“Here, Mom sent this,” Misha said, placing a folded notebook sheet on the kitchen table. “She said everything needs to be paid by Friday or Dasha will be in serious trouble.”
Anna wiped her damp hands on the kitchen towel, turned off the tap, and slowly faced her husband. Mikhail looked exhausted, his eyes avoiding hers with the guilty look of someone who realizes how ridiculous this all is but desperately wants to avoid a fight. Anna walked over to the table, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. The text was written in Tamara Ilyinichna’s bold, commanding handwriting. As Anna scanned the lines, a wave of hot, suffocating outrage started to build inside her.
The first item on the list was paying off Darya’s apartment utility debt—twenty-two thousand rubles. Next was a rehabilitation massage course at the private ‘Zdorovye’ clinic for eight-year-old Denis, Darya’s son—forty-five thousand. Third, quietly tucked in, was a new laptop for Darya herself, since her old one broke and she absolutely needs it to take remote ‘find your purpose’ courses—another sixty thousand. In total, almost one hundred and thirty thousand rubles.
“Misha,” Anna said, her voice deceptively calm. “You do realize this list isn’t a request, it’s a blueprint for outrageous robbery?”
Mikhail heaved a heavy sigh, sinking onto a stool and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Anya, I get it. But Mom called me in a panic. Her blood pressure is two hundred. Dasha’s been crying for days. They really are in a tough spot. Ilya quit his job again, says being a security guard doesn’t let him express himself. The family has no money. Denis’s back hurts, the doctor said he urgently needs massage therapy. They’re threatening to cut off electricity at the apartment. Mom said since you got your quarterly bonus last week, maybe we could help out a bit. We’re family, after all.”
“Family?” Anna scoffed, sitting across from him. “Misha, your sister has changed hobbies five times in the last three years. We paid for grooming courses, then she decided she’s allergic to pet hair. We bought her manicure equipment, which is gathering dust on the balcony. We even paid for their vacation to Turkey, supposedly because Denis urgently needed sea air. Meanwhile, Ilya just sat at home playing online tank games! And now I’m supposed to give up my bonus—money we’ve been saving to renovate our hallway—because your sister doesn’t want to work?”
“Anya, but it’s a child’s health,” Mikhail tried to argue, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Mom said if we don’t pay for the clinic, Denis could end up disabled. I can’t bear that kind of responsibility. Let’s at least cover the utilities and medical bills; they can get the laptop themselves.”
Anna didn’t say a word. She carefully folded the note, slipped it into the pocket of her house cardigan, and returned to the sink. The hurt was suffocating her. She managed a large pharmacy chain, and her days started at seven in the morning, rarely ending on time. She was responsible for a huge range of medications, a team of employees, strict pharmaceutical standards, inventory shortages, and audits. Every ruble of her bonus she earned through sleepless nights, stressful encounters with difficult customers, and endless reports for management. Meanwhile, Darya—who had just turned thirty-two—truly believed the world owed her something just because she was born.
That night, Anna couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. She listened to Mikhail’s steady breathing and thought about how their marriage had quietly turned into sponsoring someone else’s laziness. Misha was a wonderful husband: caring, hardworking, and a skilled engineer who could fix anything around the house. But in front of his mother, he lost his confidence and became like a guilty schoolboy. Tamara Ilyinichna skillfully played on his sense of duty, using her health, tears, and reproaches to manipulate him.
The next morning, Anna arrived at the pharmacy feeling completely drained. The day began in chaos—a supplier mixed up the boxes of prescription medications, the sales system froze for half an hour, and in the sales hall, an elderly lady caused a scene because she wasn’t sold antibiotics without a doctor’s prescription. By lunchtime, Anna was completely exhausted.
She went into the staff break room to have some coffee. Elena Markovna, the senior pharmacist—a woman with vast life experience and a sharp tongue—was already there. As soon as she noticed her boss’s gloomy face, she immediately set aside her salad container.
“Anya, you look terrible. Is the Health Ministry commission coming again? Or have the suppliers raised their prices?”
Anna shook her head as she poured hot water into her mug.
“Worse, Elena Markovna. My mother-in-law showed up with a list—or rather, sent my husband as her messenger. They’re demanding we pay off my sister-in-law’s debts, cover her son’s treatment at a private clinic, and buy them a new laptop too.”
