Galina Sergeyevna sat at the kitchen table, carefully sorting utility bills into neat little piles. Each sheet of paper felt like a tiny stab. For three months in a row, she had been giving her daughter money — money she earned the hard way, working part-time while living on her pension. The numbers did not lie: one hundred and twenty thousand rubles had vanished over three months like morning fog.
The phone rang exactly at eight in the evening. Galina Sergeyevna did not even look at the screen. She already knew who it was.
“Hi, Mom,” Marina’s voice sounded soft, with a slight tremble, like a child preparing to ask for candy before lunch.
“Hello, my daughter. What happened?”
“Nothing happened. It’s just… Mom, things are really hard for Andrey and me right now. Rent eats up everything. We calculated it: if we live with you for six months, just six months, we’ll be able to save for a down payment. For our own apartment, Mom. Do you understand?”
Galina Sergeyevna pressed the phone between her shoulder and ear and looked at the stack of bills. Her two-room apartment on the seventh floor was quiet and clean. The flowers on the windowsill had been watered, the books were arranged neatly on the shelves, and the kitchen smelled of fresh baking.
“Marina, I already help you every month.”
“Mom, you understand that rent is just money thrown away. We pay twenty-five thousand for a one-room apartment. That’s three hundred thousand a year. Three hundred! If we live with you, that becomes our starting capital.”
“And the utilities? And groceries?”
“Of course! Andrey will contribute to food. And we’ll split the utilities. Mom, I promise. Just six months. You won’t even notice us.”
Galina Sergeyevna closed her eyes. She was sixty-three years old. She had long grown used to solitude — not the kind that felt empty, but the kind that felt peaceful. But this was her daughter. Her only daughter.
“All right, Marina. Come on Saturday.”
“Mommy! You’re the best! Andrey, do you hear that? Mom agreed!”
A muffled shout from her son-in-law came through the receiver. Galina Sergeyevna put the phone down and looked at the bills once more. Then she carefully placed them into a folder labeled “Expenses.”
They arrived on Saturday morning by taxi. Three suitcases, four boxes, a backpack, and a bag full of shoes. Andrey carried everything in two trips, breathing heavily.
“Galina Sergeyevna, thank you so much,” her son-in-law said with a smile, and the smile seemed sincere. “We really appreciate it.”
“Come in. I cleared the room for you. The sheets are fresh, and there’s space in the wardrobe.”
Marina hugged her mother tightly, almost like a child, burying her face in her shoulder. Galina Sergeyevna stroked her daughter’s hair and thought: maybe it will work out. Maybe they really will grow up.
“Mom, is your Wi-Fi fast?”
“Normal. Enough for what I need.”
“We’ll need a faster plan. Andrey needs it for work. And I need it for streams.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain later, Mom. Later.”
The first week went reasonably well. Andrey did indeed bring five thousand rubles for groceries. Marina washed the hallway floors. Galina Sergeyevna cooked for three and noticed how quickly the refrigerator emptied, but she said nothing. Patience is something life teaches you without textbooks.
By the third week, the apartment had changed. Galina Sergeyevna stood in the kitchen doorway and looked at the sink. A mountain of plates, a frying pan with dried food stuck to it, three glasses with cloudy liquid at the bottom. On the table were delivery boxes, crumpled napkins, and plastic forks.
“Marina!”
Silence. From her daughter’s room came a low roar — Andrey was playing some game, judging by the familiar sounds of explosions and gunfire.
“Marina!”
“What, Mom?” The voice was lazy, sleepy, even though it was two in the afternoon.
“Please come to the kitchen.”
Marina appeared in the doorway. A wrinkled T-shirt, tangled hair, a phone in her hand.
“Well?”
“Look at the kitchen. I left this morning and everything was clean. It’s three o’clock now.”
“Mom, Andrey and I just woke up. We’ll clean it up. Relax.”
“Marina, you’ve been living here for three weeks. Every evening I wash dishes after you. Every evening.”
“Mom, you’re home all day anyway. We have our own things to do. Andrey works late, and I’m busy too. We get tired.”
Galina Sergeyevna exhaled slowly. She walked over to the sink and turned on the water. Marina had already buried herself in her phone and gone back to the room.
In the fourth week, the utility bill arrived. Galina Sergeyevna placed it on the table in front of her son-in-law during dinner. Andrey was chewing pizza that had been delivered by courier for nine hundred rubles.
