Part 1. Sawdust and Calculations
The steady hum of the woodworking machines had a calming effect on Oleg. In that noise, in the smell of fresh pine resin and fine wood dust floating in the air, he felt like a man in control. Deputy workshop manager — it was a solid title, a title with weight. He ran his palm over the smooth surface of a freshly planed board. Perfectly even. Not a knot, not a splinter. If only life could be planed the same way, shaving off everything unnecessary — especially unnecessary expenses.
Oleg pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his work coat. Numbers. Columns of numbers. Petrol expenses, utility bills, groceries. Lately, prices had been rising so fast that his irritation had become almost permanent. He hated spending money. Every coin that left his wallet caused him an almost physical pain somewhere deep in his stomach.
“Oleg Petrovich, the suppliers have arrived. They’re asking us to unload,” the shift supervisor said, peeking into the small office.
“Let them wait,” Oleg snapped without lifting his eyes from the notebook. “We have lunch according to the schedule. I’m not paying for downtime. LET THEM WAIT.”
He had always been like that. Thrifty. Practical. Calculating. According to his mother, Galina Petrovna, those very qualities were the foundation of success. Women did not understand that. In Oleg’s and his mother’s opinion, women were creatures created to consume a man’s resources.
The memory of Margarita came over him in an unpleasant wave. Two years of marriage, which he now considered a wasted investment. She had worked as an ordinary history teacher, earned almost nothing, yet demanded attention and, even worse, money for some ridiculous professional development courses, books, and new shoes.
“She’ll strip you bare, son,” Galina Petrovna used to buzz in his ear. “Look at the way she eyes your money. And what if she gives birth? She’ll sit on your neck for good, dangle her legs, and you’ll have to support both of them — and me too, your old mother. No, she’s not the right match for us.”
And Oleg listened. He always listened to his mother. She was a wise woman who had raised him alone and knew the value of every kopeck. The divorce went quickly. Margarita did not make a scandal. She did not fight over property. She simply packed her books, a couple of suitcases, and disappeared from his life. Back then, Oleg breathed a sigh of relief, as if a heavy backpack had been lifted from his shoulders.
Several years passed. New women appeared in his life, but none stayed for long. One did not like that he checked supermarket receipts. Another caused a scene because, for her birthday, he suggested giving her not a gold pendant, but a practical set of pots that happened to be on sale.
“Mercenary creatures,” his mother hissed in the kitchen while sorting through grains. “They all want the same thing. Don’t worry, son. We’ll find you a modest, hardworking woman.”
Oleg agreed. But the years went by, and the modest, hardworking woman never appeared. At the workshop, however, he was king and god. There, everything obeyed his rules. Economy had to be economical.
Part 2. The Shine of Someone Else’s Success
Galina Petrovna liked walking through the city center, but never without a purpose. She observed, evaluated, compared. She enjoyed going into expensive shops, touching fabrics, asking prices, and loudly complaining about outrageous markups while catching what she believed were sympathetic glances from other customers.
On that sunny Tuesday, when the air already smelled faintly of approaching autumn, she was passing by the prestigious private school “Erudit.” A tall fence, security, well-kept flowerbeds. Galina Petrovna slowed down, studying the parents who were picking up their children. Foreign cars gleamed in the sun like bronze beetles.
Then the gates slid open, letting out a silver crossover of the latest model. A woman in stylish glasses sat behind the wheel. She slowed down to let pedestrians pass. Galina Petrovna narrowed her eyes. The woman’s features seemed familiar. Then the woman turned her head, smiled at someone in the passenger seat, and Galina Petrovna froze.
It was Margarita. Her former daughter-in-law. The same “gray mouse” who had never been able to cook borscht the way Oleg liked it.
Galina Petrovna could not believe her eyes. She waited until the car drove away, then rushed toward the security guard like a hawk.
“Young man, who was that woman who just drove out in the silver car? The one with chestnut hair?”