Elena Markovna gave a dry chuckle and adjusted her stern horn-rimmed glasses.
“You know, your Darya reminds me of Raisa Zakharovna from the movie ‘Love and Doves.’ She always flitted around, talking lofty nonsense, getting into psychics—and when it came down to real life, it was all fake and for show. And her mother just enabled her. You should chase them off with their lists, Anechka. As long as you keep carrying them, they’ll ride along and keep urging you on.”
“I feel sorry for Misha,” Anna sighed, sitting down at the table. “He’s stuck between two fires. His mom calls and cries on the phone, telling him how his nephew suffers without massages and how Dasha sits in the dark because of unpaid bills. He’s soft-hearted, it’s easier for him to just give away his last bit of money than have anyone cry.”
“You should check into it,” Elena Markovna narrowed her eyes. “They sound just a little too convincing. Utility debts don’t pile up overnight, and not all private clinics are the same. You’re our chief, you have connections everywhere. It’s time for you to run an inventory of your relatives.”
These words struck a chord with Anna. Back in her office, she pulled a folded notebook page from her bag. Forty-five thousand for the “Zdorovye” Clinic. Anna knew that place well—they often bought high-end cosmetics and vitamin packs from her.
She grabbed her phone and dialed the clinic administrator’s number. Someone picked up almost immediately.
“Zdorovye Clinic, this is Marina the administrator, how can I help you?”
“Hello Marina, this is Anna Sergeyevna from the central pharmacy. We double-checked invoices together just last week.”
“Oh, Anna Sergeyevna, hi! How can I help? Are you calling about some medicine?”
“No, Marina, this time it’s personal. My sister-in-law, Darya Smirnova, is planning to come for a treatment course with her son Denis. They handed me a bill for forty-five thousand, but I misplaced the paper somewhere. Could you please check in your system for the exact dates they’re scheduled for spine procedures? I want to come by and pay everything at the cashier right away.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, only the sound of typing filling the silence.
“One moment, checking… Smirnova, Darya. Anna Sergeyevna, there’s some mistake. We have no appointments for Denis Smirnov’s child rehabilitation. Not this month, not next.”
Anna frowned.
“How can that be? Is anything registered for forty-five thousand?”
“Yes, there’s a booking. But it’s not for any treatment. This weekend, Darya Igorevna reserved our premium ‘Aphrodite Spa Getaway’ for two. It includes a chocolate wrap, stone therapy, relaxing massage, and access to the thermal zone. The total is exactly forty-five thousand rubles.”
Anna felt a surge of cold anger inside her, quickly replaced by a fierce determination.
“Marina, do me a favor. Please email me the confirmation for that booking with a breakdown of the services. Say it’s for accounting, from me.”
“No problem, it’ll be in your inbox in a minute.”
Anna hung up. Her fingers trembled a bit as she opened the city’s utility payment platform. She entered Darya’s apartment account number—it had stayed in her templates since last year, when she and Mikhail last helped pay off her debts. The system loaded. A green notice popped up: “No outstanding balance. Overpayment: two hundred thirty rubles.”
No threat of electricity being cut off. No child with a back problem. Just an expertly staged drama for squeezing out money.
Anna printed both documents: the spa procedure invoice and the screenshot showing zero debt on the apartment. She carefully arranged the papers in a clear plastic folder and put it in her bag.
That evening, when Mikhail came home from work, Anna greeted him in the hallway with a perfectly calm face.
“Misha, call your mom. Tell her we’ll come over for lunch on Sunday. We’ll go over the list together. And make sure Dasha is there too.”
Mikhail visibly tensed up as he took off his jacket.
“Anna, do we really have to have a family meeting? Why don’t I just send them some money and be done with it? I don’t want a fight. Mom will start clutching her heart again.”
There won’t be any arguing, Misha. I promise. But we do need to sit down and have a proper talk about our budget. Call me.