“Andrey, this is the bill for last month. Electricity, water, heating. Six thousand eight hundred. Your half is three thousand four hundred.”
“Yes, Galina Sergeyevna, of course. I’ll transfer it in a few days.”
“In a few days means when?”
“Well… Friday, probably. Or Monday. When my salary comes in.”
“Andrey, you got paid a week ago. Marina told me herself.”
“That was an advance. The main salary comes at the end of the month.”
He did not lift his eyes from his plate. Marina sat beside him, scrolling through her feed, silent. Galina Sergeyevna looked at both of them — two grown adults, thirty and thirty-two years old, sitting at her table, eating pizza they had paid for themselves, while three thousand four hundred for utilities was postponed to “one of these days.”
“All right. I’ll wait until Monday.”
Monday passed. Then Tuesday. Then Wednesday. Galina Sergeyevna did not remind them. She waited, as if testing them. On Thursday evening, she returned home and saw a box on the living room floor. A large glossy one, covered in bright lettering. Andrey was sitting on the sofa, unpacking a game console.
“What is this?” Galina Sergeyevna asked, her voice quiet. Dangerously quiet.
“Oh, Galina Sergeyevna! Look at this beauty. The newest model. Marina has wanted one for her birthday for ages, so I decided to make her happy.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Well… around fifty thousand. But it’s not just for fun! Marina wants to stream. Think of it as an investment. She’ll make money with it.”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Yes.”
“And the three thousand four hundred for utilities?”
Andrey blinked. He set the box down on his knees and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Oh. I completely forgot. Sorry, Galina Sergeyevna. I’ll definitely transfer it tomorrow.”
Marina came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head.
“Mom, why are you standing there like a statue? Sit down, Andrey will show you what the console can do. The graphics are amazing.”
“Marina, your husband hasn’t paid the utility bill in three weeks. But he bought a console for fifty thousand. You think that’s normal?”
“Mom, why are you starting again? The console is an investment in streaming. I’m going to run a channel, build an audience. In six months it’ll pay for itself ten times over.”
“An investment in streaming? Marina, do you hear yourself? You live in my apartment for free. You don’t pay for electricity. You haven’t bought groceries for two weeks. And you buy a toy for fifty thousand.”
“It’s not a toy! It’s work equipment!”
“Work equipment. And who pays for the internet? That faster plan you asked me to connect?”
Marina rolled her eyes. That gesture — pupils lifted toward the ceiling — was so familiar, so childish, and so insulting.
“Mom, stop counting every penny. We’ll figure it out. There’s no need to interrogate us.”
Galina Sergeyevna turned around in silence and went to her room. She took out the folder labeled “Expenses.” Opened it. Began writing: “Console — 50,000 rubles. Utilities unpaid — 3,400 rubles. Groceries for weeks two and three — 0 rubles from M. and A.” Her handwriting was even. Her hand did not tremble.
Two months passed. Galina Sergeyevna kept records with accountant-like precision. Every ruble, every date, every promise that had not been kept. The “Expenses” folder grew thick, like a small novel. A novel about betrayal, to be exact.
On Wednesday morning, she found a printout on the kitchen table. A bright brochure: a beach, turquoise water, white umbrellas. “Turkey, Antalya, all inclusive, 14 nights.” Two names: Marina and Andrey. Departure date — in ten days.
Galina Sergeyevna read the brochure three times. Then she sat down on a chair and placed her hands on her knees. For a long time, she did not move.
When Marina woke up and came into the kitchen for coffee, her mother was already waiting.
“What is this?” Galina Sergeyevna placed the brochure in front of her daughter.
“Oh, you found it. We wanted to surprise you and tell you later. Mom, Andrey and I decided we need a vacation. We’re exhausted. The last few months have been hard.”
“Hard?”
“Yes. Stress, work, everyday life. We need to reset.”
“Marina, how much does the trip cost?”
“Mom, why do you need to know?”
“How much?”
“One hundred and sixty. For two. And it’s discounted, by the way.”
“One hundred and sixty thousand rubles. For a vacation. You were supposed to be saving for an apartment.”
“Mom, you can’t just save and save all the time. We’re living people. We need rest.”
Galina Sergeyevna stood up slowly, as if every joint required its own effort. She came close to her daughter.
