Yana had been saving up for a car for a long time. She worked as a programmer in a small IT company, putting aside half her salary every month. Her husband Dmitry was skeptical about this idea.
“Why do you need a car? There’s the metro,” Dmitry said without taking his eyes off the computer. “You’d better spend it on a vacation.”
But Yana was stubborn. She was tired of lugging bags on public transport and exhausted by the rush hour crowds. She wanted freedom of movement, especially on weekends. After a year and a half, she had saved enough for a down payment. She took out the loan in her own name — Dmitry worked at a small advertising agency, and his income was unstable.
“A little blue beauty,” Yana smiled as she received the keys from the dealer. The small foreign car gleamed under the summer sun.
Dmitry shrugged but still got behind the wheel.
“Well, since you bought it, we’ll use it.”
The first weeks were like a dream. Yana drove to work, to shops, to visit friends. Dmitry occasionally asked to use the car for client meetings. Everything was fair, everything by agreement.
Then Dmitry announced a career change.
“I’m leaving the agency,” he said at dinner. “I’m going freelance. I’ll start my own design studio.”
Yana choked on her soup.
“What do you mean ‘leaving’? You have a stable salary there.”
“Stable but small. Freelance means prospects, creative freedom.”
“And unstable income,” Yana added.
“Temporary. The first few months will be tough, but then… You’ll support me, right?”
Dmitry looked so sincere that Yana nodded. Though inside, anxiety tightened her chest. She had to pay the car loan, the mortgage too. Now the main financial burden of the family would fall on her.
A week after quitting, Dmitry asked for the car.
“My mom needs to go to the clinic,” he said, reaching for the keys. “Her blood pressure spikes, and it’s hard for her on the bus.”
Lidiya Petrovna, Yana’s mother-in-law, lived in a neighboring district. Despite being seventy, she was energetic. Yana loved her, so she handed over the keys without hesitation.
“Of course, help your mom.”
Dmitry didn’t return until evening. The gas tank was empty.
“Sorry, we stopped at a couple of places,” Dmitry explained. “To the doctor, then the pharmacy, then the market. Mom says prices near home are outrageous.”
The next week, the same story repeated. And the week after that too. Lidiya Petrovna seemed to have discovered a new world of possibilities: a cardiologist, an ophthalmologist, medicines from a distant pharmacy twenty rubles cheaper.
“You know,” Dmitry said one evening, “Aunt Zoya needs help too. Mom’s sister, remember? She’s got a bad back and needs to see a manual therapist.”
Zoya Petrovna was five years younger than Lidiya but looked older. She always complained about her health, though she still worked as a deputy principal at the local school.
“All right,” Yana agreed. “But she should warn in advance when she needs the car.”
“Of course, of course. We’re not barbarians.”
But there were no warnings. Dmitry called an hour before:
“Yana, Aunt Zoya has an appointment at four. You don’t mind, right?”
Or:
“Mom asked to be taken to the dacha to gather the harvest. You’re home today, right?”
Or:
“Dmitry’s sister is filing papers at the MFC, the queues are crazy. Can she use your car?”
Her sister’s name was Olga, a bank manager. She was thirty-two, didn’t have her own car, but made grand plans with someone else’s.
“And then I’ll stop by the mall,” Olga cheerfully told Yana on the phone. “There’s a sale, and you can’t get around with shopping on the bus.”
Yana stayed silent and handed over the keys. Dmitry worked from home, and according to him, clients were coming in well, but the family’s income did not increase. However, gasoline expenses tripled.
“Listen, why am I spending so much on fuel?” Yana asked, looking at receipts. “Before I used to drive a week on fifteen liters; now I have to fill up twice.”
“Well, there’s more to do now,” Dmitry shrugged. “Family obligations, you know.”
“What family obligations?”
“Well, what kind? Mom’s old, aunt’s sick, sister’s raising a child alone. We have to help relatives.”
Yana wanted to argue that helping can be done differently, not necessarily with her car and fuel. But she stayed silent. After all, it was family.
Then the real problems began. Yana urgently needed to see a doctor — her tooth hurt so badly she couldn’t speak. She rushed home for the keys, but Dmitry shrugged.
“The car’s with Aunt Zoya. They went out of town to visit relatives.”
“Out of town?” Yana barely said, her cheek puffed like a hamster’s. “In my car?”
“Yes. What’s the problem? A relative asked for a visit; she’s celebrating an anniversary.”
“And I’m sitting here with a toothache!”
