“Your duty is to serve your husband’s family,” her mother-in-law declared in front of all the guests, firmly pushing away her empty plate, still smeared with greasy meat sauce. “A woman is supposed to give, Lenochka. But you drag everything into that little studio of yours and count every penny.”
Elena closed her eyes for a second, feeling a dull headache begin to pulse somewhere deep inside. The Sunday lunch at the country house — the one she had cooked herself after getting up at six in the morning — was slowly but surely turning into yet another trial. Around the large wooden table, crowded with crystal salad bowls and platters of roasted pork, sat her husband’s entire extended family.
Igor himself, happily ignoring the brewing scandal, was chewing a piece of meat with great enthusiasm and washing it down with tomato juice. Across from him sat his younger brother Vadim with his wife Oksana and their two endlessly shrieking children.
“Zinaida Arkadyevna, I didn’t build my studio from nothing just so I could start giving free services to the whole city,” Elena replied, trying to keep her voice gentle. “My nail technicians are fully booked. I can’t just cancel paying clients so that Oksana and the girls can come in for manicures and pedicures during the busiest hours on Saturday.”
Oksana immediately pressed her lips together in offense and glanced at her husband. Vadim cleared his throat, pushed his glass aside, and frowned.
“Lena, why are you making such a big deal out of it?” he said reproachfully. “We’re not strangers. Are you really that greedy? You’ve got piles of nail polish and files over there. It costs you practically nothing, but you act like you’re running some kind of empire. You could have helped out. Oksanka has a corporate event next week. She needs to look good.”
“Exactly!” the mother-in-law chimed in, wagging a plump finger. “You’re just like that cold boss woman from Office Romance — all work and no heart! No compassion at all. Igor, tell your wife this isn’t how people behave!”
Igor lazily dabbed his lips with a napkin, looked at his mother, then at Elena, and finally delivered his usual line — the one he used whenever he did not want to deal with anything.
“Lena, honestly, why are you being stubborn? Just do the manicure for them and let everyone calm down. I don’t need these women’s arguments at the table. I came here to relax.”
Elena silently stood up, began collecting the dirty plates, and went into the kitchen. A heavy lump had formed in her chest. She was forty-three years old. She had been married to Igor for the last fifteen years, and for all those fifteen years, she had worked like a dog.
At first, she had rented a tiny room in a semi-basement space, breathing in acrylic dust twelve hours a day, scrubbing her hands raw while doing pedicures for demanding clients. Then she rented a bigger place and hired two girls. Now her salon was one of the most popular in the district: stylish interior, expensive equipment, five top-level technicians.
Igor, meanwhile, had ended his career as a sales assistant in a building materials store five years earlier. He announced that he had “burned out,” that his managers did not appreciate him, and proudly settled at home. So that her husband would not feel useless, Elena offered him a position as administrator and manager at her salon. The work was easy enough: ordering supplies, answering calls from vendors, paying rent and utility bills.
Igor agreed, cheered up, and even bought himself an impressive leather briefcase. They treated the business money as shared income, although in reality all the profit was generated by Elena and her employees.
In the kitchen, Elena turned on the water and began rinsing leftover food from the plates. In the next room, the cheerful buzz of voices continued. Vadim was loudly complaining about how unfair life was and how little honest drivers were paid. He modestly avoided mentioning that he urgently needed to replace his gearbox and had no money for it, knowing perfectly well that Igor would “figure something out.”
The next morning, Elena arrived at the salon earlier than usual. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint scent of antiseptic and new sterilization paper bags. She loved this place. It was her creation, her fortress.
The day promised to be hectic: a full schedule and several complicated podology cases. Around eleven o’clock, the salon’s work phone rang. Masha, the young student who worked as the receptionist, passed the phone to Elena.
“Elena Nikolaevna, this is the wholesale equipment company,” an irritated female voice said on the other end of the line. “Last week, we delivered two new pedicure chairs to you. We agreed on a three-day deferred payment. A week has passed, and the money still hasn’t reached our account. If payment is not made today, we’ll have to charge penalties and take the equipment back.”
Elena frowned, wiping her hands with a paper towel.
“Wait, what do you mean the payment hasn’t arrived? My husband, Igor Anatolyevich, was supposed to make the payment on Wednesday. I personally saw the invoice.”
“We haven’t received anything from you. Please sort it out.”
Elena hung up and felt a faint stab of anxiety. She tried calling Igor, but his phone was out of reach. Most likely, he had gone fishing again with his brother Vadim after assuring her that all the salon business had been settled until the end of the month.
She went to the computer at the reception desk. Usually, Igor handled all banking operations from his own laptop, but the password for the corporate banking app was also saved on the salon computer. Elena rarely logged in. She trusted her husband completely. Why check on the person you shared a bed with and ate from the same table with?
She opened the app. The system requested a verification code, which was sent to a special work SIM card. The SIM card was in an old button phone that always lay in the desk drawer. Elena entered the code, clicked log in, and opened the account statement for the past month.
