Elena slid her key into the lock and shoved the door open with her shoulder. The laptop bag dragged at her arm, her shoes had rubbed her heels raw, and her head was splitting from fatigue. It was nine at night, but it felt like midnight had already come and gone.
Her job at the insurance firm had wrung her out. Customers called nonstop from morning until evening—demanding, outraged, threatening complaints. Her manager chased her for reports, coworkers dumped their tasks onto her. Elena had only one dream: get home, kick off these damned shoes, drink some tea, and fall into bed.
She took off her coat in the hallway and went to the kitchen. She pulled yesterday’s borscht from the fridge and set it on the stove to warm. Switched on the kettle and leaned against the countertop. Quiet. Alexey was probably in the other room. Katya had stayed at Grandma’s—Elena had asked her mother to pick the child up from daycare because she’d been late at work again.
Her gaze dropped to the kitchen table. A white bank receipt lay beside the salt shaker. Elena frowned, stepped closer, picked it up, and read the amount.
Fifteen thousand rubles.
Cash withdrawal. Yesterday, 5:23 p.m.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then unclenched her fingers. The receipt slipped back onto the table.
That money. She’d transferred it herself the day before yesterday—fifteen thousand she’d saved with real effort for Katya’s room. Wallpaper would cost twelve; brushes and rollers another fifteen hundred. They were almost there—just a bit more and they could’ve grabbed paint for the ceiling too.
Katya had been sleeping on a folding cot in the corner of their bedroom. Six years old, and still no proper room. They’d promised they’d finish the nursery before school—first grade was only a year away. They’d been saving little by little, putting something aside from each paycheck. And at last they’d reached the amount for wallpaper.
Reached it.
Past tense.
Elena turned off the stove and the kettle. The borscht cooled in the pot, and her appetite vanished. She walked into the room where Alexey sat hunched over his laptop, staring at the screen.
He heard her steps and jerked. He turned, saw her—his face immediately tightened with guilt, his eyes sliding away.
“Hi,” Alexey muttered, turning back to the monitor.
“Hi,” Elena said. “You left the receipt on the table.”
He swallowed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Oh. Yeah. I… it’s…”
Elena came closer and sat on the edge of the couch opposite him. She watched him in silence, waiting.
“Mom needed medicine,” he finally pushed out without lifting his head. “Urgently. Her blood pressure’s been jumping. The doctor prescribed expensive drugs—imported.”
“Fifteen thousand for medicine,” Elena repeated slowly.
“Yeah,” Alexey nodded. “A whole course for a month. She can’t pay that much at once—her pension isn’t big.”
Elena leaned back, closed her eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again.
“Lyosha, that’s the fourth time in two months.”
He froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Fourth time what?”
“You’re sending your mother money,” Elena explained quietly. “Fourth time in the last two months. In July it was ten thousand to repair her refrigerator. Early August—eight for a new washing machine. Three weeks ago—twelve for a private cardiologist. Now fifteen for medication.”
Alexey dragged his palms down his face.
“Lena… she’s my mother. I can’t say no.”
“Lyudmila Petrovna gets a pension of twenty-three thousand,” Elena continued. “She lives alone. The apartment is hers. Utilities are five thousand. That leaves eighteen for living. She’s not starving.”
“She manages,” he agreed. “But when extra expenses come up…”
“Extra expenses come up every single week,” Elena cut in. “The fridge, the washer, the doctor, the pills. And our daughter sleeps on a folding cot because we don’t have money for a real bed.”
Alexey jumped up and paced the room. He stopped by the window with his back to Elena.
“You don’t understand. Mom is alone. She has no one else.”
“She has a sister in Tver,” Elena reminded him. “She has nephews. She has friends. She’s not alone.”
“Her sister’s far away, her nephews have their own problems,” Alexey objected. “And friends… you know how embarrassed she is asking outsiders.”
“She’s embarrassed with outsiders, but not with her son,” Elena said. “How convenient.”
He spun around.
“She’s my mother! She raised me alone! My dad left when I was five. She went hungry in the nineties so I could study. She paid for my institute, my dorm. I owe her.”
“You do,” Elena nodded. “I get it. But we’re a family too. We have a child. A daughter who’s about to start school—and she doesn’t have a real room or a bed.”
Alexey turned back to the window.
“We’ll do the renovation. Later. We’ll still make it.”
“When is ‘later’?” Elena asked. “We’ve been saving for a year. Every time we finally build up a sum, you give it to your mother.”
“Not every time,” he mumbled.
“Every time,” Elena said, firmer. “Lyosha, I put that money on the card yesterday on purpose. We agreed the nursery comes first. You promised.”
He whirled around, his face flushing.