Sunday was gloomy, with a light, unpleasant drizzle falling outside. When they arrived, Tamara Ilyinichna’s apartment greeted them with its usual scent of old furniture and freshly brewed chamomile tea. Mikhail’s mother-in-law bustled around the kitchen, setting the table with the cheapest cookies and dried bagels, making it very clear that she was in dire straits. Darya sat at the table in an old, faded sweater, looking absolutely tragic. Her son Denis was in the next room, completely absorbed in his phone game—he hardly looked like a child suffering from unbearable back pain.
“Come in, dears, come in,” Tamara Ilyinichna began to fuss, pouring pale tea into their cups. “I’m sorry, I don’t have much to offer. My pension is small, and Dashenka needs every penny she can get right now. Did you at least eat something before you came?”
“We ate, Mom,” Mikhail replied calmly as he took a seat at the table. Anna sat down beside him, resting her bag on her lap.
Darya let out a heavy sigh, stirring her tea with a spoon.
“Misha, thank you for coming. You have no idea how exhausted I am. Ilya can’t find work anywhere—they just keep lying. Denis cries at night, his back hurts so much. I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If it weren’t for your help, I don’t know what we’d do. Have you figured out how you’ll send the money? I’d prefer it to my card, so I can run to all the offices first thing in the morning.”
Tamara Ilyinichna dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“Do you see, Anya, how hard it is for people? You two have everything—you work, you go on vacations. You should share, it’s what God wants.”
Anna slowly unzipped her bag and pulled out a clear folder.
“Yes, Tamara Ilyinichna, we’ve thought it all through,” Anna said in an even, emotionless voice. “And we decided to go through your list. Dasha, first on your list is the utility bill debt—twenty-two thousand rubles. There’s a threat they’ll turn off your electricity.”
Darya nodded, doing her best to appear as desperate as possible.
“Yes, Anechka, that’s right. Someone from the housing company called and yelled at me.”
Anna took a printout from her phone and laid it in the middle of the table, right on top of the plate of bagels.
“That’s very strange, Dasha. Because I checked your account myself yesterday. There’s no debt—in fact, you have a credit of two hundred and thirty rubles. So who exactly was yelling at you? An automated message about a zero balance?”
A heavy, sticky silence filled the kitchen. Darya turned pale and her eyes darted around. Tamara Ilyinichna stopped pretending to cry and stared at the paper.
“What does this mean?” Mikhail frowned, pulling the printout closer. “Dasha, you said they were going to turn off your electricity.”
“I… I got it mixed up!” Darya blurted out quickly, nervously fixing her hair. “It’s the debt for the capital repairs! And for gas! Those are different bills, Anya just checked the wrong one. And how dare you go through my personal accounts anyway? That’s illegal!”
“Let’s leave the utilities for now,” Anna continued calmly, paying no mind to the outrage in the room. She pulled out the next sheet. “Second item: forty-five thousand for a course of rehabilitative massage for Denis at the ‘Health’ clinic. The child, who by the way is now hunched over his phone in the other room, suffers from pain.”
“Yes, he has second-degree scoliosis!” Tamara Ilyinichna shouted, jumping in to defend her daughter. “The doctor said we need to start the muscle therapy immediately! Are you really trying to save money at the expense of your own nephew’s health?”
Anna placed the second document on the table — a detailed bill from the clinic, complete with stamp and signature.
“No, Tamara Ilyinichna, I don’t want to save money when it comes to my nephew’s health. But I do absolutely want to save money on an ‘Aphrodite’ spa trip for Dasha and her friend.”
Mikhail snatched the sheet from the table. Reading aloud, his voice grew harder with each word:
“Chocolate body wrap. Stone therapy. Relaxing massage. Access to the thermal area for two people. Total: forty-five thousand rubles. Customer: Darya Igorevna Smirnova.”
Mikhail looked up at his sister. There was no longer any guilt or confusion in his eyes. Instead, a fierce anger began to settle—the anger of someone who’s been deceived.
“Aphrodite spa trip?” he said slowly, enunciating each word. “So Denis cries at night from back pain, and you decided to wrap yourself in chocolate at my wife’s expense?”
Darya blushed so deeply that red marks appeared on her neck.
“Misha, you don’t understand! I’m exhausted! I’m depressed, I need to recharge! I’m a mother, I have a right to rest! And at the clinic they said this would help with stress! I just didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t understand! Anna is always stingy; for her, giving a little extra money is like tearing out a piece of her heart!”
