Yana spread a stack of papers across the kitchen table: electricity, gas, and water bills, mortgage payment slips, and a bank statement for the loan on Matvey’s car. The calculator displayed a number that made her want to close her eyes and pretend none of this was happening.
One hundred and twenty-eight thousand rubles.
This month.
And that was only for the mandatory payments — not including food, fuel, or even something as simple as buying herself a new pair of shoes.
Five years.
For five years, Yana had been pulling this heavy cart alone. Her beauty salon in the city center brought in a good income — about two hundred thousand rubles net per month. Matvey was officially employed as a manager at some company, earned thirty thousand, and believed that was enough to call himself a working man.
Everything else — the apartment, the car, vacations, gifts — fell on Yana’s shoulders.
And then there were his parents.
Ruslan Olegovich and Olga Petrovna.
Her father-in-law and mother-in-law showed up at their home at least three times a week, and every visit ended the same way — with a request for money.
“Yanochka, dear, my blood pressure has been acting up terribly,” Olga Petrovna would begin, settling herself on the sofa. “The doctor prescribed new pills, imported ones. Could you help me a little? My pension is small, and the medicine is so expensive.”
And Yana helped.
She transferred ten thousand rubles to her mother-in-law’s card because refusing felt inappropriate. Because Matvey said it was his mother, that elders had to be taken care of.
A week later, Ruslan Olegovich would arrive with a new story.
“Yana, dear, my car has started acting up. It needs to go to the repair shop, but I don’t have money until my pension comes. Could you lend me about fifteen thousand?”
“Lend” meant give forever.
Yana knew that perfectly well, but she kept silent, transferred the money, and forced a strained smile.
And then there was Alisa.
Matvey’s twenty-five-year-old sister worked as an administrator in a beauty salon — not Yana’s salon, someone else’s — and earned very little. But she lived as if she had millions. Alisa called Yana once a month, like clockwork.
“Yanochka, hi! Listen, I want to sign up for a makeup course. It costs twenty-five thousand. Matveyka said you’d help?”
“Alisa, I have expenses of my own…”
“Oh, Yana, please! It’s for my development! I’ll pay you back later, honestly!”
No one ever paid anything back.
Matvey would persuade her to help his sister, saying it was a family duty. And Yana would give in again, transferring the money while feeling like a living ATM.
Two weeks ago, something finally snapped.
Ruslan Olegovich called in the evening, just as Yana had returned from work and dreamed of lying down in silence.
“Yana, I’ve found a plot of land,” her father-in-law said, his voice full of excitement. “Out of town, six hundred square meters, near the forest. I think we should take it. We’ll build a summer house there, the whole family will rest together.”
“Ruslan Olegovich, that’s wonderful, but I’m currently saving money to expand my business…”
“What?” His tone changed immediately. “Yana, do you understand what you’re saying? This is for the whole family! For all of us! For you too!”
“I understand, but I don’t have that kind of money.”
“How can you not have it? You have a salon! You earn well!”
“Ruslan Olegovich, I said no.”
Yana hung up, and for the first time in five years, she felt she had done something right.
But the relief didn’t last long.
An hour later, Matvey arrived with his parents.
The scandal was terrible. Olga Petrovna screamed that Yana was selfish, that she did not respect her elders, and that any normal daughter-in-law would have helped her father-in-law. Ruslan Olegovich called his son’s wife ungrateful and reminded her how they had accepted her into the family, even though she had been nobody — some provincial girl without connections or money.
Matvey stood beside his parents, nodding and agreeing with them.
“Yana, what would it cost you?” he said. “We’re family. We have to help each other.”
“I already help,” Yana said quietly, holding back the tremor in her voice. “For five years I’ve paid for everything. The apartment, your car, your mother’s medicine, your sister’s courses.”
“That’s different! Those are everyday expenses! But the summer house is an investment!”
“No. I will not buy a summer house.”
Yana stood up and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She sat on the bed, holding her head in her hands. Behind the door, she could hear voices — loud, outraged voices.
Then the front door slammed, and silence fell.
Matvey did not speak to his wife for two weeks. He slept on the sofa, left for work early, and came home late. Ruslan Olegovich and Olga Petrovna called their son every day, and Yana heard fragments of their conversations.
“Mom, I understand… yes, she’s changed… I think so too…”
And this morning, Matvey announced:
“My parents and Alisa are coming tonight. For dinner.”
“Why?” Yana stood by the stove, stirring her coffee.
“We need to talk. Properly, like normal people.”
His wife wanted to refuse, to say she was tired and didn’t want to see his family. But she said nothing and nodded.
All day she cooked — chopped salads, roasted meat, set the table. Inside, everything tightened with the feeling that something bad was coming.
Ruslan Olegovich, Olga Petrovna, and Alisa arrived exactly at seven.
Her father-in-law nodded at Yana. Her mother-in-law forced a smile. Alisa was glowing as she held out her hand.
“Yanochka, look!”
A ring with a large diamond shone on her ring finger.