“You don’t understand! Mom really needed those meds! Her blood pressure’s out of control, she feels awful! What was I supposed to do—refuse? Tell her, ‘Mom, die, but we’ll buy wallpaper’?”
Elena stood, walked up to him, and stopped a meter away, looking him straight in the eyes.
“If you want to be a good son—be one. But not with my wallet!”
A heavy, ringing silence settled over the room. Alexey blinked, absorbing it.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Elena said evenly. “If you want to help your mother, help her. But with your own money. Don’t touch what we’re saving for our daughter.”
Alexey threw his hands up, his voice breaking into a shout.
“That’s my mother! My own mother! How can you say that?”
Elena didn’t step back.
“And that’s my daughter. Our daughter. Who matters more than your mother.”
Alexey grabbed his head.
“Do you even understand what you’re saying? Mom raised me alone! My father abandoned us when we had nothing! The nineties were hunger, cold, poverty! And she worked three jobs so I could live like a normal person!”
“I know,” Elena nodded. “You’ve told me. Many times.”
“So how can I refuse her?” he went on. “When she calls crying, says she feels terrible, says she needs help?”
“Lyudmila Petrovna calls in tears every time,” Elena shot back. “And every time it’s urgent. The fridge broke—ten thousand. Washer—eight. Doctor—twelve. Medicine—fifteen. Round and round.”
Alexey flung his phone onto the couch and turned on Elena.
“You’re cruel! Cold-hearted! I never thought you were like this!”
“I’m realistic,” Elena corrected. “And I’m thinking about our daughter—since you aren’t.”
Alexey stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward her.
“I am thinking! But my mother—”
“Your mother goes to a health resort every summer,” Elena cut him off. “Last year she went to Kislovodsk. This year she vacationed in Anapa—two whole weeks. She bragged herself about how much she spent on excursions.”
“So what?” Alexey frowned. “A пенсионер has a right to rest.”
“She does,” Elena agreed. “And you and I haven’t been to the sea since before Katya was born. Since then we haven’t gone anywhere beyond your relatives’ dacha.”
Alexey turned away, muttering something under his breath.
“What?” Elena asked.
“Don’t compare,” Alexey repeated louder. “Mom worked her whole life. She earned her отдых.”
“And we don’t work?” Elena asked. “I’m grinding from eight to nine every day. You’re working till eight. Our salaries go to the mortgage, groceries, daycare. We save pennies for repairs—and every time we finally scrape together something, you hand it to your mother.”
Alexey clenched his fists, his face darkening.
“Yes, I do! Because she’s my mother! Because I owe her! You want to turn me into a traitor? You want me to abandon my own flesh and blood?”
“I want,” Elena shouted, her voice trembling, “for you to be a husband! A father! Not Lyudmila Petrovna’s forever-son!”
Tears spilled out on their own. Elena wiped them with the back of her hand, but new ones kept rolling down her cheeks.
“I’m tired,” she went on, quieter now. “Tired of being second. Tired of your mother mattering more than me and our daughter.”
Alexey stood there breathing hard. His hands shook, his jaw worked.
“You don’t understand…”
“I understand perfectly,” Elena cut him off. “Lyudmila Petrovna manipulates you. She calls crying, tells you how awful she feels, and you rush to rescue her. And the fact that our daughter sleeps on a folding cot—doesn’t matter to you.”
“It matters!” he protested. “Of course it matters!”
“Then why did the money go to your mother again?”
Alexey opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away.
“Mom said without the medicine she’d feel truly awful…”
“Every month it’s something new,” Elena snapped. “Not a woman—a bottomless pit. Today it’s pills. Tomorrow what—TV? A new couch? Another vacation package?”
Alexey jerked and turned back to her.
“Enough! Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that!”
“How should I talk?” Elena stepped forward. “She knows about our problems. She knows we’re saving for renovations. And every time she finds a reason to ask for money.”
“She doesn’t ‘find’ anything!” Alexey yelled. “She really has problems!”
“When Katya was born,” Elena continued, ignoring his shouting, “your mother didn’t come to the maternity hospital. Said her lower back hurt, she couldn’t travel. And a week later my friend sent me a photo—your mother strolling through a mall, carrying bags.”
Alexey went still.
“That… maybe she was buying лекарства…”
“Three bags from a clothing store,” Elena clarified. “Not medicine. When Katya had bronchitis, I called your mother. Asked her to watch her for a couple of hours because I had to go to work. She refused—said she was exhausted, no strength. That same evening she posted a photo on social media from a café with her friends.”
Alexey said nothing. He stared at the floor, jaw tight.
“Your mother only cares about herself,” Elena finished. “And you enable her. Every time. Even though we have our own child. Our own needs. Our own problems.”
Alexey lifted his head, his eyes shining with anger.
