Elena slipped her key into the lock and shoved the door open with her shoulder. The laptop bag dragged at her arm, her shoes had rubbed her heels raw, and her head throbbed with exhaustion. It was only nine at night, but it felt like midnight had come and gone hours ago.
Working at an insurance company drained her dry. Clients called from morning till evening—demanding, furious, threatening to file complaints. Her manager chased her for reports, coworkers dumped their tasks on her. Elena wanted just one thing: get home, kick off these cursed shoes, make some tea, and fall face-first into bed.
She took off her coat in the hallway and went into the kitchen. She pulled yesterday’s borscht from the fridge and set it on the stove to warm. Turned on the kettle and leaned on the counter. Silence. Alexey was probably in the other room. Katya had stayed at Grandma’s—Elena had asked her mother to pick Katya up from daycare because Elena got stuck late at work.
Her gaze dropped to the kitchen table. A white bank receipt lay next to the salt shaker. Elena frowned, stepped closer, picked it up, and read the amount.
Fifteen thousand rubles.
Cash withdrawal. Yesterday. 5:23 p.m.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then loosened her fingers. The receipt slipped back onto the table.
That money—she had put it on the card herself the day before yesterday. Fifteen thousand she’d fought to save, set aside for Katya’s bedroom renovation. Wallpaper would cost twelve. Brushes and rollers—another fifteen hundred. There would’ve been just enough left to buy ceiling paint.
Katya slept on a folding cot in the corner of their bedroom. Six years old, and still no real room of her own. They’d promised they’d fix it before school—first grade was in a year. They’d been saving bit by bit, putting aside something from every paycheck. And finally, they had enough for wallpaper.
Had enough.
Past tense.
Elena switched off the stove and the kettle. The borscht cooled in the pot; her appetite disappeared. She walked into the room where Alexey sat with his laptop, staring at the screen.
He heard her, jolted, turned around—and when he saw her, guilt flashed across his face. He looked away.
“Hi,” Alexey muttered, turning back to the monitor.
“Hi,” Elena answered. “You left a receipt on the table.”
He swallowed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Oh. Yeah. I… uh…”
Elena came closer and sat on the edge of the sofa across from him. She watched him in silence. Waiting.
“Mom needed medicine,” he finally forced out without lifting his head. “Urgently. Her blood pressure’s spiking, the doctor prescribed expensive pills. Imported.”
“Fifteen thousand for medicine,” Elena repeated slowly.
“Yeah,” Alexey nodded. “A whole month-long course. She can’t pay that much at once—her pension isn’t big.”
Elena leaned back, closed her eyes, counted to ten, then opened them.
“Alexey… this is the fourth time in two months.”
He went still, his fingers frozen above the keyboard.
“Fourth time what?”
“You sending money to your mother,” Elena said quietly. “Fourth time in the last two months. In July it was ten thousand for a refrigerator repair. Early August—eight for a new washing machine. Three weeks ago—twelve for a private cardiologist. And now fifteen for medicine.”
Alexey dragged his hands over his face.
“Lena, she’s my mother. I can’t refuse her.”
“Lyudmila Petrovna gets twenty-three thousand a month,” Elena continued. “She lives alone. Her apartment is paid off. Utilities are five thousand. That leaves eighteen for living expenses. She manages.”
“She manages,” he agreed. “But when something extra comes up…”
“Something extra comes up for her every week,” Elena cut him off. “The fridge, the washer, doctors, pills. Meanwhile our Katya sleeps on a cot because we don’t have money for a real bed.”
Alexey sprang out of his chair, paced the room, and stopped by the window with his back to her.
“You don’t get it. Mom is alone. She has no one else.”
“She has a sister in Tver,” Elena reminded him. “She has nephews. She has friends. She isn’t alone.”
“Her sister is far away, the nephews have their own problems,” Alexey argued. “And friends… you know how embarrassed she feels asking people.”
“Embarrassed to ask strangers, but not embarrassed to ask her son,” Elena said. “Convenient.”
He spun around sharply.
“She’s my mother! She raised me alone! Dad left when I was five. She went hungry in the nineties so I could study. She paid for my college and my dorm. I owe her.”
“You do,” Elena nodded. “I understand that. But you and I are a family. We have a child. A daughter who’s about to start school—and she doesn’t have a room, she doesn’t even have a bed.”
Alexey turned back to the window.
“We’ll do the renovation later. There’s time.”
“Later when?” Elena asked. “We’ve been saving for a year. Every time we finally collect enough, you hand it over to your mother.”
“Not every time,” he muttered.
“Every time,” Elena said, harder. “Alexey, I put that money on the card yesterday on purpose. We agreed Katya’s room comes first. You promised.”
He turned, his face flushing.