What she saw on the screen made her heart skip a beat — then begin pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
There was no payment for the pedicure chairs. But there were other very interesting transfers.
Last Wednesday, the same day Igor had supposedly been paying for the equipment, one hundred eighty thousand rubles had left the salon account with the note: “Transfer to private individual: Sidorov V.A. Loan repayment.”
Sidorov Vadim Anatolyevich was Igor’s brother.
What loan repayment? Elena had never borrowed a single kopeck from him.
With trembling hands, she changed the filter and pulled up the account statement for the last six months. Columns of numbers blurred before her eyes. The picture became clear with frightening cruelty. Every month, steadily, as if on schedule, Igor had been transferring large sums of money.
“Payment for medical services. Elite-Dent Dental Clinic” — two hundred ten thousand rubles. Elena remembered how, a month earlier, Zinaida Arkadyevna had been showing off her new dental implants and claiming she had saved up for them from her pension.
“Payment for travel services. Zhemchuzhina Sanatorium” — one hundred forty thousand. Oksana and the children had vacationed at that very sanatorium last autumn.
“Card transfer: Sidorov V.A.” — half a million rubles in three installments. This had happened exactly in the same month Vadim had suddenly replaced his old wreck of a car with a perfectly decent crossover, telling everyone he had taken out an unbelievably good loan.
Her husband, the man she had trusted with the finances of the business she had built through pain and sacrifice, had been methodically and cold-bloodedly stealing from her in order to support his relatives. He had not simply been helping them. He had completely taken them under his financial care at Elena’s expense.
While she bent over strangers’ feet, breathed in chemicals, and denied herself a proper vacation, Igor was generously paying for his mother’s wishes, his brother’s needs, and his sister-in-law’s comfort.
A burning cold spread through Elena from the inside. Her fatigue disappeared. Her doubts vanished. The familiar guilt over “not giving enough time to family” was gone. Only a sharp, crystal-clear rage remained.
Methodically, ignoring the tremor in her fingers, she downloaded all the bank statements for the past year. Then she turned on the printer. The machine hummed, spitting out warm sheets of paper — evidence of betrayal.
There were many of them. Too many.
The total amount withdrawn from the business was approaching two million rubles.
Elena called the suppliers, apologized for the delay, paid for the chairs from her personal reserve account, and canceled all her appointments for the second half of the day, transferring the clients to other technicians. Then she gathered the printed pages, placed them into a thick plastic folder, and drove home.
No one was there. Judging by the sneakers thrown in the hallway and the smell of campfire smoke on his jacket, Igor had stopped by to change after fishing. On the kitchen table lay a note:
“Went to the country house with Vadik and Mom. We’ll grill shashlik. Come after work. Buy bread and mineral water on the way.”
How touching.
Bread and mineral water.
Elena did not change her clothes. She got back into the car and headed out of the city. The drive took about an hour. The entire way, she did not turn on the radio. She listened only to the whisper of tires against the asphalt. There were no thoughts in her head, only cold calculation.
She understood one thing clearly: she would not tolerate this anymore. She would not be the good daughter-in-law. She would not be the understanding wife.
Enough.
When she opened the gate to her country house, the scene on the property was idyllic. Vadim was blowing on the coals in the grill. Oksana lay on the swing, scrolling through her phone. Zinaida Arkadyevna was drinking tea on the veranda, and Igor was cleaning skewers.
Seeing his wife, Igor waved cheerfully.
“Oh, Lenusik! You’re early today! Did you buy the bread?”
Elena walked silently along the paved path, stepped onto the veranda, and threw the plastic folder straight onto the table, knocking her mother-in-law’s cup aside.
“From now on, you’ll be buying your own bread,” Elena said in an even, emotionless voice. “With your own money. Open the folder, Igor. Let your whole loving family read it.”
Igor wiped his hands on his apron in confusion, came to the table, and opened the plastic file. Vadim, sensing trouble, left the grill and came closer. Zinaida Arkadyevna snorted with contempt.
“What kind of performance is this, Elena? We’re trying to relax, and you show up with your papers!”
“These, Zinaida Arkadyevna, are bank statements from my studio’s business account for the past year,” Elena replied loudly and clearly, looking straight into her husband’s eyes as his face began to drain of color. “And according to these papers, your wonderful son stole almost two million rubles from me to pay for your teeth, Oksana’s vacations, and Vadim’s new car.”
A heavy, sticky silence settled over the veranda. There was no sound of birdsong, no crackle of coals. It seemed as if time itself had stopped.
Igor tried to smile, but the smile came out crooked and pitiful.
“Lena… what are you saying… this was just… a redistribution of funds. I’m the manager. We had spare money in circulation, and I decided to invest it in helping the family. I was going to return everything later! We have a shared budget. We’re husband and wife!”
“Invest it in helping the family?” Elena stepped toward him, and Igor instinctively moved back. “A shared budget is made up of money both people earn! You don’t earn a single kopeck! You live off my labor! You falsified payment descriptions! You are a thief, Igor. An ordinary thief.”