The guard, a bored man of about fifty, looked at her lazily.
“Margarita Sergeevna? She’s our deputy head. Director of academic affairs. Why do you ask?”
“Deputy head?” Galina Petrovna repeated, feeling envy begin to stir inside her — thick and sticky. “And do deputy heads earn well these days?”
“You offend me,” the guard chuckled. “This is a private elite school. Margarita Sergeevna is a respected person. She recently bought an apartment in a new residential complex, in Sunny Quarter.”
Galina Petrovna’s breath caught. Sunny Quarter was the kind of place she and Oleg could only dream about. Gated territory, fountains in the courtyard.
She returned home in a state of extreme excitement. Thoughts darted around her head like frightened birds. Margarita. Rich. Successful. And alone. After all, the guard had said nothing about a husband. And Oleg… Oleg was still alone.
That evening, she laid out her plan to her son. Oleg listened while poking at his cutlet with a fork, and his face gradually brightened.
“You think she’ll agree?” he asked doubtfully. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”
“Oh, what do you mean, ‘not on good terms’?” his mother waved him off. “Women love with their ears. Besides, how many years have passed? She must have run around enough by now and realized that being alone isn’t sweet. And you’re a respectable man, with a position. We’ll say we realized our mistakes. That you missed her. That I, as a wise woman, am ready to accept her back into the family.”
“And if she has someone?”
“If there were someone serious, she’d already be wearing a ring. I looked carefully — her fingers were bare. Listen to your mother, Oleg. A catch like that doesn’t lie around on the road. Apartment, car, salary… Imagine the kind of budget we could plan! We’ll finally finish the dacha. And we’ll replace your car.”
Greed mixed with arrogance is a dangerous cocktail. Oleg nodded. The plan seemed flawless. Margarita had once looked at him with adoration. Feelings like that did not vanish without a trace — or so he believed.
Part 3. The Uninvited Guest and the Fatal Words
Margarita was sitting in her office, reviewing academic plans for the next semester. The office was spacious and bright, with a large dark oak desk. Certificates and letters of appreciation hung on the walls. She loved her work. She loved the rhythm of life she had built for herself after that painful breakup.
The secretary peeked through the door.
“Margarita Sergeevna, there’s a woman here to see you. She says it’s personal. She insists she’s a relative. Her last name is… I think Vlasova.”
Margarita frowned. Vlasova. Her ex-husband’s surname. Her heart did not skip a beat. No. It simply continued its steady rhythm of cold calm.
“Let her in.”
The door opened, and Galina Petrovna appeared on the threshold. She was wearing her “formal” dress, the one she saved for major occasions, and in her hands she held a cheap cake in plastic packaging.
“Hello, Margarita,” she said in that special tone Margarita remembered too well — a mixture of condescension and demand.
“Good afternoon, Galina Petrovna,” Margarita replied without standing up. She merely gestured toward the visitor’s chair. “What brings you here?”
Galina Petrovna entered, sweeping her eyes around the office and lingering on the expensive laptop and leather chair. She gave a satisfied little hum.
“Well, I decided to visit. I heard you’ve become an important person now. I’m happy for you. Truly happy.”
Margarita remained silent, waiting for the continuation. She knew this woman. Galina Petrovna would never come merely to “be happy” for someone.
“Oleg and I often remember you,” the former mother-in-law began from afar, placing the cake on the edge of the desk. “After all, we’re not strangers. Oleg… he’s suffering. He regrets how everything happened. You were young, hot-headed.”
“We divorced five years ago, Galina Petrovna. What suffering are you talking about?”
“About love, dear, about love!” the woman exclaimed, leaning forward. “He never remarried, you know. He compares everyone to you. No one is good enough for him.”
Margarita discreetly reached for the phone lying face down on her desk. Her intuition, sharpened by years of managing people, told her that a performance was about to begin. She tapped the voice recorder icon.
