Olga was sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring the tea that had long since cooled. In front of her was a bank statement—ordinary, unremarkable paper, but the numbers on it made her stomach turn. Thirty thousand. Another transfer to her husband’s sister, the third one this month.
Andrey, her husband, was calmly chewing on a sandwich while scrolling through the news on his phone. As if it were nothing. As if there was nothing special about it. “Andryush,” Olga tried to speak calmly, though everything inside her was boiling. “Maybe you can explain this? We agreed—no major expenses without discussing them.”
He didn’t even look up from the screen: “What’s there to explain? Lyuda asked for help, I helped. She’s my sister, after all.”
Sister. That magic word that could justify any spending. Olga squeezed the teaspoon tightly. She remembered how she had postponed buying a new winter jacket—the old one had completely worn out at the elbows. How she had refused to visit her mother because the tickets were too expensive. And once again, the money was flowing to the eternally needy Lyudmila.
The phone rang. Lyudmila, of course. Andrey put it on speaker—another habit that annoyed Olga. As if all family conversations should be public knowledge.
“Andryushka!” Lyuda’s voice oozed sweetness. “Thanks for the transfer, darling! But… there’s a little thing… I need a bit more. For treatment. Just a little, about fifty thousand…”
Olga froze. Treatment? Something serious?
“You see,” Lyuda continued, “the tests showed… well, the doctors say urgent therapy is needed…”
“Of course,” Andrey started to speak, but Olga interrupted him:
“Lyudochka, how awful! What’s the diagnosis? Which clinic will you be treated at?”
A pause. A brief hesitation that spoke louder to Olga than a thousand words.
“Well… um…” Lyuda seemed confused. “I’ll send all the details later. You’ll send it, right, Andryush?”
The call ended. Olga silently took the phone and opened Instagram. A couple of clicks, and there it was—Lyudmila’s page. A new post, published an hour ago: “Girls! I found a super-hot tour to the Emirates! Flying to a fairy tale in a week!”
Fifty thousand for treatment. Of course.
Olga felt something inside—something that had been building up for years—finally snap. She slowly put the phone on the table, turning the screen towards her husband: “Andrey, look. Take a look at your sister’s ‘treatment’.”
He glanced at the screen and shrugged: “So what? Maybe she really needs a break. To relax her nerves…”
That was the last straw. Olga stood up sharply, the cup of tea tipped over, and a dark puddle slowly spread across the white tablecloth.
“No,” her voice rang with suppressed fury. “No more. I’m not participating in this anymore. Enough.”
“Olya, what’s wrong?” Andrey finally looked up from his phone, his eyes flickering with concern. “We’ve always helped…”
“Exactly. Always. But now, that’s it. I don’t work from morning till night to sponsor your sister’s vacation. Especially when she’s lying to our faces.”
For the first time in many years, Olga said this out loud. The words that had been scratching at her throat for so long finally burst out. And strangely, the world didn’t collapse. It just felt a little easier inside.
Andrey looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Or maybe it really was the first time.
The next morning, Olga woke up to the ringing of her phone. Without looking at the screen, she knew—it was her mother-in-law. And sure enough, it was.
“Good morning, Mom.”
“Good morning?!” Her mother-in-law’s voice immediately rose in complaint. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? Lyudochka can’t find a place for herself! She cried all night!”
Olga sat at the kitchen table, rubbed her eyes. So typical—she hadn’t even had time to make coffee, and the show had already started.
“Mom, do you know where your Lyudochka is going? To the Emirates! With the money she supposedly asked for her treatment.”
“And so what?” Her mother-in-law’s voice grew even sharper. “She has the right to rest! She has a stressful job, you know. And you… You… How dare you?! We’ve done everything we could for you! And now you’re counting every penny?”
Olga stayed silent. What could she say? Twenty years of the same thing. Every time, the same old “we did everything for you.” Especially about how her mother-in-law gave them money for their wedding. God, even their grandchildren knew this story by heart, even though they didn’t have kids yet.