“You don’t understand! Mom really needed those medicines! Her blood pressure’s all over the place, she feels awful! What was I supposed to do—say no? Tell her, ‘Mom, go die, but at least we’ll buy wallpaper’?”
Elena stood up, walked over, and stopped a step away, looking straight into his eyes.
“If you want to be a good son—be one. But not with my wallet.”
A thick, ringing silence fell. Alexey blinked, processing it.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Elena said calmly. “If you want to help your mother, help her. With your money. Don’t touch what we’re saving for our daughter.”
Alexey threw his hands up, his voice breaking into a shout.
“She’s my mother! My own mother! How can you say that?”
Elena didn’t budge.
“And she is my daughter. Our daughter. Who matters more than your mother.”
Alexey clutched his head.
“Do you even hear yourself? My mom raised me alone! My father dumped us when we had nothing! The nineties were hunger, cold, misery! And she worked three jobs so I could live decently!”
“I know,” Elena said. “You’ve told me. More than once.”
“And how am I supposed to refuse her?” he went on. “When she calls crying, saying she feels terrible, saying she needs help?”
“Lyudmila Petrovna cries every single time,” Elena shot back. “And every single time it’s urgent. The fridge broke—ten thousand. The washer—eight. A doctor—twelve. Medicine—fifteen. Same cycle.”
Alexey flung his phone onto the sofa and faced her.
“You’re cruel! Heartless! I never thought you were like this!”
“I’m realistic,” Elena corrected. “And I’m thinking about our daughter—since you don’t.”
Alexey stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward her.
“I do think about her! But my mother—”
“Your mother goes to a sanatorium every summer,” Elena cut in. “Last summer she went to Kislovodsk. This year she vacationed in Anapa. Two weeks. She bragged herself about how much she spent on excursions.”
“So what?” Alexey scowled. “A пенсионерка has the right to rest.”
“She does,” Elena agreed. “And when was the last time you and I went to the sea? Before Katya was even born. Since then we haven’t gone anywhere beyond your relatives’ dacha.”
Alexey turned away, mumbled something under his breath.
“What?” Elena asked.
“Don’t compare it,” he said louder. “Mom worked her whole life. She earned her отдых.”
“And we don’t work?” Elena asked. “I’m there from eight in the morning till nine at night. You work till eight. Our paychecks go to the mortgage, food, daycare. We scrape together pennies for renovation—then every time we finally have something saved, you give it to your mother.”
Alexey’s fists clenched, his face turning dark red.
“Yes, I do! Because she’s my mother! Because I owe her! You want to turn me into a traitor? You want me to abandon my own mother?”
“I want,” Elena shouted, her voice shaking, “for you to be a husband! A father! Not Lyudmila Petrovna’s forever-little-boy!”
Tears spilled before she could stop them. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, but more kept coming.
“I’m tired,” she continued, quieter now. “Tired of being second place. Tired of your mother mattering more than me and our daughter.”
Alexey stood there breathing hard. His hands trembled, his jaw working.
“You don’t understand…”
“I understand perfectly,” Elena cut him off. “Lyudmila Petrovna manipulates you. She calls crying, tells you how bad she feels—and you rush to rescue her. And the fact that our daughter sleeps on a cot? You don’t care.”
“I do care!” he protested. “Of course I care!”
“Then why did the money go to your mother again?”
Alexey opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away.
“Mom said she’d feel terrible without the medicine…”
“Every month it’s something new,” Elena snapped. “She’s not a woman, she’s a bottomless pit. Today it’s medicine—tomorrow what? A TV? A new sofa? A vacation voucher?”
Alexey jerked and turned toward her.
“Enough! Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“How should I talk?” Elena stepped forward. “She knows about our problems. She knows we’re saving for the renovation. And every time she finds a reason to ask for money.”
“She doesn’t ‘find’ reasons!” Alexey yelled. “She has real problems!”
“When Katya was born,” Elena continued, ignoring his shouting, “your mother didn’t even come to the maternity hospital. She said her lower back hurt and she couldn’t travel. A week later my friend sent me a photo—your mom strolling through a mall, carrying shopping bags.”
Alexey froze.
“That… she probably bought лекарства…”
“Three bags from a clothing store,” Elena clarified. “Not medicine. When Katya had bronchitis, I called your mother. I begged her to watch Katya for a couple of hours because I had to go to work. Lyudmila Petrovna refused. Said she was exhausted, had no strength. And that same evening she posted a photo on social media—sitting in a café with her friends.”
Alexey said nothing. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched.
“Your mother only cares about herself,” Elena finished. “And you enable her. Every time. Even though we have our own child. Our own problems. Our own needs.”
Alexey lifted his head. His eyes glittered with anger.
“So I’m supposed to refuse my mother? Tell her, ‘Sorry, Mom, you’re not important to us’?”
