Olga was driving along the usual streets when a message from her mother-in-law popped up: “Olechka, don’t forget to help this month—the utility bills went up.” It didn’t even annoy her anymore. After five years of marriage, those texts had become background noise. She would just send the money and keep living her life.
Dmitry, her husband, always explained it the same way:
“Mom’s pension is tiny—you know that. It’s temporary. Nothing to worry about.”
And Olga would nod. Of course it was temporary. Temporary for five years straight.
Olga worked as a procurement manager for a major retail chain and earned good money, so helping her husband’s family felt natural. She wasn’t the kind of person who kept score with relatives. Besides, her mother-in-law had always been polite—never rude, never intrusive, never forcing herself into Olga and Dmitry’s relationship. She simply wrote a short request once a month, and Olga replied just as briefly: “Transferred.”
No receipts. No promises to pay it back. They were family.
That Tuesday, Olga got off work earlier than usual and remembered that Galina Ivanovna still had the dacha documents—the ones that needed to be taken to the gardening association. Olga texted, “I’ll swing by for the papers,” but didn’t get an answer. She assumed her mother-in-law was busy and went anyway.
The apartment was in an older neighborhood, on the fourth floor of a five-story brick building. Olga walked up the stairs, felt around in her purse for the keys—Galina Ivanovna had given her a spare set long ago—but when she reached the door, she noticed it was slightly open.
Strange. Her mother-in-law usually locked up carefully, even if she ran out for five minutes.
Olga pushed the door and stepped inside. Voices drifted from the kitchen—Galina Ivanovna’s familiar low tone and another woman’s voice, a little higher. Probably the neighbor, Valentina Stepanovna, dropping in for tea.
Olga was about to call out, but then she heard her own name.
“…and Olga doesn’t even ask what I spend the money on,” Galina Ivanovna was saying, with clear satisfaction. “She just transfers it, that’s it. Very convenient.”
Olga froze in the hallway, her fingers tightening around her handbag.
“Oh, come on, Galya,” the neighbor laughed. “And she doesn’t complain?”
“Why would she? She’s soft. Always feels guilty about something. I spotted it right away. The minute I hint things are tight, she sends money immediately. Doesn’t even ask questions. Five years now.”
“So what do you spend it on?”
“On everything,” her mother-in-law snorted. “On myself, on my granddaughter, trips. Last month I went to a spa retreat—on her dime, obviously. She thinks it’s for medicine.”
“Does Dmitry know?”
“What difference does it make? He’s on his mother’s side. I tell him my pension isn’t enough, he’ll talk her into it. Besides, it’s her own fault—she should’ve thought twice before inserting herself into our family. Now let her pay for the privilege of being a daughter-in-law.”
Both women laughed.
Olga stood there in the corridor and felt her face go strangely still, like a mask. No anger. No tears. Just a sharp, almost physical clarity spreading through her body—steadying her breathing, lining her thoughts up in perfect order.
She turned around and walked out quietly, closing the door behind her with care. No shouting. No confrontation. She simply left.
Outside, she got into her car and pulled out her phone. She opened her banking app, went to recurring payments, found the automatic transfer to Galina Ivanovna’s card—and deleted it. She tapped Confirm and set the phone down on the passenger seat.
That was it. Not a single ruble more.
She started the engine and drove home. At traffic lights she watched pedestrians, storefront windows, the gray sky above the city—and felt only one thing: relief. As if she’d taken off a heavy backpack she’d carried so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to walk unburdened.
At home she changed clothes, put the kettle on, and sat in the kitchen with her laptop. She opened her expense spreadsheet and quickly calculated how much she’d transferred over five years. The number came out impressive—almost three hundred thousand rubles. Olga gave a short, humorless smile. So—spa retreats. Granddaughter. Trips. And she’d honestly believed she was helping with utility bills.
That evening Dmitry came home. He kissed her on the cheek, took off his jacket, and walked into the kitchen.
“How was your day?” he asked, opening the fridge.
“Fine,” Olga said without looking up from the screen. “Listen—I canceled the transfers to your mother today.”
Dmitry froze with a carton of milk in his hand.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m not sponsoring her anymore,” Olga said calmly, closing the laptop.
