The wedding took place at the end of August. It was modest, with only about twenty guests, but it was exactly the kind of celebration Marina had wanted from the very beginning. No huge banquet hall packed with two hundred people—just a cozy café with a terrace and the people closest to them.
After officially registering their marriage, the newlyweds rented a small studio apartment in a newly built residential complex. Later, they took out a mortgage. The monthly payment was significant, but with both of them working, it was manageable.
Marina worked as a graphic designer at an advertising agency. Her salary was decent, and from time to time she also took on freelance projects in the evenings. Sergei worked as an engineer at a manufacturing plant. His income was stable, although not particularly high.
Their plans were simple and pleasant. First, they wanted to get through their first winter together. Then they would start saving for renovations. Marina dreamed of redesigning the kitchen, while the floors throughout the apartment also needed replacing.
The first few weeks in their new home were peaceful.
In the mornings, Marina made coffee while Sergei shaved in the bathroom, quietly humming to himself. In the evenings, they cooked dinner together, discussed what wallpaper to choose for the bedroom, and laughed about unsuccessful bargain purchases.
It seemed that a calm, ordinary family life was waiting for them.
But before long, Galina Ivanovna began intruding into that peaceful little world.
Sergei’s mother came to visit for the first time about a week after they bought the apartment. She arrived with a homemade pie and an endless collection of advice about how a proper household should be run.
Marina listened politely, nodded, and thanked her for the suggestions. Still, there was something unsettling about Galina Ivanovna’s tone even then. She spoke as though her son’s marriage had changed not only his status but hers as well—as if she had suddenly gained some special authority over the young couple’s life.
“You understand, don’t you?” Galina Ivanovna said, looking critically around the new apartment. “Seryozha is my only son. I devoted my entire life to him. I raised him alone, without a husband, by the way. There were nights when I didn’t sleep at all, just so my child could have everything he needed.”
“Of course I understand,” Marina replied while pouring tea into the cups. “You did an amazing job raising him on your own.”
“Exactly,” her mother-in-law said with satisfaction, as though Marina had just confirmed an extremely important point. “Not every mother could have done what I did.”
Whenever conversations took that direction, Sergei usually tried to turn everything into a joke. He would change the subject and gently touch Marina’s shoulder when his mother wasn’t looking, as if to say, Just be patient. She’s my mother.
And Marina was patient.
After all, many mothers liked reminding everyone about the sacrifices they had made for their children. It was hardly unusual.
But about two weeks later, Galina Ivanovna’s hints became far more specific.
“Marina, have the two of you actually thought about the fact that you should take care of me now?” she asked one Sunday while carefully stirring sugar into her tea. “I heard you earn quite well. Graphic design, advertising—that’s not factory work. The money must be good.”
Marina immediately became cautious but tried to keep her response light.
“We’re both working and trying to save a little. We have the mortgage, and we’re planning renovations…”
“The renovation can wait,” Galina Ivanovna dismissed with a wave of her hand, as though it were something completely insignificant. “Gratitude shouldn’t have to wait. I think the two of you should transfer a certain amount of money to me every month. As a thank-you for raising such a good husband for you.”
Marina froze with the cup still in her hand.
For a moment, she honestly thought she had misunderstood.
“Galina Ivanovna, I’m sorry… are you serious?”
“Completely serious,” the older woman replied with the dignity of someone who believed she had just made a perfectly reasonable demand. “I raised Seryozha alone. I invested everything I had in him. Now it’s time for me to receive something in return.”
Marina looked at her husband, expecting him to support her.
Instead, Sergei gave an awkward smile and spread his hands helplessly, almost apologizing for his mother’s bluntness.
“Mom, come on,” he muttered. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now.”
“And when should we talk about it, Seryozhenka?” Galina Ivanovna snapped. “When pigs fly?”
She placed her cup on the saucer with a sharp little clink and stood up, making it clear that the subject was far from closed.
For the moment, the conversation seemed to disappear beneath the routine of ordinary life.
But not for long.
A few days later, Galina Ivanovna called Marina again, and from the very beginning it was obvious where the conversation was going.
“Marina, I’ve been thinking,” her mother-in-law began without any introduction. “I’ve decided it would be fair to set a specific amount. Let’s say twenty thousand a month. You earn well enough. It shouldn’t be a serious problem for you.”