“Mom, let’s not do this…”
“No! Let’s talk!” She clearly got worked up. “Who took care of Andryusha when you were running off to your courses, huh? Silent now, aren’t you? Well, then! And now you’re abandoning your husband’s sister without help?”
The line clicked—her mother-in-law probably hung up in anger. Olga sat with the phone in her hand. A text message from Lyuda popped up:
“Congrats! Mom’s blood pressure spiked. If anything happens, you’ll be to blame!”
Olga deleted the message. But the chill in her stomach didn’t go away. She knew they were manipulating her, but it was still scary.
Then began a theater of the absurd. Everyone called—from Aunt Valya to a distant cousin from Saratov. Aunt Nyura was especially amusing, who had last visited them at their wedding:
“Olechka, how could you? You’ve always been so good! And now this? You’re abandoning your family?”
By evening, Olga had become robotic, answering:
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m awful. Terrible, really.”
Andrey came home looking gloomy. He walked around the apartment like a ghost, sighing. Then he couldn’t take it anymore:
“Listen, maybe… we could… give her some money? Mom’s going crazy. Says her heart is aching…”
Olga looked at her husband. Just looked. Twenty years together, and he was still the same boy who was afraid to upset his mother.
“Andryush, aren’t you tired of this?” she asked. “Every month, the same thing. First it’s for Lyudka’s car, then for repairs, then for a fur coat. And now it’s for ‘treatment’ in the Emirates. And every time—‘Mom’s worried, Mom’s heart…’”
“Well, it’s just… They’ve done a lot for us. Remember when your mom was in the hospital? Mine was the first to rush over!”
“I remember. And I remember how she reminded us for three years after that—too.”
He slammed the bedroom door. Olga sat in the kitchen and cried. From exhaustion, from resentment, from the fact that it all felt like a bad dream. The phone rang again—Lyuda. But for the first time in her life, Olga just hit “decline.” And added the number to her blacklist.
You know what’s the worst part? Somewhere deep inside, it still gnawed at her: what if they’re right? What if I really am greedy and ungrateful? But then she remembered yesterday’s lie about the “treatment”—and it became a little easier.
From that day on, Olga’s life with Andrey seemed to split into “before” and “after.” It seemed like everything was the same—work, home, dinners together. But it wasn’t. Her husband started staying late at the office, and when he came home—he was silent or responded with casual phrases. He turned off his phone, communicating through his work one. Olga wasn’t stupid—she understood he didn’t want her to hear his conversations with his family.
On Saturday morning, he said he was going to work. On the weekend! Olga couldn’t take it anymore:
“Andryush, can we talk?”
“What about?” he didn’t even turn around, tying his shoes in the hallway.
“You know what about. You’ve been walking around like a ghost for a week.”
“Well, what’s there to talk about?” He finally looked at her. “You’ve decided everything. For yourself, for me, for everyone.”
He slammed the door. Olga was left alone in the empty apartment. She sat in the kitchen—the same spot where everything started a week ago. They say time heals. That’s all lies. Time only sharpens it. Every day, you realize more clearly what you’ve done. Or what you haven’t done.
Then came her mother-in-law’s birthday. Andrey got ready and left alone—the first time in twenty years. Olga spent the whole evening scrolling through Instagram, looking at photos from the celebration that Lyudka posted. There they all were, sitting together at the table. There was the cake she used to bake. There was an empty chair—probably hers. It hurt so much—she could have cried.
She didn’t even notice when she fell asleep on the couch. She woke up to the sound of the key in the lock—Andrey had returned. He asked from the doorway:
“Not asleep? Want something to eat? Mom sent some pies.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s a shame. They’re delicious, with cabbage. Just how you like them.”
He stood in the doorway, fidgeting. “Mom asked how you are. She misses you.”
Olga snorted:
“Really? And she’s forgotten how to call?”
“Well, you… you’ve blocked all their numbers.”
