Karina couldn’t stand family gatherings at her mother-in-law’s. Valentina Mikhailovna would always take out her “special occasion” china with gilded rims—kept locked away in the cabinet on ordinary days—and put on a performance as the most hospitable hostess in the world.
Today she was bustling around the kitchen again, making a roast and fanning out napkins as if the president were about to drop by.
“Karinochka, help me transfer the herring-under-a-fur-coat salad into the crystal bowl,” her mother-in-law asked. “Anton and Lyudochka will be here soon, and I have nothing ready. They’re used to high service and aesthetics. You know that!”
Oh, they’re used to it! And no one wanted to ask what Karina was used to.
The daughter-in-law silently spooned the salad, irritated that at home they were still eating off old supermarket plates. Her husband had promised for years to buy decent dishes, but never did.
When everyone gathered at the table, Karina again felt that huge difference between their families.
Anton showed up in a brand-new, outrageously expensive shirt, and Lyuda looked like she’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Valera next to them seemed… well, like an ordinary working guy. Which, in fact, he was.
“Well then, my children,” Valentina Mikhailovna began after everyone had eaten. She had a habit: feed everyone first, then drop the bombshell. “Our Kristinochka is getting married in three months.”
Kristina smiled shyly. Finally, at twenty-six, her sister-in-law had found herself a mechanic from an auto shop—Igor. The guy seemed fine: didn’t drink, worked steadily, but money never stuck to him—at all.
“A complicated question has come up,” her mother-in-law continued. “What do we do about the wedding? The girl wants to celebrate such an important event, not just go to the registry office and come home. How will they pay for it? Igor’s salary is small, Kristina earns next to nothing too. Who can they rely on if not family?”
That’s when Karina realized where this was going. Her stomach tightened. She could already hear the numbers coming.
“So I’ve decided my boys should help their little sister. Four hundred thousand each for the wedding. And of course, decent gifts. Then it’ll be a proper celebration!”
Anton didn’t even blink.
“No problem, Mom. Right, Lyud?”
“Of course,” Lyuda nodded, finishing her dessert.
Valera nearly choked on his tea.
“Four hundred thousand? That’s… well… we’ll help, of course. Right, Karina?”
Karina sat there stunned.
Four hundred thousand! That was almost all their savings. The money she’d scraped together ruble by ruble—working triple shifts, hanging IV drips for grandmothers, enduring rude patients. The money they’d planned to finally replace their wrecked couch, or at least take a vacation… for the first time in five years.
“Karina, why are you silent?” Valentina Mikhailovna snapped at her daughter-in-law.
“It’s… it’s a very large amount for us,” Karina forced out.
“At least your sister will be happy,” her mother-in-law waved it off. “Valera’s a man! He’ll earn more.”
“Valera makes sixty thousand at the factory,” Karina tried to explain. “Where will he earn that much?”
“Then you’ll take on extra work,” Valentina Mikhailovna solved it lightly. “Nurses are in demand now. Right, Anton?”
Anton coughed awkwardly. Even he looked embarrassed by the audacity. Lyuda suddenly became very interested in her nails. Kristina studied the tablecloth.
“Listen, Mom, maybe we should split it according to ability? Anton earns several times more…”
“What do you mean, according to ability?” Valentina Mikhailovna bristled. “Do you love your sister differently? It has to be fair! Equal amounts from each family!”
Karina thought: yes—very fair.
All the way home they were silent. Valera clicked through radio stations, and Karina stared out at the wet February streets. Only at home, after they took off their jackets and shoes, did her husband finally speak.
“Well, Kar, we’ll have to tighten our belts. But Kristinka will be happy.”
“Tighten our belts,” Karina repeated. “Do you understand that’s all our savings?”
“Not all. We’ll have something left.”
“Fifty thousand left, Valera. Fifty. And your mother said we need a ‘decent’ gift. That’s at least twenty thousand more.”
Valera flopped onto the couch whose springs had collapsed long ago. Karina looked at that couch every day and dreamed of replacing it. Now she could forget those dreams for a couple more years.
“Well, what can we do? They’re family. And besides… Anton is paying four hundred thousand too.”
“Anton makes two hundred thousand a month!” Karina snapped. “Lyuda makes one hundred fifty! For them, four hundred thousand is one month of work. For us it’s half a year of life!”
“Don’t yell. The neighbors will hear.”
Karina went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. Her hands were shaking—whether from rage or hurt, she couldn’t tell.