Oksana, realizing the situation was getting dangerous, jumped up from the swing.
“How dare you call him that!” she shrieked. “He’s your husband! He has the right to manage the money! We’re his family! If you’re so greedy that you begrudge us a few pennies, then you’re worthless as a woman!”
“My worth is measured by my work, Oksana,” Elena said sharply, without raising her voice. “But your worth is written right here in these statements. A sanatorium trip — one hundred forty thousand. You have been very expensive for me.”
Then the mother-in-law joined in. Red patches appeared on her face, and her chest rose and fell heavily.
“You ungrateful little witch!” Zinaida Arkadyevna shouted, slamming her palm onto the table. “If it weren’t for Igor, you’d still be sitting in that basement filing nails! He gave you status. He made you somebody! You owe us help! You don’t have children, so at least be useful to your nephews and nieces! Counting money, are you? We’ll take you to court and sue you for half the business!”
“Go ahead,” Elena said with a faint smile, suddenly feeling unbelievably light. “Only the business was registered in my name long before Igor became listed there as an administrator. But the transfers to your accounts without proper loan agreements qualify as unjust enrichment. And my lawyer, to whom I have already sent copies, will be delighted to recover those sums from you, Vadim, and from you, Zinaida Arkadyevna.”
Vadim turned crimson and clenched his fists.
“You’re going to demand money from us? From your own family?”
“You are not my family,” Elena said, looking at each of them with a long, assessing gaze. “You are a pack of leeches. Now listen carefully. Igor, you have exactly two hours to collect your things from our apartment and disappear. You will put the keys to this country house on the table right now. Tomorrow morning, I am filing for divorce.”
“Lena, wait, don’t be so drastic!” Igor suddenly rushed toward her, trying to grab her hands. Genuine terror filled his eyes. He understood that he was losing everything: his comfortable life, his status, his access to money. “I’ll fix everything! I’ll get a job! I’ll return every kopeck! Lenochka, we’ve been together for so many years!”
“Take your hands off me,” Elena said with disgust, pulling away. “Your time is up. Gather your things, load yourselves into Vadim’s car — the one bought with my money — and get off my property. I don’t want to see any of you here in ten minutes.”
She turned and walked back to her car. Behind her came her mother-in-law’s curses, Oksana’s hysterical screeching, and Igor’s pathetic excuses. Elena got behind the wheel, locked the doors, and turned on the music.
In the rearview mirror, she watched her now former relatives hurry around, gathering their bags, fuming, shoving each other. Igor shouted something at his brother. Vadim snapped back. Their close-knit clan began falling apart the very moment the source of free money dried up.
Six months passed.
Winter covered the city in soft, fluffy snow. Inside Elena’s studio, the pre-New Year rush was in full swing. The space had been expanded, renovated in light colors, and furnished with new furniture. Instead of five technicians, there were now eight, and appointments were booked two months in advance.
Elena sat in her new office, reviewing reports prepared by her new accountant — a strict, meticulous woman who did not allow a single mistake in the paperwork. Debits and credits matched perfectly. No shady transfers. No leaks.
Her life had changed completely.
After the divorce, which had been difficult and scandalous, Elena felt as though she had dropped a huge backpack full of stones from her shoulders. Igor had tried to sue her, demanding a share of the apartment and the country house, but the apartment had been purchased by Elena before the marriage, and the country house had been inherited from her grandfather. The business also remained untouched.
Moreover, Elena’s threat to file a claim for unjust enrichment worked. Igor, frightened by the possibility of criminal prosecution for financial manipulation, signed a settlement agreement and gave up all claims.
According to rumors passed along by mutual acquaintances, her ex-husband was now living with his mother in a cramped two-room apartment. He still had not learned to work, survived on odd jobs, and constantly complained about the greed of modern women. Vadim and Oksana had sunk into debt — maintaining the new car turned out to be far beyond their means, and the free money had run out.
A couple of times, Igor tried to contact Elena. He sent couriers to the studio with cheap bouquets and wrote long, tearful messages about how he had realized his mistakes, how family was the most important thing, and how he was ready to start over with a clean slate.
Elena did not even read those messages to the end. She immediately blocked the numbers. As for the bouquets, she gave them to the receptionist.
The old manipulations, the guilt, and the false idea of duty no longer had any power over her. She had understood the most important truth: you cannot buy love and respect by paying for other people’s laziness.
Elena closed her laptop, draped a warm coat over her shoulders, and stepped outside. The frosty air pleasantly stung her cheeks. She walked to her car, sat down in the warm interior, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
Her face looked rested. The little lines had softened. And in her eyes, there was once again that living sparkle she had lost many years ago while chasing the title of the perfect wife.
Ahead of her was a peaceful evening in a warm, empty, incredibly cozy home — a home where no one would demand sacrifices from her, and where the only person she was obligated to take care of was herself.