“Why would I do that?” She felt anger rising inside her. “Maybe because your Lyudka is off to the Emirates with money she said was for treatment? Or because your mom blamed me for every sin?”
“Here we go…” Andrey winced. “Let’s not do this again…”
“Of course not!” Olga stood up. “We don’t talk about anything now. We just pass pies. With cabbage.”
He went into the bedroom. And Olga stayed in the kitchen, staring at the damned pies, thinking—this is how we live. My husband is farther away, his family is out there celebrating without me, and I’m like a leper. And you know what’s the saddest part? I told the truth back then. But no one cares about that truth.
The phone beeped—it was a text from Aunt Valya’s neighbor: “Olechka, I saw your husband in your mom’s photos. He looked so sad. And you’re all alone there. Maybe you two should make up? After all, family…”
Family. That word was so annoying.
And the next day, Andrey didn’t come home to sleep. He called at 10 p.m.:
“I’m staying at Mom’s. We need to talk about something.”
And the dial tone.
Olga sat in the dark, and for the first time, truly felt afraid. Because she understood—it was happening. What she had feared the most. The choice. He chose. Not me.
For three days, there was no word from Andrey. His workplace said he took unpaid leave. His phone wasn’t answering. She paced the apartment like a tiger in a cage: sometimes angry, sometimes crying, sometimes wanting to just give up and go to her mother-in-law’s. Pride held her back.
On the fourth day, he burst into the apartment pale, disheveled: “Olya! Quick! Mom’s in bad shape!”
She jumped off the couch:
“What happened?”
“Her heart… They took her to the hospital…” He clutched his head. “We need money for surgery. A lot. A lot of money.”
She froze. Something clicked inside her. Just like before, with the story about Lyudmila’s “treatment.”
“Andrey,” she slowly said. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“No, Lyuda called. Said she urgently needs two hundred thousand. You can transfer it online…”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me the doctor’s note. The diagnosis. The hospital bill. Anything.”
He stopped mid-sentence:
“Don’t you trust me? Mom’s dying, and you…”
“I do trust you. But I want to see the documents.”
“What documents?!” he shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s your mother, dying!”
“Even more reason,” she tried to speak calmly, though her heart was racing. “If it’s so serious, there should be papers. The diagnosis, the referral for surgery, the bill. Bring them, and I’ll transfer the money immediately.”
He slammed the door so hard that the windows rattled.
She didn’t sleep the whole night. Thoughts kept spinning: what if it’s true? What if I’m wrong, and something really bad is happening? In the morning, she couldn’t take it anymore—she called her Aunt Masha, who worked as a nurse at that hospital. She casually asked if she had seen Nina Petrovna.
“What Nina Petrovna?” her aunt wondered.
“My mother-in-law. They say she was taken to the hospital with heart problems…”
“First I’ve heard of it,” her aunt replied. “We closed the cardiology ward for repairs. They’ve been taking everyone to the third hospital.”
Olga opened her mother-in-law’s Instagram. The latest post—three hours ago: a photo of the summer house, strawberry beds. The caption: “The morning starts with my favorite garden!”
At that moment, the doorbell rang. Andrey stood at the door, looking pale, disheveled.
“Here,” he handed her the phone. “Look.”
The phone showed the conversation with Lyudmila:
“Lyud, I was at the hospital. Mom’s not here. Not in the third hospital either. What’s going on?”
“Andryush, what’s wrong with you? I just need money, and you…”
“So, Mom’s healthy???”
“Well, she’s healthy, and what? At least now Olya will understand how it feels when family refuses you!”
Olga silently handed the phone back.
“Sorry,” Andrey said, barely moving his lips.
“For what? For believing? Or for believing them?”
Andrey sat on the floor in the hallway. He held his head in his hands:
“How could they… My own mother…”
“They could,” Olga sat next to him. “And they will again. And again. As long as we allow it.”