“And what exactly are you proposing?” Margarita’s voice was even, emotionless.
Galina Petrovna took this as a sign of agreement, as readiness to negotiate. She straightened her shoulders, feeling victory close.
“I propose we forget old grievances, Rita. I can see you’ve made something of yourself. Well done. Now you are worthy of our family. Oleg is ready to forgive you. And so am I.”
Margarita tilted her head slightly.
“Forgive me? For what?”
“Well, you know… for that character of yours, for not knowing how to run a household. But now I see you’ve changed. You have money, status. That means you’ve become smarter.”
Galina Petrovna stood up, came right up to the desk, and looking down at her former daughter-in-law, delivered the very sentence she had come for:
“Stop playing proud. Leave this miserable loneliness — or whoever you’ve found just for appearances — and come back to my son! You’re rich now, so I’ll accept you! Oleg and I have talked it over. You’ll sell this apartment of yours — it’s too big for you alone anyway — and we’ll buy a larger house, so there’s room for everyone. For me, for you two, for future grandchildren. You understand, family needs a shared budget, and Oleg has a talent for managing finances.”
Silence settled over the office. The only sound was the faint hum of the laptop cooler. Margarita looked at the woman standing before her and saw not a former relative, but a monument to human shamelessness.
“Are you serious right now?” she asked quietly.
“Absolutely. Oleg is waiting for your call. Don’t be stubborn. Who else needs you except us? And my son is pure gold.”
Part 4. Digital Echo
Margarita did not shout. She did not call security. She simply smiled — coldly, with only her lips.
“I heard you, Galina Petrovna. Take the cake with you. I’m allergic to cheap cream.”
The mother-in-law was stunned. She opened her mouth to protest, but Margarita’s gaze was so heavy that the words stuck in her throat.
“You… you’ll regret this!” she hissed, grabbing the cake. “Proud little thing! We came to her with open hearts, and she…”
When the door closed behind the visitor, Margarita stopped the recording. Seven minutes of pure, concentrated absurdity.
She was not a vengeful person. Usually. But the phrase “You’re rich now, so I’ll accept you,” and the plans to sell her apartment struck the very nerve responsible for justice. And the mention of Oleg as “gold,” who was supposedly meant to manage her money, became the final straw.
Margarita opened her contact list. She still had the phone numbers of her ex-husband’s relatives: Aunt Natalya, who loved gossip more than life itself; Oleg’s cousin Sveta, who had always envied and disliked Aunt Galina’s arrogance; Uncle Borya. There was even a shared family chat she had forgotten to leave, having simply archived it many years ago. The chat was called “Family.”
She attached the audio file and added a short caption:
“Dear relatives. Today Galina Petrovna visited me. Listen to how she and Oleg evaluate the ‘entry ticket’ into your family. The part about selling my apartment and transferring the money to Oleg is especially interesting. Have a nice day, everyone.”
She pressed “Send.”
The effect was like a hot water pipe bursting. First came silence. Then — a storm.
Aunt Natalya forwarded the message to all her friends. Sveta, who had always disliked Aunt Galina for her arrogance, posted the recording in the city’s gossip group with the comment: “How a mother-in-law chose a daughter-in-law by income level. The circus left, but the clowns stayed.”
By evening, the whole town was buzzing. It was a small town, and many people knew one another. The recording spread through messengers like wildfire.
At work, Oleg could not understand why his colleagues kept glancing at him and snickering. Even the rough men from the sawmill section whispered behind his back.
“Hey, Petrovich,” one of the loaders called out with a grin. “Is it true that to get into your bed now a woman needs to bring an income certificate? My wife wants to know how much she has to earn for you to ‘accept’ her.”
Oleg turned crimson. He understood nothing until someone forwarded him the message. His mother’s voice. His name. The words about the apartment and the money.