“Wouldn’t understand?” Mikhail’s voice jumped to a shout. He slammed his palm on the table so hard the cups of pale tea jumped, splashing onto the tablecloth. “We haven’t had a proper vacation in three years! Anna works twelve-hour days, always on her feet, doing reports, arguing with customers! We’re saving up to fix the entryway, our wallpaper is falling off! And you, sitting at home with your unemployed husband, cover up your own child’s health to trick us into paying for your stone massages?!”
Tamara Ilyinichna clutched her heart dramatically as she sank down onto a chair.
“Misha, why are you yelling at your sister! How dare you! This snake,” she jabbed a trembling finger in Anna’s direction, “set this up just to make you fight! So what if little Dasha wanted to relax? She’s a woman! You have an obligation to help!”
“We don’t owe you anything!” Mikhail barked, jumping up from the table. “You shamelessly lied to my face. You, Mom, called me crying, telling stories about debts and illness. You turned me into a fool who took money from his own wife to pay for your whims. That’s it. Enough.”
He turned to Anna, his breath heavy, but his face showed pure resolve.
“Pack your bag, Anna. We’re leaving.”
Darya jumped up, trying to grab her brother by the sleeve.
“Misha, wait! What about the laptop? I really don’t have anything to study on!”
Mikhail shook her hand off.
“Let Ilya sell his tanks and buy you a laptop. Or go get a job. My phone number doesn’t exist for you anymore until you learn to tell the truth and live within your means.”
They left the apartment to the loud laments of Tamara Ilyinichna about ungrateful children and Darya’s curses. When the front door shut behind them and the fresh, cool air hit their faces, Mikhail stopped. He turned to Anna, took her hands, and looked straight into her eyes.
“Anya, I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete idiot. I let them take advantage of us for all these years because I was afraid of confrontations. If you hadn’t checked those lists, I would’ve talked you into giving up our money again. I swear to you, not a single penny from our budget will go in that direction again.”
Anna smiled, feeling a huge, years-long weight lift from her shoulders. She hugged her husband, pressing her cheek against his warm jacket. For the first time in a long while, she truly felt protected.
Four months passed.
Anna and Mikhail’s hallway smelled of fresh wallpaper glue and new furniture. Not only had they renovated, but they also bought the beautiful wardrobe with big mirrors that Anna had been dreaming about for years. Mikhail kept his word. After that Sunday’s fight, he completely stopped financially supporting his sister.
At first, Tamara Ilyinichna tried her old tricks. Two weeks later, she called her son, complaining about a broken faucet and demanding that Anna urgently call and pay for a plumber. Mikhail calmly replied, “Call one yourself, Mom, you’re adults. The housing office number’s on the bill,” then hung up.
Later, Darya called. She cried, saying Ilya left her for another woman, took the TV, and now she had no money for groceries. Mikhail suggested she take a cashier job at the supermarket near her house, where there was a job posting. Darya didn’t call again. According to distant relatives, she ended up getting a job as a receptionist at a cheap hair salon, while Ilya returned a week later when he realized his new girlfriend wouldn’t be feeding him.
Anna’s life changed dramatically. The constant anxiety about money disappeared. She and Mikhail started planning a real mountain trip for New Year’s. Anna was no longer afraid to say “no,” and became even more confident and calm at work.
One frosty evening, as Anna was chopping vegetables for salad in their newly renovated, beautiful kitchen, she heard the front door lock click. Mikhail had come home from work. He walked into the kitchen, hugged his wife from behind, and placed two colorful brochures on the counter in front of her.
“What’s this?” Anna asked with a smile, wiping her hands.
“This, my dear wife, is a list,” Mikhail replied seriously, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “A list of everything we need to pay for by Friday.”
Anna glanced at the brochures. One featured a snowy slope and the title “Krasnaya Polyana Ski Resort,” while the other advertised a thermal complex with open-air heated pools.
“And just remember,” her husband added, kissing her on the temple, “this time, no spa days for any third parties. It’s just the two of us. And I’ll personally check off every item on this list.”
Anna laughed, looking at the beautiful pictures. The old mind games were left behind, broken by simple printouts and her husband’s firm decision to protect their family. A real family, where care was always mutual.