and clothed, so you could work in peace! And now that I’ve started earning my own money, you want to take it all away from me?!”
Igor was silent, but anger flickered in his eyes.
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he finally said quietly. “Lena needs the money. Period.”
“No,” Svetlana gathered the money from the table and squeezed it in her fist. “Not period. I’m calling your mother.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“I will. Let her know how her son has decided to arrange his life.”
Igor’s mother, Tamara Ivanovna, lived in Voronezh. They saw each other rarely, a couple of times a year. She was a strict, fair woman, and even as an adult Igor was a little afraid of her.
Svetlana called her the next day from work. She told her everything—without embellishing, but without dramatizing. Just the facts: Lena had been living with them for four months, not working, demanding money. Igor was forcing Svetlana to hand over her entire salary. The children had been left with the ex-husband, who couldn’t care less about them.
Tamara Ivanovna listened in silence. Then she sighed heavily and said:
“I’ll come on Saturday.”
And she did. Saturday morning, nine o’clock. Svetlana opened the door and saw a short, gray-haired woman with a steely gaze on the threshold.
“Where are they?” Tamara asked without greeting.
“In the kitchen.”
Her mother-in-law walked in, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the kitchen. Svetlana followed, feeling her heart pound.
Igor and Lena were sitting at the table in the kitchen. Igor was reading a newspaper; Lena was scrolling on her phone. Both looked up when they saw their mother, and their faces went slack.
“Mom, why did you come?” Igor began, but Tamara raised her hand, and he fell silent.
“What is going on here?” she asked quietly, but in a way that made it clear: this was going to be serious.
“Mom, it’s all a misunderstanding,” Lena began, but her mother cut her off with a look.
“I wasn’t speaking to you. Igor, explain to me why your wife, the mother of your children, is being forced to hand over her entire salary to your sister?”
“Mom, Lena is in a tough situation…”
“Half the country is in a tough situation!” Tamara snapped. “That doesn’t mean everyone has to lie down and let someone else ride them! Lena, how old are you?”
“Thirty-eight,” she mumbled.
“Thirty-eight. A grown woman. Two hands, two legs, a head on your shoulders. Why aren’t you working?”
“I’m looking…”
“For four months?” his mother gave a harsh little laugh. “In four months you could have gotten a job ten times over! As a dishwasher, a cleaner—anything! Or are you too proud for that kind of work?”
Lena paled but said nothing.
“And you!” Tamara turned to Igor. “What are you doing?! Cornering your wife, forcing her to hand over her last money! I didn’t raise you like that!”
“Mom, it’s our family, my sister…”
“Your sister is a grown-up beggar! And your family is your wife and children! If you don’t understand that, then you’re not a man, you’re a—”
She didn’t finish. She paused to catch her breath. Then she turned to Lena:
“Pack your things. You’re coming with me.”
“Mom, but I—”
“No ‘buts’! You’ll live with me until you find a job. Once you do, you’ll rent your own place. And no more mooching! I’ll give you a life that’ll have you running to find work yourself!”
Lena opened her mouth to object, but her mother’s look promised nothing good. She stood up and, head down, went to pack.
Igor sat silent, staring at the table. Svetlana stood by the wall, afraid to move.
“And you and I, son, will talk later,” Tamara said, looking at Igor. “Privately. But first tell me: do you realize you nearly destroyed your family? That your wife was at her limit?”
Igor said nothing. Then he nodded without lifting his eyes.
“I do.”
“Then think about how to make it right. You can start with an apology.”
Lena packed in half an hour. She didn’t have much—she’d come light, expecting not to stay long. Tamara waited silently by the door, still in her coat.
When sister and mother left, a ringing silence fell over the apartment. Svetlana stood in the kitchen, not knowing what to do or say. Igor sat at the table, still staring at one spot.
“Sveta,” he finally said quietly. “I…”
She waited. For apologies, explanations—anything.
“I’m sorry.”
Two words. Just two, but said in a way that finally let Svetlana unclench.
“I was an idiot,” Igor went on, finally raising his eyes to her. “A complete idiot. I was so afraid of letting my sister down that I didn’t notice I was letting you down. My family. I’m sorry.”
Svetlana came to the table and sat across from him. She looked at him for a long time, studying him. She saw the fatigue in his eyes, the remorse, the shame.
“Why?” she asked. “Why did you do it? We’ve always been together, always decided everything together. And here you just… just started ordering me around.”
Igor rubbed his face with his hands.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Probably because for the first time in my life I felt… unnecessary. You got a job, started earning. Became more successful. And I was still running in circles like a hamster with nothing to show. And when Lena got into trouble, it seemed like a chance—to show I was still the head of the family, that I could solve problems. Only I solved them at your expense.”
“Fool,” Svetlana said softly. “You’re a fool, Igor. I never considered you unnecessary. You’re a husband, a father. You matter more than any money.”
“I understand that now.” He reached for her hand, but Svetlana pulled away.
“Too soon,” she said. “You don’t forgive this in a day. You humiliated me, Igor. Made me feel like a stranger in my own home. I need time.”
He nodded.
“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
Svetlana got up from the table. She went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. She sat and cried—quietly, soundlessly. From relief, from exhaustion, from the pain that still sat inside her.
Nastya—their older daughter—appeared in the doorway.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” She came over and put an arm around Svetlana’s shoulders.
“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” Svetlana wiped away her tears. “I’m just a little tired.”
“Grandma’s cool,” Nastya said unexpectedly. “The way she tore into Dad and Aunt Lena. I thought Dad was going to cry.”
Svetlana couldn’t help smiling.
“Yeah, Grandma knows how.”
“Mom, are you and Dad… you’re not going to get divorced, are you?”
Svetlana looked at her daughter. She saw worry and fear in her eyes. She hugged her tight.
“No, honey. We won’t. We just had a rough patch. But we’ll get through it.”
“For sure?”
“For sure.”
Nastya smiled, nodded, and left. Svetlana stayed sitting on the bed, looking out the window. The sun was shining outside, the trees swayed in the wind, people went about their day. Life went on, no matter what.
And in the evening, after the kids went to bed, Igor knocked on the bedroom door.
“May I come in?”
“Come in.”
He entered and sat on the edge of the bed. They were silent for a long time.
“I signed up for courses,” Igor said suddenly. “To upgrade my qualifications. I want to try a new field where they pay more. So you can put your money aside for whatever you want and not spend it on other people.”
“Lena isn’t a stranger.”
“I know. But you’re more important. You—my wife and children—are more important than anyone.”
Svetlana turned to him. She looked into his eyes. And she saw the Igor she’d known fifteen years ago. Without anger, without demands. Just a loving husband.
“All right,” she said quietly. “Let’s try again.”
He hugged her carefully, as if afraid she would push him away. But Svetlana didn’t. She simply leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
Everything would be all right. Maybe not right away, not tomorrow. But it would be. Because they were a family.
