Marina sighed, staring at her computer screen. The numbers in the report were swimming—past eleven at night, and she was still at the office. As marketing director at a large IT company, she was expected to give everything she had, but the salary matched the pressure. At thirty-two, she earned more than a lot of men she knew, and she took real pride in that.
Her phone buzzed. A message from her husband, Alexei: “Mom’s asking again when you’ll be home. She says we need to talk about something important.”
Marina closed her eyes. Olga Petrovna—her mother-in-law—had come to visit for the weekend, and for three straight days she’d seized every chance to deliver the same sermon about a woman’s “proper role.” It never changed: “A woman is supposed to have children,” “Career is for men,” “Look at you—thirty-two and no kids.”
Marina slipped the papers into her bag and headed for the elevator. On the drive home she prepared herself for another attack. Olga Petrovna was the type of woman who pushed until she won. At fifty-eight she looked younger than her age, carried herself like a ruler, and spoke with the calm certainty of someone who always believed she was right.
At home, the scene was predictable: Alexei sat in silence behind his laptop while his mother paced the living room, talking nonstop. The moment she saw Marina, Olga Petrovna stopped mid-story.
“Well, look who finally showed up—our little career climber,” she said with a sharp edge. “Stuck at work till midnight again? And your husband sits here alone like an orphan.”
“Good evening, Olga Petrovna,” Marina replied, tired as she shrugged off her coat. “We had an important client presentation today.”
“What client presentation?” her mother-in-law flung up her hands. “You’re thirty-two! When are you going to wake up and have a baby already? Alexei wants to be a father, and you’re still obsessed with your job!”
Marina glanced at her husband. Alexei lifted his eyes for a second, then said nothing. He and Marina had talked this through more than once and agreed they’d wait another couple of years. Right now they needed to strengthen their positions, upgrade to a bigger apartment, build a safety net.
“Olga Petrovna, Alexei and I are grown adults,” Marina said evenly. “We’ll decide for ourselves when we want children.”
“You’ll decide!” Olga Petrovna snorted. “And then what? You’ll be too old, and you’ll regret wasting your youth on reports and meetings!”
Marina turned toward the kitchen, hoping to avoid the rest, but Olga Petrovna followed right behind her.
“You know what Tamara Ivanovna told me?” she kept going. “Her daughter-in-law chased a career too, and at thirty-five she found out she couldn’t have children. Now she suffers! She could’ve raised three by now!”
“Olga Petrovna, can we talk about this tomorrow?” Marina asked. “I’m exhausted.”
“Exhausted!” her mother-in-law echoed with contempt. “And who’s supposed to make this place feel like a home? Look around—dust everywhere, the fridge is empty! Your husband eats whatever he can find while you’re off doing your ‘important work’!”
Marina’s hands clenched into fists. The apartment was spotless—cleaners came twice a week. And the refrigerator was full; Olga Petrovna just wasn’t used to that kind of food.
“A woman is supposed to keep the home,” Olga Petrovna pressed on, “not run around offices like some man in a skirt. I’m embarrassed to tell the neighbors what you do!”
“And what exactly is so shameful about my job?” Marina finally snapped.
“Because it isn’t women’s work!” Olga Petrovna fired back. “Being a manager means responsibility, stress, negotiating with men. A woman should be soft, gentle, caring. But you’ve become hard—cold, businesslike. Alexei needs a wife, not a business partner!”
The next morning it started again. Over breakfast, Olga Petrovna launched into the same theme—children and a woman’s “destiny.” She listed her friends whose daughters-in-law had already had two or three kids, and she kept shooting Marina reproachful looks.
“And Svetlana Volkova’s granddaughter is already in school!” she exclaimed. “Can you imagine the happiness? And I still haven’t become a grandmother!”
Alexei drank his coffee in silence, barely looking up from his phone. His passivity irritated Marina even more than his mother’s lectures. Why couldn’t he defend her? Why did he allow his mother to speak to her like this?
That evening, while Olga Petrovna went to the store, Marina decided she’d had enough.
“Lyosha, we need to talk,” she said, sitting beside him on the couch.
“About what?” he asked without taking his eyes off the laptop.
“About your mother. I can’t take her constant attacks on my work anymore. Why don’t you ever stand up for me?”
Alexei sighed and shut the laptop.
“Marin, what do you want me to do? She’s my mother. She worries. She wants grandchildren. That’s natural.”
“It’s natural to want grandkids,” Marina said. “It’s not natural to insult me every day. She says she’s ashamed to tell the neighbors what I do—yet we live on my salary. If she hates my job so much, why is she the one asking us for money every week?”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Alexei tried. “My salary is fine too.”
“Lyosha,” Marina said, taking his hand, “I make twice what you do. My income is what pays for this apartment, our vacations, the decent things we buy. And it’s my money your mom keeps borrowing.”
Alexei’s brow tightened.
“What do money have to do with it?”
“Everything,” Marina answered. “It’s hypocritical to say my work is embarrassing and then come asking for financial help every single week.”
“She doesn’t ask every week,” he started, but Marina cut him off.
“Every week, Lyosha. Medicines, repairs, ‘just until payday.’ In the last six months alone we’ve given her almost a hundred thousand rubles.”
Alexei went quiet. He knew she was right—but admitting it meant taking a stand against his mother.
“Listen,” Marina said suddenly, “what if I do exactly what your mom wants?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll say I’m quitting my job. I’ll become a proper homemaker. I’ll cook borscht, bake pies—whatever. That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”
Alexei stared at her, surprised.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely,” Marina said. “But there’s one condition: you back me up. The next time your mother starts her lecture about a woman’s purpose, you say I followed her advice.”
