Larisa sat in the conference room, reviewing the presentation for tomorrow’s client meeting. Numbers, charts, sales forecasts. Her job as a business development manager demanded complete focus, especially when a multimillion contract was on the line. Her phone vibrated with a message from Igor: Hi, sunshine. Mom needs help again. Call me when you’re free.
Larisa let out a slow breath and set the phone aside. Again. For the third time that month. Galina Petrovna was in debt again. She needed money again. And once again, Larisa was expected to solve someone else’s problems.
That evening, Igor greeted her at home with a guilty smile. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.
“Larisa, you earn good money,” he began carefully. “Mom is asking for fifteen thousand. Her pension is small, and the utility bills have gone up.”
“How many times has your mother asked for help already this month?” Larisa kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen.
“Well… twice,” Igor followed her. “But those were small things. You know I don’t make much. I’m just a mechanic at the factory, not like you.”
Larisa opened the refrigerator and took out ingredients for dinner. She made ninety thousand a month. Igor made thirty. Three times less. The entire household budget rested on her shoulders. Rent, groceries, clothes, entertainment—everything came out of her paycheck. Igor handed over his thirty thousand, but it barely covered gas for the car and his own personal expenses.
“All right,” Larisa said as she sliced vegetables. “I’ll send it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Igor wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You’re the best.”
Larisa said nothing. She kept cutting tomatoes and thinking about how, over the past year, she had handed more than two hundred thousand to Galina Petrovna. First, it had been a late loan payment—thirty thousand. Then dental treatment—fifty. Then another loan—forty-five. Then apartment repairs—seventy. Month after month, it was always something.
Galina Petrovna lived alone in a three-room apartment. Her pension really was small—twenty-two thousand. But somehow she still managed to take out loans for things that were clearly not necessities. A new leather sofa. Expensive dishes. Gold earrings. A spa retreat.
Larisa knew because she had seen the receipts herself. Igor always brought his mother’s paperwork home and showed her the bills. Larisa paid them in silence. Because she loved her husband. Because she didn’t want fights. Because it seemed easier that way.
The only thing was, Galina Petrovna had never once thanked her. The older woman accepted the money as though it were only natural. She never even asked where it came from. She asked her son, her son asked his wife, and the wife paid. The chain worked flawlessly.
A week passed. Igor came again with another request. His mother had bought a new phone on credit, and now she needed twenty thousand.
“Igor, why does she need a new phone?” Larisa asked, setting her book down. “The old one still worked.”
“Well, she says it was lagging,” Igor shrugged. “She wanted a decent smartphone.”
“For seventy thousand,” Larisa said, looking at the receipt.
“Yes,” Igor sat beside her. “Larisa, we can help. You earn well.”
“I earn well because I work twelve hours a day,” Larisa got up and paced the room. “And your mother takes the money without even saying thank you.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Igor frowned. “Mom is grateful. She just doesn’t show it.”
“She doesn’t show it,” Larisa repeated. “Igor, over the last year I’ve given your mother more than two hundred thousand. I haven’t heard even one simple thank you.”
“She’s an older woman, Larisa. Maybe she’s embarrassed,” Igor hugged her. “Don’t focus on that. What matters is that we’re helping.”
Larisa sighed, took out her phone, and transferred the money. Arguing with her husband was pointless. For Igor, his mother was sacred. Everything Galina Petrovna did was automatically right.
Two weeks later another bill arrived. This time his mother had bought a coffee machine, a multicooker, and a vacuum cleaner. Total credit amount: sixty thousand. Igor brought the papers home and laid them on the table in front of his wife.
“Mom says the old appliances completely broke down,” he explained. “She had to replace them.”
Larisa stared at the receipts. A premium coffee machine for twenty-five thousand. A multicooker for eighteen, loaded with features Galina Petrovna would never use. A robotic vacuum for seventeen.
“Igor, these aren’t necessities,” Larisa said tiredly. “This is luxury. Your mother lives on a pension of twenty-two thousand and buys sixty thousand worth of appliances. Does that sound normal to you?”
“It’s not her fault the old ones broke,” Igor rushed to defend her. “She just picked better ones. She wanted to treat herself.”
“At my expense,” Larisa said. “Let’s be honest, Igor. Who pays all her loans?”
“Well… we do,” Igor looked away.
“No. Not we. Me. I pay. Out of my salary. Your thirty thousand goes to your own expenses. You barely contribute to the household.”
“Larisa, why would you say that?” Igor looked hurt. “I work too. My salary is just small.”
“It’s small because you don’t want to look for a better job,” Larisa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I offered to help with your résumé, with the search. You refused.”
“I’m fine with my job,” Igor answered stubbornly. “Not everyone can be a manager with a big salary.”