“Galina Ivanovna,” Marina replied, trying very hard to keep her voice calm even though irritation was already building inside her, “we’ve only just started our life together. We have a mortgage. We’re planning renovations and saving for furniture. That amount is not something we can comfortably afford right now. And to be completely honest, I don’t understand why we should be making monthly payments to anyone.”
“Anyone?” Galina Ivanovna’s voice immediately rose. “I am not just anyone! I am your husband’s mother! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have such a wonderful husband in the first place!”
“I appreciate everything you did for him,” Marina answered evenly. “But raising your own child isn’t a paid service.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
Then the call abruptly ended.
Galina Ivanovna had hung up, clearly offended.
From that day on, she began calling almost every day.
The conversations always followed the same pattern. First came polite questions about how they were doing, and then the discussion would smoothly shift to the one subject she truly cared about.
“So, have you decided when the first payment will be?” she would ask cheerfully, as though she were simply asking about their weekend plans.
“Galina Ivanovna, we’ve already discussed this,” Marina would sigh. “We can’t do that right now.”
“How strange,” her mother-in-law would reply sarcastically. “A good daughter-in-law would have understood everything on her own without needing so many reminders. But with you, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”
Every time Marina ended one of those calls, she was left with a heavy, unpleasant feeling inside, as if she had swallowed something sharp.
Sergei would hear fragments of the conversations, shake his head, and tell her that his mother would eventually calm down.
“She’ll get over it,” he said. “Just give her time.”
But that did not make things any easier.
After two weeks of constant pressure, Galina Ivanovna decided that phone calls were no longer enough.
One Saturday morning, she arrived at their apartment without calling or giving any warning. Her expression was determined, as though she had come for a serious confrontation.
“Open the door, it’s me!” her voice rang out from the hallway.
Marina was still wearing her robe, while Sergei was in the kitchen trying to get the coffee machine to work.
Galina Ivanovna barely bothered with a greeting before walking straight inside and launching into her complaints.
“So this is how we’re going to do things?” she said, taking off her coat and tossing it directly onto the sofa without waiting to be invited in. “An entire month has passed, and I haven’t heard a word from either of you.”
“Good morning, Galina Ivanovna,” Marina said, trying to soften the atmosphere. “Come in. I’ll make some tea.”
“I’m not here for tea,” her mother-in-law snapped.
She sat down on a kitchen stool as though she were taking her position before a decisive battle.
“Have you completely lost your sense of shame? You’ve become unbelievably arrogant!”
Sergei stepped away from the kitchen table and tried to smile in a conciliatory way.
“Mom, let’s just talk calmly.”
“You stay out of this!” his mother snapped, turning toward him. “You were simply unlucky enough to marry such a calculating woman. Someone else might have gotten a decent wife, but you ended up with this one.”
Marina felt heat rush to her face, but she forced herself to remain composed.
“Galina Ivanovna, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. We simply aren’t prepared to give away part of our income every month.”
“Give it away?” the older woman practically shrieked. “I’m not some stranger! I am your husband’s mother! These payments should become a monthly obligation, do you hear me? An obligation!”
Her voice grew louder and louder, echoing off the kitchen walls.
With every passing minute, the tension inside the apartment intensified.
Marina stood near the window with her arms folded across her chest. Inside her, something was gradually becoming very clear.
Her patience was gone.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
“Galina Ivanovna,” she finally said in an almost casual tone, “you keep demanding money as though it’s something you’re automatically entitled to. But I have bad news for you. I’m not going to pay you.”
“How dare you!” her mother-in-law gasped.
Marina looked at her carefully, almost as though she were seeing her for the first time—the proudly raised chin, the absolute certainty that everyone around her owed her something.
Then Marina spoke calmly, without anger, but with complete firmness.
“Galina Ivanovna, you might want to straighten your crown. It’s slipping down over your eyes.”
The kitchen became so quiet that they could hear water dripping from the faucet.
Galina Ivanovna turned pale.
A second later, her face became bright red.
It looked as though steam might start coming out of her ears.
“How dare you speak to me like that?!” she shouted, jumping up so quickly that the stool toppled backward and hit the floor with a loud crash. “Greedy! Ungrateful! You turned my own son against his mother, didn’t you? I knew from the beginning that no good would ever come from you!”