“Olechka, but her pension is small…”
“Dima,” Olga looked up at him. “Don’t. I know everything.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but the expression on her face stopped him. She looked at him evenly, without emotion—and there was something in that calm that made him take a step back.
“What do you know?” he asked quietly.
“I stopped by your mother’s today. The door was open. I heard her telling the neighbor that it’s easy to pull money from me because I’m soft and always feel guilty. That she goes to health resorts on my money and spends it on herself. That I think I’m helping with utilities while she laughs at me.”
Dmitry went pale.
“Olga, wait… maybe you misunderstood…”
“I understood perfectly,” she said, standing and stepping closer. “Your mother used me for five years. And you knew.”
“I didn’t!” he backed away again. “Honestly, I thought she really needed it…”
“Don’t lie,” Olga shook her head. “You just didn’t want to tell her no. It was easier to convince me that it was ‘temporary’ and she was a poor pensioner. And I believed you—because I thought that’s how families work. People help each other.”
Dmitry dropped his gaze.
“Olga, I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, returning to the table and reopening her laptop. “Just understand this: I won’t transfer your mother money anymore. If you want to help her, go ahead—but only from your own income.”
“But what about her…”
“That’s her problem,” Olga cut in. “Not mine.”
He stood there a moment longer, then left the kitchen quietly. Olga stayed seated, staring at the screen, feeling one thing only—calm. Absolute, crystal-clear calm.
The next day at exactly nine in the morning, Galina Ivanovna called. Olga was at work, but she answered.
“Olechka, good morning,” her mother-in-law’s voice was tense. “Listen, I noticed the transfer didn’t come through. Maybe there was some kind of glitch?”
“No,” Olga replied evenly. “No glitch. I canceled the recurring payments.”
A pause.
“You canceled them? Why?”
“Because I won’t be helping you financially anymore.”
“But…” her mother-in-law sounded genuinely thrown off. “But why? Did I do something wrong?”
Olga almost laughed. How would Galina Ivanovna react if Olga said it plainly? “You used me for five years, mocked me behind my back, and thought I was stupid.”
But Olga didn’t say that. She only answered:
“Galina Ivanovna, I made a decision. There will be no more transfers.”
“Olechka, but you understand—my pension is small…”
“I understand,” Olga said in the same level tone. “But it’s your pension and your expenses. Not mine.”
“How can you say that?” her mother-in-law’s voice trembled. “I’m Dima’s mother! Is this how you treat family?”
“Family is where there’s respect,” Olga replied. “Not where someone gets used.” She paused. “Goodbye, Galina Ivanovna.”
She ended the call and went back to work. Her hands didn’t shake. Her heart beat steadily. No doubts.
An hour later her phone rang again—this time Dmitry.
“Olga, Mom’s crying,” he said. “She says you abandoned her.”
“I didn’t abandon her,” Olga answered calmly. “I just stopped sending money.”
“But she…”
“Dima, stop,” Olga interrupted. “Your mother took money from me for five years. She never once said thank you. Never once asked if it was convenient for me. She just accepted it as something she was owed. And now she’s offended that it stopped. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
Dmitry was silent.
“Olga, I get it—you overheard something you didn’t like…”
“Didn’t like?” Olga gave a sharp exhale. “Dima, your mother called me a soft fool who’s easy to use. She bragged about going to resorts on my money. And you want me to keep supporting her?”
“She didn’t mean it like that…”
“Then how did she mean it?” Olga’s voice hardened. “Explain it to me. Maybe I’m missing something.”
He didn’t answer. Olga could hear his heavy breathing as he searched for words.
“Olga… maybe we can talk to her. Calmly. Explain that it’s not okay…”
“No,” Olga said firmly. “I’m not explaining anything. I made my decision, and it’s final. If you want to help your mother—help her. But only with your money.”
“And if I don’t have that kind of money?”
“Then she should spend less,” Olga said, ending the call and slipping her phone back into her bag.
That evening, when she came home, Dmitry was sitting at the kitchen table with a dark, grim face.
“Mom called all day,” he said. “Crying. Saying you humiliated her.”
“I didn’t humiliate her,” Olga set her bag down. “I just stopped giving her money.”