“For four months, you haven’t paid me a single ruble for utilities. You stopped buying groceries. You bought a console. You order food every day. You haven’t saved a single kopeck for housing. And now you’re flying to Turkey. On my money, Marina. Because the money you’re spending is money you were supposed to give back to me.”
“Mom, it’s our money. We earned it. We have the right to spend it however we want.”
“And the one hundred and twenty thousand I ‘lent’ you before? Where did that go?”
“You gave it yourself! We didn’t ask!”
“You didn’t ask?! Marina, you called me every week crying into the phone! You said you couldn’t pay rent! That Andrey could barely make ends meet! I was taking money out of my pension!”
“Mom, don’t shout. The neighbors will hear.”
“Let them hear.”
Andrey appeared in the hallway, sleepy and in wrinkled clothes.
“What’s going on? It’s morning and you’re already…”
“Andrey, tell me honestly. Have you saved even one ruble for an apartment?”
Her son-in-law hesitated. Scratched the back of his head. Looked at Marina. She turned away toward the window.
“Well… not exactly yet. But we’re planning to. After the vacation we’ll start seriously.”
“After the vacation. Of course. Always ‘after.’ After payday, after the holidays, after vacation, after New Year. You’re thirty years old, but you live like teenagers whose parents pay for their pocket money.”
“Galina Sergeyevna, you’re exaggerating…”
“I’m exaggerating? Look me in the eye, Andrey. Look. You are a grown man. You live in a pensioner’s apartment for free. You eat at her expense. And you buy a trip to the seaside. Aren’t you ashamed?”
“Mom, stop it!” Marina turned around. Her eyes were angry, her mouth a thin line. “You always do this! You ruin everything! We wanted to rest, just once in our lives, and you…”
“Once in your lives? Marina, you went to Sochi in January. For New Year. On my money. Have you forgotten?”
“That was six months ago!”
“And what changed in six months? Did you become more independent? More responsible? No. You became more shameless.”
The word “shameless” dropped between them like a stone. Marina flinched. Andrey took a step back.
“All right,” Galina Sergeyevna said, straightening her back. “Fly. Rest. Reset yourselves.”
She left the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
That same evening, Galina Sergeyevna opened her laptop. She found a listings website. A one-room apartment in a residential district, twenty thousand a month. She called the landlady and arranged a viewing for the next day.
Three days later, the young couple flew away. Before leaving, Marina kissed her mother on the cheek and said:
“Mom, water the plant in our room. And don’t touch the console, okay?”
Galina Sergeyevna nodded. She closed the door behind them. And then she began to act.
She called her neighbor Viktor, who owned an old van. In one trip, they moved all of Marina and Andrey’s belongings into the rented one-room apartment. Galina Sergeyevna arranged the boxes herself, hung the towels, and even bought a carton of milk and a loaf of bread for the refrigerator. On the table, she left a white envelope.
Inside the envelope were two keys to the new apartment, the rental agreement for one month paid from her own pocket, and a letter. Eight pages, printed in small font. Every sum, every date, every promise that had not been kept. Total: four hundred and seventy thousand rubles. At the bottom was one sentence written by hand: “I love you, Marina. But I will no longer be the cushion people wipe their feet on.”
Then Galina Sergeyevna returned home. She washed the floors. Wiped the dust. Put her books back on the shelves. And went to bed in absolute silence.
The call came at one in the morning. Fourteen days later. Galina Sergeyevna woke up, but she did not answer immediately. She let the phone ring four times.
“Mom! What have you done?!”
“Good night, Marina. How was your vacation?”
“What do you mean, ‘good night’?! You sent a photo of the room. Where are our things?!”
“In your new apartment.”
“What apartment?!”
“Marina, you are thirty years old. You are married. It’s time for you to live separately. I paid the first month’s rent. From now on, you handle it yourselves.”
There was rustling on the other end of the line, then Andrey’s voice:
“Galina Sergeyevna, we’re coming over now. We need to talk.”
“Come if you want. But I will not take your things back.”
They arrived forty minutes later. Galina Sergeyevna opened the door but did not step away from the entrance. Marina stood there red-faced, with a suitcase, her eyes burning with anger. Andrey stood behind her, pale and absurdly tanned after the resort.
“Mom, let us in.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?!”
“I mean no. We’ll stand here and talk.”
“You threw us out?! My own mother threw her daughter into the street?!”