Larisa let the argument die there. She was too tired. Too tired from work, from the constant requests, from feeling used. She transferred the sixty thousand. Another one of Galina Petrovna’s loans paid off.
A month later Larisa was working overtime, finishing a quarterly report. The bonus was supposed to be good—around fifty thousand. She planned to set that money aside for a vacation. She wanted to go somewhere by the sea and finally rest.
But those plans were ruined too. Igor came home with yet another set of bills. Galina Petrovna had taken out a loan for new bedroom furniture—a bed, a wardrobe, and a dresser. Total: eighty thousand.
“Igor, this is too much,” Larisa looked at the papers. “Eighty thousand? Your mother already has furniture.”
“It’s old,” Igor sat across from her. “It creaks, it’s falling apart. Mom wants to sleep comfortably.”
“You can buy two beds for eighty thousand,” Larisa threw the papers onto the table. “Igor, I’m exhausted. I’m tired of being your mother’s ATM.”
“Larisa, don’t say that,” Igor tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. “She’s old. She needs help.”
“Help is when someone truly can’t manage on their own,” Larisa stood up too. “Your mother can manage just fine. She just doesn’t want to. Why save money when her son and daughter-in-law will pay for everything?”
“You’re cruel,” Igor stood and turned away. “She’s my mother. I can’t abandon her.”
“Nobody is asking you to abandon her,” Larisa said. “I’m asking you to stop funding her whims. Medicine? Of course. Food? No problem. But furniture for eighty thousand? Absolutely not.”
Igor stormed into the other room and slammed the door. Larisa stayed in the kitchen, staring at the bills and wondering how long this would go on. A year? Two? Ten? Until Galina Petrovna died? Or until Larisa had nothing left?
The next day Larisa went to the pharmacy. Galina Petrovna needed blood pressure medicine. Igor had given her the list. Larisa bought everything and drove over to deliver it.
Galina Petrovna opened the door and looked at her daughter-in-law without smiling.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Did you bring the medicine?”
“Yes,” Larisa handed her the bag. “Everything on the list.”
Galina Petrovna took the package and looked inside. She nodded.
“Good. Thank Igor for not forgetting.”
Thank Igor. Not Larisa, who had bought it, paid for it, and brought it over. Igor, who had merely passed along the request. Larisa froze on the doorstep.
“Galina Petrovna, wouldn’t you like to thank me?” Larisa asked quietly.
“What?” her mother-in-law raised her eyebrows.
“I asked whether I deserve a thank you. For the medicine I bought with my own money. For the loans I pay off every month. For the furniture, appliances, and phones.”
Galina Petrovna narrowed her eyes and straightened up.
“Larisa, you seem confused,” she said coldly. “Helping your husband’s parents is your direct duty. You are Igor’s wife, which means you are supposed to take care of his family.”
“Duty,” Larisa repeated slowly.
“Of course,” Galina Petrovna crossed her arms. “A daughter-in-law is supposed to help her mother-in-law. That is perfectly normal. And instead of demanding gratitude, you should be glad you have the chance to serve the family.”
Larisa stood there in disbelief. Serve the family. Duty. Be grateful for the opportunity. Two hundred thousand over the course of a year. Constant loans. Endless overtime at work. And all of it, apparently, was simply her obligation—something for which she did not even deserve thanks.
“I see,” Larisa said and turned away.
“Good,” Galina Petrovna called after her. “And about the bedroom furniture—tell Igor I also need a bedside table. I forgot to add it.”
The door slammed shut. Larisa stood on the landing, staring at it. A bedside table too. Of course. Why not? After all, it was the daughter-in-law’s duty.
She went downstairs, got into her car, and started the engine, but didn’t drive off. She sat with both hands on the steering wheel, staring ahead at nothing. Duty. Serve. You should be grateful. The words echoed in her mind.
That evening she told Igor about the conversation. He sat on the couch, half listening, watching television.
“And what did she say?” he asked when Larisa finished.
“You weren’t listening,” Larisa said, turning off the TV.
“I was, I was,” Igor grumbled. “Well, that’s just how Mom thinks. She has her own views.”
“And you agree with her?” Larisa sat down across from him. “You really think I’m supposed to support your mother and be grateful for the privilege?”
“Larisa, you know what my mother is like,” Igor looked away. “She’s old-fashioned. Don’t pay attention.”
“Don’t pay attention,” Larisa laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Igor, I’ve spent two hundred thousand on your mother. Two hundred thousand of my own money. And instead of gratitude, I’m told it’s my duty.”
“Well, in a way she’s not wrong,” Igor shrugged. “We’re family.”