“But she…”
“Dima,” Olga sat across from him. “Tell me honestly. Did you know what she spent my transfers on?”
He looked away.
“I didn’t know exactly…”
“But you suspected.”
Silence.
“Exactly,” Olga nodded. “You suspected and stayed quiet. Because it was convenient. Mom’s happy, wife doesn’t complain—everyone wins.”
“Olga, what do you want me to say?” he raked a hand through his hair. “Yes, I knew she wasn’t completely honest. But she’s my mother! I couldn’t refuse her!”
“And you could refuse me?” Olga asked softly. “You could just stay silent while she used me?”
Dmitry stared at the tabletop, jaw clenched.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t want it to end up like this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” Olga stood. “What matters is what you allowed to happen. And now I know exactly what my place was in this family.”
“Olga, don’t…”
“I’m not angry, Dima,” she looked down at him. “I’m just not playing this game anymore. Your mother wanted money—she got it. Now she doesn’t. It’s simple.”
She went into the bedroom and closed the door. Sat on the bed, pulled her knees to her chest, and took a deep breath. A strange sensation—like a weight had fallen off her shoulders. Like she’d finally stopped pretending everything was fine.
A few days later her mother-in-law called again. This time her voice was different—quieter, careful.
“Olechka, can I come by? Talk?”
Olga thought for a moment and agreed. Not because she wanted reconciliation, but because she wanted to see what Galina Ivanovna would say.
Her mother-in-law came on Saturday with a small bouquet of flowers. Olga invited her into the living room and put the kettle on, but she didn’t sit at the table. She stayed by the window with her arms crossed.
“Olechka, I want to apologize,” Galina Ivanovna began, staring into her cup. “Dima told me you heard my conversation with the neighbor. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t want to,” Olga repeated without expression. “But you did.”
“I just…” her mother-in-law hesitated. “I got used to you helping. And I thought it was normal. That you didn’t mind.”
“I didn’t mind when I thought I was helping you through hard times,” Olga turned to her. “But you weren’t struggling. You were living at my expense.”
Galina Ivanovna dropped her head.
“I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t think it looked… like that.”
“And what does it look like?” Olga asked. “For five years you took money from me. You never thanked me. You never asked if it was comfortable for me. And you laughed behind my back. How was it supposed to look?”
Her mother-in-law said nothing.
“Galina Ivanovna, I’m not angry,” Olga continued. “The anger disappeared that same day. Only clarity remained. I realized I wasn’t a daughter-in-law to you—I was an ATM. And I’m not doing that anymore.”
“But I’m apologizing!” Galina Ivanovna lifted her head. “What else can I do?”
“Nothing,” Olga replied calmly. “Just accept that the financial help is over. Forever.”
“And if it really gets hard for me?”
“Then you’ll go to your son. Or find another solution. But not me.”
Galina Ivanovna stood up.
“So you won’t forgive me?”
“I already have,” Olga walked to the door and opened it. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget. And it doesn’t mean we go back to the way it was.”
Her mother-in-law took her purse and slowly stepped into the hallway. At the threshold she turned back.
“You’ve changed, Olya.”
“Yes,” Olga agreed. “I have. And it’s a good thing.”
After that conversation, Galina Ivanovna stopped calling to ask for money. They sometimes saw each other at family gatherings, but the conversations were short and polite, without warmth or pressure. No more guilt trips, no more complaints, no more “hints.”
Dmitry tried to bring it up a few times, but one look at Olga’s face made him stop. He understood the decision was final.
Olga felt only peace. Not the thrill of “revenge,” not anger—just the steadiness of a choice she could live with. And every day confirmed she’d done the right thing.
She learned one simple truth: support only exists where there is respect. Where you’re used and mocked behind your back, there can be no support—and there shouldn’t be.
The money that used to go to her mother-in-law, Olga started saving for herself. Six months later she bought a car. A year after that she took the vacation she’d dreamed about for a long time. And every time she looked at a new purchase or an airplane ticket, she remembered that day—standing in a чужой hallway, listening to people talk about her when they thought she couldn’t hear.
And she thanked fate for letting her hear it.
Because sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie—
but it also sets you free.