“No,” Elena shook her head. “You’re supposed to understand priorities. First comes your family—your wife and your daughter. Then everyone else.”
“Mother isn’t ‘everyone else,’” Alexey hissed through his teeth.
“For me, our daughter matters more than your mother,” Elena said firmly. “And for you—she should too.”
Alexey grabbed his jacket from the hook and threw it on. He turned back to her.
“You know what? If only you were even half the woman my mother is. Even a third.”
Elena flinched as if he’d slapped her. Her face went pale, her hands curled into fists.
“What did you just say?”
“What I think,” Alexey snapped, yanking up the zipper. “Mom raised me alone. Worked herself to the bone. Sacrificed everything for me. And you? You only complain—about work, being tired, money. Always unhappy.”
Elena stepped close, stopping inches from him.
“Leave,” she said quietly, clearly.
“What?”
“Leave,” Elena repeated. “Go to your perfect mother. If I’m so awful—live with her.”
Alexey pulled the door open. On the threshold he looked back.
“You’ll regret this. You’ll regret what you said.”
“No,” Elena shook her head. “I won’t.”
The door slammed. Elena stood in the middle of the room staring at it. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t even want to wipe them away.
Silence. An empty apartment. No sounds except the ticking clock on the wall.
Elena went to the kitchen and switched the kettle on again. She picked up her phone, scrolled through contacts, found the name she needed: Igor Viktorovich, a realtor—an acquaintance from when they’d bought this apartment.
She typed a message:
“Hello, Igor Viktorovich. I need your help. I’m looking to rent a one-bedroom apartment for myself and my six-year-old daughter. Any district is fine—just inexpensive and fast. Can you help?”
She sent it and set the phone down. Poured boiling water into a mug and dropped in a tea bag.
Tomorrow she would call her mother and ask her to take Katya for a couple of days. She’d say she and Alexey were having problems and needed time to sort things out. Her mother wouldn’t ask unnecessary questions—she would simply pick her granddaughter up from daycare.
Then Elena would look for an apartment. Pack. Figure out how to live from here.
Her phone buzzed—Igor Viktorovich replied.
“Good evening, Elena. Of course I’ll help. I have a couple of options. Tomorrow morning I’ll send addresses and photos. You can look and choose.”
Elena typed back:
“Thank you. I’ll wait.”
She set the phone aside and took a sip of tea. Hot, scalding. Good.
The bank receipt still lay on the table—fifteen thousand. Elena picked it up, tore it into tiny pieces, and dropped them into the trash.
The money was gone—nothing would bring it back. Lyudmila Petrovna would spend it on her own needs. Or save it for another trip. Or a new TV. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was this: Elena wasn’t going to keep accepting a life where her husband put his mother above his family. She wasn’t going to wait for Alexey to finally grow up and start thinking about his daughter.
She’d waited too long. Tolerated too much.
Tomorrow would be the start of a new life—without a husband who treated his wife like a second-class option, without a mother-in-law who sucked the family dry under respectable excuses.
Just Elena and Katya. A small family, but a real one—where the child came first.
Elena finished her tea, rinsed the mug, went to the bedroom, lay down, and closed her eyes.
In the morning she woke to her phone ringing. Igor Viktorovich had sent three apartment options—small one-bedroom flats not far from Katya’s daycare.
Elena looked through the photos and chose the brightest one. She texted the realtor that she wanted to view it that evening.
All day at work she thought about moving. How would she tell Katya? How would she explain that Dad wouldn’t be living with them anymore?
That evening she met Igor Viktorovich near the building. The apartment was on the second floor—clean, furnished. Small, but cozy: a room, a kitchen, and a combined bathroom.
“I’ll take it,” Elena said after looking around.
“Great,” the realtor nodded. “We’ll sign the contract and you can move in.”
Elena paid the first month, took the keys, went back home, and started packing—hers and Katya’s.
Alexey still hadn’t returned. No calls, no texts. He was probably living with Lyudmila Petrovna now, telling her what a cruel wife he had.
Let him. Elena didn’t care anymore.
Two days later she moved into the rental. She picked Katya up from her mother’s and explained that they would be living separately now. Katya took it calmly—six-year-olds adapt faster than adults.
“Where’s Dad?” Katya asked, looking around the new room.
“Dad’s with Grandma,” Elena answered. “We’ll visit him sometimes.”
“Okay,” the girl nodded and ran off to unpack her toys.
Elena stood by the window and looked out at the courtyard—the playground, the sandbox, the swings. A good place. Quiet.
A new life—without a husband who couldn’t set priorities, without a mother-in-law who drained money and strength.
Was it scary? A little. But it was right.
Elena smiled at her reflection in the glass. She’d manage. She would. There was a lot ahead: filing for divorce, child support, and dividing property.