“Then call a taxi. Or take the metro.”
Yana called a taxi and paid over a thousand rubles for the trip to the dentist. In the evening, when Lidiya Petrovna and Zoya Petrovna brought the car back, the gas tank was empty again, and bags of vegetables lay on the back seat.
“We stopped at the market,” her mother-in-law explained. “There were good, cheap tomatoes. We got some for you too.”
“Thanks,” Yana gritted through her teeth.
The tomatoes cost about a hundred rubles, and the gas was seven hundred.
The next call came on Saturday morning.
“Yana,” Dmitry’s voice sounded businesslike, “do you need the car for the dacha today?”
“Yes, I planned to weed the garden.”
“Can you reschedule? Olga signed up for a beauty salon, then to a friend’s birthday. She promised to give her a ride.”
“Dmitry, it’s my car!”
“Well, yes, yours. But Olga already arranged it; it’s awkward to refuse.”
“Is it convenient for me to change plans because of her?”
“Yana, come on, don’t be childish. It’s family. One time helping your sister.”
But it was not just one time. Dmitry quietly turned into the family transport dispatcher. He made schedules, distributed trips, decided who needed the car more. Meanwhile, Yana herself was somehow not considered in these plans.
“Tomorrow mom’s to the doctor, then Aunt Zoya to the market, then Olga to a friend,” Dmitry listed, flipping through a notebook. “What do you need the car for?”
“To work, for example?”
“Can’t you take the metro? It’s ecological.”
Yana opened her mouth but found no words. Ecological. Her car, her fuel, used to carry his relatives — that was okay. But for her to drive to work — that’s bad for the environment.
“Listen, maybe we should make a schedule?” Yana suggested in the evening. “I work; I need the car every day.”
“What schedule?” Dmitry was surprised. “We’re not a car rental. It’s family; things are decided humanly here.”
“Humanly means considering everyone’s interests, including mine.”
“They do. You have a stable job, and mom’s health is bad. Priorities differ.”
Priorities. Yana lay in bed thinking about priorities. Her loan, her gas, her insurance, her maintenance — but other people’s priorities. The car was bought for her, but everyone except her used it.
In the morning, Dmitry reached for the keys as usual.
“Stop,” Yana said and put the keys away. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to work. In my car.”
Dmitry looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time.
“In your car?” he asked slowly. “Yana, what difference does it make whose car it is? We’re family. Yours means ours.”
“No,” Yana said firmly. “Mine means mine. I pay the loan, buy the gas, pay insurance. And I decide who drives my car.”
Dmitry laughed, but it sounded forced.
“What are you even talking about? What difference does it make who pays? The car wasn’t just bought for you. It’s family transport now.”
Family transport. Yana repeated those words in her mind and felt her face flush. Her car, bought with her money, had become family transport. And her own needs — selfishness.
“Okay,” Yana said calmly. “So, family transport.”
“That’s right,” Dmitry was pleased. “You started to talk strangely.”
Yana took the keys and went to work. The whole way she thought about one thing: When exactly did she lose control of her own life? When she agreed the first time to give the car to her mother-in-law? Or earlier, when she married a man who considered her resources automatically his?
At work, her colleague Inna noticed Yana’s preoccupation.
“Did something happen?” the programmer asked, sitting next to her with a cup of coffee.
Yana briefly told her situation without details. Inna listened and shook her head.
“Do you know you can file a request at the traffic police?” the colleague said. “To forbid anyone from using the car without you. The legal right of the owner.”
“How’s that?”
“Very simple. You write a statement saying you do not allow anyone to drive your car except you. That’s it. Anyone who tries to drive it will get fined or lose their license for driving without owner’s permission.”
Yana was silent for a long time, digesting the information.
“Isn’t that too harsh?”
“Harsh is using someone else’s property without asking,” Inna replied. “You’re protecting your legal rights.”
In the evening, Yana went online and studied the issue in detail. Indeed, a car owner can limit the circle of people allowed to drive. You need to submit a corresponding statement to the traffic police.
The next day, instead of lunch, Yana went to the traffic police department. The inspector, a middle-aged woman, listened to her request without surprise.
“We often get such requests,” the inspector said. “Especially from women. They buy the car, but everyone uses it.”
“And what to do?”
“Write a statement. Indicate you forbid everyone except yourself from driving your vehicle. After registration, any attempt to drive your car without you will be a violation.”
