When Marina first met Igor’s mother, the woman struck her as a refined, cultured lady. Galina Petrovna taught literature at school, wore elegant silk scarves, and loved quoting Akhmatova. At the wedding, she even wiped away tears and whispered that her son was finally going to have a real family.
During the first months of marriage, everything felt blissful, not only between the newlyweds, but also in Marina’s relationship with her mother-in-law. Galina Petrovna called once a week, asked how they were doing, and never seemed intrusive. Marina even let herself relax, thinking that maybe all those horror stories about mothers-in-law simply did not apply to her.
Everything changed after Marina got promoted.
She worked for an international consulting firm and, in just three years, had risen from junior analyst to head of department. Her salary had grown so much that Igor, who worked as an engineer at a factory, jokingly began calling her “the family breadwinner.” Marina never took offense. She really did earn four times more than her husband, and to her that was just a fact, not something to be proud or ashamed of.
The first request came in spring.
“Marinochka, dear,” Galina Petrovna purred over the phone, “my refrigerator has practically died. The repairman says it would be easier to buy a new one. Could you maybe… well, you and Igor are doing so well these days…”
Without a second thought, Marina transferred the money. Thirty thousand rubles was not exactly a fortune for their household budget. Galina Petrovna thanked her so warmly that Marina felt a tug at her heart. Teachers’ pensions were truly tiny, and helping out felt like the right thing to do.
A month later, the phone rang again.
“Marisha, forgive me for bothering you once more. One of my teeth cracked, and the state clinic is a nightmare! They say I can go to a good dentist, but of course it’s expensive…”
Another forty thousand went toward dental treatment. Then her mother-in-law needed new glasses because her eyesight had “gotten so bad” she could barely see the blackboard at school. Then her phone broke after “falling right onto the pavement.” Then the roof at the summer house started leaking, and apparently urgent repairs were needed.
By autumn, Marina had developed a reflex: whenever she saw Galina Petrovna’s name on the screen, she automatically opened her banking app. The amounts kept increasing, though never enough at once to trigger alarm. Igor knew about the transfers and nodded approvingly.
“You’re doing the right thing helping Mom,” he said. “She really has it hard.”
Marina believed that too. Until the day she overheard a conversation by accident.
They had gone to Galina Petrovna’s dacha to help with the harvest. Igor was outside in the garden, while Marina was sorting apples in the shed when she heard her mother-in-law’s voice drifting out through an open window. She was speaking to a friend on the phone.
“Why would I pay for anything myself?” Galina Petrovna laughed. “Let Marina cover it. They’ve got money to burn. She works for those foreign companies, probably gets bonuses all the time. And what am I supposed to do—live lavishly on my pension?” Another laugh. “Of course Igor doesn’t know how much I ask for. Why upset him? He’d only start worrying, and I don’t need that.”
Marina froze, an apple still in her hand.
“Good homemaker? Oh please,” Galina Petrovna went on. “She’s never home, always buried in work. Their house is a mess, she doesn’t cook, and my poor Igor has grown so thin, eating dry snacks all the time. I tell him he should divorce her and find a proper woman, someone domestic. But he’s madly in love, the fool. Oh well, as long as she keeps handing over money, we’ll tolerate her. I’ve already found myself a lovely mink coat, by the way…”
The apple slipped from Marina’s fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.
That evening, she said nothing. They all had dinner together, Galina Petrovna smiled sweetly and asked about work.
“You’ll probably get another bonus soon, won’t you? You’re such a hard worker.”
Marina nodded and kept eating the pie, though it suddenly tasted like cardboard.
Back home, she opened her bank statements and, for the first time, actually added everything up. In six months, she had spent 270,000 rubles on her mother-in-law. Refrigerator, dental work, phone, repairs at the dacha, medicine, home repairs, a coat, shoes, gifts for Galina Petrovna’s nieces and nephews…
“Igor,” she said quietly that evening, “do you know how much money I’ve transferred to your mother these past months?”