“You know,” he looked up at her, “I really thought it was you… I thought you were to blame for everything. But now…”
She remained silent. What could she say? Twenty years of manipulation, lies, pressure—and here it was, the moment of clarity. Does it hurt? Of course, it does. But there’s no other way.
“What do we do now?” she finally asked.
He stood up, straightened his shoulders:
“I’ll handle it. Just… be here with me, okay?”
And he took out his phone.
They went to see his mother together. At first, Olga refused—saying he should handle it himself, but Andrey insisted:
“No. Enough of running around alone. Are we family or not?”
Nina Petrovna opened the door and froze on the threshold:
“My God, you came! I thought…”
“Hello, Mom,” Andrey’s voice was stiff. “We need to talk.”
Lyudmila was already sitting in the room. She jumped up when she saw them:
“Oh, brother! I was just telling Mom…”
“About the hospital?” Andrey interrupted. “Or about how you decided to make Mom ‘sick’ to teach us a lesson?”
His mother turned pale:
“What do you mean ‘make her sick’?”
“Exactly that. There was no illness, Mom. And you weren’t taken to the hospital. Lyudka just wanted money for ’emergency surgery’…”
“Lyudochka!” His mother gasped. “Is it true?”
Lyudmila jumped up:
“What, you two planned this together? Andryush, you asked for it! You called!”
“Exactly—asked,” he pulled out his phone. “And all our messages are here. Want me to read them? Especially the part about how you wanted to teach Olya a lesson?”
A silence fell over the room. The sound of the old clock on the wall ticked—those same ones that Olga remembered from their wedding day.
“Mom,” Andrey sat across from his mother. “I understand everything. We’re family. We should help each other. But lying—this is too much.”
“Son…”
“No, let me finish. From now on, everything will be different. No more transfers for ‘treatment,’ which turns out to be a trip to the Emirates. No more lying about illnesses. If you want to talk, let’s talk. If you want to be a family, let’s be one. But honestly.”
Lyudmila sniffed:
“It’s all her fault!” She pointed at Olga. “She’s twisting you around, turning you against your own family…”
“Enough!” Andrey slammed his fist on the table. For the first time in Olga’s life, she saw him like this. “Enough lying! Enough manipulating! You’re my sister. You’re my mother. I love you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you keep…”
He stopped. His mother was crying.
“Mom,” he sat beside her and hugged her shoulders. “Come on, don’t cry. I’m not abandoning you. Let’s just live honestly. Without lies, without manipulation. If you need help, just ask. If you miss us, come visit. But no more…”
“Traitor!” Lyudmila suddenly screeched. “That’s what you are! You’ve turned your brother against the family!”
Olga stood up:
“Lyuda, have you ever thought you’re the one who betrayed? I didn’t make up the story about Mom’s illness. I didn’t lie about treatment, planning to go to the Emirates. I didn’t…”
“Just go to hell!” She grabbed her bag. “Choke on your money!”
She slammed the door. They were left alone.
“Andryushka,” his mother wiped her tears. “Son… You really won’t leave us?”
“I won’t leave, Mom. But things will be different now. Right, Olya?”
Olga nodded. It was surprisingly peaceful inside. Maybe because, for the first time in a long time, they were speaking honestly. Without masks, without trying to manipulate. Just talking.
“Would you like some tea?” his mother suddenly asked. “I have an apple pie.”
“Sure, Mom. But…”
“I know, I know. No reminders that I baked it all night and overworked myself.”
And she smiled—finally, for the first time that evening. Hesitantly, apologetically. And Olga thought—maybe all of this wasn’t for nothing? Maybe sometimes you have to reach the edge to start over?
They sat at the kitchen table until late at night. Drinking tea, talking—about everything in the world. His mother brought out an old album and showed pictures of young Andrey. Olga flipped through, looked— and for the first time in a long while, she felt it: this was family. Without lies, without manipulation. Just family sitting at the table.
A week later, Lyudmila called Andrey. She said, “Sorry.” And you know what? That was more important than all the money in the world.