“I didn’t throw you out. I rented you an apartment. Paid for it. Moved your things. Arranged them. Even bought food. What exactly are you unhappy about?”
“I’m unhappy that you decided everything for us! We didn’t ask you to!”
“You didn’t ask? My daughter, you asked to live here for six months. Four months passed. You did not pay for utilities. You did not pay for groceries. You bought a console and a trip to Turkey. You didn’t save a single ruble for housing. I gave you a chance. Many chances. You spent them the way you spend everything else.”
“Andrey, tell her!”
Her son-in-law opened his mouth. Then said quietly:
“Galina Sergeyevna, maybe we can discuss this tomorrow? It’s late…”
“Tomorrow I’ll be busy. The address is Lenin Street, building fourteen, apartment eight. Here are the keys. Goodbye.”
Marina stepped forward. Her hand darted toward the door, trying to hold it.
“You won’t close the door in my face! I’m your daughter!”
“That is exactly why I’m doing this. This is the most valuable gift I can give you. Independence.”
“You know what, Mom? I’ll remember this. When you get completely old, I’ll put you in a nursing home. Then you’ll understand.”
Galina Sergeyevna looked into her daughter’s eyes. For a long time. Silently. Then she closed the door. Slowly turned the lock.
From behind the door came Andrey’s voice:
“Let’s go, Marin. It’s useless here.”
Then footsteps. The elevator. Silence.
Galina Sergeyevna leaned her back against the wall. For several minutes, she stood without moving. Then she went to the kitchen, put the kettle on, took out honey, and poured herself hot water with lemon. Her hands were calm.
A month passed. Marina did not call. Andrey sent one message: “We found an apartment. Thank you for paying for the month.” Nothing more.
On Galina Sergeyevna’s birthday — September twenty-third — a courier rang the doorbell. A huge bouquet of white roses and a box of expensive chocolates. The card read: “To our beloved mommy from your loving children. Forgive us.”
Galina Sergeyevna put the bouquet in a vase. Opened the chocolates. Smiled. Maybe, she thought, maybe it finally reached them. Maybe Marina understood.
That evening, she opened her banking app to check her balance. A habit — counting every ruble. And then she saw it: a charge of four thousand seven hundred rubles. Flower shop. Another charge of two thousand three hundred rubles. Confectionery. Total: seven thousand. From her card.
Galina Sergeyevna reread the notifications twice. Then three times. Then she took an old phone from the drawer, the one with a backup SIM card, and called the bank. Yes, they confirmed: the purchases had been made through an account linked to her card. One other user still had access — Marina.
Her daughter had bought her mother a birthday gift using her mother’s own money. And signed it: “Forgive us.”
Galina Sergeyevna sat down at the table. Opened her laptop. Logged into her social media page. And began to write. Calmly, precisely, without hysteria. Facts, dates, sums. Four hundred and seventy thousand over two years. Free living. Unpaid utilities. The console. Turkey. And finally — a birthday gift paid for with her mother’s card.
She ended the post with these words: “I am not asking for pity. I am asking you, those who are reading this, to hug your mothers. And never, never do this to them.”
By morning, the post had four hundred shares. By evening, three thousand. In their small town, everyone knew everyone. The comments were harsh. Marina was recognized. So was Andrey.
Then Galina Sergeyevna went to the police station and filed a report about unauthorized use of her bank card.
The local officer, Dmitry, came the next day. A young man, about thirty-five, with attentive eyes and a notebook in his hand. He sat on the chair she offered and did not refuse tea.
“Galina Sergeyevna, I read your statement. The situation is complicated. I’ll be honest: formally, they may not find grounds for a criminal case here. The card was linked voluntarily, and you gave your daughter access yourself.”
“I gave her access when she was a student. Ten years ago. So she could withdraw money for her studies. I forgot to remove it.”
“I understand. But legally, that is difficult to prove. However, I can have a preventive conversation with your daughter and son-in-law. Officially. With a report.”
“Dmitry, I don’t need revenge. I need the money returned to my account.”
“I’ll speak with them. Sometimes a visit from someone in uniform is enough for people to realize the jokes are over.”
Dmitry finished his tea and looked at Galina Sergeyevna.
“I saw your post. The whole town saw it. You are a strong woman.”
“I’m not strong. I’m just tired of being weak.”