He looked up from his computer and frowned.
“Well… probably quite a lot. But you didn’t mind, right? Mom really needs help.”
“Two hundred and seventy thousand.”
Igor turned pale.
“That… that can’t be right. Marina, she only asked for small things. A fridge here, dental work there…”
“Little things add up,” Marina replied. “And do you know the best part? Your mother thinks I’m a terrible housewife and wants you to divorce me. But as long as I keep paying, she’s willing to ‘put up with me.’”
She told him about the conversation she had overheard. As Igor listened, his face grew redder and redder.
“I’ll talk to her,” he muttered at last. “This is wrong. I had no idea…”
“No,” Marina said, shaking her head. “Don’t. Let’s just do this differently. I won’t send her money anymore. If she needs something, she can ask you directly.”
Igor nodded, though they both knew his salary could never support his mother’s lifestyle the way she had grown used to.
The calls did not stop. Marina simply started answering vaguely now.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“Things are difficult at the moment.”
“Let me check first.”
Galina Petrovna quickly grew irritated. Her tone turned sharper, and compliments were replaced with cutting remarks.
“Marinochka, I’ve noticed your apartment feels rather… uncomfortable. Maybe you should take some homemaking classes,” she said one day while looking around. “And really, you ought to learn to cook. Poor Igor has gotten so skinny.”
Marina stayed silent and kept making coffee. Igor had not lost any weight at all—he had always been slender. But there was no point arguing.
Then in December, everything came to a head.
“My dears,” Galina Petrovna announced solemnly over Sunday lunch, “I turn sixty in March. That is an important milestone, and I want to celebrate it properly.”
Igor and Marina exchanged a look.
“Mom, what exactly do you mean?” Igor asked carefully.
“I want a real celebration. In a restaurant. With guests. Beautiful decorations. I want everyone to see that I have a wonderful family that knows how to honor its mother.” She paused dramatically. “I’ve already picked a venue. Versailles on Pushkinskaya. They have an exquisite banquet hall, and…”
“Mom,” Igor interrupted, “that’s one of the most expensive restaurants in the city.”
“So what?” her voice trembled instantly. “Is my anniversary not worth it? I raised you alone after your father left. I devoted my entire life to you. Don’t I deserve one proper celebration? Normal children give their parents special occasions, they don’t count pennies!”
Marina felt something flare inside her. She recognized the tactic perfectly—guilt, used like a weapon. She saw it, understood it, and still could not fully resist. After all, sixty was a major birthday. Refusing would seem cruel.
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll book it.”
Galina Petrovna’s eyes flashed with triumph before she could hide it.
The next three months turned into a nightmare of planning. Galina Petrovna wanted “only the best.” The menu had to be revised three times.
“This should be removed.”
“That should be added.”
The guest list kept growing—twenty people became thirty, then forty.
“Marisha, will there be musicians? Live music is so elegant!”
“Marisha, what about a photographer? I want professional pictures!”
“Marisha, and the cake? I saw such a marvelous three-tiered cake at the Sokolovs’ celebration!”
Marina worked late every day and then came home only to deal with anniversary details. Igor tried to help, but Galina Petrovna brushed aside every suggestion.
“You don’t understand these things, son. Let Marina handle it. She has better taste.”
Better taste, Marina thought bitterly, and apparently deeper pockets too.
By early March, the total bill was closing in on 400,000 rubles. She never told Igor the exact figure. There was no point making him feel worse than he already did.
The evening before the event, Galina Petrovna stopped by “just for a minute” to check on final details.
“Have you bought your dress?” she asked Marina. “And please, wear something decent. Last time you looked like you were wearing a sack.”
The last dress had been an Italian one that cost twelve thousand. Marina said nothing.
“And get your hair done properly. You always look a bit untidy.”
Marina glanced at herself in the mirror. An ordinary face. Ordinary hair. Nothing dazzling, but nothing terrible either.