“So I should refuse my mother? Tell her, ‘Sorry, Mom, we don’t need you’?”
“No,” Elena shook her head. “You should think in priorities. First your family—your wife and daughter. Then everyone else.”
“Mother isn’t ‘everyone else,’” Alexey hissed.
“For me, our daughter matters more than your mother,” Elena said flatly. “And she should for you too.”
Alexey grabbed his jacket from the hook, yanked it on, and faced Elena.
“You know what? I wish you were even half the woman my mother is. Even a third!”
Elena flinched as if slapped. Her face went pale, her hands balled into fists.
“What did you say?”
“What I think,” Alexey threw back, tugging the zipper. “Mom raised me alone. Worked herself to the bone. Sacrificed everything for me. And you? You just complain—about work, about being tired, about money. Always unhappy with something.”
Elena stepped up until she was inches from him.
“Leave,” she said quietly, clearly.
“What?”
“Leave,” Elena repeated. “Go to your perfect mother. If I’m so terrible—live with her.”
Alexey yanked the door open. On the threshold he turned.
“You’ll regret it. You’ll regret your words.”
“No,” Elena shook her head. “I won’t.”
The door slammed. Elena stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t bother wiping them away.
Silence. An empty apartment. No sound except the clock ticking on the wall.
Elena went back to the kitchen and switched the kettle on again. She took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the name she needed—Igor Viktorovich, a realtor she’d known since they bought this apartment.
She typed a message:
“Good evening, Igor Viktorovich. I need help. I’m looking to rent a one-bedroom apartment for myself and my six-year-old daughter. Any area is fine—the main thing is affordable and fast. Can you help?”
She sent it and set the phone on the table. Poured boiling water into a mug and dropped in a tea bag.
Tomorrow she would call her mother and ask her to keep Katya for a couple of days. She’d say she and Alexey were having problems and needed time to sort things out. Her mother wouldn’t pry—she’d just pick her granddaughter up from daycare.
Then Elena would look for an apartment. Pack their things. Figure out how to live from here.
The phone vibrated. A message from Igor Viktorovich.
“Good evening, Elena. Of course I’ll help. I have a couple of options. Tomorrow morning I’ll send addresses and photos. You’ll look and choose.”
Elena replied:
“Thank you. I’ll be waiting.”
She set the phone down and took a sip of tea—hot, scalding. Good.
The bank receipt still lay on the table. Fifteen thousand. Elena picked it up, tore it into tiny pieces, and tossed them into the trash.
The money was gone. No way to get it back. Lyudmila Petrovna would spend it on her own needs. Or stash it for her next resort trip. Or buy a new television. It didn’t matter.
What mattered was this: Elena wasn’t going to keep swallowing the fact that her husband put his mother above his family. She wasn’t going to keep waiting for Alexey to finally grow up and start thinking about his daughter.
She’d waited too long. Put up with too much.
Tomorrow a new life would begin. Without a husband who treated his wife as second-rate. Without a mother-in-law who sucked money away under respectable excuses.
Just Elena and Katya. A small family—but a real one. Where the child comes first.
Elena finished her tea, rinsed the mug, and went to the bedroom. She lay down, closed her eyes.
In the morning she woke to her phone ringing. Igor Viktorovich had sent three apartment options—small one-bedrooms not far from Katya’s daycare.
Elena looked through the photos and chose the brightest one. She messaged the realtor that she wanted to see it that evening.
All day at work she kept thinking about the move ahead. How would she tell Katya? How would she explain that Dad wouldn’t be living with them anymore?
That evening she met Igor Viktorovich near the building. The apartment was on the second floor—clean, furnished. Small, but cozy: one room, a kitchen, and a combined bathroom.
“I’ll take it,” Elena said after looking around.
“Great,” the realtor nodded. “We’ll sign the contract, and you can move in.”
Elena paid the first month, took the keys, went home, and started packing—hers and Katya’s.
Alexey never came back. He didn’t call or text. Probably living with Lyudmila Petrovna now, telling her what a heartless wife he had.
Let him talk. Elena didn’t care anymore.
Two days later she moved into the rental. She picked Katya up from her mother’s and explained that they would live separately now. The girl took it calmly—at six, children adapt more easily.
“Where’s Dad?” Katya asked, looking around the new room.
“Dad’s at Grandma’s,” Elena answered. “We’ll visit him sometimes.”
“Okay,” Katya nodded and ran off to unpack her toys.
Elena stood at the window, watching the courtyard: a playground, a sandbox, swings. A good place. Quiet.
A new life—without a husband who couldn’t set priorities. Without a mother-in-law who drained their money and strength.
Was she scared? A little. But it was right.
Elena smiled at her reflection in the glass. She would manage. She had to. There was a lot ahead: filing for divorce, child support, and dividing property.