Yana wrote the statement with trembling hands. Strange, but after signing, she felt relief. For the first time in months, she was doing something to protect her own interests.
She came home late. Dmitry met her with a displeased face.
“Where were you? Mom called; she needed to go to the doctor, and there’s no car.”
“I was working,” Yana answered shortly.
“Until nine in the evening?”
“Until nine.”
Dmitry wanted to say something else, but Yana went to the bedroom. Tomorrow would be a new life. A life where her property belonged to her.
In the morning, her husband reached for the keys by habit.
“Stop,” Yana said. “That won’t work anymore.”
“What won’t work?”
“Taking my car without asking. Yesterday I filed a request with the traffic police. Now you can only use the car in my presence.”
Dmitry froze with his hand outstretched. His face turned pale, then red.
“What are you doing?”
“Protecting my property.”
“What property?” Dmitry’s voice rose. “We’re family! What property can there be between husband and wife?”
“The one I bought with my own money,” Yana answered calmly.
“You’re crazy!” Dmitry exploded. “You’re ruining the family over a car!”
“Am I ruining the family?” Yana asked. “Who turned my purchase into transport for all relatives? Who manages my property without asking me?”
“I’m helping mom! A sick woman!”
“With my money. My gas. At the expense of my plans.”
“You’re selfish!” Dmitry shouted. “You’re too stingy to help elderly people!”
“I’m upset that my husband sees me as a source of free services.”
Dmitry paced the room, waving his arms.
“I can’t believe it! My wife is against the family! Against her parents!”
“My wife is defending her rights,” Yana corrected.
“What rights? We live together!”
“Living together doesn’t mean mine automatically becomes ours.”
Her husband stopped and looked at her long and hard.
“So, it’s like this,” Dmitry said slowly. “You won’t give me the car?”
“No.”
“And you won’t let me help mom?”
“You can help in other ways. Not necessarily with my car.”
“Understood,” Dmitry nodded. “Everything’s clear.”
He turned and went to the bedroom. An hour later, he came out with two bags.
“I’m going to mom’s,” Dmitry announced. “Until you come to your senses.”
“That’s your choice,” Yana replied.
“My choice?” Dmitry repeated. “You’re choosing the car over the family!”
“I choose self-respect over being used.”
Dmitry slammed the door so hard the windows shook. Yana was left alone in the silence of the apartment. Strangely, instead of grief, she felt calm. For the first time in months, no one demanded the keys, made schedules, or explained why others’ needs were more important than hers.
She took the car keys and twisted them in her hands. Now the little blue car belonged only to her again. She could go anywhere, anytime, with anyone. She could plan trips without looking back at endless requests from her husband’s relatives.
And if Dmitry didn’t come back? Yana honestly tried to imagine life without her husband and realized it would be easier. She wouldn’t have to support an adult man with unstable income, wouldn’t have to listen to complaints about helping strangers, wouldn’t have to defend her own property in her own home.
That evening, Lidiya Petrovna called.
“Yana, what’s going on with you and Dmitry?” her mother-in-law’s voice sounded worried. “He came running in upset, says you took the car away.”
“I didn’t take it away,” Yana replied calmly. “I just took back control over my purchase.”
“But how will we get around now?”
“By public transport or taxi.”
“Yana, you know it’s hard at my age.”
“Lidiya Petrovna, at my age it’s hard to support a whole family at my own expense.”
Her mother-in-law was silent, then sighed.
“Dmitry said you filed some statement.”
“I did. To forbid using the car without me.”
“But we are relatives!”
“Relatives of my husband,” Yana corrected. “And the car is mine.”
After the call, Yana turned off the phone. Tomorrow was Monday; she had to go to work. In her own car, with a full tank that no one but her would empty. She could even stop by a cafe on the way and have coffee without rushing.
On Monday morning, Yana started the car and smiled. For the first time in months, she felt like the mistress of her own life. The little blue car purred happily, as if glad to have its real owner back.
And Dmitry never came back. A week later, he sent a message saying he was filing for divorce. Yana replied briefly: agreed. There was nothing to divide — the car was registered to her, the apartment too. The husband left with what he came with — empty hands and grand plans.
Now Yana drives to work alone, goes to the dacha or friends on weekends. She plans trips herself and refuels as needed, not every two days. The car became a helper again, not a source of headaches.
Sometimes she meets Olga at the mall. The former sister-in-law turns away and pretends not to notice. Apparently, traveling by bus with shopping is not as fun as riding in someone else’s car.