Larisa looked at him for a long moment. Family. In his mind, family meant a mother who had to be provided for. And a wife who served as the source of money.
“I understand,” Larisa said and walked into the bedroom.
Igor stayed in the living room and turned the TV back on. He didn’t realize he had said the wrong thing. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care.
A month passed. The tension in the house kept growing. Larisa barely spoke to him. Igor acted as though nothing was happening. He lived as usual—work, television, friends.
On Sunday evening Igor stepped into Larisa’s office. She was finishing a presentation for Monday. He sat on the edge of the desk and placed a fresh stack of bills in front of her.
“Mom needs help again,” he said.
Larisa looked up from her laptop and glanced at the papers without touching them.
“How much?” she asked coldly.
“One hundred thousand,” Igor shifted awkwardly. “She bought a TV, a washing machine, and a food processor on credit. It has to be paid off.”
“A TV, a washing machine, and a food processor,” Larisa repeated slowly. “For one hundred thousand. And who is supposed to pay for that?”
“Well… we are,” Igor looked away again.
Larisa leaned back in her chair and stared at him. Then she gave a dry, bitter smile.
“The free ride is over, sweetheart!” she snapped, watching her husband turn pale. “Your mother can pay for her own ‘problems’ from now on!”
Igor blinked several times as though he hadn’t understood.
“What?” he managed.
“You heard me,” Larisa shut her laptop and stood. “I am not paying off your mother’s loans anymore. If she wants a fifty-thousand-ruble television, let her save up on her pension. Or you pay for it. Out of your thirty thousand.”
“Darling, you’re joking, right?” Igor stood too and tried to hug her. “She’s my mother. She needs help.”
“She needs help?” Larisa stepped away. “A person who buys a hundred thousand worth of appliances while living on a pension of twenty-two thousand is not needy. She’s shameless.”
“But Larisa…”
“No, Igor,” Larisa raised her hand. “That’s enough. I’m tired of being your mother’s wallet. Especially when she openly says I’m obligated to support her. And judging by everything, you agree.”
“I don’t think that,” Igor said, though his voice lacked conviction.
“You do. Otherwise you would have stood up for me. You would have told her she was wrong. But you kept silent. Like always.”
Igor opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer.
“So here it is,” Larisa continued. “Not one more ruble for your mother. If she wants to live beyond her means, let her work for it. Or let you help her—with your own money.”
“I don’t have that kind of money!” Igor shouted. “You know how little I make!”
“Then tell your mother you can’t help,” Larisa replied calmly. “Or find a better job. I offered to help you search. You refused. That was your choice.”
“You’re greedy!” Igor yelled. “You make ninety thousand! What does it cost you to help?”
“Greedy?” Larisa laughed. “Igor, I gave your mother two hundred thousand over the last year. That’s more than you make in half a year. And I’m the greedy one?”
“Well… that’s different,” Igor muttered.
“It’s no different at all,” Larisa walked past him toward the door. “This conversation is over. Tell your mother yourself that there will be no money.”
“I can’t tell her that!” Igor grabbed her hand. “She’ll be hurt! She’ll say I’m a bad son!”
“So what?” Larisa pulled free. “Better a bad son than a bad husband. Though honestly, I think you’ve managed to be both.”
Igor stared at her in disbelief. Then he frowned.
“If you don’t help my mother, I’ll divorce you,” he threw at her.
“Fine,” Larisa said calmly. “Nobody’s forcing anyone to stay. Want to file online right now?”
Igor was stunned. He had not expected that answer. He was used to her giving in, meeting him halfway. But instead—divorce.
“You can’t just do that,” he muttered. “We’re family.”
“A family where I’m the ATM and you’re still mommy’s little boy,” Larisa opened the office door. “Wonderful family. I don’t need it.”
The next several days were a cold war. Igor tried every tactic on her. He begged, threatened, accused her of being heartless. Larisa didn’t waver. Not a single ruble for Galina Petrovna.
Galina Petrovna joined in too. She called and sent messages, accusing Larisa of greed, selfishness, and disrespect toward elders. Larisa eventually blocked her number. She was done listening.
Two weeks later Igor came home furious. He threw his bag into the hallway and stormed into the living room.
“Mom is crying,” he announced. “The bank is demanding payment. They’re threatening legal action. This is all because of you.”
“This is because of your mother, who keeps taking out loans,” Larisa corrected him without looking up from her book. “And because of you, because you can’t tell her no.”
“I can’t abandon my own mother!” Igor shouted.
“Nobody is asking you to abandon her,” Larisa closed the book and looked at him. “You’re being asked to stop funding her irresponsibility. Do you understand the difference?”
“To me it’s the same thing,” Igor crossed his arms. “If you won’t help, I’ll move in with my mother.”