“Mom, enough,” Igor cut in. “Marina looks wonderful.”
“I simply want tomorrow to be perfect,” Galina Petrovna replied with injured dignity. “It’s my celebration. I want everything…”
“Everything will be perfect,” Marina said tiredly. “Don’t worry.”
The restaurant truly lived up to its name. High ceilings, ornate moldings, crystal chandeliers. The banquet hall had been decorated with white roses and gold drapery exactly the way Galina Petrovna wanted. The tables overflowed with appetizers, live musicians played soft jazz, and a professional photographer was already arranging his equipment.
Guests began arriving around six—relatives, Galina Petrovna’s colleagues from school, neighbors, old friends. Everyone was dressed elegantly, carrying bouquets and presents. The birthday woman floated from table to table in her new evening gown.
“What a wonderful evening!”
“Galya, you’ve arranged everything beautifully!”
Galina Petrovna smiled modestly and accepted the praise as though it had all been her doing. Marina sat beside Igor, drinking chilled, expensive champagne and feeling, for some reason, like crying.
When the main course was served, Galina Petrovna stood up at the head of the table. The music stopped. The photographer readied himself.
“My dear friends!” she began, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you all for coming to share this day with me. Sixty is an age of wisdom, reflection, and gratitude. And I want to say thank you to the most important person in my life—my son, Igor!”
Applause broke out. Igor blushed and smiled awkwardly. Marina felt a cold knot forming inside her.
“Igoryok,” Galina Petrovna continued, “you have always been my support and my joy. I am so proud of you! And I know that you chose your wife yourself.” Her eyes slid toward Marina. “Of course, I had imagined a daughter-in-law who was prettier… perhaps more domestic… someone who knew how to cook and keep a home…” She gave a nervous little laugh. “But well, what can you do? It is what it is. The important thing is that Igor is happy, and Marina… well, Marina is acceptable. She’ll do.”
Silence fell instantly over the room. Guests exchanged uneasy glances. Someone gave a stiff, embarrassed chuckle. Igor went white.
“Mom, what are you…”
Marina stood up.
Slowly. Calmly.
She picked up her champagne glass. The anxiety was gone now. All that remained inside her was a cold, crystal-clear fury.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said, and her voice sounded astonishingly steady. “But since Galina Petrovna has started making toasts, allow me to say a few words too.”
All eyes turned to her. Galina Petrovna looked suddenly wary.
“I would like to raise my glass to honesty,” Marina said. “To calling things by their proper names. Galina Petrovna, you are absolutely right—I am not an ideal housewife. I work hard. I earn money. The very money that has been supporting you entirely for the last six months.”
Her mother-in-law flinched and parted her lips, but Marina kept going.
“A refrigerator for thirty thousand, dental treatment for forty, a new phone, dacha repairs, a coat, shoes, a fur coat, gifts for relatives. Two hundred and seventy thousand rubles in six months—and that’s only the beginning of the list. And tonight?” She swept her gaze around the room. “Four hundred thousand. The restaurant, the musicians, the photographer, the flowers, the cake—every bit of it was paid for by me. By that same daughter-in-law.”
Galina Petrovna’s face drained of color, then turned crimson.
“How dare you! This is my family, my son…”
“Your son earns four times less than I do,” Marina cut in sharply. “And you know that perfectly well. That is exactly why every request for money came to me, not to him. That is exactly why you told your friends, ‘As long as she keeps paying, we’ll tolerate her.’ I heard that conversation, Galina Petrovna. By accident, last autumn at the dacha.”
Now Galina Petrovna was as white as chalk. The guests sat frozen, mouths slightly open. Some looked away in discomfort. Others stared as if unable to look anywhere else.
“So,” Marina said, lifting her glass a little higher, “since I am apparently not good enough for you as a daughter-in-law, I will no longer support you either. The sponsorship ends here. Right now.” She took a sip of champagne. “And by the way, I will not be paying for tonight’s event either.”