“But Marin… we agreed—”
“Agreed to what?” Marina’s voice sharpened. “That you’d sit quietly while your mother humiliates me? I’m done, Lyosha. Either we try my plan, or I’m going to seriously reconsider this marriage.”
Alexei looked at her, stunned. The determination in her voice made it clear: this wasn’t a bluff.
When Olga Petrovna came back from the store, Marina greeted her with the sweetest smile she could manage.
“Olga Petrovna, I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I thought about what you’ve been saying, and I realized you’re right.”
Her mother-in-law looked wary.
“About what?”
“About my job. About how a woman should focus on the home. I’ve decided to quit.”
Olga Petrovna was so shocked she practically dropped into a chair.
“Really?”
“Really. Tomorrow I’ll file my resignation. I’ll be a model wife and homemaker. I’ll cook, clean, take care of the house. And in a year or two, Lyosha and I will definitely have children.”
A triumphant smile spread across Olga Petrovna’s face.
“Finally!” she cried. “I knew you understood deep down you were wrong! A woman should be a woman, not play at being some business lady!”
Alexei watched silently. He felt awkward, but he kept the promise he’d made to his wife.
“Yes, Mom,” he said. “Marina made the right decision. Now she’ll have time to take care of the home.”
“That’s my girl!” Olga Petrovna beamed. “You were running around like crazy—always tense, always angry. Now you’ll become a real woman!”
For the next two weeks Olga Petrovna was on cloud nine. She told everyone she knew about her victory: she had finally “set her daughter-in-law straight.” Now Alexei would live like a proper man, and his wife would handle the home and family.
But her joy faded the next time she asked the newly “reformed” couple for money to buy medicine.
“Mom,” Alexei said, glancing at Marina, “things are tight right now. Marina quit. We’re living on my paycheck, and it barely covers the mortgage and groceries.”
“Barely covers?” Olga Petrovna stared at him. “You make good money!”
“Sweetheart,” Marina said gently, “we have only one income now. Alexei earns fifty thousand. Thirty goes to the mortgage, fifteen to food and utilities, and the rest is transportation, clothes, household expenses. There’s almost nothing left over.”
Olga Petrovna looked at her son, confused.
“But you always helped before…”
“Before, we had a different level of income,” Marina replied calmly. “Now I’m a proper homemaker—just like you wanted.”
In the days that followed, Olga Petrovna tried a few more times to get financial help, but the answer stayed the same: there wasn’t any spare money. Her medications were expensive, she still had seven years until retirement, and she had practically no savings.
“Maybe you could find something simpler?” she suggested timidly to Marina one day. “Not so demanding. Just something part-time to bring in a little.”
Marina blinked in surprise. “Olga Petrovna… what about your principles? You said a woman shouldn’t work.”
“Well… in extreme cases… a little work is acceptable,” her mother-in-law mumbled, embarrassed.
“No, no,” Marina shook her head. “You convinced me a woman should focus only on the home. I’m a model wife now—cooking, cleaning, taking care of everything. I’m not going back to work.”
A week later, Olga Petrovna tried one last time.
“Marina… please, help me just a little. I need ten thousand for my medicine.”
“Olga Petrovna,” Marina explained patiently, “we don’t have an extra ten thousand. If we give it to you, we won’t have food for a week.”
“But before—”
“Before, I worked,” Marina said, looking her straight in the eyes.
Alexei nodded. “Yeah, Mom. It’s strange, isn’t it? You say you’re ashamed of Marina’s job, but then you ask for the money she earns from that job.”
Olga Petrovna flushed. She realized she’d trapped herself.
“I didn’t ask every week,” she muttered weakly.
“Mom,” Alexei said gently but firmly, “in the last six months you asked for help fourteen times. Marina kept track. Total: ninety-seven thousand rubles.”
Olga Petrovna fell silent. For the first time in years, she had nothing to say.
The next evening she asked to speak with Marina privately.
“Marina,” she began, “I wanted to… I need to say something…” She hesitated, searching for words. “Maybe I was wrong about your work.”
“In what way?” Marina asked.
“In the sense that… well… women today can work,” Olga Petrovna admitted. “Times have changed. And if you’re good at it…”
“Olga Petrovna,” Marina said carefully, “do you want me to go back to work?”
“I want you and Lyosha to be happy,” her mother-in-law replied, cautiously. “And for that… I guess money matters too.”
Marina smiled. For the first time since they’d met, Olga Petrovna spoke to her like an equal.
“Alright,” Marina said. “I’ll think about returning to work—but on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“You stop interfering in the decisions Alexei and I make. When we have children, how we divide responsibilities, who works—those are our choices. We’re adults, and we know what we need.”
Olga Petrovna was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
“Agreed. And… Marina… I’m sorry. I understand now that I was wrong.”
“Olga Petrovna,” Marina said, offering her hand, “let’s start over. You matter a lot to Alexei, so you matter to me too. Let’s just respect each other.”
Six months later, Olga Petrovna proudly told the neighbors about her daughter-in-law—an accomplished department head at a major company. And yes, there still weren’t any grandchildren, but nobody made a drama out of it anymore. What mattered was that the young couple was happy and living in peace.
And when Olga Petrovna occasionally asked for help with medicine or a small repair, no one threw her old insults back in her face—because helping family is normal, but humiliating the people closest to you is not.
Marina learned the most important thing: sometimes people have to feel the consequences of their words and choices before they understand where they went wrong. And Olga Petrovna learned her lesson too—grown children have the right to decide for themselves how they want to live.