“Go ahead,” Larisa said simply.
“What?”
“Go live with her. Pay her loans out of your thirty thousand. We’ll see how long you last.”
He hadn’t expected that either. He looked completely lost.
“Larisa, are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” she rose and stepped closer. “Igor, I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of supporting you and your mother. I’m tired of being a cash cow. If you want to live with your mother—go. This apartment is mine. I bought it before we got married. So pack your things.”
“You can’t throw me out,” Igor stepped back.
“I can, and I will if you don’t leave on your own,” Larisa took out her phone. “Should I call the police? Tell them my husband is threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you!”
“You are. You’re using divorce to manipulate me. You’re pressuring me emotionally. That’s abuse too, by the way.”
Igor stood in the middle of the living room, pale and disoriented. His whole life, his mother had solved things for him. Then Larisa came along and did the same. Igor had simply drifted along without making decisions. And now, for the first time, he was face to face with reality.
“I’ll give you one week to think,” Larisa said. “Either you stop bringing your mother’s bills into this house, or you leave. There is no third option.”
That week passed in silence. Igor was hardly home. He spent the nights with friends or at his mother’s place. Larisa lived her life. She worked, met her friends, went to the gym. She felt freer than she had in years.
On the eighth day Igor came back. He looked worn out and disheveled.
“Larisa, let’s try again,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to Mom. I’ll tell her not to take out more loans.”
“You’ll tell her,” Larisa looked at him skeptically. “And then in a month you’ll show up with more bills.”
“No, I won’t,” he tried to take her hands. “I promise.”
“Igor, I don’t believe your promises,” Larisa stepped away. “You are too dependent on your mother. Her opinion matters more to you than mine. Her desires come before our plans.”
“That’s not true…”
“It is. And we both know it.”
Igor let his hands fall. He stood there in silence for several minutes. Then he said quietly:
“So that’s it? Divorce?”
“Probably, yes,” Larisa sighed. “I’m sorry, Igor. But I cannot live with a man who sees me as nothing more than a source of money for his mother.”
“I don’t think that,” Igor objected weakly.
“You do. Maybe you don’t realize it. But that’s exactly what it is.”
They finalized the divorce a month later.
Of course, Galina Petrovna blamed her former daughter-in-law for everything. She told everyone what a greedy, selfish, cold woman Larisa was. Larisa didn’t care. Her ex-mother-in-law’s opinion no longer meant anything to her.
A year passed. Larisa got a promotion. Now she earned one hundred twenty thousand. She bought a new car, went on vacation to Italy, and started building savings.
One day she ran into Igor in the supermarket. He was choosing discount groceries. He looked worse than the last time she had seen him—older, more tired, with a hollow look in his eyes.
“Hi,” Igor said quietly.
“Hi,” Larisa nodded.
“How are you?”
“Good. And you?”
Igor hesitated.
“Well… okay. I live with Mom now.”
“I see,” Larisa placed groceries into her basket.
“Larisa,” Igor touched her arm. “You were right. About my mother. About everything.”
“And what changed?” Larisa asked.
“Nothing,” Igor smiled sadly. “She still takes out loans. I pay them with my salary. There’s barely enough left for decent food.”
“Maybe you should tell her no,” Larisa suggested.
“I can’t,” Igor shook his head. “She’s my mother. How could I refuse her?”
Larisa looked at him for a long moment. She understood then that he would never change. Galina Petrovna would drain him dry, and Igor would endure it. Because that was how he had been raised. Because to him, his mother was untouchable.
“Good luck, Igor,” Larisa said, and headed for the checkout line.
“Larisa, wait,” he called after her. “Maybe we could… try again? I’ll change. I’ll find a better job. I’ll stop helping Mom.”
“You just told me you can’t say no to her,” Larisa reminded him.
“Well… I’ll try. I just need a strong person beside me,” he answered weakly.
“No, Igor,” Larisa shook her head. “I have a different life now. A life without your mother’s loans. Without constant stress over money. I’m happy. And I’m not going back.”
“I understand,” Igor lowered his head.
Larisa paid for her groceries and walked outside. The sun was shining, birds were singing, people hurried along with their day. An ordinary afternoon. But for Larisa, every day after the divorce felt extraordinary. Because for the first time in years, she could live for herself. Spend money on herself. Make plans that wouldn’t collapse because of someone else’s debts.
She got into her car and turned on the music. The evening ahead was hers. She could stop by that new restaurant she had been wanting to try. Or go to the movies. Or simply go home and curl up with a book. The choice was hers. Entirely hers. And that was the best feeling in the world—being free to live her own life without bending to other people’s demands and expectations.