With that money they could’ve fixed the bathroom where tiles had been falling off for ages. They could’ve gone to the sea—she hadn’t seen the sea in seven years. She could’ve paid for professional courses she’d been dreaming about.
“When I asked you for thirty thousand for courses, you lectured me about saving. Remember?”
“That was different.”
“How was it different?”
“Well, courses… that’s for you personally. And this is family.”
Karina turned around. Her husband sat with his face in his phone, not even looking at her.
“For me personally? I wanted to upgrade my qualifications so I could earn more. For us—to earn more! But now you’re calmly giving away four hundred thousand for someone else’s wedding.”
“Someone else’s? Kristina is my real sister!”
“A sister who last time told me nurses aren’t a profession, just ‘serving girls’?”
Valera finally looked up.
“Oh come on, she didn’t mean it. She’s just… young.”
Young. Kristina was twenty-six—only two years younger than Karina. But Kristina was the family princess: the baby who everyone owed everything.
The next day Karina went to work. The clinic was the usual February hell: lines, sniffling children, disgruntled old women. Valentina Petrova, a colleague from the next office, noticed her mood.
“Why are you so sour? Something happen at home?”
“My mother-in-law decided we have to give four hundred thousand for my sister-in-law’s wedding,” Karina blurted.
“Four hundred?!” Valya almost dropped the syringes. “Are you crazy? Say no.”
“How? The whole family was there. It was a ‘collective decision.’”
“But it’s your money too. Nonsense!”
Valya was right. Karina worked more than her husband if you counted all her side jobs. Of the four hundred fifty thousand in their account, at least three hundred was earned by her.
That evening she tried talking to Valera again.
“Listen, maybe we tell your mom we can’t handle that amount?”
“Are you kidding?!” he panicked. “You want me to look like a broke loser? Mom and Anton will laugh at me!”
There it was. It wasn’t about love for his sister. It was about not losing face in front of his older brother.
“So it’s better for us to live in poverty, as long as Mommy doesn’t laugh at you?”
“Don’t dramatize. Not poverty—just modestly.”
“Valera, I work twelve hours a day! I deserve the right to spend my money on myself!”
“Our money! We have a shared budget.”
Shared budget—meaning he made the decisions and she earned most of it. Convenient.
For the next two weeks Karina lived like a robot: got up, went to work, hung IV drips, measured blood pressure, listened to patient complaints, came home, cooked dinner.
Valera pretended everything was fine, even whistled in the evenings while scrolling on his phone on the couch.
Then something happened that finally broke her.
She was sitting in the doctors’ room eating sandwiches from home when her husband called.
“Kar, Mom called. Says we should hurry with the money. The restaurant needs to be booked, deposit paid.”
“Got it,” Karina answered wearily.
“And she also said for the gift, we shouldn’t buy bedding, but something for the home. A good microwave or a multicooker. Kristina and Igor are renting, they have no appliances.”
“A good multicooker costs around twenty thousand.”
“So what? Not too much for your sister.”
Not too much!
Karina looked at her old phone. She’d wanted a new one for ages, but kept postponing it—saving for the couch, for vacation, for something else. And now she was supposed to hand over all her savings for someone else’s wedding.
“Valer, can I ask something? When Anton got married, did we also give four hundred thousand?”
“No, of course not! Back then we didn’t have money at all. We gave some pots and that’s it.”
“And what did Kristina give us?”
“Well… she was a student then. She signed a card, I think.”
Right. So when the older brother got married, nobody tore themselves apart. But for the youngest princess, everyone had to bend over backwards.
That evening, when her husband left to drink beer with friends in the garage, Karina opened the banking app. There was exactly 450,000 rubles.
Four hundred thousand for the wedding plus twenty for the gift: 420,000.
Thirty thousand would remain. Not even Valera’s monthly salary.
And in March they still had to renew car insurance. Meaning after the wedding, they’d have basically nothing.
Karina opened social media and went to Lyuda’s page. Lyuda had posted photos from vacation in Dubai: a five-star hotel, restaurants, shopping. Then a post about a new handbag—“a little gift to myself”—for eighty thousand rubles.
Eighty thousand for a bag!
And they were supposed to give away their last money for someone else’s wedding. No. This couldn’t go on.
The next day Karina decided to talk to her mother-in-law. She called and asked to come over.
“Valentina Mikhailovna, can I talk to you? Alone?”
Her mother-in-law was home, drinking tea with jam and watching a TV series.