SHAME. Burning, sticky shame flooded him from head to toe. But it was not repentance. It was anger — anger at his mother for foolishly exposing herself, and at Margarita for daring to make it public.
Part 5. A Trap for Greed
The next day, Oleg did not go to work. He sat at home, listening to his mother’s wailing after her blood pressure spiked. His phone would not stop ringing. Even people he had not spoken to in years called — some to mock him, others to offer fake sympathy.
But Oleg decided to act. His anger demanded an outlet. He was certain he could intimidate Margarita. Force her to delete everything, deny it, say the recording was fake.
He waited for her outside the school. When she approached her car, Oleg blocked her path.
“What have you done?” he barked, trying to look threatening. “You disgraced my mother! You disgraced me! Delete everything immediately and write a retraction!”
Margarita looked at him calmly. No fear. No anxiety.
“Oleg, move away from the car.”
“I said you’re going to fix this! Otherwise… otherwise I’ll sue you! For slander! For invasion of privacy!”
“Sue me?” Margarita smiled faintly. “Go ahead. The recording was made in my office, where your mother came of her own free will. It is my workplace. There are no threats on the recording — only your ‘business proposal.’”
“You… you’re just taking revenge because I left you!” he shouted, attracting the attention of passersby. “Because nobody wants you!”
And then Margarita struck a blow he had not expected. She took a folded sheet of paper from her handbag and handed it to him.
“I knew you would come. You’re predictable, Oleg. Read this. It’s a copy of an order.”
Oleg took the paper automatically. The letters swam before his eyes. “Order on the change of timber supplier… termination of contract with LesProm LLC… due to loss of trust in workshop management and reputational risks…”
“What is this?” he croaked.
“LesProm LLC is your factory, correct? The school where I work, along with three other branches in the district, had planned a major timber purchase for the construction of new buildings and a summer camp. A huge order. Your director, Pavel Nikolaevich, was counting heavily on that tender.”
Oleg went cold. Pavel Nikolaevich became a beast when profit was involved.
“I am the chair of the procurement committee,” Margarita continued in an icy tone. “Yesterday, I sent Pavel Nikolaevich the audio recording with an explanation of why I cannot do business with an organization where people in management positions have, let’s say, questionable moral principles and a tendency toward schemes involving other people’s property. Your mother clearly said that ‘Oleg has a talent for managing finances,’ implying the seizure of my apartment. Directors usually don’t like it when their deputies plan shady arrangements.”
“You cost the factory that order?” Oleg felt the ground slipping away beneath him.
“No. I simply chose another supplier. A more reliable one. As for your director, I advised him to take a closer look at the kind of people working for him. By the way, he replied to me. He said employees like that damage the company’s image.”
The phone in Oleg’s pocket began to vibrate. Incoming call: “Pavel Nikolaevich BOSS.”
Oleg looked at the screen, then at Margarita. She got into her car, started the engine, and drove away without looking back.
He remained standing on the sidewalk, clutching the useless piece of paper. He never answered the call. He already knew what would be said. Dismissal was the least of his problems. In their narrow professional circle, rumors spread faster than a forest fire. With a reputation like that — a man who sends his mother to beg money from his ex-wife — no one would hire him even as a warehouse guard.
Oleg looked around. It seemed to him that the whole town was watching him and laughing. Anger gave way to animal fear. Fear of a future where there was no salary, no status — only an old apartment, a greedy mother, and a shame that could never be washed away.
A week later, neighbors saw Oleg loading his things into an old Gazelle van. He was leaving for another region, somewhere up north for work, where no one knew the surname Vlasov or the story about the “rich ex-wife.”
Galina Petrovna was left alone. Every evening, she sat on the bench outside and told the neighbors how a snake had ruined the life of her brilliant son. But the neighbors merely nodded with understanding — and the moment she turned away, they twirled a finger near their temple.
Margarita never thought of them again.
She had her own life now.
And in that life, there was no room for sawdust or someone else’s greed.