“What?!” Galina Petrovna shrieked. “But you… we agreed!”
“We agreed that I would organize the celebration. And I did. Paying for my own humiliation was never part of the arrangement.” Marina set her glass down, picked up her handbag, and turned to her husband. “Igor, are you coming with me, or are you staying?”
He jumped up so quickly that his chair toppled over.
“I’m coming. Of course I’m coming.”
They walked toward the exit in absolute silence. At the door, Marina paused and turned back.
“Oh, and yes. The bill for tonight is 320,000. I paid an 80,000 deposit. You can divide the rest among the guests. Or Galina Petrovna can pay it herself—from the little fund she was saving for that fur coat, perhaps.”
The door shut behind them. Inside the hall, the silence exploded into a roar of voices.
They drove home without speaking. Every few minutes Igor glanced at Marina—guilty, awed, unsettled all at once.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Marish, I truly didn’t know she was like that… that she could even be like that…”
“I know,” Marina answered quietly. “You really didn’t know. She was always different with you.”
“Do you think she paid the bill?”
“I doubt it.” Marina watched the city lights racing past outside the window. “Most likely she asked the guests to contribute. She’d be embarrassed, yes—but not embarrassed enough to dip into her own savings.”
“She actually has savings?”
“Of course she does. Her pension is twenty-three thousand. Plus tutoring on the side. It’s not luxurious, but it’s enough to live on. If you don’t buy fur coats every month and spend a hundred thousand repairing a dacha, that is.”
Igor was quiet for a while.
“You calculated everything so carefully… You’d known for a long time?”
“For quite a while.”
“And you said nothing? Why?”
Marina shrugged.
“Because you love her. Because she’s your mother. Because I thought I could endure it.” She turned to him. “But tonight I realized I couldn’t. I can forgive a lot, Igor, but not public humiliation. Not in front of all those people.”
He took her hand.
“You were incredible,” he said softly. “Really. I never imagined you could be so… so strong.”
“I’m just tired of being convenient.”
At home, Marina kicked off her painful shoes, slipped out of the dress, and changed into her favorite old pajamas—the soft, worn pair her mother-in-law would surely call beggarly. Then she curled up on the couch with a mug of tea. Her phone kept ringing—first Galina Petrovna, then unfamiliar numbers, then Galina Petrovna again. Marina declined every call and blocked the contact.
“She won’t calm down,” Igor said quietly, sitting beside her. “She’ll keep calling, demanding, pushing…”
“Let her. I’m not answering anymore.”
“And what am I supposed to tell her? She’ll hound me nonstop.”
Marina gave him a long look.
“Tell her the truth. Tell her your wife is not an ATM. Tell her that if she wants a relationship, fine—but there will be no more money. And an apology is required. A real one. Not ‘sorry if you were offended.’”
“She won’t apologize,” Igor sighed. “You know her.”
“That’s her choice.”
Three days later, Igor finally went to see his mother. He came back drained and grim.
“She cried,” he said, pouring himself a glass of water. “Said I had betrayed her, that I’d chosen my wife over my own mother. Said she raised me alone all her life, and now I had turned my back on her.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I love you both, but you were right. And that what she said at the anniversary dinner was unacceptable.” He emptied the glass in one gulp. “Then she started saying it had all been a joke, that everyone jokes like that. I told her it wasn’t funny. She got offended and left.”
“And the restaurant bill?”
“The guests chipped in. According to Aunt Nina, it was humiliating for her to ask.” He paused. “Marish… are you really never going to help her again? At all?”
“If there is a real emergency—serious illness, something life-threatening—then yes, of course I will help. But refrigerators, fur coats, and anniversaries at Versailles? No.”
Igor lowered his voice.
“You know, when you stood there with that glass… I suddenly thought: there she is, the real Marina. Strong, honest, unwilling to let anyone walk over her. And I fell in love with you all over again.”
Marina smiled.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “The sponsorship is over.”
And for the first time in a very long while, they both laughed.