“Sit down, Karinochka. Want tea?”
“Thanks, I won’t be long. I wanted to talk about the wedding.”
Valentina Mikhailovna’s face immediately tensed.
“Did something happen?”
“You see, four hundred thousand is a huge amount for us. Almost all our savings. Maybe we could give less, and Anton and Lyuda more? Their income is completely different.”
“How is it less? We agreed the contributions would be equal from each family! Kristina is as much a sister to Valera as she is to Anton!”
“But you have to understand—four hundred thousand for them is pocket money. Lyuda buys handbags for that. For us it’s a catastrophe!”
“Don’t drag Lyuda into this!” her mother-in-law snapped. “And besides, you work. You’ll take extra shifts and earn it back.”
“I already work triple shifts! I don’t have any more time!”
“Then you’ll grow in your career. Look—your salary will go up.”
Karina realized this was pointless. Valentina Mikhailovna lived in a world where everything was simple: if you don’t have enough money, go earn it. Easy.
“Valentina Mikhailovna, I’m asking you to understand our situation…”
“And you understand Kristina’s! She’s getting married and wants a beautiful wedding. Who should she rely on if not her brothers? Strangers?”
“But why do we have to sacrifice everything?”
“Because we’re relatives! And anyway, I hope you haven’t forgotten you live in the apartment Valera got from us?”
There it was—the old song again.
Valera had gotten the apartment before their marriage, when his father died. And his mother reminded Karina of it whenever she could, as if Karina were freeloading.
“So now we have to pay for this apartment all our lives?”
“Not pay—be grateful,” Valentina Mikhailovna said coldly.
Karina stood up. There was nothing more to say.
Karina decided not to tell her husband about the talk. But her plans fell apart the very next day. A call from Valentina Mikhailovna was inevitable.
Valera came home darker than a storm cloud. He didn’t even say hello—went straight into the kitchen where Karina was cooking dinner and stared her down.
“Mom called,” he said in an icy tone.
Karina froze with the ladle in her hand.
“She told me about your conversation. Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Valera, I just tried to explain our situation…”
“Explain?!” he shouted so loudly Karina flinched. “You humiliated me! Humiliated me in front of the whole family!”
“I didn’t humiliate anyone! I just said the truth—that four hundred thousand is enormous money for us!”
“And for who is it small? You think it’s easy for Anton to give that much?”
“Anton makes two hundred thousand a month!”
“It’s none of your business how much Anton makes! Your job is one thing—support your husband, not run to my mother to complain!”
Valera paced the kitchen like a caged tiger. Karina had never seen him this angry.
“Do you understand what you’ve done? Mom thinks I can’t keep my wife under control! That there’s a woman bossing me around at home!”
“I’m not bossing you around! I have a right to a say in how our money is spent!”
“What ‘our’ money?! I’m the head of the family! I decide what we spend money on! Your job is to earn and keep quiet!”
“Earn and keep quiet?” Karina couldn’t believe her ears. “What am I—your servant?”
“And who else are you? What kind of wife are you? The house is a mess, you cook poorly, no kids, and now you’ve gotten stubborn too!”
“A mess?” Karina’s voice shook. “I work twelve hours and still do everything at home!”
“You work—changing diapers for the sick. Any idiot can do that.”
Those words hurt worse than a slap. Karina had always been proud of her work and professionalism. And her husband…
“Don’t you dare talk about my work like that!”
“What’s wrong with it? There are plenty of people like you. You can find nurses on every corner!”
“Valera, what are you even saying?”
“And what are you saying? Think I’d be worse off without you? Tomorrow I’ll find another one! Smarter and prettier!”
Karina stood there, horrified.
“Then go and find her,” she said quietly.
“No, you’ll go!” he screamed. “Out of my house! Out of the apartment my father left me!”
“Valera, calm down…”
“I’m warning you—either you do what I decided, or you get out of here! If you keep whining about money, I’ll throw you out like a stray mutt!”
Something inside Karina finally snapped.
“Understood,” she said calmly.
“What’s understood?”
“What you really think of me. Who you think I am.”
Valera seemed to realize he’d gone too far.
“Kar, I didn’t mean it… You’ve just driven me crazy with this money…”
“You said exactly what you think,” Karina took off her apron and put it on the table. “That I’m a mutt you can throw out.”
“Oh, come on! Don’t take it so seriously!”
“Finish dinner yourself,” she said and went into the bedroom.