“Oleg proposed!” Alisa bounced with excitement. “Can you imagine? We’re getting married!”
Olga Petrovna hugged her daughter and broke into a proud smile.
“Our Alisochka is marrying such a worthy young man! Oleg is the son of Vladimir Sergeevich and Natalia Mikhailovna Kryukov. They have their own business, a very respected family.”
Yana sat down at the table, folding her hands in her lap.
She listened as Olga Petrovna talked about the status of the groom’s family, their connections in the city, their houses and cars.
“Vladimir Sergeevich is a very demanding man,” her mother-in-law continued. “He expects the wedding to be worthy. Elegant. Grand. The guests must see that Alisa comes from a good family.”
Ruslan Olegovich picked up the thread.
“We cannot embarrass ourselves in front of such people. They are used to a certain level. We need a proper restaurant, at least one hundred and fifty guests. The bride’s dress, the groom’s suit, decorations, musicians…”
Yana listened in silence, already understanding where the conversation was going.
Matvey sat across from her, avoiding her eyes. Alisa twisted the ring on her finger and smiled nervously.
Then Olga Petrovna finally got to the point, placing both hands on the table.
“Yana, we are counting on you to help us organize the wedding.”
The daughter-in-law slowly raised her eyes to her mother-in-law.
“Me?”
“Well, yes.” Olga Petrovna smiled. “You’ll pay for it. Ruslan and I don’t have that kind of money, and we can’t look poor in front of the Kryukovs.”
“How much?” Yana asked quietly.
Ruslan Olegovich cleared his throat.
“Well… we estimated… five hundred to six hundred thousand. Maybe a little more.”
Half a million.
For Alisa’s wedding.
Yana felt something inside her snap loose.
Years.
Years of humiliation, endless requests, and manipulation. Years when she silently gave away money because she was afraid of looking greedy. Years when they had used her like a wallet.
Yana slowly rose from the table.
She looked at Ruslan Olegovich, then Olga Petrovna, then Alisa.
Then at Matvey, who sat staring into his plate.
“No,” Yana said.
“What?” Olga Petrovna frowned.
“I am not paying for your princess’s wedding,” Yana said coldly and firmly. “She has parents. Let them empty their own pockets.”
Her mother-in-law turned pale, then flushed red.
“You… you’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruslan Olegovich slammed his fist on the table.
“Yana! How dare you? We are family!”
“A family that has been living at my expense for five years,” Yana said calmly. “A family that comes to me only when it needs money.”
Alisa jumped up, her eyes filling with tears.
“You’re greedy! You’re ruining my happiness! I thought you loved me!”
“I never loved you, Alisa,” Yana replied evenly. “You were a burden to me. Just like your parents.”
“Matvey!” Olga Petrovna turned to her son. “Do you hear how she’s speaking to us?”
Matvey finally spoke, lifting his eyes to his wife.
“Yana, apologize immediately.”
“No.”
“You must apologize! And reconsider your decision! She is my sister! My family!”
“Your family,” Yana nodded. “Not mine. I am no longer going to be your cash register.”
Ruslan Olegovich stood up and pointed his finger at his daughter-in-law.
“You are a disgrace! A disgrace to our family! We accepted you, gave you a home, a family, and you…”
“Gave me a home?” Yana smirked. “I bought this apartment with my own money. I pay the mortgage. I pay the utilities. I pay for your son’s car too. You gave me nothing. I gave you everything.”
Olga Petrovna threw up her hands.
“How cold-hearted you are! Heartless! A terrible wife!”
“Maybe,” Yana said.
Then she went into the bedroom, opened the wardrobe, took out two large suitcases, and threw them onto the bed.
Matvey and his parents rushed in after her.
“What are you doing?” her husband stared at her in disbelief.
“Packing your things,” Yana said, beginning to fold his shirts, trousers, and socks into the suitcases. “You’re moving out. Today.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No. For the first time in five years, I’m thinking clearly. This apartment was bought with my money before the marriage. You are only registered here. I want you to move out.”
Ruslan Olegovich tried another approach.
“Yana, you can’t just throw a person out! That’s illegal!”
“I can. And I will. You have one hour to gather your things and leave.”
Olga Petrovna clutched her chest and moaned.
“Oh, my blood pressure… oh, I feel so bad… Alisochka, call an ambulance…”
“No theatrics,” Yana said coldly. “Olga Petrovna, you feel perfectly fine.”
Matvey dropped to his knees in front of his wife.
“Yanka, forgive me… I’ll think about everything… we’ll discuss it… give me time…”
“No. I’ve already made my decision.”
“But…”
“Get out.”
Her husband slowly stood up, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Ruslan Olegovich and Olga Petrovna stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do. Alisa sobbed on the sofa, smearing mascara across her face.
An hour later, the whole family stood by the door with Matvey’s belongings.
“Well, now you’ve shown your true face,” her father-in-law said before leaving. “But you’ll regret this! No one is happy alone.”
“We’ll see,” Yana said, opening the door. “Go.”
When the door closed, she walked into the living room.