“I haven’t turned anyone against anyone,” Marina replied without raising her voice. “I’m talking about what is happening right here, right now. Nobody bought or sold anybody, Galina Ivanovna. Your son is not a product that requires lifelong compensation.”
“A product?! How can you even say something like that?”
The older woman spun around toward Sergei, trembling with indignation.
“Sergei, put this… this woman in her place immediately! Make her apologize to me right now!”
Sergei stood by the table, looking at his mother as though he were seeing her differently for the first time.
The silence lasted only a few seconds, but it felt much longer.
“Mom,” he finally said, and his voice was unexpectedly firm, “nobody has the right to present me as some kind of reward for your motherhood. You raised me because you were my mother. That was your responsibility, not a favor I’m supposed to repay for the rest of my life.”
Galina Ivanovna froze.
She clearly had not expected that response.
She had counted on her son’s usual support.
Instead, she received a direct refusal.
“Traitor,” she whispered, taking a step backward. “I gave you my whole life, and this is how you repay me? I shouldn’t have devoted myself to you. It was all for nothing!”
“Mom,” Sergei said, shaking his head, “I am grateful to you. But gratitude cannot be extorted along with money.”
“Exactly,” Marina added. “Respect cannot be bought or forced out of people with threats. I’m not going to participate in turning your son into a lifelong source of payment for your sacrifices as a mother. It’s wrong, and I’m not changing my position.”
Galina Ivanovna stood in the middle of the kitchen, breathing heavily and staring from her son to her daughter-in-law.
She looked like someone who had suffered a devastating defeat in a battle she had been certain she would win.
“Fine,” she finally said, her voice shaking with anger and hurt. “I’ll forget the way to this apartment. I’ll forget I even have a son. If you choose this… this ungrateful woman over your own mother, then live however you want!”
Sergei walked to the front door and opened it.
He was calm, not angry, but absolutely determined.
“The door to our apartment is always open to guests, Mom. But not to people who come here demanding tribute.”
Galina Ivanovna snorted, grabbed her coat from the sofa, and stormed out.
She slammed the door so hard that the dishes in the cabinet rattled.
For several minutes, Marina and Sergei could still hear her voice from the stairwell. She continued shouting angrily, apparently addressing the neighbors, herself, or perhaps the universe for treating her so unfairly.
Neither of them tried to stop her.
They remained standing in the kitchen, listening as her footsteps moved farther away and her voice faded somewhere on the lower floors.
Then, finally, there was silence.
Real silence.
The peaceful kind they had not experienced in their apartment for several weeks.
Sergei walked over to Marina, put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner,” he said quietly. “I never thought it would go this far. When I lived with Mom, I used to give her almost my entire salary. I think she’s having trouble accepting that I have my own family and my own expenses now.”
“It’s okay,” Marina said, resting her face against his shoulder. “What matters is that in the end, you said exactly what needed to be said.”
The overturned stool was still lying on the floor, completely forgotten.
Marina picked it up and placed it back in its proper position.
Somehow, the simple gesture felt symbolic—as though she were not only putting the kitchen back in order, but also placing the entire conflict where it belonged: firmly in the past.
From that day forward, Galina Ivanovna stopped talking about money completely.
At first, she did not call them at all. Apparently, her wounded pride needed time to settle.
Marina and Sergei did not attempt to make contact first. They did not call or send messages. They simply allowed the situation to develop naturally.
Gradually, their life returned to normal.
In the evenings, they once again talked about renovations, saved money for a new kitchen, went for walks on weekends, and laughed about small things just as they had during the first weeks of their marriage.
A couple of months later, Galina Ivanovna finally called.
The conversation was short and dry. She phoned to congratulate them on a holiday and did not mention her previous demands even once.
Marina answered politely, but she no longer felt the need to agree with everything or explain herself endlessly.
The subject of money never came up again.
Neither did gratitude, sacrifice, or the supposed debt Sergei owed his mother for raising him.
Sergei still saw his mother from time to time. Their meetings were brief and practical. The old warmth was no longer there, but neither was open hostility.
And as for the newlyweds’ apartment, Galina Ivanovna did not truly forget the way there.
She simply learned to visit like a guest.
She called before coming over, no longer arrived with accusations, and never again entered their home wearing the imaginary crown that nobody intended to straighten for her.