“Kar! Don’t go! Karina!”
But she shut the door, sat on the bed, and understood it was over. You can try to save a relationship as much as you want, but when your husband calls you a mutt—after that, nothing can be restored.
She took her phone and quickly texted her friend Masha:
“Can I stay over tonight?”
The reply came instantly: “Of course. Come. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later. Thanks.”
Karina began packing a bag. Tomorrow she’d go to work. And after that… she’d see.
The next day, the first thing she did was go to the bank and request a statement of all transactions on their joint account for the last two years—full detail of every deposit with sources listed.
The clerk typed for a long time, then handed her several sheets.
“Here you go—every transfer to the account with itemization.”
Karina studied the document carefully.
Valera deposited his share each month. Over two years it amounted to 87,000 rubles. Basically, he’d been putting in pennies.
Everything else—363,000 rubles—was her money: extra shifts at a private clinic, bonuses for working with COVID patients, money from selling her mother’s jewelry, transfers from relatives for funeral expenses.
“Could I get one more statement?” Karina asked. “A more detailed one, with the dates and exact amounts of every deposit?”
Half an hour later she had a complete financial report of their family account in her hands. Black and white: who contributed what.
Karina smiled and withdrew all the money from the account. After counting it several times, she set aside 87,000 and put the rest into her bag.
No one was home. Her husband was at work.
Karina sat down and wrote a note. She chose words for a long time, crossed them out, rewrote them. But in the end, it said exactly what she needed to say.
“Dear Valentina Mikhailovna,
Yesterday your son explained my place in this family. He called me a mutt he could throw out onto the street if I didn’t agree to give all my money for someone else’s wedding.
I am enclosing the bank statement for our joint account. As you can see, out of 450,000 rubles Valera contributed only 87,000. The remaining 363,000 are my honestly earned money.
I am sending you 87,000—your son’s share of our ‘shared’ savings. Let him put that amount toward his sister’s wedding. That will be fair.
I’m taking my money with me. I earned it honestly, working triple shifts while your son spent his salary on beer with friends and fishing.
I no longer intend to be the convenient hard-working wife who earns money and stays silent. I’m filing for divorce.
P.S. I wish Kristina happiness in her marriage. I hope her husband treats her better than your son treated me.
Karina.”
She reread the letter, folded it together with the bank statement, put the money into an envelope, and ordered courier delivery. By evening, Valentina Mikhailovna would receive the package.
Her phone started ringing two hours later. First her mother-in-law, then Valera, then her mother-in-law again.
Karina didn’t pick up. Then the messages began:
“Karinochka, let’s talk—don’t do something stupid!”
“Kar, where are you? Come home, we’ll discuss everything!”
“Karina, don’t act like a child! Breaking up a family over money!”
“Darling, Mom is hysterical! Come immediately!”
By evening, the missed calls passed thirty. Valentina Mikhailovna even came to Masha’s, having found the address from the neighbors. She stood under the windows, shouting that Karina was disgracing the family.
“Listen, is your mother-in-law always this unhinged?” Masha asked, peeking out the window.
“When she doesn’t like something—yes,” Karina answered tiredly. “She’s used to everyone doing what she wants.”
“And your husband?”
“He’s spent his whole life hiding under his mom’s skirt. He doesn’t make decisions himself.”
The next day Karina filed for divorce. A lawyer explained that when dividing property, the court would consider who contributed how much to the family budget, and that the bank statement would be strong evidence.
A week later Valera stopped calling. Apparently he understood she wasn’t coming back. Valentina Mikhailovna called for a while longer, then she gave up too.
Karina rented a one-room apartment near work—small, but cozy. She bought herself a new phone, decent dishes, a comfortable bed. She enrolled in professional development courses.
And a month later she heard from mutual acquaintances that Kristina’s wedding still happened after all. They celebrated modestly in a café—around thirty people.
Valentina Mikhailovna borrowed money from neighbors, Anton added his share. It turned out decent—just not as lavish as they’d planned.
They said Valera had lost a lot of weight, grown gloomy, and at work there were rumors of layoffs. He never found a new woman—apparently it wasn’t so easy to replace the “mutt” who worked triple shifts and didn’t protest family tyranny.
Karina didn’t gloat. She was simply happy. Finally, she could spend the money she earned on herself, make her own decisions, and not listen to insults about what a bad wife she was.
Justice had won. Everyone got what they deserved. And Karina had a new life ahead—one where no one dared insult her.