Dmitry left. Two days later, Galina Sergeyevna received a notification: seven thousand rubles had been credited to her account. From Marina. No comment, no message. Just a transfer.
Galina Sergeyevna blocked her daughter’s access to the card. Changed the password to the banking app. Then she called the bank and removed all outside accounts. Once and for all.
Another week passed. Galina Sergeyevna was getting used to the silence. Not the silence she had known before — gentle and peaceful — but a new silence, dry and brittle. She knew she had done the right thing. But the right decisions are not always painless.
On Friday evening, a message arrived. Not from Marina. From Andrey.
“Galina Sergeyevna. Marina packed her things and went to stay with her friend Alyona. She left me. She said I was a spineless nobody and that her whole life went downhill because of me. I don’t know what to do. You were right about everything. Forgive me. I am guilty before you. Not even because of the money. Because I stayed silent when I should have spoken. Because I didn’t stop her. Because I allowed her to treat you that way. Forgive me, if you can.”
Galina Sergeyevna read the message. Then read it again. Put the phone down. Picked it up. Read it once more.
She typed a reply: “Andrey. I do not hold anger against you. But forgiveness is not something you can receive through a message. Live. Learn. And never again allow anyone — not a woman, not a man, not even yourself — to sit on someone else’s neck. It destroys both people.”
She sent it and turned off her phone.
The next morning, Galina Sergeyevna stepped out onto the balcony. October. Fresh air. The city below was just beginning to wake. She stood there looking not at the view, but at her hands. Wrinkled, worn, with short trimmed nails. These hands had fed, washed, counted numbers, and stroked her daughter’s hair for twenty years. These hands deserved peace.
The phone rang. An unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Galina Sergeyevna? Good morning. My name is Yulia, I’m calling from the city administration. We read your story. We have a support program for elderly people who have suffered financial pressure from relatives. We would like to offer you a free legal consultation and… if you allow us… help you recover the money owed to you. Legally.”
Galina Sergeyevna was silent.
“Galina Sergeyevna? Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you. Thank you, Yulia. I’ll think about it.”
She hung up. And suddenly she laughed. Quietly, to herself. Not from joy — from the absurdity of it all. For thirty years she had raised her daughter so that the girl would learn how to live. But in the end, it was Galina Sergeyevna herself who had to learn. To learn how to say no. To learn how to close a door. To learn how to put herself — herself! — first.
At that moment, the phone chimed again. A message from Andrey: “Galina Sergeyevna. You probably don’t know this. Marina took the console before she left. But she didn’t take her wedding ring. It’s on the kitchen table. She told Alyona I was the mistake of her life. And about you, she said, ‘That old witch ruined everything.’ I just want you to know: she understood nothing. Nothing at all. But I did.”
Galina Sergeyevna put the phone aside. She walked into the hallway and looked around her apartment — clean, quiet, hers. Books on the shelves. Violets on the windowsill. Her coat on the hanger. Only hers.
Galina Sergeyevna closed her eyes. It hurt. A dull, deep pain that would not leave for a long time. But alongside the pain, there was something else — the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet. She was standing on her own territory. In her own life. And no person in the world would ever again make her feel unwanted in her own home.
And Marina? Marina was sitting in Alyona’s kitchen, scrolling through her phone and reading the comments under her mother’s post. Thousands of strangers were writing to her in private messages. “Aren’t you ashamed?” “You are a disgrace to daughters.” “Give your mother back the money.” “Heartless.” Marina deleted her page. Then created a new one. Then deleted that one too.
Alyona placed a mug in front of her.
“Marinka, maybe you should call your mom? Apologize?”
“To whom? To her? She threw me out!”
“She rented you an apartment and moved your things. That’s not throwing you out.”
“Whose side are you on?!”
Alyona looked at her friend for a long moment.
“I’m on the side of common sense, Marin. And I’ll tell you this: you can stay with me for one week. One. After that, find somewhere else. I’m not Galina Sergeyevna. I’m not going to carry anyone on my back.”
Marina opened her mouth. And for the first time in many years, she could not find anything to say.
At that very moment, Galina Sergeyevna was making herself linden tea. She took an old cup from the cupboard — her favorite one, with blue flowers — the one she had hidden away while the young couple lived with her, so they would not break it. She placed the cup on the table. Poured the tea. And drank it slowly, in small sips, without rushing.
Because there was nowhere to hurry.
And no one to hurry for.
Only herself.