She sat down on the sofa, wrapped her arms around her knees, and did not cry.
She simply sat in the silence — a silence that, for the first time in many years, felt not frightening, but peaceful.
The next morning, Yana went to a lawyer.
She filed for divorce and blocked all joint accounts and cards — though there was almost no money in them anyway. Matvey called all day and sent long messages.
“Yana, forgive me. I was a fool. I’ll come back, I promise I’ll change everything. I’ll work more. I’ll cut off my parents. Just give me a chance.”
Yana deleted the messages without reading them to the end.
She blocked numbers.
Olga Petrovna also tried calling, leaving voice messages.
“Yana, what are you doing? He’s your husband! Your family! Are you really ready to destroy everything because of money?”
Because of money.
It was always because of money.
Yana turned off her phone and sat down to work on the business plan for her second salon.
The divorce was finalized a month later.
The apartment, the salon, and all her savings remained hers. The prenuptial agreement, which Matvey had once signed without reading, protected her property. Her husband received nothing except his personal belongings.
Matvey moved back in with his parents, into their two-room apartment on the outskirts of the city.
Yana heard from mutual acquaintances that Ruslan Olegovich and Olga Petrovna now complained to everyone about the ungrateful daughter-in-law who had robbed their son.
Alisa married Oleg.
The wedding was modest — about fifty people, in an ordinary restaurant. The Kryukov family paid for everything themselves, and judging by the rumors, they were not thrilled with their new relatives. Three months after the wedding, Alisa was working as an administrator again, and Oleg turned out not to be as rich as his parents had described.
Yana stood by the window of her apartment with a cup of coffee in her hands.
Beyond the glass, the city was waking up — cars, people, morning rush. Her phone lay silent on the table. The bills were paid, there were no debts, and the money in her wallet belonged only to her.
In two weeks, her second salon was opening — in a new district, with modern equipment and a team of professionals. Yana had invested in it the money that used to disappear into the endless requests from Matvey’s family.
Her ex-husband sometimes wrote from unfamiliar numbers.
Short messages.
“How are you?”
“Can we meet?”
“I miss you.”
Yana never replied.
For a while, she tried to explain to herself why she felt no pity. Then she stopped trying. She simply accepted it as a fact: some people deserve what they get.
Ruslan Olegovich called once while Yana was at work.
His number appeared on the screen, and, surprised by her own courage, she answered.
“Yana, this is Ruslan Olegovich.”
“I know. What do you need?”
“Could we meet? Talk?”
“About what?”
Her father-in-law was silent for a moment.
“Matvey has completely fallen apart. He barely works, sits at home all day. Maybe you…”
“Maybe I what? Come back? Feel sorry for him?”
“Well… he is your husband… he was…”
“He was,” Yana agreed. “But not anymore. And that was my decision. Goodbye, Ruslan Olegovich.”
She hung up.
Blocked the number.
And went back to work.
Six months passed.
The second salon was doing excellently, bringing in almost as much as the first. Yana hired a manager for one of the salons and could finally afford not to work twelve hours a day. She started traveling — small weekend trips to nearby cities.
One day, in a café where Yana was sitting with a friend, Olga Petrovna ended up at the neighboring table with several women.
At first, the woman did not notice her former daughter-in-law, but when she did, she turned pale.
Yana nodded politely, as one does to a stranger.
Olga Petrovna looked away and continued her conversation.
“…young people have no conscience at all,” Yana heard her say. “We accepted her into the family like our own, and she…”
Her friend wanted to say something, but Yana stopped her with a gesture.
She finished her coffee, paid the bill, and left.
Outside, the weather was sunny and warm.
Freedom truly turned out to be more valuable than any family obligation.
That evening, Yana sat at home, sorting through documents for her third salon — an ambitious project, a franchise in another city.
The phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
Yana answered.
“Hello?”
“Yana, it’s Alisa.”
The woman paused, surprised by the call.
“What happened?”
“I… I wanted to apologize,” Alisa’s voice trembled. “For everything. For the way we treated you. You were right.”
“I was,” Yana agreed.
“Oleg left me. It turned out his parents don’t have any business at all. They just know how to look wealthy. But there’s no money. We live in a rented apartment, and I’m the only one working…”
“Alisa, why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted someone to understand.”
“I understand,” Yana said without malice. “You got what you deserved. Just like I did.”
“Are you happy?”
Yana looked around her apartment. At the silence that no longer pressed down on her. At the plans spread across the table. At the life that belonged only to her.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m happy.”
“I see,” Alisa was quiet for a moment. “Sorry for bothering you.”
The call ended.
Yana placed the phone on the table and returned to her documents.
Outside the window, the city was falling asleep. Lights were going out, streets were emptying. Somewhere out there, Matvey lived with his parents in a cramped apartment. Somewhere, Alisa was trying to piece her life back together after a failed marriage.
And here, in a bright apartment overlooking the park, lived Yana.
Yana, who had learned to say no.
Yana, who had stopped being convenient.
Yana, who had chosen herself, her dreams, and her freedom.
And that was exactly right.
